The alarm on my cell phone rang. With sleepy eyes I searched for it on my side table, silenced it and buried my head in the pillow. A voice in my head kept saying repeatedly 'Wake up lazy bones, it is time to get some exercise'. Reminded me of the time long ago when my teen aged elder brother used to pester me incessantly day after day at the ungodly hour of 4 am to wake up, completely undeterred by my outraged protests. Just because he thought that he was at his productive best- study wise- in the wee hours of the morning and he hated to study alone and took my companionship on his study table for granted. God, what tortures elder brothers are capable of....
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A Solo Walk
The Revenge
This incident was narrated to me by my nephew-in-law Avinash, a Major in Indian Army. I am re-telling it in first person, as he told it to me. This is how the story goes...
"My mother is tyrannically opposed to hard drinks…she is a typical Gandhian in this matter. If she was around in pre-independence times, I am sure she would have been among those protesters, who picketed liquor shops. My father, though he does not share her passion for anti-liquor movement, has always been a teetotaler. I sometimes wonder how my mother would have reacted if he wasn’t one. One of them would have have to be converted, I think, to ensure peace in the house. However, the fact of his never taking drinks has only served to reinforce my mother’s passion against drinking. So in spite of my having been brought up in an Army environment where social drinking is a norm rather than an exception, drinks never entered our house. My younger brother and I were brought up steadily on ‘Only weak people drink’ kind of doctrine.
I grew up and entered medical college and began staying in a hostel. Drinking was common there in almost all functions and parties. At times I wished to taste the forbidden liquid at least to find out why it was so attractive to so many people and was so despised by my mother, but I kept away, not wanting to offend my mother's sensibilities.
I was 19, in the 2rd year of college and was spending my summer vacation at home in Delhi. My father, having retired from Army Medical corps by then, was working for one of the largest private hospitals of Delhi. An invitation for cocktails and dinner in a five star hotel came for my father for an annual event of the hospital. The invitation included his family too, so I naturally accompanied my parents for the party hoping to have some good fun and more importantly, good food like any typical youngster having a respectable appetite. Uncle Alok, my mother’s younger brother, also an Army doctor, was invited for the function too.
Well, like in most big parties in the Indian capital, liquor was flowing like water in this one too. I, however, like the ever obedient son of my mother, moved towards the soft drinks corner to get myself a drink. Suddenly, my uncle materialized by my side.
“Don’t tell me you are going to have a soft drink in a party like this. The best booze in the world is flowing here and it is all for free. Come, I will get you something truly exhilarating, ” he said taking a hold of my arm.
“Oh no, Uncle, I do not drink liquor, “ I refused in a polite manner.
“Oh, come on, I am not asking you to become a drunkard, am I? I just want you to taste something heavenly.” He was pulling me towards the forbidden corner now.
“Uncle, Ma will be upset, she hates to see even you drinking. She will kill me if she finds out” I pleaded.
“Don’t be such a sissy. You are a young man now and in another 2 years you will become a full fledged doctor. Do you think your Mom will make decisions for you all your life? And I am sure she won’t mind you taking a sip or two as you are afraid of. She knows that you are a grown up man now.” He was convincing.
“No uncle, I’ll try it some other time,” I protested, my resolve weakening somewhat. Uncle realized that I guess. He dragged me to the bar counter . My protest had become so weak by then that it was nearly non-existent and my curiosity about this new experience had taken over. After all, Uncle is my Mom’s brother, he would not ask me to drink if he knew she would get upset. Sooner than I realized there was a glass in my hand filled with a bubbly liquid. Feeling very grown up and mature, I took a sip and moved towards the group of my friends, savoring the experience contentedly.
Suddenly I had the curious sensation that everybody in the party was looking at me. Nervous, I looked side ways and to my horror, found my mother by my side with a stormy expression on her face. I wildly looked around for my uncle. He was there alright. He was standing by my mother’s side with a solemn expression on his face. Holding a glass of orange juice in his hand, he was shaking his head sadly. He said,
“Kids today! Look what the world has come to, Didi. All your life you have been campaigning against hard liquor. And no sooner than your own son stepped out of your house, he has taken to drinks. Children these days have no respect for their elders and their teachings.”
My mother nearly exploded. She was so furious that she forgot that we were in the middle of a gathering of elite people. And that I was a near-adult. She gave it to me right, left and centre, in full view of my friends and under the curious gaze of several guests. How could I do this to her, how could I let her down, how could I forget everything she had ever taught me, etc. was the mainstay of her diatribe. Ignoring my placating gestures and pleadings, she dragged me to the car and took me home. She did not speak to me for two full days after that. It was only after mediation by my father and my countless apologies to her that barely one day before my leave was to end, she forgave me grudgingly and began talking with me.
