The Bakhleone Chronicles : The Nagpur Nuptials

Disclaimer: This is an account and a tale entirely inspired from fact and stretched as much as could be allowed in the realm of fun. Very little is fiction. This writer was assigned box seats and an insider kin pass for close in observation.
This is a closed group account and not an open read. Only those associated with the Bakhleone family in any fashion would be able to relate to this and it should not be made compulsory for the author to fork out explanations on what, how or why...he just may not answer and is not legally bound to either.

Circa 1^st Dec 2016

A light wind rose up in a sunny afternoon on the island city that is the commercial capital of this country. It blew all around in tufts and gusts. It sneaked in through an open slit into the apartment and ruffled the pages of a book and the cover of a DVD lying on the table. Godfather was the book and Dilwale Dulhaniya Le Jayenge the cinema disc cover.

The tail end of the same wind found the apartment’s occupant boarding a flight. It went right in through the ears and nose as the doors closed behind him. He carried it with him in his journey. This wind was mischievous and his soul traversed all through New York, Sicily and some yellow flowered sarson da khet in the North while the plane flew on high in the easterly direction.

An hour and some minutes later

The flight taxied down a runway, albeit 45 minutes behind schedule. Firm hands held on to wrinkled mature ones and the pair negotiated steps and slopes. Anybody watching would assume from this picture, that they knew who was supporting whom. Reality though was in complete variance. It was a symbiotic support game. Youth, aided the resolve of maturity to negotiate a distant geography and meet a decided objective while maturity held in check the wayward flights of exuberant youth.

They were kin. It was a happy occasion and a celebratory event that this party had flown over to attend. A Sicilian marriage insisted the wind in the youth. Closing his eyes for a moment before calling up his contact there, he just imagined the set that would await them. Was it a movie? The wind inside answered in the affirmative. He just raised his hands up heavenwards and gave up fighting with the wind.

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THE PRODUCTION SETUP:

Location                                : Village Corleone, Sicily commonly known in these parts as Dhantoli, Nagpur

The Movie                              : The wind inside insisted it should be “Dilwalene dulhaniya pataa to li, aur dono baapon ko mana bhi liya, ab woh usey ghar laa riyaa hai” he subdued the wind saying this was too ridiculously long a title. It should be something short, such that the viewers can recount it easily. Even the acronym was much longer than a DDLJ… it must be something nicer like say “The Winter Wedding” (He had to call it sumthin…MayLaka, LakaMay naa naa … ChinSha???? huhhh yessss it was “ChinSha Express ”, the card had declared it so...that was perfect.

Producer                               : WinWonChin productions

Main Assistant Director          : Don WinOye

Directed By                             : Lady WonDonna

THE CAST & CREW:

• ChinmOye Bakhleone: (The Lead) 

The handsome young lad headed into everything with his chin out; Brave, Heroic, Charming, Impish, Talented yet he could also be a smiling bumblebee… one who bumbled first into a sticky situation, took a quiet yet hard sock on his chin, yelled an “oye” and then fought his way out of the same in his trademark style.

• Shawl a.k.a. TeaWorry: (The Leading Lady)

She was the princess of the Orange Orchards. She could and did squeeze out the best orange juice from a fruit. Chai though remained her single largest concern. She need not have ever been disturbed by this at all, because the world liked what she did brew, but somehow though her worry persisted and refused to go away. Her single point agenda in recent times was to keep ChinmOye warm. Like the charming and visionary vixen she was she had devised a technique. Wrap arms around ChinmOye like a shawl and create cosy warmth. So we call her Shawl a.k.a. TeaWorry, now you know … so please don’t ask again.

• WinOye Bakhleone: (Main Asst. Director)

Don Bakhleone was what he was respectfully addressed and known as. The Don had an intense, quiet and calm manner and then he would make everyone an offer that they could not refuse. The offer would be cool and balanced as was his forte; he was Dhantoli’s book keeper extraordinaire and ruled the Accounting, Banking, Hospitality syndicate of the Bakhleone Empire also called the B'Company.

• WonDonna Bakhleone: (director)

The basketball prima donna of the empire, she was the only one who could manage DonWinOye with panache by keeping her 32 pearls on constant display. They were lethal these teeth, when they flashed out into a smile, it was a killer smile, the world around her turned to putty that she could twist and shape into in any way she wanted. One often could, would and did miss the steel in her eye on most occassions. This lady was tough beneath her very charming shell.

• Pasha Bakhleone:

The younger brother of DonWinOye, had he been born in Arabia he would have been the Pasha, mounting white steeds and riding away into the wind with a smile on his lips and a world to charm into submission. Here he made do with mobikes and cars. The Pasha was a Banker and the Consigliore of this syndicate, he handled the banking vertical. His being charming and loquacious made him but the natural choice to head the reception committee, the role became him.

• AlpsAana Bakhleone :

The Banker Pasha was smitten by her the minute he saw her in the “Kanda-Poha+Tikhat Shev” programme he had attended many moons ago. As a banker, knowing Switzerland was vidhilikhit someday to his fate, he proposed to her in the only manner he could … “Mere saath AlpsAaana pasand karogi?” and how could the light eyed damsel ever have said no to that?

• She Wahh!! Lee:

Pasha and AlpsAana in their spiritual union conceived a wide eyed, smiling tot of a child who was so enamoured by the Bruce that whenever Bruce came on the TV screen and smashed somebody the child would exclaim loudly every time with a gleeful gurgle of a laugh…Wahh!! Lee…since the child was a She, they named her so, what real choice did they have?

• SuchIt Bakhleone:

He was the younger one, the first cousin of WinOye and Pasha…and they were close, all of them. They came from the “Esh” lineage of the Bakhleone branch…the Elder sibling had been Surésh. His philosophy was music or music was his philosophy, now this is a detailing lost in family folklore, while SuchIt’s dad is the venerable ROMésh . This could have been the reasoning behind the IT in SuchIT ( dad has ROM beta has IT ), but he had extended the syndicate into the healthcare vertical. Such was his quiet diligence to every single task assigned to him, It was a given, that show him a target and it would be hit. He naturally became famous as SuchHit.

• SuperrrrNaahhh  Bakhleone:

SuchIt had liked one of the girls he had seen. This one was an educationist. SuchIt had suggested softly to her that could they be friends first and marry later or maybe even try a live-in? To that the girl had so vehemently screamed a “Naahhh” at him in the inside room they were given to talk, that an elder sitting outside remarked, what a Superrrr pitch this girl can reach with her voice. They got hitched and SuperrrrNaahhh was what her title came to be.

