The ‘Interest’

It was the ‘haldi’ ceremony of Anupam. I wore a yellow dhoti and a kurta with a shawl draped over my left shoulder. Rani and I sat next to the priest. The priest was young. An MA in Sanskrit, he had resigned as lecturer in a college to don the role of a priest. His children did not like the small town where he lived during his stint as a lecturer. The low salary was another turn off, he said.

Talkative, the priest explained why certain things were performed during the puja, and also clarified the correct manner of doing them to gain desired results. A pleasant person, the priest cracked harmless jokes at appropriate moments.

An important ritual in the ceremony involved recalling dead relatives. The priest explained the process, and then said something funny. He said, “Man is more interested in his grandchildren, than in his own children. His own children are the principal amount, while the grandchildren are the interest accrued! The lender is always interested more in the interest than in the principal amount.”

The simile sounded absurd to me. I smiled, but rejected it almost instantaneously. My paternal grandfather met me only on two or three occasions, that too for very brief periods of time, and never displayed affection. He never took me around, played with me, or even talked to me beyond the one-liner, “Do you recognise me?”

My maternal grandfather saw me a little more, but he, too, was more interested in my younger cousins and my elder sister. Perhaps we never talked, though I remember touching his feet and he saying “thak, thak” every time we visited Nanaji’s place.

Daddy, that way, was better. I was aware of some correspondence between him and Anupam. Anupam met him last about eight years ago. Daddy enquired about Anupam whenever we spoke over the telephone. However, he forthrightly rejected the idea of attending Anupam’s wedding, citing his poor health! About 80 years of age, he suffers from arthritis. Walking on uneven ground causes pain to him. His knees hurt. He is content lying down on a sofa and watching television most of the time. When he stands, his back bends within seconds. He has partial vision in one eye. And, he appears to be hard of hearing. He lives thousands of kilometres away from all his children, in a house that my mother and he built together in a suburb of Patna. Mummy stayed in that house only on the ‘grihapravesha’ night. Her premature death (read blog 'Strange but True'), daddy’s premature retirement, and his movement to his own house were over in a matter of about two years. Daddy lives there away from his real children, running his mission of transforming the lives of the underprivileged. He appears to be content meeting their requirements, and has so far refused all invitations to live with us.

Rani’s father, Papa, is no more. I do not remember any exchange of affection between him and my son. Papa’s communication with Anupam revolved around securing the main gate at night, shutting down the water pump, operating the valve on the water pipe, and bringing something from the market. If the two of them ever laughed together, I missed that totally.

So, all that proclamation about grandchildren being more sought after than own children was nothing but humbug for me.

A day after the wedding we travelled to daddy’s place to seek his blessings. The train started late by about ten hours, and by the time it reached the destination it was about twelve hours behind schedule. Rather than arriving at dawn, we stood in front of the house in the evening! Daddy and the children had gathered together to welcome the new bride. A colourful ‘alpana’ greeted us at the main entrance. The children performed her ‘aarti’, gave her some sweet to eat, and entered the house behind her. The drawing room was decorated with shiny papers, flowers, and a small poster congratulating Nitasha and Anupam.

Refreshments were promptly served in brand new crockery under the supervision of Daddy. I ignored the gulab jamun, which had sugar stuck over it. The dahiwada was better. So were four or five other delicacies. I was tired, and also a little uncomfortable wondering how the city-dwelling Nitasha would appreciate such rustic fare. Daddy kept on asking whether we liked the food, and I kept nodding my head in mock approval. Frankly, there was nothing extraordinary about it. I am a little apprehensive about food bought from shops, especially if they happen to be located in backward suburbs.

Finally, one of the children broke the news. Daddy had cooked the gulab jamun, the dahiwada, and most of the other delicacies himself! Since he cannot stand for more than a few minutes, he had got the stove placed on the floor, and cooked the food for hours. It was he who had made the poster. Sheepishly, daddy added that he had also stitched new sofa covers for the occasion.

I was shocked! The entire scenario changed. The sofa cover, the decoration, the poster, the food – everything stood transformed! I saw Daddy in a new light. He did not betray any sign of suffering due to sitting for hours cooking, drawing the poster, or stitching the covers. He was happy, eager to know whether we were happy.

My eyes clouded with tears. I thought of the priest’s statement about the bond between grandparents and grandchildren, and took a gulab jamun. It was well made, so what if it had sugar stuck over it!

