A boy who didn't Brush his teeth

A Boy Who Didn’t Brush His Teeth
It was a cold January Morning, neither birds nor trees moved. Everything lay silently enveloped in the dense mist that had descended over the town.
“Wake up Andy, my boy…Now Get UP!...you’ll be late for school.”
Mummy had been trying to wake Andy for the past half an hour. A tiny, red, nose showed up behind the covers.
“Brrr…” said Andy and rolled over to sleep again. But Mummy would put up no more. She yanked off the covers, and Andy sat up almost immediately.
“I’m NOT going to school anymore,” yelled Andy trying to reach out for his quilt, but Mummy was too quick for him, “NO, Andy!, and why is it that you don’t want to go to school?”
“I’ve decided to be a Hunter-Gatherer, when I grow up! I’d be living naked in a tropical forest, living on berries, grubs, and the occasional frog, and spending my free time grooming for Lices!”
Mummy chuckled, then straightened up,
”I really don’t know how you fill your head with such wonderful nonsense, but today you are heading straight for school…first to the bathroom…and DO brush your teeth!” said she, pushing the reluctant boy into the bathroom.
Andy was seven, and a very dirty little devil. He went inside and heard the bathroom door lock behind. There really was no escape. He opened the basin-tap and touched the icy water with the tip of his finger. He drew it back immediately.
“No way, it’s too cold”.
He lifted up his toothbrush from the stand, ran it under water for sometime and then put it back. Not even the mint flavored toothpaste could tempt him to brush his teeth. Quickly he washed his face, (else Mummy would notice), and angrily banged at the door.
“Let me out Mummy!”
“Too quick”, said mummy looking at him reprovingly.
“Now, did you brush his teeth, Andy?”
“You’d want to check the toothbrush, I suppose”, said Andy putting up a scowl.
“No, I’ll believe you!” said Mummy sweetly.
“Now change in your school dre…NO Andy!!… I don’t remember telling you to sleep again…Out…Out!!”
It was afternoon until Andy returned from school. He was positively delighted to see Daddy home too.
“Hi Daddy! Are we going out of town again…wow! No, we must be going to the amusement park. Right?…oh! But there aren’t any new rides…how about a nice movie…my friend told me about this one…”
Daddy stopped him midway, beaming at him, ”Now don’t get cheeky, my boy, I’m early so that we can keep up your appointment with the dentist”.
Andy’s face fell, how he hated to go to the dentist. Although, the dentist was his father’s friend and great with children, Andy wasn’t too fond of him.
His last visit wasn’t too encouraging either. The dentist examined his teeth in light of a tiny torch and jabbed at his tongue, which Andy made no efforts to keep still, here’s where Andy began wailing out for Mummy.
“Now, don’t you laddie!”, said the dentist, now people don’t seem exactly benevolent when you see then lying on your back, that frightened Andy.
“Patricia, hold this boy, I haven’t even touched his teeth.”
A menacing looking fat nurse held Andy tightly, Andy felt choked. He felt nauseated at the sight of all those metallic sharp instruments, that awful, awful drill.
“Great”, said Andy bitterly, and withdrew from the room.
Only if, he stayed away from home for an hour or two, the appointment would be cancelled and since other Kids kept the dentist busy, the next appointment will be no sooner than a week away. Great scheme, but where would he go?
Of course to Martin’s place, he doesn’t even have a phone. He’s new in school and Mummy doesn’t know where he lives. Pat on back!
Andy slipped out of Home in just about time, when Daddy was taking out the car in the driveway and Mummy was locking up the front door.
Moments later they sat in the front seats, turned to each other and asked this wonderful question,
“Where’s Andy?”
After some wait, they went in the house thinking that Andy might have been locked in. No good.
They searched high and low. Mummy tearfully called all of Andy’s friends and daddy drove up to all the houses he knew.
A few hours later Andy was back home, and headed straight for his room innocently, as if nothing had happened. Mummy and Daddy went after him.
“Where had you been?”, Daddy asked him rather sternly.
“Do you realize, how worried we were?” added Mummy.
“It’s not the first time he has done this, believe me I’m never going to take him to the Dentist again, even if all his teeth rot, and I’m NOT reading him any stories tonight.”
Daddy stormed out of the room. Phew!
But Mummy stayed,” Look Andy, it’s just two of your teeth now, but if you don’t go to the dentist, you’ll loose all of them soon. I really don’t think it’s a cool idea to wear denture at seven” ,she said worriedly.
“Not two, just one Mummy,” said Andy and spread out his fist. Apparently one of the rotten tooth had yielded and that poor, tired thing lay there in his tiny pink palm.
He did look very funny with one of his tooth missing, so Mummy could not hold back a smile.
“Put it under your pillow, the tooth fairy will leave you money for it.”
Andy, knew what Mummy meant.