• MannaLee & WarOn :

MannaLee was the elder offspring of SuchIt & SuperrrNaahh, one could speculate that the daughter had firmed up that she would branch out into designing structures having seen the way their dwelling rose up, and was an architect in the making. The younger kid was at once a combo of high energy & mild manners who gave an impression that he always needs a war to survive and thrive, he was named WarOn.

• The Council of Elders:
This council was a very well liked, looked upon with a lot of affection & respect and consisted of 4 dinosaurs. They were not Dino’s as much as Dhantoli was not a Jurassic Park, far from it; they were far more mature than the extinct species. They showered the Don, The Pasha, The SuchIt, their superior halves and offspring with equal and more, love, warmth and wisdom; As and when they felt it was necessary or required while most other times they stayed well away.

SueB or Sue Ricotta Bakhleone had her name shortened to SueRico because she didn’t like to be named after a cheese, she wasn't cheesy. She was the most calming, pleasant influence with a smile that radiated warmth on all those who came in her range. ROMesh we met earlier was a man of leisure now and happy to swat flies with accuracy on his ultra wide balcony when he was not out walking.

PromoD his younger brother, after ending his younger day association with Dilli had hunted around for another village where he could build a house and settle down. He had but one condition and was pretty fixed about this. The village name should begin with a D, he had grown to liking his name so much he didn’t want to remove the D in it and change it now. That’s why Dhantoli met all his criteria and PromoD(illi) became PromoD(hantoli) and none was the wiser.

UrrrrMeLawB was the final member of this council and equally pleasant as SueB, she was the better half of ROMeshB and generally managed him pretty well with an unbeatable poise. In their apartment her word was the law.

The Crew
This consisted of extras who fancied themselves as stars. They handled the necessary and important tasks of locomotion and transportation of the guests. They also fed them by keeping the food ready as and when required; they were accomplished Drivers, Maids and Cooks. There was one though who acted above his station, the cook. He fancied himself to be so important in the hierarchy of things that in his own mind he was just as relevant as the priest who would conduct the marriage ceremony. Ask him any question and he would “pun” out an answer that could be read in ways more than one. After delivering his pun he would end it with ab khao or Eat. The family was quite  used to this foible of his and tolerated it generously. They even started calling him “PunnedEat”.

These were the animals that lived in this zoo. A few others lived there too but they were strictly the accessories, the main cast & crew is as above. Since all the occupants from time immemorial were for creation, re-creation, maintenance and nurture of this partially tame and  more wild of a life sanctuary that was their dwelling, they were all totally Pro it. Thus “The Indian Bakhleone Housing Apartments (TIBHA)” complex came to carry the nomenclature: ProTIBHA.

The B’Company:

The B’Company as the Bakhleone family was actually called is a very old and respected enterprise. This enterprise had its roots originally in a distant land, now that is a separate country altogether. This city was called “CarRachi”. The earliest founder was a dude blessed with a full head of hair that he passed on to his blood, but he sported a rather weird hair do; it looked forever rumpled n crushed…he was “BaalCrushedNa Bakhleone”. The venerable old patriarch had created a largeish brood and this stood him in good stead, a blessing in the days to come when the province got eventually partitioned. These were ten in all ,sons and daughters, subsequently who came over to this country. The company was uprooted from “CarRachi”. His progeny spread far and wide across the countrywide expanse and created two main home bases. The Patriarchs eldest & youngest sons made it to the Western Coast of Bombay while their other siblings found the Central Provinces with Nagpur as its epicentre more to their liking. Their sisters were wedded off and while one went about northwards the others were found hovering around the central provinces only. The Western provincial founders made their fortune in Tyres. The ones in the Central provinces made their bases firmer in Textiles, Media, Academics and what have you. The B’Company embraced change willingly and today as the ones in the West focussed on Technology & Healthcare predominantly the ones in the Central Provinces smelled the numbers and branched into Accounting, Book Keeping, Banking and Health Care monitoring.

The Bakhleones had arrived. The family had become a Company and where earlier it was considered crude and not classy to refer oneself by this nomenclature…the times had changed. There was an innate pride now in being affiliated or connected to the B’Company, whether by blood, marriage, friendship or allegiance.  Though Bombay historically has been and still remains the commercial capital of this independent country, it curiously was the Nagpur and Central Province branches that focussed on the commerce end of the educational qualifications of the family. The Central provinces are so accounts oriented that there are arguably more Chartered Accountants per square feet found practicing here than in the Bombay provinces.

Other Famous Bakhleone’s:

The first one to hit the headlines was a singer. He practised an art of crooning that fell into a genre called natyasangeet. He was a specialist who would get so carried away with his own performance that whenever his audience asked for a “once more”… he always agreed…but the gent had no sense of proportion. He went on and on and on till the same listeners had to scream “BussKar Bua”…this is how BussKarBua Bakhleone became a celebrity. The second one was this writer’s mater. She was a sly fox, at once charming and steely determined. She ruled with a chuckle and a laugh. The media discovered her skill at being unerringly accurate at pocketing every single wooden piece with an ivory striker on a boric powder smoothened wood board. This game had a curious name, CarROM. Was it because it originated in CarRachi from where the Bakhleones were launched on to the world? No one knows this for a fact. She loved wearing Nike shoes under her sari and was fast at everything she did like even ping pong. She was thus christened WhooSha Bakhleone. Nike then stole her name for branding their footwear but she forgave them. She was the first one to make a foray into & opening the eyes of the B’Çompany towards Banking as a vertical. She engaged with the biggest this country could muster up in Banks. ArabiAai… no… no… no… it had nothing to do with the Middle East, but if we reflect now as to why Pasha may have chosen this vertical, there could be some sub-conscious reasoning’s hidden here deeply, and can be determined if probed by a shrink.

Present Day - Now

He pulled out a phone and radio waves crackled on the hallowed soil of the central provinces. A cavalcade had come to receive them and out from it stepped the dashing Pasha. Two sets of youth and maturity were enveloped by and swept away into the local hospitality. The youth smiled as he now understood the cavalcade of cars. The B’Company was from CarRachi, this instinctive affinity for wheels was a given.