The Neighbourhood Restaurant

As I knocked at the door, I noticed a colourful pamphlet tucked under the door handle. The pamphlet was folded strategically to remain stuck under the handle until someone retrieved it deliberately. Well, it was the door to my house, and so I grabbed the pamphlet. Before I could start reading it, Rani opened the door. We both looked at the pamphlet with curiosity. The multi-page pamphlet on its cover bore the name and phone number of a restaurant. It promised ‘free home delivery’ of Thai, Chinese and Indian food.
Interested, we opened the pamphlet. This restaurant served over hundred variants of food! Usually some price is mentioned for each dish in such pamphlets, but this one was unique. It revealed no price!
We returned to the cover page. The restaurant appeared to be located nearby. I called up my colleague who has been staying in the area for donkey’s years. He very patiently advised me to get out of my house, turn left, and keep going straight for three kilometres to reach the place through Ramachandrapura.
Rani and I were excited. Why not visit this place during our evening walk? Determined, we came out of the house, and took left. Rani and I do not like that particular stretch of road. It does not have footpath, and the traffic is substantial. One cannot enjoy a leisurely walk on such roads.
We turned back, deciding to reach the end of the road through another route, lined with tall trees full of purple, white, and yellow flowers. Half our way through, we noticed a boulevard parallel to the road suggested by my colleague.
“Why not take this road? After all, the two roads are parallel and one can always take a cross road to reach the intended one”, said Rani. Reading the doubt in my eyes, she added, “Okay! I will ask someone to be sure”. She asked a person who appeared to be walking back home after a day at office. The person confirmed that the road indeed led to the locality intended.
“Dekkkha?”, Rani exclaimed with joy, and we started walking. Walking on that road was a pleasure. Palatial bungalows. Wide footpaths. Trees. Smell of clean air. We liked it for about twenty minutes, and then began a series of shops and residential buildings.
“Ah, look there, to your right!”, I pointed towards a decent government priced foreign liquor shop. We almost halted. “From the looks of it I can say that one can get genuine scotch and wine here”, I declared.
“Shall we walk up the stairs and check?”, asked Rani.
I was in two minds. Meanwhile, two persons started looking at us from the shop.
“Well, it would not be correct to enter the shop and enquire about a lot of things when we don’t have to buy anything now”, we agreed and resumed walking after making a mental note of the shop.
Another ten-minute stroll, and we were at a ‘T’ junction. By this time daylight had almost disappeared. We were nowhere near our destination, and didn’t even know where to find it. We had walked more than three kilometres. Luckily, most of it had been downhill.
I decided to abandon our quest and return home.
Rani checked up with another person. She was still hopeful of finding the place.
The person advised us to continue for another two kilometres and then take left to reach Ramachandrapura.
“Will you care for a samosa?”, I asked, exploiting her weakness for junk food.
“No, I am fine”.
So be it. We resumed walking.
Another ten minutes, and we saw a Maruti service station.
“We can buy the door knob here!”, we exclaimed in unison.
The broken knob lay in my pocket. It had come out in two pieces a few days ago. I had both the pieces with me. I entered the workshop, taking the broken pieces out. As I reached the door of the shop, one piece fell down and vanished somewhere. The remaining piece was sufficient for the shopkeeper to identify the desired knob and sell it to me for a princely sum of Rs.5.
We were happy. So what if we could not locate the restaurant? We had been successful in finding a decent wine shop which we would not have seen otherwise. And, we had also been able to buy the door knob, which was not available in other markets.
We walked with greater determination, and reached another ‘T’ junction. The signboards here proclaimed the name of the locality we had set out for.
“This is Block One. The restaurant is in Block Five.” Rani observed.
We took right, walking half a kilometre. Block One, like a faithful companion, continued.
“We will walk up to that red billboard and then return”, I declared.
The red billboard, too, happened to be in Block One. Perhaps Block Five was another two kilometres away.
We turned around, walking back uphill for forty five minutes, to reach home.
“I wonder how the restaurant delivers the food thus far”, I expressed my worry.
“The restaurant man does not come walking”, Rani said.
“Yes, he will not come walking”, I agreed. “And we will not walk to that place again”, I said, examining the door knob carefully.
Rani agreed. Our two-and-a-half hour long walk must have done us some good, we thought, and collapsed on the bed, exhausted.
We have not talked about that restaurant since then.

An Orchestra of Villains!

With the departure of Smriti to Delhi, we decided to shift residence to a place nearer my office.

The duplex bungalow we resided at so far was now too big for our needs. When on tour, I remained worried about Rani’s safety. A thief could lurk anywhere. A robber could force entry through any of the four doors. The locality had lost its rustic charm with the appearance of residential apartments all around. I already hated the raddiwalla shop at the head of the lane, and the emergence of a meat shop on the approach road had turned the matter worse. The final nail was driven in the coffin with three tyre punctures within a span of forty-five days or so.