Look, the tooth fairy visits every child who has broken a tooth, and in lieu of it, puts back money under your pillow. Now you’re not supposed to see her and in the night if you feel some movement under your pillow, you’re not supposed to open your eyes, that’ll spoil the magic.
Andy often wondered what she did with so many teeth, must be a difficult assignment, first you go around the globe giving out money to children at night, and then you come back carrying loads of milk-teeth you have nothing good to do with. May be she just likes collecting them, like Andy has a fetish for toffee wrappers, he has a mighty collection of 504 and it’s secret too.
Andy went to sleep, with the tooth fairy on his mind. He dreamt he was floating above the soft white clouds and then they began parting. Something like moonlight shone all around him, and far away stood a lady figure in red, with her back at Andy.
She was a fairy, and you could tell that by how moonlight played about her translucent wings. Her soft brown tresses swayed gently in the wind. Then she turned, a gasp escaped Andy, she was so beautiful and looked so oddly familiar. Kind, brown eyes, smooth milky skin, a perfect chiseled face, but she didn’t look happy.
She looked as if she is in great pain.
“Fairy, why are you so worried?”
“Oh, Andy you’ve given me a rotten tooth.”
“Did I? No, it can’t be, You see I brush regularly, may be some other kid’s.”
“Is it so Andy, then open your mouth and let me have a better look.”
“No, No, it isn’t necessary.!”
“Andy! You don’t brush your teeth and you tell lies as well. You are a horrible boy Andy.”
A thousand voices yelled around him,” You are a horrible boy Andy!”
“Go away. I am NOT giving you any money!”
“Nooooo…..Please …I’m sorry.”
Andy woke up; he felt a movement under his pillow. He shouldn’t have turned, but turn he did. He was so sorry, he wanted to apologize to the tooth fairy. But…who was this? This wasn’t the tooth fairy, this was Mummy?
“Mummy, what are you doing here?”
Mummy went red in face; she had been caught putting money under Andy’s pillow. Now, that she’ll have to tell Andy that there is no tooth fairy, mothers all over the world become tooth fairies to keep alive a particular lady in red, in their youngster’s dreams. Nevertheless, this dream had ended soon, too soon.
However, she was relieved of the responsibility for a few more years, by Andy himself.
“You put back the money, the tooth fairy left for me!” Andy shouted in indignation.
“Well, the tooth fairy told me to keep it with me, till Andy starts brushing his teeth,” how clever of Mummy!
Now, it was Andy’s turn to go red in face. The blow was well aimed.
“Yes, she did tell me that she was angry, for I had given her a rotten tooth,” Andy admitted.
“And she told me, that Andy must see the dentist, and brush his teeth, and be a good boy, and eat vegetables,” added Mummy, well, this was her moment.
“You’re wrong! She didn’t say anything about vegetables!”
“She did to me.”
“You know her?”
“Of course I do, she’s very beautiful isn’t she?”
“Yes…she is. And did you see that red dress she wears?”
“Oh yes! Splendid isn’t it? Just as wonderful as that pearl necklace she wears.”
“There’s no necklace!”
“She must have taken it out then,” Mummy said tucking Andy back.
“Mummy, are you a fairy?”
“No, dear why?”
“…Because you are so beautiful.”
Mummy smiled.
“Goodnight Andy.”
“Goodnight Mummy.”
“Mummy”
“Yes Andy.”
“Tell the tooth fairy that I’ll be a good boy and brush my teeth.”
So, the dream lives on.

Between You and Me

Between You and Me

I sit stranded under the night sky,
Watching as the stars go by,
Wishing I had a few to my name,
With dreams and desires, it’s always the same;
But inept as I am, I only sigh ,
I sit indolent, and move not, nay not I.
You come somehow and sit by me,
And ask ,as you always do , “What do you see?”
“Those desires elusive, far out of my reach”,
You say with a smile, “Look , I don’t preach,
No dream is unattainable, no sky too high,
You have the genius, and I believe in you, your goal is well-nigh.”
These words light my world and mean the most to me,
I briskly brush aside my qualms and stand in repartee,
But as I look around for you, I see that you have gone,
Well, that has been your usual self ,encourage and move on!

The unfinished story

THE RAIN

His eyes scanned the horizon for the signs of clouds, the orange glow of the sunset coloured the barren landscape. The trees long stripped of their leaves stood ashamed on the face of the naked earth. The planted saplings like dying traveller stranded in the desert were drying in their planted coffins. The land was thirsty, so was the parched earth, the deep furrows running like an old man’s wrinkles.
The heat prickled and burnt his skin. His sweated vest turning yellow and his sallow skin under it spoke of age and decay. He felt he had aged since the summers, and the day of his marriage many summers ago. He wetted his dry lips with the tongue that clung to his throat.
A skinny kid played in dirt near his feet. There was nothing in the little boy’s melancholic activities that suggested the play though. The boy looked bored, his eyes were sad and sunken, he was whining, asking his baba with pleading eyes to head back home, back to his mother’s lap. He was four, but looked like and frail enough to pass for a two year old. He was taken sick a week back with dysentery, and had barely recovered. Dayaraam paused to look at him with dispproval and went back to his routine of searching for the clouds.
The Indian farmer’s life is riddled with many problems and monsoons with their entire unpredictability over rule it with dictating cruelty. Raingods had been merciful last year and with the intuition alone handed down the generations crops were planted by the farmers and stranded by the rains.
He felt the bile rise up, his anger squeezed into his chest into a ball and made his heart thump loudly. With a long loud cry through gritted teeth , he threw his arms up to the sun and collapsed on his knees, knowing his life’s savings were wilting before his eyes, were the gods hearing?
The little kid was taken aback, he stopped whinning and looked at his father whose sight scared and enthralled him, and knowing not what to do, he too started crying, with out tears, tears had long dried.
They got back at sun down, the boy’s crying had subsided into sobs and he was being carried by his father. His body was limp and he burnt with fever. Occasionally he shook and trembled in his unknown dreams and kicked weekly.
He laid down the boy on the single khaat outside the house and clanked the latched door impatiently. ‘Bitch’ he spat on the ground, and kicked the door open, she was not home again. ‘Where did she go?’ he made his mind to properly lock her inside like the earlier days, after the boy he had been a bit too easy with the woman. She had to be guarded. She was youthful and pretty with his advancing age she could be given to temptations. He looked at the boy, whose chest rose and fell with quick breathing, he seemed to be made up of bones alone.