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The Plot: “The Nagpur Nuptials” ( ChinSha Express unfortunately could not be used as there were copyright issues for this chronicler with the involved parties )

Cut to the opening frame:

Once upon a time in Dhantoli ( quite a few months ago )

Don WinOye looked out of his balcony staring at the leaves, laid wet by a burst of a seasonal rain shower. His son’s words rang quite clearly in his head. A droplet of water trickled down the spine of the jamun leaf held his gaze, as it finally hung on to the very edge of the leaf for a million moments…and then dropped on to the space below, lost out from his sight.

His concentration broke off and he looked back into his tea reflectively.

“Baba”his son had said tremulously but with a lot of hope in his voice, last evening. “I am going to make these two, staring at his own hands…four”.
He remembered his own reply. “We are accountants, Chartered too, not creative ones my son…our numbers have to balance every single time. That’s why we are engaged by our clients. You are not a trainee and an intern anymore. One doesn’t and shouldn’t make 2 look like 4 in any table. Had this been any other company it could have maybe been OK…but we are the B’Company and we have a reputation to protect.”
On this his son had frantically cut through…”No…no ...Baba, you misunderstood me. You know my friend Shawl…she and I are like …engaged.
Still in his business track thought he had asked “Who have you been engaged by? This is nice, the fact that you have gone and procured a new client“
ChinmOye his son had then said “Baba…you are not listening. Look here… I have asked Shawl to be my wife…is this understood now…I proposed and she accepted..OK…Got It…Clear ???... Fair ???”

He remembered his instant reaction “Does your mother know about this?” and When ChinmOye nodded it caused him an irritation way beyond anything he could comprehend and he remembered his rather curt reply “Fair ??? You ask me is this Fair ??? No it’s not Fair…its FOWL.

ChinmOye had laughed derisively and remarked “Baba, Foul the opposite of Fair is spelt as F..O..U..L  not F..O..W..L”

To which Don WinOye replied in his trademark style “Chimyaaaa…now you shall be teaching me spellings is it ? I thought you would get it. I said fowl because I meant fowl…you eat chicken , she is a pure vegetarian how will that ever ever work?” To which his son had got back stating…Didn’t you and Mum make it work…and he had walked out of the room.

He looked into his tea and his mind like minds have a propensity to in tense moments, took a flight to events nearly  3 decades ago. This was when his friends sister and her pearly teeth had caught his eye. She adroitly hooped the ball’s through the basket with ease and he was already reduced to being a basket case in her presence. While his thoughts were always quite clear and he wanted to make her his own, his tongue came out with unintelligible sounds when she was around. After a few tense, anticipatory days, weeks and months of needlessly hanging around her house he had plucked his courage and asked her brother to relay his ardour and fondness to her. Cupid was smiling on him then and she had managed to make sense of the sounds he uttered in her presence which he was sure was conversation. Life had been a song after her acceptance. 

(cut to a song in flashback mode)

Song 1 : DonWinOye & the Lady WonDonna      ( <- click on this to hear the song in the situation)

Yes it had worked out for him and while it was a difficult decision on many a plane, namely his son had found a girl for his own and not given him an opportunity to search one for him, he brushed this one away …since he was guilty of the same act with his father. She was a vegetarian and he had high hopes that someday his daughter-in-law would cook superb non-veg in the house…he brushed this thought away too, it was his son who was marrying her, that’s his business, he can go without Chicken…or order in. And then he came to the real reason for his irritation. His wife had known about this much before he did…why…how…hmmm and reluctantly realised that she always knew a lot many more things happening around them far earlier than he did. Did he really have a choice in this matter? He examined this question before him quite dispassionately. Shawl …was a very nice girl; haughty and sharp perhaps, but extremely well-mannered and very well qualified. She seemed to possess the quiet temperament absolutely essential to keep his energetic son in his proper place and yes she was extremely pretty too.  

Chinmyyaaaaaa he called out and his son came in looking quite sulkily at him, yet with a question in his eyes. Arrange our meeting with Shawl’s parents. His son had impulsively hugged him and that made him stifle a smile..Ok..Ok..enough…go now..congratulations.

Cut to Scene 2

ChinmOye was mighty kicked…as he looked around. It had all worked out after all.
Those weeks of waiting and worrying and hoping and then the sudden distance that had sprung up in their association with her shifting away on some silly work assignment, had shaken him then. She had given him a vague reason that he never understood her. He had never quite figured out the contrary conflicting completely addled messages, that girls give out as signals to the boys, that they actually are interested in. It was a harrowing time for him that had pushed him towards the stage of decision making.
(Cut to a song situation)

Pensive song as imagined by ChinmOye     ( <- click on this to hear the song in the situation)

This was the only time when the movie plays a serious reflective mood song. All along their journey they had gambolled around like Rishi Kapoor and Neetu Singh…nahh... he thought that is too old a pair, while our pair is much younger, our songs, the ones that we sang were really more like this

( Cut to additional song in the same flashback)

ChinmOye & Shawl going at it with a gusto  ( <- click on this to hear the song in the situation)

Scene 3 and the present:

Shawl a.k.a. Teaworry and WonDonna had met and were quietly chuckling about the two men in their lives who thought they ruled. The male of the species is so naïve, both had such knowing smiles as they discussed the redecoration of ChinmOyes room that would soon become Shawl & ChinmOyes room and how should the wardrobe be partitioned. 

WonDonna too had to yet completely get the hang of the mother in laws role but she was glad that she would finally have a civilized companion in her house who was a female at that. Females are inherently so clean, hygienic and well groomed and their interests are so detailed and varied. She was itching to go out shopping with someone of her own who could understand the truest pleasure in minimum three hour shopping binges, one who could understand the art behind the Chikan embroidery. Unlike the males, for whom Chikan was Chicken and she never could make them understand...infact the males never understood or got it that "rani colour" was "rani colour" and not some shade of "pink", why are the bed-sheets to be tucked in just like so and properly too at that or why after taking a bath it is actually necessary to put the wet, soiled clothes into the laundry basket or bucket and not tossed about here, there and anywhere. There were women in the dwelling but not someone who she could notionally own and boss around, there was a niece somewhere in the dwelling who did understand some of this but now she would have real help to discipline the boys properly too. WonDonna was a happy lady. 