On last day of my vacation I went to meet my uncle and his family.
“Why?” I asked him stonily.
“Are you kidding? I have waited 19 years, ever since you were born, to do this. This is exactly what my uncle had done to me 22 years ago. I have got my revenge now,” he winked at me with a devilish grin on his face."
Koko's Dadi
As I grow older, in fact ever since I crossed the fortieth year of my life, I often wonder what I would be like as an old woman. Will I also become depressed, self-pitying, over-sensitive and complaining like many old people I know or will I be able to retain my optimism, sense of humour and fun and face life with a smile on my face. I look for role models among my acquaintances and almost always the one face that stands out among the crowd is of a dearly loved relation- Koko's Dadi
If we look at children, we will almost always find them full of life, laughter and fun- laughing at their friends, at themselves and at the world at large. Unfortunately, as we grow older, most of us tend to lose our sense of humour. We become sensitive, acquire a serious disposition , adopt moralistic and judgmental postures and needlessly carry a burden of worries on our shoulders. There are very few that retain their sense of humour into their old age. Koko’s dadi was one of such people.
Koko is my cousin, her mother being my father’s sister. Both our families spent considerable time during our childhood in our small native city together as Koko’s father, as well as mine, had their jobs there. Even though Koko and I were brought up in different homes, it was like growing up together, like siblings. We met very frequently and shared our relatives with each other…so Koko’s grandma was my grandma too. I too called her ‘Dadi’ like her.
I can picture Dadi as I had seen her during my childhood. She gracefully dressed in light colored cotton saris, draping it in a 'Seedha Palla' style, covering her head with her ‘aanchal’. She had a cheerful disposition, with a smile ready to appear at the tiniest of reasons. She was a perfect counterfoil to her husband ( whom we addressed as 'Baba') who was a serious–natured scholar. Both of them had an inclination towards literature. While Baba researched and wrote serious books for learned readers, Dadi wrote and told stories for children. She was a treasure trove of interesting and funny stories and I remember us, children of the family, surrounding her often begging her to tell us stories.
Dadi was a child at heart. She spent her free time playing dice games with children, and just like kids, she had this desire to win every game she played. At times, this led to curious situations. Once she was playing her favourite game 'Ludo' with my six year-old sister Guddan. There was this crucial moment when Dadi was about to win, when a chance throw of dice by Guddan put Dadi in a losing position. Taken aback, Dadi refused to allow it, arguing that her coins were at a different position and Guddan was mistaken in thinking that they were, where they actually were. Guddan got so offended by this show of unsporting(!) spirit by Dadi that she refused to play with her anymore. Dadi tried to entice her into replaying the game but Guddan refused. Dadi temporarily lost one of her playmates. Next week when Dadi visited our home, she told my mother regretfully,
“Guddan has become annoyed with me. Mistake was mine of course, I had actually been unfair in the game. Now she just refuses to play with me.”
Needless to say, after sometime Dadi managed to placate Guddan into forgiving her and becoming her play partner again.
Dadi had a great capability of playing practical jokes. We had heard of the story when she had filled up a skin shed by a snake with earth and placed it into a room used by Baba’s clients( he used to practice law) in all its glory with its head raised, seemingly ready to attack. When the clients entered the room, they were terrified to see the snake and ran out of the room. After a lot of commotion and discussion, it was decided to kill the snake. When a courageous person entered the room and hit at it with a stick, the ‘snake’ broke into three pieces. The man was at first stunned and then embarrassed.
“The children are very naughty in this household”, remarked the man, accusingly looking at the children.
“There is a person naughtier than the children in this household,” replied Baba who had taken no time to realize who in the family could have planned played such a prank.
Dadi did not believe in ghosts. If somebody told her that a ghost resides on such and such ‘peepal’ tree and appears only at midnight, she would make it a point to go to that haunted tree at midnight only in order to meet that ghost. She never got to meet one, however. Once it so happened that she was returning home from somewhere in the very early morning hours with a friend. They saw two cyclists at some distance who were coming towards them but seemed to be hesitating. Dadi immediately understood that because of their white saris, the cyclists are wondering whether they were ghosts who had come down from the haunted tree. She and her friend looked at each other conspiratorially and then charged towards the cyclists letting out ghostly screams. The cyclists panicked, dumped there cycles then and there and raced in the opposite direction and disappeared from sight in moments. Dadi and her friend came home laughing, certain that those cyclists would be telling people about their encounter with a couple of ‘chudails’(witches) for years to come.