(to be continued)

Rusty

A Dog Owner’s Nightmare

‘Oh you poor industrious soul’-exclaimed God, overlooking the tiny frame withered by work and lack of food, of a starved being who upon his death, had reached the pearly gates. ‘Hmmm… let me see, you are destined to be a dog in your next incarnation…let me send you to a place where you can rest in Peace’
KADDABOOM…a flash of lightning struck the sky and lord’s wish was carried. Rusty was born. That could be one of the many possible explanations why Rusty is such a voracious lazy lout. We have long prayed that something would shove in some intelligence in his otherwise thick empty skull, however our prayers have not been answered.
Rusty was chosen from a whelp of sleeping puppies, which lay burying their tiny heads on one another, by a careful process of selective elimination. Well, not exactly, to be fair. He ran up to us in frenzy as if we were a long separated family (and performed such a lovable-rubbing against pants-happy dance that we could not resist adopting him).
As destiny would have it we brought him to his new home. His owners claimed that he was a genuine Labrador, but to our critical stare, he stands somewhere between a Labrador and a sausage dog. Although, who cared about his impressive lineage and dog show champion Mom and Dad then, its now that we repent.
Back home we were met with mother’s arrogant gape –‘Do you promise to take care of him’…’Yes, Yes!!!’ we nodded affirmatively till our necks pained. Over the years, the promise has turned ambiguous; Rusty has been adopted in the care of the lady of the household.
If you look at rusty (why on the earth would you do that!) you will find a food glutton, lean dog who looks as starved as a survivor of the Nazi camp. He’s ginger yellow in colour and has a short stumpy tail (that’s another story!) .He is a PECULIAR dog, and one of his many peculiarities is that he doesn’t bark! Well, I admit that barking upsets the peace of the household and many owners wish that their dogs were dumb. But hey! Come on, Dogs must bark! And rusty doesn’t perhaps he has taken energy conservation too seriously.
Now this is very embarrassing. Visitors react by sniggering and some put on solemn expressions like (‘Oh! That’s reaaally sad’) Some drop their jaws dead! ‘Uh! Ahm…He is very friendly you see…” we try explaining with a shrug, and rusty unaware of his insult wags his tail vigorously. Possessing a perfectly harmless dog has its own disadvantages.
Another oddity is that he’s a bottomless pit. No matter how much he eats, he’ll always transfix his soulful hazel eyes on you for the want of more food. Sometimes we yield to his piteous expressions and sometimes he gets whacked for it.
Rusty has the reputation for being the most untrained dog in the neighborhood, and for good reasons. All our efforts to teach him presentable tricks have grossly failed. When he’s told to fetch something he’ll either chew it to bits himself or drop it down with disgust as if wondering-‘Look either you have it or give it to me, this throwing and fetching makes no sense!’ He’ll sit, stand or run at his own impulse irrespective of how hard you try. Such training sessions end with the trainer all red, face bloated with effort and exhausted while rusty is most likely to be found foolishly scratching himself in a corner.
Sometimes Rusty develops a delusion that he’s Beethoven the great musician. So in the mid of the night when the great maestro presents a sonnet, his owners can only helplessly toss in their beds.
And Rusty also suffers from the IPFO (read I’m preparing for Olympics) syndrome. His hundred miles per hour trot leaves us breathless, rusty on reaching home collapses in his kennel and is immediately fast asleep while his less fortunate owners are left to drag themselves in and spend the rest of the day nursing their aching legs.
Rusty’s rapport with other dogs of the community is also quite narratable, while he and the next door pretty thing Julie share happy barks and long squeals, the right hand neighbour Tuffy and his hysterical barks are less favored. Other dogs on the street are virtually non-existent for Rusty; he scales the road pulling at his chain quite unaware of the interest he arouses in the 4-legged passers-by.
Rusty is by all means a dog owner’s nightmare. He shreds the newspaper into pieces, chooses to stealthily decorate the terrace at night, and does nothing that can be placed near guarding but something in me tells me that We can never exchange this sleepy, lazy, bonny doggy for the most placid, well behaved (and rounder, fuller) dog in the world.

Bombay & Pune

Travelogue

June 13, 2005
Roorkee-Bareilly
Boarded the 4:20 pm train to Bareilly successfully, success attributed to Anjali’s dad who helped me board the train carrying my stone heavy bag. To add to my woe of a horrid external examiner for the electrical practical, heightened by heat and a night out, a very noisy family (mark my words a ‘very’ noisy one) were my travel companions. I haven’t had a morsel of food since morning, only a glass of ice-tea thanks to Adi, so by the time the train reached Bareilly I was almost in tears. I was met at the station by my elder sister, Rachna who appeared so frail as ever that I couldn’t have the heart to ask her to carry my bag. So, there am I , haven’t batted an eyelid since 2 am in the morning, my throat parched for the lack of water, starved and carrying my bag (worth practice for an Olympian weightlifter!). Somehow we made home, and I wanted to howl my heart out! Food awaited me, (I ate it gratefully) but wait there was packing to be done. Slept at 2 am.
Event of the day: Fight with Vasundhara (feels like home), when I insisted that she’s being possessive about her clothes. Well, she has been shopping for a week now, and my packing consisted of ‘carryover’ clothes from Rachna.

June 14, 2005
Bareilly –Lucknow
The afternoon train to Lucknow was a welcome escape from the scolding my mother had been giving out to me in generous measures for not being well equipped with food and water in such a hostile weather. Most of the earlier half of the day was spent in packing and talking to friends. The journey could have been fine, if it was not for the heat. 12:00-4:00, the mid-day sun beat down upon the metal coach. I slept somehow and spent the rest of the day telling Rachna about Zion ’05. We were met at the station by Dadda and reached our Bua’s place where I gratefully laid myself down to sleep a fulfilling diner later.