She had decided that she would be more a mommy than a saasu mummy simply because she did not know how to be a Saasu mummy.

cut to Song situation 
Reflective song in the Shawl & WonDonna space.  ( <- click on this to hear the song in the situation)

Climax, the end and the new beginning :

Then Don WinOye, ChinmOye and WonDonna they practiced hard, enlisted the support of all in the B’Company, invited all their relatives made arrangements for their stay and hospitality, booked the Hall that belonged to a Rani (yes, it was her kothi) and not a Raja for the final nuptials, similar stuff was happening quite frantically at Shawl’s place too.

They also arranged for round tabled spiritual communions on the terrace with friends who were closer than kin and the visiting kin, in a regal and labelled manner both red and black. Age brought in some decorum to this august gathering but each one around the table was singing the signature song of such milieus. It also marked this occassion splendidly.

cut to song : Romance, fun and zing ( <- click on this to hear the song in the situation)

The Mehendi, the Sangeet and the Haladi climaxed onto a marriage and reception... and before they knew it…
ChinmOye and Shawl a.k.a.Bakhleone were saying a deeply respectful Hi to the Lady Mahalsa at Goa.

And thus they began their journey to live happily ever after.

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Circa 5^th Dec 2016

The youth and his entourage of living fossils made their way back to the same airport and like earlier they were fated to be on flights that never took off on time and so they whiled away some of their time at the airport, boarded and returned to the Maximum City many hours after midnight and predictably. The City was still awake, awaiting them. 

Vinayaka's RTI

RTI : ‘The Right to Information Act 2005 (RTI) is an Act of the Parliament of India "to provide for setting out the practical regime of right to information for citizens." The Act applies to all States and Union Territories of India. Under the provisions of the Act, any citizen may request information from a "public authority" (a body of Government or "instrumentality of State") which is required to reply expeditiously or within thirty days.

A quiet night…not quite…but almost there

It had been a long day and everyone was asleep. Well, not everyone… Ramesh Natekar, the patriarch of the house could not sleep. The hands of the clock glowed and stood between 25 & 30 minutes past 1am. The room was dark and only the electric light shaped in the form of an oil lamp glowed. This was my quiet space in the day. The routine had not varied in all of the fifty six years I had been a visitor to the house of the Natekars ; a Maharshtrian Karade Bramhin family. During this tenure as an honorary guest in their house, I had seen them grow in numbers, become older, wrinkled and fatter too. A few faces that I did see early on in the years gone by were missing and replaced by a brood of new ones. The snoring though remained the same. It was a family legacy and even the youngest carried it forward proudly and loudly. This sound bounced upon my large ears quite clearly almost like the moonlight that streaked in through the window panes.

I sensed a movement and a tiny form came closer, one hand rubbing his eyes and the other holding up his slipping pajamas at the side. He looked at me with limpid eyes full of clear intelligence and curiosity that only a child has. It was Abhimanyu the youngest male member of the family all of four years. His eyes had questions and I understood all of them. In the dark I could sense Ramesh Natekar’s eyes also on the kid though he did not move. His eyes moved on from the boy to me and he smiled. The kid’s eyes held questions. His eyes challenged me “Who exactly are you, why do you come to our house and what do you do otherwise?” I sensing Ramesh Natekar’s eyes on me looked at him and he was looking at me with an amused expression that said “Try answering him; now you shall know what we go through the rest of the year.”  None of us had spoken but there was a clear communication channel that had been established. Each one of us understood the other without uttering a sound. It was divine…I laughed at my own choice of expression. I looked at Ramesh Natekar and conveyed that I will answer the kid’s questions for sure but for you I have some some questions to ask. Will you hear me out? He slowly closed his lids once and opened them back thus sealing our agreement.

Little Abhimanyu eagerly looked at me now and I communicated to him “OK”. He took both of his hands behind his ears mimicking an action that said I am all ears and then his eyes fell on my belly and he smiled with such a glee that it reached out to me in waves.

Some answers & a few questions too:

I gazed down at my tummy and realized that it too had grown in size. The colour of my clothing had also changed for the brighter however the cut and fashion was exactly as it was from fifty six years back. I was a size three now in lieu of the size one I had been when I first was welcomed here. My name? Well… I have several but am addressed commonly as Ganesha, Ganpati , Vinayaka, Vignaharata etc. Fondly though everyone calls me Bappa and greet me with their hands folded and say “Morya”.

The fourth day of the Hindu month of Bhadrapada is when I am welcomed to all houses and am a resident for a period that varies between 1.5 days to 11 days. Your Grandfather has been getting me here on behalf of the entire Natekar family and I honor his invitation for a 1.5 day stay.

In this period I have to divide my time and soul amongst the millions of people who are my devotees. Well, if you don’t understand devotees it’s like fans or followers. Just suppose that had I been on the current craze called face book, you may have been on my friends list. But I would have a problem here because they limit the friends list to just 5000 & in the last count ( 32 seconds ago ) I had many ( 1.4 billion, 3 million , 553 thousand and 72 followers) more followers than this or any current platform could possibly handle.

Statistics aside, am blessed with the love, affection, fear and hope of a large section of the human race. Someone wise had said that “with great power comes great responsibility”. It is my job to ensure that this race retains its faith in the creative good and bonds itself for the better. But that’s the larger perspective in my reflection. Your home then becomes my seasonal home like a time share at a holiday resort. I have permanent non-seasonal homes too (temples as you mortals call them). Some of them (Eight are very highly popular and had there been a ranking system like you guys have for the leading hotels of the world; Ashta Vinayaka) have become tourist attractions by themselves. People visit them, some more than others thinking that those are my favorite abodes. There I am a host unlike here when I am the guest. You can’t even imagine how painful that can be; the pain of having to receive so many people & being polite all the time. While the guests only come with more expectation than faith. Some even come to proposition a trade for my blessings. Good Health, Prosperity top the list of asks. There is no rest when I am home so basically the eleven days that I get to go into people’s home to enjoy their hospitality is a lot easier as the nights are peaceful, even if the night reverberates with gentle and not so gentle snores like now.