The flat we moved into is part of an apartment. It has power back up, security, and other such small comforts. Smriti and Anupam liked it, and Rani, in spite of rejecting it initially, accepted it later. Some of the furniture – an almirah, a writing desk, a cabinet, etc., could not be accommodated and had to be sold off.

 
The commuting time has been shortened by one complete hour! The place is safer. We have a neighbour to whom Rani can talk. The market is nearby.

However, one cannot have everything good in life! The place has a major drawback. It is next to a traffic junction. There are speed breakers on two major sides of the junction. Vehicles coming near to the junction apply brake, speed up, realise that another side also has a speed breaker, apply brake again, accelerate and zoom ahead. In the dead of the night the sound is enough to rudely wake you up, and keep you awake.

It appears that jackals or some similar animals infiltrate into the area when it is dark. The dogs object, and a howling, barking and shrieking campaign starts. The cacophony continues till somebody warns the dogs with a “heh”!

A stray bull also appears to have liked the area for its nocturnal pursuits. While taking the round at about 2 PM, it makes a typical sound as only bulls can make.

The sum result is that I keep awake most of the nights listening to the orchestra of bull as the lead singer, the dogs as the chorus, and the sound of the vehicles as the accompanying music.

Day before yesterday I decided to sleep in the other room. Repeated the act yesterday. The room is definitely less noisy, but the bed is too small to accommodate two persons!

Let’s see what happens tonight!

The Mysterious Smile

Airports have a unique personality. Artificially warm voices, zombies as security personnel, rows of chairs receiving multiple bums within a matter of minutes, highly priced insipid food, and passengers lost in themselves.

My flight was getting delayed. I sat in the chair, looked around for friendly faces, tried to read a novel, stared at banners, played with the handle of my bag, and got bored.

I decided to have a glass of water. After a brief walk and a trip to the urinal, I found that a woman had occupied the chair next to the one on which I had been sitting. I felt a little awkward, but that was the only vacant chair available. I occupied the chair, careful not to cause a brush with the lady.

Settled finally, I looked around, avoiding the lady. My gaze stopped at a man who looked at me with a glint of mischief. His lips betrayed a smile. He nodded at me.

It was an embarrassing moment. Perhaps the lady next to me was a celebrity and I had violated her personal space by sitting so close to her. But if the lady was offended, she did not express so. Reassured, I leafed through the novel, stared at banners, played with the handle of my bag, and got bored again.

I looked around, and the gentleman again caught my eyes. He nodded, with a hint of a smile. I nodded back, trying to place him in my memory. I was sure that I had not met him earlier, but then I could be wrong as well.

At the announcement of a departure call, the gentleman got up, and stood in the queue. He was behind a large man.

Not talking to anyone, he was still nodding.

A Trip To Gokarna

We had a short trip to Gokarna last week. Travelling in the sleeper bus with all limbs intact was quite a challenge. We were told that it would be a Volvo air-conditioned bus, but it turned out to be a non-Volvo non-air-conditioned bus from Bangalore to Gokarna, an eleven hour journey. As the bus sped, blood rushed to the head. We tried sleeping in the opposite direction, and blood appeared to drain out. Funnily, it was a double bed kind of arrangement, and we had to sleep together. As the bus negotiated bends, we rolled towards either the window or the aisle. As the bus made an immediate correction, we rolled back.

We took an autorickshaw for Rs.100 for a six kilometre journey to the top of the Kudle beach. Steps were cut into the rock to reach the beach. We walked down. It was easy to find the hotel, Gokarna International Beach Resort. A glass of tea later, we walked up again and went to the Om beach. Rather than looking like an 'Om', the beach resembles the backside of a human being engaged in the act of defecation in the traditional Indian style. We walked on the almost barren beach, and then found our way to a shack for a bottle of beer and Israeli Salad. As we admired the thick black gecko lodged at top of the wooden ceiling; Joshua, his sister and mother strolled in. They were our immediate neighbours two years ago. We never exchanged pleasantries earlier, and we did not exchange pleasantries here as well.

We took an autorickshaw to go to Gokarna village, famous for its temples. Rani visited the temples. I strolled around. A South Indian meal later, we returned to the hotel through the auto-step route. It was 2 PM. We slept till 5.30 PM and then went out to the beach, but not before stumbling upon Joshua's mother. The dinner of soup (chicken momo soup for Rani, chicken noodle soup for me) and sizzler (chicken sizzler for Rani and prawn sizzler for me) was the best we have eaten so far. We decided to have our lunch at the same joint, Munchies, the next day.

The next morning we walked to the other end of Kudle beach, and then climbed up. We found our way to the top of the hill, and saw a temple a few kilometres away. The temple is in urgent need of repairs and is closed. Steps go down to a natural spring. The water here is supposed to have medicinal properties. We sprinkled some water on ourselves, and walked further to arrive at the Gokarna beach. We walked further to enter the town, and found ourselves at the same temple which Rani visited yesterday.