June 15, 2005
Lucknow- Kanpur
Mission Impossible III: To reinvent me into a better looking, smarter version
Mid Operational Crisis: HHH (Highly Horrible Hair-do) noun. (Def: hair flying off in all directions, ceding the owner the resemblance of one having severed an electric shock). All this despite a shampoo!
Rescue Operation I: To look for a beauty parlor in the scorching sun.
Doesn’t seem such a crisis, does it? But given the fact that the place where we had put up did not boast of a good one the 1 km diameter, it was.
So, before lunch, we went out on foot, braving the wind, sun, dust et all in search of a hair dresser. The search ended in a conspicuous looking house that betrayed no signs of having a talent in hiding. We were escorted by a girl of about my age and an army of neighbourhood kids. Little did I know that my escort would be my saviour (?). I was expecting to be led into a parlor having a few full length mirror, a neatly arranged array of scissors, combs etc. but was taken in by surprise, when I was made to sit in the verandah on a chair, an old dupatta wrapped about me, & my escort proceeded to wet my hair with a MUG ! I got my hair cut with a pair of paper scissors. She didn’t even have holders for hair and used rubber bands as substitutes. Rachna almost rolled off her chair roaring with laughter, & I wanted to sing Mambo No. 5

1, 2,3,4,5
A Chunnu, Munnu by my side
A Chintu, Pintu on my lap,
One snip left and one snap right
A Golu Sholu laughing at me!

The ordeal lasted for about an hour. Look at me! A red dupatta about me, 5-6 fountain pony tails on my head, grumpy expressions too, to match my misfortune. I wanted to wail out loud for Mummy, both for the pain in my hair roots and the humiliation of being laughed at by a 2,4,6,8,10,… year old. Did I have a haircut? I don’t think so, because I couldn’t notice a thing that falls under alteration in my appearance.
Rescue Operation II: Rachna was sympathetic enough to buy me a Brylcreame hair styling gel (phew!)
Lucknow to Kanpur was a smooth ride because of the A.C buses that frequent the route. We were met at the Bus Stop by my Uncle who took us to the J.K temple. The temple made entirely of white marble had majestic looking interiors, and idols in gold and silver. Excuse my musing, but I like it better when our idols have hand painted faces that are more pleasing to the eye and more closer to the heart. Swathed in gold they can be a rich man’s benefactor, not a poor man’s refuge. Anyways, the walls inlaid with marble paintings from the scriptures invoked the curiosity of the passers by. We reached just in time for the aarti. The resonant sounds of the gong revert berated about the shikhara merging with the aarti and the clanging of several large bells lending a divine serenity to the place.
On a lighter note Kanpur certainly has some uniquely named eating points 0512- the eating joint ( for gumbos 0512 is Kanpur’s STD code) , Little Chef, Aagman, Angithi ,Wengers etc. though we didn’t stop at any, but the interiors looked lip-smackingly inviting!
We visited the hotel where uncle has been putting up for a year now. Hotel orient, an ancient edifice opposite Heer Talkies (Vasundhara raved about how wonderful it could have been if we had tickets for the 9-12 show, for Bunty Aur Bubbly was being screened that week), had exteriors in pale cream. Domes and pillars, its narrow corridors with vines and creepers and typical red stone flooring transported you back to the years of the Raj.
Uncle’s room had no resemblance to a bachelor’s den for the utter lack of ‘untidiness’. The wall hangings though impressive had a loudly proclaimed their origin and owner, step forward readers meet my Uncle’s Room mate Debjeet Chakrovarty , a Medical representative with Glaxo he is quite popular with us , thanks to his pharmaceutical company gifts. He looked just as he sounded over the phone young, immaculate, polite and ‘Beongaali’.
A delightful diner could not raise my travel worn spirits and I had an uninterrupted sleep on my Uncle’s bed, in the auto rickshaw, on the station bench, in the waiting room, in the train till 1:20 pm the next afternoon.


June 16, 2005
(Fall) omenon and Old Mac’ Donald
When I awoke the next afternoon, it took some time for me to recollect exactly where I was. After some failed attempts at book reading (a rather boring Enid Blyton mystery that refused to take off) I rolled off to sleep again after lunch on the top berth (with the soft rocking of the train, which is, but natural). At around tea time my fellow passengers requested me to come down lest I develop a nasty backache. I obliged, and on my way down, before I could place my foot firmly on the ladder, I slipped. I lost balance, came under the influence of the phenomenon called gravity and made my way down in a ‘spider (wo) man’ like fashion. Fellow travelers taken aback by the sudden display of gymnastic techniques could not help laughing. Embarrassed, I joined them too. But you’ll have to agree, it is definitely the fastest way down. Having cracked enough jokes in the atmosphere suddenly lightened by my fall, I had dinner and went back to sleep. I was woken up at 2 am and asked to dress up; we were to get off at Kalyan, to wait for another train to Pune. At 4 am, a masala tea later I and Vasundhara were fresh enough for a tête-à-tête. We pondered over the remark Vasundhara had carried over her heart from the train, which seared her heart with boiling fury and pricked like a thorn in flesh that…that…that she looked the eldest of us three (ha ha ha). Well, we weighed ourselves and the cardboard tickets were some consolation to her begrieved soul, Rachna was 42 Kg, I stood at 45.5 Kg and Vasundhara led with 46 Kg! Though we teased her enough about the fortune lines on her card which foresaw a bright matrimonial and romantic alliance (possibly a film star, she sighed. After all we are headed to Bollywood).
We got a train to Shivaji terminal, now there was just a li’l problem, our A C tickets valid up to Pune could get us an entry in the train but no seat. So four of us squeezed together in one berth, with the luggage too! Opposite to us slept an Old Mac’ Donald, one of the grumpiest fellows I’ve ever seen who wanted the passage clear of any luggage except his own. We tried talking in subdued cautious whispers intercepted by the sound of Old MacDonald’s irate coughing.
The hills of Lonavala and Khandala were a pleasant sight, their deep ravines, sketching an unfamiliar but vivacious landscape. As the train chugged along, through the dark tunnels suddenly bursting into light, the trees looking freshly washed, shrinking back like curious children, first watching for the approach of the train, putting in their boughs and branches about the tunnel and then shying away, scared by the colossal blue giant.
The wet landscape bathed in the morning dew, the tranquility of the gentle hum of the train, and the (finally) sleeping Mac’ Donald, peace at last! We’d be in Pune soon.