I am a god of plenty and people have dissected me even into pseudo management principles thereby almost making me into a corporate icon. Stating that large ears means listen more, sharp eyes mean focus, long nose for smelling out things….give me a break. What would you do when you are saddled with an elephant head? Do people even realize my difficulty? It is said that my mom Parvati made me and I didn’t have an elephant head then. I had a fight with my dad. My mother was changing and kept me outside to guard the room. It was then my Dad walked over and wanted to enter. I didn’t allow it and he got angry with me. On his high handedness even I got angry and I told him I was not allowed to let him enter. We fought and “I literally lost my head”, it was then my dad realized what he had done and in a fit of haste asked his assistants to go and fetch the first head of the animal who walked across their path. An elephant walked across and they grafted his head on me. Imagine Abhimanyu I was as small as you and they put an elephants head on my body. The weight of head made the belly come out. Now I eat like an elephant too. But do they give me any variety in food…no. Somebody somewhere decided that I loved Modak’s ( steamed momo’s with sweet grated coconut filling ) and nothing else. Would you like it? Abhimanyu shook his head from left to right quite vehemently.

How would you feel when you see pangats (batches) after pangats of people sit before you and eat a rich variety of food served on a banana leaf and all that you are given are 21 modaks. So what if I am a god is so much sugar good for me?

Then when I feel like asking for something else in the morning a Brahmin comes and with express speed hurls Sanskrit mantras at me. Why doesn’t anyone speak to me in Marathi or English or their mother tongues ? I would actually prefer that. Sanskrit is a dead language now. The host who sits for the puja knows even lesser of the mantras than the priest who is muttering them with one eye on the donation thali and the other on his watch. He is rushing through skipping a line here and there because he has to go to 12 different houses today. Now by the time I am hungry all I am done is drowned under flowers and people come and donate more grass twigs, leaves and flowers, look this also attracts flies. Then there is the aarti or the prayer where all the family gathers to loudly yell it in my ears. For god’s sake…yes I too have senior gods in the pantheon, I can invoke their names too, and why do you yell your prayers so loudly is my query? You have invited me home and I am here, not far away in the heavens. Should you be soft it would be good on my ears. They are anyway so big that they can pick up the sounds from far far away. Mrs. Natekar senior now look at her, she is in so much of a hurry to wrap up this session that she is stifling the others. It’s the same with everything she does, your granny, Abhimanyu. "Get it over with quickly"Natekar should have been her name, hey what is the big hurry? Do it softly, do it slowly let everyone participate. Just because she is loudest and senior most in age, the other members don’t vocally object but quite frankly the rest of the family does want to do things differently now.

And you Ramesh saheb, do you think I should file a RTI for some of the questions that have baffled even me. Ramesh Patankar’s eyes sparkled with curiosity and hence I elaborated. I am not getting into the age old philosophical argument of did god make man or man make god. Now that we are here, the two of us the old argument can be set aside, my queries are

• You guys wear some zany clothes, why don’t you guys have me in something comfortable for a change. Is there a law against it, a god wanting a change of clothes?
• If you guys like me so much and have me over why do you dance with abandon when you see me off? Is that truly polite?
• When did the practice of dancing drunk before my procession commence? and why to truly rambunctious songs. Some Munni somewhere became badnaam, why does it have to be my see off song? 
• Why do you dunk me and drown me in water, look what you have done to the environment. Is there any reason specific that I have to be dunked, where is it written in the Veda’s, imagine you are invited by your daughter to stay with her for 11 days and at the end of the day she takes you into the nearest pond and drowns you, would you like it? No, that’s not the way you treat guests that you invite home or should you? Is this legal and allowable when it is done to gods?
• As a god why I am not expected to exhibit morality? Should anybody and anyone who prays before me be the recipient of my blessings? Can't I refuse when corrupt politicians and criminals also invoke me before beginning their nefarious schemes?
• Finally I need to eat differently and need a more balanced diet (prasad)…only modaks is a strict no no…check whether one of these new age devotees of mine like a Ms. Rujuta Divekar can design a new diet Prasad for me, then by the time i am back the next year I wouldn’t have to be seen as obese & sedentary all the time. 

So totally engrossed in passionately recounting my grouse when a characteristic snore interrupted my monologue…I looked up only to see that old Ramesh Natekar had finally fallen asleep.  None of my queries had reached him. Maybe next year I shall file one before coming here, I will have Riddhi & Siddhi ( my consorts) remind me in the month of Shravan itself….let me enjoy the undisturbed solitude for now 

Hairy Task

His fingers were never still as I watched him. They seemed to be tapping out a beat that only he was privy to. Quite suddenly they broke off their tap and moved to his nape and traced a leisurely path , from the lobe of the left ear; one of the rare un follicled part on his face,  to the front and dove into the thick fuzz. He just seemed to be in love with it, this fuzz. As he ruffled it something darted in and out and I held my breath. Yikes... he did have creatures living in there...overtly he seemed clean and spruced up but was my first observation incorrect? There… he had plucked it out in a pinch. Having peered at it from behind round steel rimmed spectacles I sensed a smile underneath the bush as he gently laid it down. The tiny black ant ran away and the breath I was holding in apprehension of a nastier, ickier creature was let out in relief. The fingers ruffled the facial fuzz some more and crumbs fell out. Jeez…Toasted brown bread for breakfast was my assessment, that answered the foraging ants presence. 

Now before you ask me where was I and didn’t I have anything better to do than watch strangers do their finger tricks? Let me first appraise you on the state of my mind and what brought it to this state. I was nervous and in such a state my eyes do wander. I was at A-1 hair cutting saloon waiting my turn, This hairy jungle on two legs had just stepped in a few minutes after me. For me this was a bi-monthly trimming ritual. 

A tradition started by my old man, He was big on them...traditions. This one though had its roots in a fight, not a nasty venomous one but a healthy friendly yet serious one, with my best pal Rohan. Not only were we heaving and grunting but shouting and screaming as well. Yes, we may have been a tad bit too loud and If my memory serves me right the window panes did rattle with the decibel level generated. We were blissfully engaged in the endeavor of attempting to yank out the others tresses from their roots. With a jerk we were pulled apart, one adult held us apiece. I looked up to see the red face of dad. Each of us triumphantly had managed a few locks of the other in our fists, and waved it in the others face. It was this gesture that began the tradition come to think of it. Both of our fathers arrived at the same solution instantly. We were dragged to the A-1 Hair Cutting Saloon. Rohan was handed over to Vijay anna & yours truly to Velu anna the grumpiest of the scissor hands there.