We walked back, reached the hotel, had shower, and were back at Munchies. Today it was chicken momo soup for both of us, with grilled chicken for Rani and grilled prawn for me.

We did not engage an auto on our return. We just climbed up the hill and came down towards the Gokarna beach side. The bus started from near the temple. We were close to my office at 6 in the morning. We walked three kilometers to reach home.

Anna Karenina

“Have you read Anna Karenina?”

“No”, came the reply in barely audible voice. The dusky beauty was too shy to look at me.

“Oh!” I did not know what to say next.

I was meeting her for the first time. My parents had met her once before.

Her parents were a little apologetic on the first meeting.

“Hamari ladki thodi kaali hai” (our daughter is a little dark), they are supposed to have said.

My parents, in response, assured that the colour of skin did not matter to them.

The final decision, however, lay in my hands.

So, this was a very important meeting. If I agreed, I would have to marry the girl and live with her forever. If I decided otherwise, I would have to forget her forever. This, of course, was assuming that she and her family would approve of me.

Mummy, Daddy, Didi and her two young children sat next to me. Her parents, two sisters and a brother were with her. Most of the time everybody sat in the room, looking at each other, trying to make small conversation. Stealing a glance at her was very difficult. I adopted the trick of talking to persons sitting diagonally across. This way I could enjoy a fleeting glance of her every time I shifted my attention from one person to the other. There were times I could see her looking at me. Whenever our eyes met, I could feel her talking to me in a silent language.

Finally, I was coaxed to talk to her. However, her plain “no” blocked chances of further conversation. Mummy, Didi and Daddy tried speaking to her, and she replied in mono-syllables. Whenever she spoke something, I became super attentive to catch her every word.

She had a good voice.

And she was beautiful.

We were invited for snacks. For a brief moment I managed to stand next to her. There was no clumsiness in the way she ate.

Back home, my parents asked my views about her. I was too shy to say anything for sometime, but later announced my decision.

She became my wife. That was twenty five years ago.

She has turned out to be a stronger person than I am. And a better person. More forgiving. More loving. More caring. Happier. Loving the good things in life.

I liked her twenty five years ago. I started loving her soon after. Today, I cannot think of life without her.

I love you, Rani!

The First Board

What is a board?

I expect you to be over nine years of age, and still wondering what a board could mean. Do I mean a piece of timber? Food or meals (room and board), perhaps? A vertical surface on which information can be displayed for public view? A table? An electric switchboard? A platform for playing certain kinds of games? After all, what could a board mean?

If you, in spite of all your wisdom, cannot decide what a board is, how can a nine year old child imagine its correct meaning.

I am talking about myself. We lived in Kolkata. I went to a government school. It was my fourth school. Arriving from Varanasi in September, I had joined Class Four almost at the end of the January – December session. The syllabus was quite different, but being a good student I was somehow managing.

One day, as the class was on, an important looking man came and announced something. I did not understand a word, but perhaps the other students did, and an “Aaaah” went up in the air.

I asked my friends what the Aah was all about. They explained that we would have our board from the next week or so.

Okay, so be it, I thought and went home. By the time I walked the one kilometre or so to home, I had forgotten all about it. It was only in the night at dinner that I remembered the important announcement.

“Mummy, we have the board from the next week”, I said, chewing between words.

Mummy reacted as if she had touched a live wire. “Board?” “Next week?” “Are you sure?”

I felt sorry about putting her to so much of discomfort. Without knowing what the word meant, just to comfort her, I said, “Don’t worry! Waisa board nahin hai.”

“What do you mean waisa board nahin hai? What kind of board is that? Today is Thursday night. You are saying next week. Oh my God!”

By now I was sure that Board was something very bad, and it would perhaps have been better had I not disclosed the news to her. However, there was little I could do now.

I looked at her, and slowly went to bed. Later in the night I heard voices. Daddy had returned from office and was having dinner. Mummy was telling him, “Agle haftey se Happu ka board ka exam hai. Usko kuchh bhi nahin pata. Date-sheet kya hai, admit card kahan hai, kuchh bhi nahin janta.”

Oh, so I was going to have my exams in another few days, I thought. The next day, from the classroom, I saw Mummy enter the school office. She waited for the school to be over and then we walked back together. She was carrying my admit card and the examination schedule. I looked at her from the corner of my eyes. She was not angry. She was not unhappy, either. Whatever the “Board” was, it was not due to any misdemeanour from my side, I decided. I grasped her hand lovingly, and started walking happily.