There was a helper in the house, Jung Bahadur who was a little pompous. Dadi enjoyed taking a dig at him. Jung Bahadur did not take garlic and onion in his food and made quite a show of it. One day, while he was out for some work, Dadi took his shirt and under the collar of is shirt, stitched a row of garlic pods. Jung Bahadur put on his shirt the next day. All day he kept complaining about the stink of garlic, wondering why the stink was following him everywhere. It was only in the evening that he found out what was causing the continuous smell of garlic around him.
There was a pet goat in Dadi’s household. One day, when Jung Bahadur was to return from a leave Dadi took the trouble of threading the hardened droppings of the goat and creating a garland out of it. When Jung Bahadur arrived and touched her feet, giving him her blessings she put the garland on his neck while rest of the family members who were aware of the plan shook with suppressed laughter. Jung Bahadur took sometime to realize how exactly he had been honoured!
There are countless incidents like this which are treasured by the people who came in contact with her. Her liveliness, her laughter and her ability to look life in the face with cheerfulness under all circumstances touched our lives as did the unconditional love and affection that she gave to all around her. She was the person we ran to when we we were in some trouble and needed an adult on our side with full confidence that we would get full support from her side as well as a solution to our childlike problems.
Dadi also had a serious side to her that balanced her fun-loving nature. She taught her children and grand children the the sense of right and wrong, the importance of fairness, the importance of compassion, the idea that if there is a will there is always a way and that one's purpose in life had something to do with making a difference even if ever so small. She has always been and will remain a guiding light for us. We feel fortunate and blessed that we had the opportunity to grow up in her shadow.
Dadi passed away at a relatively young age, in her early sixties. She had retained her optimism till her end. Her death was a big loss to the younger members of the family- we had lost a close friend and confidant also a willing accomplice in our childish pranks. Life was just not the same without her. In nearly five decades of my life, I have not met anyone like Dadi. Every time I think of her, the image I see of her has a smile on her face with a twinkle in her eyes. It brings a smile to my face too and raises a hope in my heart- that some day, like her, I too may manage to be an old woman with a heart as young and joyful as a child.
-Vandana
A Trip Into The Town
It is 7.15 in the morning. I have rushed through the morning chores and my morning tea and am standing now at the Andheri bus stop waiting for the AC bus that will take me to the town for my dentist's appointment. As any diehard Mumbaikar knows, town is the area south of Worli. Rest of the city- which means 80% of it- is disdainfully described as suburb by them.
As I wait alone, I become aware of the morning sounds of the city. I hear the 'kuhoo kuhoo' of a solitary cuckcoo amidst the jarring 'caw-caw's of several crows. And the muttering sounds of the pigeons who are being fed grains by an old man. A stray dog shakes itself from sleep and wanders towards the garbage dump looking for his morning meal. He is accosted by another dog there and they indulge in some friendly fighting over the ownership of the garbage dump. A milkman passes by on his bicycle, his milk cans jangling loudly. He stops for a moment and pours half a cup of milk in a partially broken saucer for a little brown and white striped cat sitting forlornly beside it.
A middle-aged couple join me , waiting for the same bus. They are talking to each other in low tones. Another man is puffing furiously at his ciggerate a few feet away, trying to finish it before he alights on the bus which is now visible at distance.
The bus stops and take us in and just before it leaves, a girl comes running towards it, her hair and scarf flying in the air. The conductor opens the door for her and she flops on one of the front seats. The bus picks some more passengers on the next few stops.
The passengers are all looking settled in now for an hour and quarter of the travel time it would take us to reach town. A man has opened his newspaper to read. Another one is flipping through a magazine. An executive looking youngman has opened his laptop and is looking at it with frowned concentration. A uniformed school boy has opened his notebook and is trying to memorize something which he would be expected to regurgiate after an hour in the school examination. The middle aged man has closed his eyes and is dozing peacefully while his wife is looking out of the window, seeing the sights of the city. Two teenaged girls are chatting and giggling in the back seat. Another one is talking softly in her mobile phone, smiling every few moments. A woman has opened a thick novel and is absorbed in it, seemingly oblivous of her surroundings. A youngman has put on earphones and is listening to music. The girl- that of flying hair and scarf- has opened a little box and is having fruits, obviously her breakfast.
A typical morning has begun. I look at my fellow passengers and wonder whether it is'nt the best part of their day... a time when nothing bad has happened so far and a whole day full of promise is ahead of them. I rest my head on the backrest, close my eyes and doze off thinking of pleasant thoughts...thoughts of my children who would be starting their day in more or less same way in faraway lands. I guess there is a little smile on my face too...
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