Velu and Vijay anna were brothers who stayed a few dwellings away from us. Theirs was the first barber shop in our quaint little hamlet of this mega polis. This literally made them pillars of our community with the lordly title of town barbers. It was this neighborly loyalty that had our fathers conspire to get both their first born offspring’s to A-1. In the chair something white billowed in front of my face and suddenly felt I was in a strait jacket, so tightly had Velu anna wrapped a sheet around me. Rohan’s expression told me he fared no better. The manner in which Velu anna handled my neck and head , had this been the USA I may have sued him for dangerous assault and even won. With geography  not on my side i had all the joints in my neck stress tested to their absolute limit. It was yanked this way and that with the gleaming steel scissors clicking dangerously close. This scared the turd out of my rear end. Within no time at all I started to feel the cold air on my head. Sneaking a look saw that Rohan was in the same boat. We were a hairs breadth from being totally scalped, excuse the hairy pun... But on a gentler note would still maintain that our state of affairs was akin to that of a chicken...one that had been savagely plucked.

Rohan and I didn’t have any options as the paters looked on sternly. Under their glare the V anna siblings went about their task methodically and with a thorough diligence. Nastily i thought that their skills were wasted on the civilians, surely they should be serving our men in Uniform on some remote border of this large country. why did they have to choose just this very locality?


Have you ever noticed that knowledge has a funny tendency to flash with startling clarity at weird moments? While trussed up in Velu annas chair I could trace the evolution of the word "barbarian". How rich was I for this brilliant piece of self realization that it brought the beginnings of a smile . But before it could spread and settle down was brutally wiped away by Velu Anna who held up a mirror to my face and slowly took it all round. One completely strange bozo sporting a pin cushion that masqueraded as a hair cut stared back from it. I almost jeered at him for a minute that it took to figure out who it was. I screamed. The mirror reflected back my tonsils twitching jerkily as I went about it. What a fabulous color of pink were they. One slap from my dad ended both my vocal performance and  tonsular appreciation. Now do you see, why this place gives me the jitters.A visit to a salon of which A-1 is just a symbolic reference, is associated with punishment and an abysmal performance output.


All I can say is that this is my last but one favorite, must visit destination on this planet. Which is the winner you ask, the top dog position...well...that has to be the dentist. It was a tough call between these two. This place edges out the dentist primarily because it keeps better magazines.

Neksshhhht… came the shout and the beard looked at me with beseeching eyes and I realized that it was not restlessness that caused his fingers to wander but rank abject fear. I was not the only one, there had to be a story somewhere with him too...his fuzz had suddenly attained a Freudian significance going by my own experience. But lets leave his story for some other day...today its my turn. Steeling myself I got up and occupied  the indicated chair hoping to get it over with and fast, my bi-monthly hairy task.  

Power of the Press

The train glided onto the platform and the bundles dropped. Experienced hands picked them and carried them to the sidewalk. More hands joined in as the packing strips were cracked and the quiet but urgent job of assembling a newspaper began. Like clockwork the route copies were handed over and the copies on the stand arranged. There were many brands of newspapers in this busy metropolis but only a few moved with regular frequency. Fresh gleaming copies, warm from the presses cut a handsome picture on the news vendor’s display.

One such paper was the “Time of the Day”. It was a magnificent fourth in the leader board of circulation numbers. Its editor Nari Batliwala was a graduate of the school of thought that a newspaper Informs, Educates, Engages & Interacts with the readers. It plays the role of a catalyst towards both the general and specific benefit of the society. Keeping in line with this thought, today’s edition carried amongst other things three noteworthy articles.

First was by the current Commissioner of Police D.Sivanandan, an erudite man. He talked about the need to increase the Police–Public dialogue and sharing goodwill as a means to the well being of the Police force and Society.

The second was by a leading social worker who protested the division of the metropolis and the services it offered along linguistic lines. It was directed at a suburban shakha pramukh who had announced a protest march against a popular new movie release later in the day today.

The third was on the growing sense of awareness in the Parent Teachers association on physical punishment meted out to children in schools. This was an in-vogue topic. The same parents had been whacked by their teachers in their time and no one had protested. In fact their parents may have actually been happy at that. This grumble was being addressed by the new generation of parents.

There was also a health and beauty column where a young lady reader had asked the secret behind having a sparkling rosy complexion and a bounce in her step. The periodical against Nari’s best wishes also had an Agony Aunt’s column where a young man had expressed a desire to know the means to reach out to and win his lady love.

Like all newspapers that for their sustenance need advertising TOTD had its own classifieds and personal columns. An entreaty published in today’s sheet said “Dear Rajeev, Am truly sorry for being so stubborn. I shall wait for you near the Flora Fountain today at 10.15am. If you have forgiven me please be there. Leaving today at noon.K”

_____________******___________________

A young man with a strained expression passed by the vendors stall at 8.45 am and picked up a copy. On today’s agenda was the search for a new job. Bunching the newspaper with his handkerchief he thrust it into the open flap of a shoulder slung bag he carried and boarded the train to VT. It was a testy ride in the crowded compartment that barely allowed him space to stand, let alone read the newspaper. He left it for the luncheon time. At 9.45 am from VT he had started walking to his office at Colaba. In the surge of the human stream walking with him, someone jostled him and the newspaper got knocked off. He had reached the Prince of Wales Museum when he felt the first beads of sweat and missed his handkerchief. Cursing he realized that it was the monogrammed one and traced his steps back. He had reached the Flora fountain again when he saw it fallen on the road bunched up in the newspaper. As he drew the kerchief out of the paper, it was the hour, his eyes made contact with those of a beautiful teary eyed girl who rushed into his arms. Rajeev you have come!! In this meeting all anger and thoughts of changing a job flew off from his mind as a light wind blew her hair in to his face.

The same wind carried his newspaper separating the pages. They flew and plastered themselves on the window of a yellow and black cab. It swerved & banged into a fire hydrant and caused a cut above the eye to the young driver. Constable Tanaji Kadam, the local beat cop, hastily gathered the flying pages as he sensed that they were a mortal danger and could cause more accidents. He rushed this way and that and finally put all of the newspaper together, only to find Rajeev and his companion had walked away. His adventurous trot across the street was observed by Abdul the local chaiwala. Abdul companionably called out to him, Tanu bhaiyya have a cutting ( half a glass ) before you go on your round. The friendly words and someone having made a note of his being on duty made the cop happy. He had the cup of chai and suitably refreshed by a general member of the public he cheered up considerably. With a jaunty step he walked on ahead to find a kid in a white shirt and blue shorts walk by. Playfully he extended the newspaper to him and said boy this shall be your education for today. Having done his good deed Tanaji ambled along on his beat.