June 17, 2005
Kachra Tako Naye & INOX
We had an address of the company guest house where we were supposed to put up. I was mightily delighted by the location of the place; it was SURROUNDED by eateries, bakeries, ice-cream shops and trees. A refreshing bath later, I put on my best suit, borrowed my sister’s stone earring and bracelet; all decked up and ready to go. Vasundhara remarked on how stupid I looked with a suit on and so much of oil in my head (it refused stubbornly to go away, even after 3 washes!) We asked an auto rickshaw wallah if Pune offered some sight seeing opportunities. He guided us to Katraj, “some garden of sorts”. With dreams of an Indian equivalent of Amsterdam, we paid the entry fee upon reaching Katraj, mere Rs 3/- per adult. Bold lettering every where proclaimed in Marathi ‘Kachra Tako Naye’ (Do not Litter). Impressed with the park authorities’ remarkable sense of hygiene, we resolutely looked out for a garden if there was any. But Hang On! This was no garden; it was some kind of a rather ill equipped Zoo. All of a sudden my borrowed stone jewellery and matching suit seemed very out of place. “Well, not really, a lot of village crowd with bright umbrellas and fancy shades are giving you company,” observed Vasundhara. Rachna banged her head in an effort to catch a glimpse of a rather bored White Bengal tiger, a photo shy porcupine refused to meet us, a large group of spotted deers, alarmed at our presence and chose to snort at us. So, disgruntled and hungry we came back to the guest house.
By the evening we were determined to make our Pune trip remarkable, so it was decided to submit to the multiplex magic. We booked tickets and reached INOX in time. After looking around for a while I wanted to have an ice cream (out of my own pocket money too!). Delighted by the presence of Baskin n’ Robinson, I ordered a Choc-Vanilla with lots of fresh cream and generous helping of chocolate sauce, Vasundhara as usual followed suite. Only, I wasn’t prepared for the bill, a staggering 180/-.Don’t blame me of parsimony, being my first multiplex experience, I was caught a bit off guard (I still keep the paper napkin, in the fond memory of my pocket money, that ceased to be!)
And now a few lines about the movie too. Parineeta, a Vidhu Vinod Chopra’s creation had to have an excellent sound track, mesmerizing cinematography, a beautiful promising actress and a messed up climax. OK! I understand the garble about sticking to the Sharatchand Classic, but when Saif as Shekhar falls a foot thick wall using his shoe, a flower vase, an iron rod, a dowel and a rather heavy bird bath in quick succession, you pity him for not using the gate instead!
I split my sides with laughter where the director must have expected the audience to cry.

June 18, 2005

Atur Centre, Hong Kong Galli, and Pidla Pidlaya Majja!!

Next morning there was work to do. Rachna had to be dropped of at Hinjwadi, the InfoTech City, registering the presence of all IT bigwigs. IT city is an architect’s delight; imagination let wild, powerful buildings have risen up in the barren landscape awe-inspiring and unique in design. Symbiosis was pretty organized and quick, registration and room allotment took less that half an hour. We made a quick tour of the hostel which had a lift too, unlike ours. But, I daresay our cafeteria is better in look n’ variety. We returned to the guest house for rest in the afternoon.
By evening we went out in search of Atur Centre, somewhere near Pune University where Rachna would board her bus to Symbiosis, the next morning. The search was futile; no one knew of the place and gave us directions leading to dead ends. We kept walking and finally gave it off.
We had heard of Deccan- a fine shopping place it is, so we boarded a local bus to Deccan .What struck me as really indigenous was the system of Rope n’ Bell. Instead of shouting out to the driver, or beating at the bus door, the conductor would give a gentle tug to the rope running around the entire length of the Bus, connected to a bell near the driver.
“One must admire simple things in life”, I confessed to Vasundhara who had caught me admiring the very obvious arrangement, as she called it.
At Deccan we shopped for books, I got some famous titles: The Alchemist, The Monk who sold his Ferrari, King of the Torts, God of Small Things, Complete works of Mark Twain, The Diary of Anne Frank, To kill a mocking bird, Five point someone and Vasundhara got herself Harry Potter and the Order Of Phoenix (She’ll remain a J.K Rowling fan for life!)
Rachna asked a roughish looking girl at the bus stop, where she could have her watch mended and shop for tit-bits. She directed us to Hong-Kong Galli, oh! The place would pass your notice first, but once you’ve entered it eats you up, tempting you by its endless charms and drowning you in its chaos of buying and bargaining. A swarm of tiny shops jostling for space selling jewellery, beaded bohemian stuff, anklets, rings, necklaces, trinkets, bracelets, pendents, armlets, watches, scarves, belts, bags , shoes, chappals, musty old books, latest titles, house décor, cosmetics, perfumes and what not. A street straight out of the Harry potter Movie, ‘Diagon Alley’, Vasundhara reminds me. I would have loved to shop for the whole day there but we had to hurry.
We had a sumptuous diner, Seekh Kebab, Pepper Chicken, Doldrum Sticks, Malai Kofta at Dilli Durbar, or Chutney’s or Grub Corner, I don’t remember which one, but the diner was good, yes! That’s the point, comrades.
Around bedtime, Rachna asked me to pass her a glass of water. Tired, as I was, I paid no heed to Vasundhara’s “Rinse the glass first” warning, added some water to a half filled glass and passed it to Rachna. No sooner had she taken a mouthful, she started running about the room, with that water in her mouth, eager to spit it out! She banged at the bathroom door urgently but it was occupied. Several agonizing minutes later, it dawned on me that I had only diluted Uncle’s Vodka and passed it on!
Pune & the Pune Chic