In the meantime the taxi driver was carried into a nearby municipal hospital. His wound being administered by the young nurse whose attention he had struggled to acquire. His heart had thudded from the first time he had seen her six weeks ago. He had even penned his problem to the agony aunt. Today she was not only close to him but was administering to his cut gently and when he had asked her out for a chai she had not refused.

Where is the newspaper? These stories can progress quite happily all on their own; let us remain with the news sheet for today.

The young boy whose name was Deepak carried the paper home. He had to collect his bag and be off to school in the noon. His sister Deepali a very plain looking girl came in and saw the newspaper. A long while back she had written to the doctor who answered queries on health and wellbeing. She had given up hopes on seeing her query turn up by now. Very carefully she withdrew the glossy supplement from it. It was a plain sheet as the ad copy line was at the bottom of the page. She carefully cut it and used the rest to line up her threadbare muslin skirt from the inside. So skillfully she pasted it, that the same skirt developed a flare and pleats which made its fall smarter. As she went out and saw the envious stare of Devyani, the girl who stayed next door. In that envious look of Devyani her day was truly made. Had Deepali been able to see herself, she could have seen a girl with a face flushed with pride and a bounce in her step from the crackle of her skirt. It made her look almost pretty. She even attracted a wolf whistle.

Damu Angre was the father of Deepak and Deepali and he came in and frowned at the newspaper sitting on the stool. He didn’t even pause to wonder who belonged to it. From his rear pocket he fished out a switchblade and noticing nobody about carefully cut out the crossword and the sudoku puzzle. Then with a pen and paper he retired into the bedroom. Damu was the shakha pramukh (council leader of a social union) of his area and had arranged a protest against a movie ( the real cause of the protest is immaterial) today at 12.30 noon, the time of the first showing. His fellow protestors had gathered but the final three words had eluded Damu. Such was he engrossed and engaged. The followers waited a while and muttering to themselves melted away without a protest.

By the time Deepak came home the paper was nowhere to be seen. Not being the brightest academic talent his teacher had promised to rap his bottom hard with a ruler if his homework was not finished. Sitting down after these sessions was always an uncomfortable business. Deepak had not finished his homework. The teacher had proceeded to smack his bottom but the shorts Deepak wore were extra fuller today. His gait was waddling but there was an impish smile on his face. By the time he reached home his waddle had pushed one of the many pages of the Times of the Day to come out from the leg of his shorts at the back.

___________*****______________________

Such is the aura of the fourth pillar of democracy. Nari Batliwala had unwittingly achieved the mission of his paper serving as the catalyst for the well being of the society. Is it a wonder then when it is said that newspapers are important and the press has a power that reaches out and touches people?

The Fine Art of the Non-Speak

I dropped Joanne at the Salon. She turned & very sweetly asked ‘Raghu, I hope you are not thinking of leaving me to get back all by myself, are you? The voice was dulcet but the eyes flashed a fire & "Yes" as an answer did not look like a wise option though the thought had crossed my mind. Guts-ball with a woman is not my idea of heroism. I merely shook my head and said "Never". This simple act fetched me a hug and a warm kiss, leading enough to promise more at an hour distant. My bachelor pad was where it could culminate. Hope too is a four letter word. The positive fact being that it was a "Ladies Only" salon and hence I was not expected to wait up inside. Whew, thank god for small mercies. Now to while away the time I started looking around. On the opposite side of the kerb we stood on was a street side bookstore and café and I made my way towards it. Browsing and Coffee sounded the perfect remedy for a long wait. I picked up a few magazines, ordered an espresso and settled in the bucket chair. My mind slowly drifted to the first time when I had gone shopping with Jo.

Let me bring you guys up to date. Joanne is my girlfriend of six months now and our lives are totally amorously entangled. It is a knotty situation but getting tied up and being unraveled is such a pleasure. Now this sojourn had begun on an academic platform at a conference in Goa. One thing led to another and what the grey cells started, the heart carried on and the hormones furthered the cause. It was Bio-Chemistry in its purest form and my faith in science strengthened. Now, we are together. But please let no one fool you that being the squire of a stunning and smart lady is a cakewalk. One periodically avails of rewarding moments that stretch long into the hours of the flying owls, however the days can be something else altogether. Here one has to develop common interests and learn to enjoy similar activities together like the most violent and avid of all feminine sports “SHOPPING”. Woe betides the man who displays impatience or too much mojo driven decisiveness. That may work splendidly in a boardroom but for a showroom these traits most certainly are a liability. One needs different skills here where one must communicate without actually committing; this is what I call "The Fine Art of the Non-Speak".

I recalled the instance of my first round as an inexperienced partner accompanying the lady on a Sari purchase expedition. This was for a formal occasion that she had to attend. Patience was then never my strongest point and when we entered the showroom it left me completely dazzled. The range and the depth of materials and types had me running scared. For someone whose apparel shopping was limited to Formal (solids, stripes, 42) or Informal (T-shirts with or without collar), Trousers (32’) or Denims (I only wear the conventional Levis blue) the whole exercise never lasts more than ten minutes. Eight of whom is taken up by the travel time between the rack and the billing counter. I doubled this factor and naively applied it with generous consideration to the lady sari shopper as I went along with Joanne.

Now let me describe Joanne to you. She is of the Christian faith ("And what do they know of Sari’s?" you could say. But she is also a Tamil and you can also say "what do they not know of Saris?"). She worked in the front office of a Luxury Hotel. Extremely presentable, this profession also made her a trained professional in the art of the drape; both as a buyer and as one who is adorning it. The first time my eyes fell on her packaged thus, I thought it was Christmas & Santa had come in early that year; So yummy did she look. I had felt like opening up my gift right then and there under the tree. What tree? Can’t you follow symbolisms? Ok that tall potted plant creating a muddy stain on the marble flooring in the reception corner, if you have to insist. Now what did you infer from the above rambling? One that Jo knew her sari, how to wear it well and look delicious in it. But the experienced readers would have read between the lines. They would have seen that this made the whole experience more complicated. In hunting analogy this made Jo a hungry predator; the kind who patiently sorts out the small game from the big game. Casing the prey and lying in wait endlessly to swoop in only when all specifications of taste are met or when competition lurks on the horizon. And I knew none of this then as I innocently went with her.