Now let’s spare a thought about Pune and its people. Pune, the country’s educational capital has an appeasing climate, moderate traffic and well kept ambiances. But the city unlike Hyderabad or Mumbai has not valued its colonial past but chosen to stamp over it, raze it to ground and paint it in gaudy colours, erecting multiplexed over its remnants, taking it as a celebration of its Marathi pride. Pune is strewn with garment stores, multiplexes, food chains and other indulgences of the population boasting of the country’s highest per capita income. The city shows the strains of harboring a rather young population that works on a 12 hr shift in leading BPOs and wants a quite time off for itself , the costlier it is the better, because this population finds saving, boring.
To interest the reader now, I present before you the Pune chic. The Pune chic comes in all sizes and colours, but mostly tall, toned and fair. She may have her hair premed, teased, or coloured but her light ringlets will play all about her, at least around this season of the year. She may be clad in a tube top, or a tank top, even a jacket in June, or she may wear a pretty off shoulder or a sweet summertime kurti & essentially a low rise or quarter pants. Multiplexes and Designer labels offer her clothes straight out of the movie she’s been to. So, the Pune chic struts the street in Rani Mukherjee’s silk and brocade tops out of Bunty Aur Bubbly. Jan path Jholas have travelled a long way too and Bohemian accessories are a big hit off-ramp. And, the look of her…recall Madhuri, Meenakshi, Bhagyashree…’Marathi Ahe’, pronounced cheekbones, light playful and expressive eyes, pearly white teeth and a bewitching smile, that’s the Pune beauty for you. Caution: Don’t stare, a jaundiced bombshell (she had coloured her hair yellow), at INOX gave me “Caught you staring at me & I detest it” look I’ll remember for life.

June 19, 2005
Of Mountains and Burgers

Next morning we packed and left for Mumbai taking Rachna in trail for the yet undiscovered Atur centre could wait for some time for her to board a bus. We dropped Rachna at her hostel least wanting to leave her there. Moist eyed she waved us a goodbye. Let’s hark back here; we all part at some juncture, don’t we? As siblings we are least bothered about it, we fight, as if it were a duty, fling harsh insults at each other. At the core of our hearts we know we are irresistibly fond of each other, but never care to show it, & someday we realize it’s too late. These few days the three of us spent together came as a real play of chance. One of these days Vasundhara will too find a career, then we’ll see less of each other, and the chances of three of us staying together again, are very very marginal. But, despite that we fight, argue, and are forever at each others throat. And the harder the fight, sweeter is the reconciliation and sometimes so prompt that the elders have longed ceased to bother. If only Rachna was not so perfect and Vasundhara not so pampered, I’d have loved them too!
Pune to Mumbai highway was a spectacular journey. The azure sky smiled behind the dark clouds that concealed her, and furious as they were, having travelled with that burden of vapor all about, they let it out. The rain came in gentle sprays and then getting steadier, then it cleared dramatically till only a grey mist hung over the mountain tops.
Through the rain and clouds we saw the intricate work of nature. Tiers on tiers of variegated plant life wrapped the mountains, like an old man’s muffler. Worn down with time these mountains have silently witnessed man at work, determinedly making his way, cutting through the chest of the mountain and running roads through it. At one turn, I thought I saw the face of an old man in the mountain, his wrinkled forehead boldly thrust up in the anticipation of something great, his lips pursed together and gaze drawn inwards in a meditative mood. The vegetation about him made up the locks of his hair and a flowing beard, telling that he had come of age. The austerity inspired me to draw a comparison and I turned to Vasundhara for help. “How do the mountains look to you?” She sighed, looked out of the window and said soberly, “Like a burger, flat topped, with layers of cabbage filling around a juicy centre!” Apparently, the hunger had got to her head.
Chuk chuk chak chak Dadar se Church Gate tak!
Few hours later we were in Mumbai, dumped in Dadar by the taxi, our mission : to find a decent accommodation, after shuttling from one hotel to another, and witnessing the great business of procuring up small suffocating pigeonholes they call A.C rooms and hoodwinking the poor tourist of dear money. We settled for ‘Ishwar Guest house’, which was older and less cramped than the rest. Having dumped our luggage we proceeded to look around Mumbai. “Look how a true Mumbaikar battles it out!” said Chacha. So, we took a local train like a true Mumbaikar, ate what a Mumbaikar eats, went to a Mumbaikar’s favourite beaches, and shopped where a Mumbaikar shops.
The local trains are the cheapest and fastest moving transport in Mumbai. It runs dividing the city into two halves, the East and the West. The mass of humanity is overwhelming; you get pushed out like an insignificant weed in the swarm of people, the crowd bears you in, and it bears you out. Stand at the doorway when your destination is near, that’s all, you’ll be pushed in and duly pushed out! We visited Juhu Beach first; I saw the sea for the first time and rushed out to meet it, waves, tides and all. But it was muddier than I had expected, my picture of the deep blue sea was torn to shreds. Vasundhara didn’t venture beyond ankle deep water, but I was all wet and sandy up to the waist! Quiet an achievement when she was apprehensive lest someone pushes me deeper inside and I drown.
Had pani-puri, Nariyal pani, Bhel puri, Pav Bhaji, Dahi-Katchori, Vada-pav etc. I wanted to have Kalakhatta too, but Chacha scared me with gory details how the ice blocks could come straight from the ‘Morgues’. To think of it!!
To make up good the loss anyway, I decided to have a Mixed-falooda ice cream. The boy at the counter proceeded to add Faluda, Sharbat, milk, ice, ice-cream, and among other things a grey sea weed (which Vasundhara was confirmed must be Sabudana gone rotten!), nevertheless it was tasty.
Next we got off at Marine Lines and went to Chowpatty, it had rained in Mumbai that day and the sea was wild with rage, waves crashing madly against the huge stone erections at the beach.
‘Onward, Onward, move the pilgrim march!’
We got off at Church gate, and held our breath just as we came out in the open; every where around us the colonial past spoke in whispers, Old Mumbai is a living museum of the British India. Be it the ageless stone buildings in sculpted in English Gothic style of architecture, or the stone figure of long forgotten Roman Goddesses, Nationalists, and Noted Civilians at every crossing. Fresh washed palms swayed happily over quite scenery, which looked the same a hundred years ago. In the gathering dark we saw the Gateway of India, the writing on the edifice said,
“Erected to Commerate the visit of her majesty Queen Mary and King George V to India in 1911”.
As the colossal structure bathed in yellow gleam, a half-moon rose behind it completing the regal picture. There are statues of Chattrapati Shivaji and Vivekananda in the vicinity that arouse tourist curiosity. The oldest of Taj group of hotels opposite the Gateway is majestically high and flaunts taste and style. We shopped for books, and had a ‘bhutta’ each, before declaring an end to the day’s wanderings.
June 20, 2005
Some Delightful bargains and Hospitable Rajdhani
We checked out of the guest house at noon. I regretted not having picked up a few juicy ‘jamuns’ for myself from the Guest house premises, a flourishing tree that was. Called up Mitali M’am to wish her a happy Birthday, she had some trouble in identifying me, though. We paid a visit to Swami Narayan temple, to confess, I was startled by the presence of unfamiliar idols in the temple, because here in North we seldom worship the prophets of the sect, however great they may be! But, yeh hai Mumbai meri Jaan! I had read somewhere that Amitabh Bachhan’s fans have erected a temple for him; it was now that struck me as being too bizarre.
We shopped at Church gate for some clothes and like, I bought a patchwork kurti and Vasundhara bought a plain one. Shopping done, we hurriedly made it back for we had our train at 5:42 pm and were keen on not missing it. After lunch we took a taxi to Mumbai Central Station, and waited in possibly the largest waiting hall I claim to have seen, with this ends my south-sojourn of Pune and Mumbai. Mumbai was seen hurriedly but Pune we explored at our leisure, the weather gods were propitious enough too. Altogether, an enjoyable trip but there is no place like home. As I write this, trying to make myself a coffee, with the kit Rajdhani Caterers have provided us, I scald my hand with hot water, so its time Mummy takes care of all this business. No more, a wanderer I wanna be!!Mummaaaaaaaaaaaaaah….

My first poem

This is one I had written in school, class XI perhaps...I still like reading it

When She Speaks …
I am the dew kissed flower of the Autumn morning
I rustle in the gentle breeze of the golden summers
I sing in the ripple of that faraway spring
I am one with the fragrance of the rain wetted earth
I surround you in all forms and I am all around you
but you have denied me and failed my existence
Mother:
I have fed you with the milk of human kindness
I have sheltered you in my motherly embrace
I have laughed with you in your joys and cried in your sorrows
I have been with you through thick and thin
Never letting you down for a moment so grim
But still you have denied me and failed my existence
Sister:
I have played with you since we're kith and kin
Quarreling, fighting and then making up with a grin!
I have protected you against all odds
resolving your apprehensions melting your doubts and comforting you
But still you have denied me and failed my existence
Wife:
I took vows and I made promises, promises I have stuck to,
Catering to your needs and those of the family
Never putting up an opposal
Lending you a shoulder to cry on
And ending your perturbations
But you have still denied me and failed my existence

For how long, how long do I whimper in pain
At the oppression your clan has inflicted on me
For how long should I wait in disdain
for the dawn that will perhaps never break;
A dawn that will bring upon the earth the bliss of equality
A dawn that will renew your long lost concern

For I am the Woman, the token of purity
Of affection, sacrifice, love and persistence
Oh! don't deny me, don't fail my existence.

T (e) ethered to trouble

T (e) ethered to trouble
And then God said let there be Toothaches, root canals and dentists, and speaking thus he gave us ‘teeth’. If you are one of the few fortunate ones who have never been subjected to the wretchedness of a toothache… maybe you can never sympathize with our clan.
It all began innocently enough when one fine morning, I discovered to my horror that I could not feast on ice creams or have cold water because it triggered an intense wave of pain in either side of my jaws. Imagine the agony of this discovery on a 13 yr. old! But bravado rules in our family and so do troubling teeth (mother has 4 missing molars, father’s legendary toothaches endeared him to all the dentists of the town, Uncle hardly smiles for the fear of revealing his discoloured teeth…). So, it was decided to consult the dentist. All the telephone numbers under the name of DENTIST were dialed; friends and family were improvised with the (Herculean) task of finding the best dentist and sheepishly explained the cause (me!) of the turmoil. Finally I found myself being elbowed into a funny little waiting room, and my solicitous family (sniggering cousins included) was asked to wait there while the doctor examined my all-important teeth. The groan and wails that emanated from the brightly-lit room I was to see ahead, provided no comfort whatsoever. Soon, a grumpy looking fellow came out of it, evidently my dentist burned a hole in the poor man’s pocket, several times larger than the one he was required to fill (‘cavities’ in the dentist’s lingo). Fingers crossed, I entered the ‘operation-theater’. He turned out to be a jolly good fellow, my dentist…tut-tutting as he peeped in my mouth which was to make him richer by several thousands, took an X-ray and pondered over it for what seemed centuries to me. The family was called in to hear the doctor’s predicament –‘She has dental carries of course…but a really rare case!’ ’What is it, doc?’ I piped in, how often after all do you hear ‘rare’ being used in your context! It turned out that I had a whole set of permanent teeth missing, the good lord had given me a set of milky teeth and thought them to be enough. Apparently HE had wanted to spare me the trouble of losing and growing them all over again. Well-meaning though HE was, I was somehow forever tethered to trouble.
To cut the long story short, I underwent root canal for five of my teeth. Each of them a horror to last for a lifetime. First, the dentist uses a miniature drill to take out the rot, but not before he has given you a mighty shot of a pain killer in your oral cavity, then follows further painful poking often resulting in nicking a gum or two. Advice from a veteran? , Blissfully close your eyes TIGHT. You would not appreciate it too much if you closely observe the ruthless instruments your dentist uses. Most of them are horribly twisted, crooked and unfailingly do what they are supposed to i.e. inflict pain. Having overcome the initial hurdles, I was to brace myself for incalculable x-rays, which I unashamedly accept, are plainly embarrassing. Without a warning, your seat is thrust upwards and you are there half-sitting, half-lying with that awful sucker dangling from your mouth. You are made to hold a x-ray plate within your mouth and press it hard and wait for the magisterial beep to come. What more, a dental treatment is the most grueling of the patience tests this world of ours has to offer; my own experience of estimating the proportions of the owner of the shoes which had been dutifully left outside to observe hygiene, offers but little entertainment. The worn out magazines – Sarita, Sakhi, Manorama, Kadambini, Vinita and the likes together with topics ranging from ‘Karrai-Kasida’, preparation of ‘Dum Aaloo’ and keeping up a good rapport with ‘Sasuralwalahas’ can be fatally boring.
And the awful, awful sensation of your mouth going numb after hours of puncturing! Your tongue feels heavy, your speech is slurred, you can barely retain fluid in your mouth and it drools out from corners making a piteous picture of you.
No wonder I fled after three root canals only to come back later for two more. My benign doctor took me under his wing without complaint. My present occupation however is to check the strength of the newly put porcelain capping on my teeth, which are of the same color as my teeth and therefore indistinguishable. With five of them enabling me to consume solid food they constitute 22.7% of my total teeth to be precise, and are obviously very dear to me.
They came at a heavy price, these teeth of mine, I was brave enough to bear the root canals, fillings and jabbing but the impression casting (argh!) scared the daylights off me. A pale pink gel is poured in a cast and then is thrust into your upper or lower jaw in the most brutal manner. Believe me it took 18 years of all civility and restrain to decline the irresistible desire of kicking the brute! As if to test my patience, the process was repeated six times!
Phew! I’m glad that all’s over now. Not entirely though, as per my calculations a force of 0.098 N (assuming my tooth weighs 10gm and W=Mg) constantly acts on my upper molars and someday the dental cement may give way to the unyielding force of gravity. And that’s how I am and shall always be ‘Tethered to trouble’.