The showroom operatives welcomed madam and completely overlooked me. Then they offered us wide sofa chairs to sit, no one at the trouser counter has ever done this to me ever. Then they asked Jo what would she prefer "Teee, Kaaapi or Koaldreenks?" Jo disdainfully asked for two cold drinks. Boy this was looking good and I had not even shopped here. Isn’t this wonderful, thought I to walk into a new Showroom every evening and drinking cold drinks, sample the conditioned air make a show of buying a Sari and walking out. Then I noticed the burly guards at the corner and banished the idea far away. A cold drink was too steep a risk to get the feel of those paddle hands. Men can be very naïve and I was clearly out of my depth.

I sat in the chair sipping on the cold drink in the cool atmosphere. As the salesman displaying white teeth constantly (why did he have to smile so much? I felt like giving him one punch such that just the front incisor is knocked out) asked her the preference of a fabric. Silk said Jo and he exclaimed with undisguised enthusiasm “Now Madam NOSE eggjactlee what she wants”. It certainly made me feel good that it would mean, my girl Jo, who knows what she wants will make her choice quicker. But was I on the mark? Clearer need never mean quicker as i would realize. Now which Silk madam? Calcutta, Pochampalli, Orissa, Paithani, Kanjeevaram, Art Silk, and he rattled off a dozen more types that had me blown. Jo vaguely said show me some first and let me decide. I looked at the watch and noticed 30 minutes had elapsed and we had not even begun.

He turned to an assistant and whispered something to him, he jumped up on the shelf and picked some ten odd saris and handed them over. Our man with an elaborate care and precision opened up one. Plain Pochampally, Jo vigorously shook her head at the opened sample. He opened another and again Jo shakes her head then a third and a fourth and a fifth, I like them all. But Jo is a tough customer and the salesman a veteran. The only amateur at the show is yours truly. "Show me something bright and good not such cheap useless stuff” and I was aghast at Jo. But the salesman was not offended and called his assistant and screamed "take this lot away and don’t you understand, Madam has a very good taste, bring on the better weaves." The boy repeated his exercise at another shelf and was back with another lot...this time a Kanjeevaram traditional weave…Single border...And a brilliant flash happened before my eyes as the rich fabric opened out. Jo looked at it for a long time, fingered it and said the weave is thin. Double weave madam look at some more and he showed another ..."Double weave, double border traditional design…blouse material is in the weave". Jo seemed to have liked it and I heaved a sigh.

One hour had passed and the sofa chair was not feeling so comfortable any more. My posterior had identified where exactly the spring in the sofa cushion had bent. Realizing that I was fidgeting for the first time in an hour Jo looked at me and asked, "What do you think?" I picked up two and said "These are wonderful and you would look dishy in either of them. Select fast and let’s go, do I give you a coin to make the choice?" My smile froze in its place when I saw her expression. It was so cold that I felt like I was swimming in the tundra region in just my knickers. "You want me to buy this…this?"…she hissed. The salesman seeing a fight swept them all away and screamed at his assistant, "Ennada Swami…At once get the new lot which has come in yesterday. Not unpacked? Go unpack it for madam. She is distinctly unhappy with what you are showing her." Jo turned to the Sari's & I smiled gratefully at him; his eyes behind a fierce expression looked kindly. He had saved me from a calamity. "Don’t worry madam, best quality saris are coming now, even Saar will like it. Till then try this "patto" and see yourself in the mirror there." Jo draped one and he smiled again. Now I didn’t resent his smile anymore and reversed my decision on his front incisor.

"Thambi, get one more drink for 'Saar' and another cold orange drink materialized before me. After three hours Jo had shortlisted seven saris. All this while I had been looking around and saw a few fellows like me faking interest in the sari selection activity. With two drinks under my belt in the cold ambience, I felt it coming. Desperately tried controlling it a bit but then when the back teeth started floating had no choice and whispered in Jo's ear,"Please ask the man to show me the way to the washroom”. She giggled as I was shown the way. While washing my hands, happened to look up in the mirror above the basin, two red rimmed eyes stared back at me. They mocked me openly "Aren’t you the same dope who has spent 3 hours shopping for a sari that has not been selected yet?" I nodded and meekly retired back to my sofa chair. I had planned on dozing off and taking a cat nap but Jo had other ideas. With each Sari shortlisted, she would drape it around her loosely, pose before the mirror , then turn back and enquire "What do u think?" Time had me wiser. I too would squint and look it up completely. Then slowly move the head from right to left and look at her studiously, saying nothing, poker faced. This was what she expected and I had to do it seven times before she shortlisted three and discarded the rest. "Raghu tell me honestly do I look better in the bottle green silk with the gold border, the grey blue with the maroon border or the black with gold?"

This time words were expected but I yet refrained. This proved to be a master stroke. She managed to discard the blue and we were down to two. Do I give her the coin again; an impish impulse almost spoilt it all. But she now decides to drape them both together and did a few more twirls and again cocked an eyebrow at me. This time I got up, stood behind her & looked in the mirror. She was anxiously looking back at me. Boy, I was getting good at this. Slowly I fingered the black around her shoulder and felt her skin through the sari & then did the same to the green. The green and flaming gold was a terrific combination and I liked it but perversely told her that the black can be worn by her on many occasions than just this one function. It had a universal appeal. "Raghu, she said with an exasperated exclamation, "will you feel really bad if I take the green?" Indifferently I turned around. The salesman was now out of the picture and I found myself squarely in it. "Tell me na, please" and I turned back and critically looked at her and asked her to wear only the green. She happily did it and as I nodded, she squealed and told the man, "pack this up fast and do check that there are no loose threads or holes."

I looked at the clock; it was precisely 3 hours and 52 minutes since we had entered. As we walked out after having paid up at the counter she seemed happy. But I was totally drained. The strain was too much. Taking my arm she said "Raghu initially I thought you were very frivolous & I was mad at you, but then because you were here, we could take a decision on that green and so very quickly at that, no? You must accompany me every time I go shopping for a sari. It will save so much time". All I could do was wink as this shifted her attention away from my Adams apple that bobbed furiously; the only visible indication that I had completely choked.

The second cup of coffee was almost finished when I felt a tap on my shoulder that brought me back into the present. There she was before me now, styled, shampooed & looking very lovely. When she lifted one eyebrow in an enquiry; the art of the non-speak now came very naturally. Elaborately lifting the butter cookie accompanying the espresso, with one significant pointed look at Jo, chomped on it with eyes shut and said “Delicious”.