[ P.S: the author was found to carry another cavity 2 months ago and is currently waiting for another round of dental surgery.]

Missing the maidens

Missing (the) Maidens
They have been an integral part of the household. A friend, a counsel, a housekeeper unsung. They have fostered children, sung them to sleep and played with them. A day without them leaves us haywire. The miraculous ladies who sweep the house like torrent, leaving the dishes sparklingly clean, the wardrobe snuggly arranged, the clothes washed and ironed. No, I’m not talking of mothers they have been put in the hall of fame all too often. I am talking of our beloved ‘kaamwali’; five such ladies whose imprints on my yesteryears are too deep to be brushed away, who are now one with treasured memoirs of childhood.
I have faint memories of Laloo, our first housemaid. I remember her squatting on the kitchen floor, pealing the skin of green mangoes often popping in a slice or two in her big mouth. She would now and then break into a smile, revealing her tobacco colored teeth. Laloo left for inexplicable reasons and made way for Vibha. Vibha was stout dark Bengali having the strangest set of assorted teeth I can claim I had ever seen. Each stood out at an odd angle with the rest, ceding its owner with most innocuous smile. She spoke with thick Bengali assent and knew uncountable crafts. She could weave a make do swing with ropes or prepare mouth-watering Bengali sweetmeats. However, her first priority of visiting the house was to catch a glimpse of her favorite Tele-serials. She was especially fond of the youngest of the bunch, Vasundhara (our little family tyrant), and reduced her goldilocks to a baldpate on one occasion, with a quick razor shave while she was sleeping (she could never have accomplished the feat otherwise, Vasundhara adds with ardor each time this is mentioned).
Followed Chandra, one with honey-milk skin so akin to the hills she hailed from. Her job was to keep a strict vigil on the pesky bunch of us, and keep us out of harm’s way. Quite a child herself she almost hurled Vasundhara into one. It all started innocently enough, Chandra had kept steaming hot water for Vasundhara’s bath and intended to make it lukewarm enough for the cranky 3 year old, she went out of the bathroom to fetch the towel, but Vasundhara quite determined to show Chandra the door, proceeded to pour the water on her back resulting in blisters and a scene dramatic enough to make Chandra embark on a journey wayward home.
Vibha took position again, and there are hints that at some point the three of us were also bribed in to contribute to Jhadoo-Pocha after Vibha spurned the offer explaining that the job was too demanding.
Come Hira, tall, dark and well built ,she thundered the house with her booming voice. It so happened that my elder sister was given a school project to educate atleast five underprivileged children for a month, and who could be a better prey but Mithilesh, Hiras’s eldest daughter 11, who had never seen the face of school. It turned out that A, B, Cs and 1,2,3s held little fascination for Mithilesh, who insisted that she should be given free pushes on the swing for this unjust labour being imposed on her. We had little choice but to comply, it made up for a truly comic scene, Mithilesh at the swing, rolling a lollipop in her mouth treating her surroundings with an air of total disinterest, two haggled looking youngsters behind the swing giving our venerable student the mightiest pushes, and the eldest of the bunch reading out to Mithilesh an interactive story, complete with actions and props. The project had to be abandoned due to an untimely rebellion by Vasundhara and me; we paid later by completing the assignments for the non-existent students in our elder sister’s class.
We had to change housemaids with a change of address, with this the queerest bunch of Mother-Daughter made an entry in our House. We called them Munni Aur Munni Ki Ma. Munni Ki Ma though half blind had a knack for spotting snakes which thrived in the field around our house, each time a snake was spotted it was by her. Having done the household chores they would retire in the lawn and under the winter sun and make up a pretty picture picking out each other’s Lices!!