A chance meeting with an unknown Indian

(Photograph courtesy Souveek Bhattacharjee)

Would you have ever thought of comparing Kumbhakaran, Ravana’s brother, with the late Walter Hudson, the fourth heaviest person in world (according to Wikipedia)? I would never have of thought of it, even as impolitic as it would be. But then, this guy did just that!

We wanted to take the bus, but decided to polish off our ice creams first. I hadn’t taken the bus in while and we had an hour to get back, so I didn’t mind. Around five buses, two ice creams and 20 minutes later, we rued letting the first two buses go, because not a single #73 came thereafter.

It was 12.45 on a hot March afternoon and I simply HAD to get to work by 1, so the moment I spied an auto, I ran towards it with reckless abandon—hailing and shouting on the way—much to the amusement of my colleague and the others at the bus stop.

The auto stopped. The driver said he would take us as long as we paid the exact change. I wasn’t going to argue. Hopping into the auto­­­­ I urged him to go as fast as he could. At the first roundabout, as we crossed Jantar Mantar Road the driver wondered aloud as to why someone would name a place Jantar Mantar…possibly something to do with black magic or voodoo? Asha ma’am, my colleague, and I exchanged a smile.

We tried explaining to the man that the name had actually come from Jantar or Yantra, the Hindi word for “machinery” and Mantar is usually another word for “formula”, but in this 18^th century monument by Sawai Jai Singh, the first maharaja of Rajasthan, it means “calculation”. So, in effect, the actual meaning of the term was polar opposite to his interpretation. When we told him that Jantar Mantar was actually a collection of different kinds of mammoth-sized sundials and an astronomical observatory of sorts, he rapidly nodded his head in understanding, saying he once had a teacher in Chhapra, Bihar, who had made two dhoop ghadis (sundials) from scratch. The teacher was apparently an award-winning geography teacher at a local school in Chhapra. The auto driver recalled how the class would spend hours telling the time and figuring out how the dhoop ghadi worked.

The conversation then led to local ways of telling time and other “calculations” in the absence of fancy machinery. He mentioned how his aunts and grandmother used to use the shadow of the hut’s roof to accurately determine the time of the day and I was reminded of the immensely hilarious scene in Satyajit Ray’s Goopi Gayne Bagha Bayne (1969), when Goopi wanted to sing a morning raga but was unsure of the time, so the village head held forth his walking stick saying that till its shadow doesn’t fall on the stone lying on the road, it was still morning. This got us talking about Indian mythology and how Vidur’s running commentary of the Kurukshetra War to Dhritrashtra is similar to the modern-day satellite system (yes, all those who sat through my hour-long presentation in college, stop rolling your eyes!); similarities between the characters in our epics and those who exist now. The gentleman mentioned reading about Walter Hudson in school, who was “the heaviest man” in the world at the time, and how that’s similar to the giant rakshasas in epics, like Ravana’s brother Kumbhakaran. “People who eat and drink several quintals of food are quite like those rakshasas, hai na?” he asked us. Hmmm… a fair assessment. The driver went on about his teacher and what all he learnt for a few more minutes.

Curious about how he knew and remembered all this, we asked him about his schooling. I half expected him to say he’d studied all the way through to college, but couldn’t find work. Turned out, he had just studied till class 10. After a little more prodding, he continued with his life story. He said that after giving his 10^th Board exams, his family wanted to him to get married. Unable to argue with the elders, he reluctantly gave in, on one condition, that his future wife be allowed to study. The family grudgingly agreed, he told us, adding, they hadn’t expected him to follow through with his decision.

With a wife to support, the driver started working in the field. All the while making sure she got ample money and time for her studies. When the income proved insufficient and his wife had finished school, they packed their bags and came to Delhi. He started work as a labourer; saved as much as he could, and added to his earlier savings, he was soon able to buy an autorikshaw. Meanwhile, staying true to his resolve to educate his wife, he made sure she finished her BA Pass degree, followed by a master’s in history and finally a B.Ed. She is now teaching history at a Kendriya Vidyalaya in north Delhi. He has a 20-something son who is doing his master’s in English from Delhi University and is working as a translator for various publications. He had done his bachelor’s from one of the top DU colleges {I forget which, I’m sorry :-(}. His daughter is currently in her second year of Chemisty (Hons.) at the Banaras Hindu University.

As he drove into Kasturba Gandhi Marg, our destination, he quoted, or at least what I remember he quoted, Gandhi: “As human beings, our greatness lies not so much in being able to remake the world… as in being able to remake ourselves.” He couldn’t have chosen a more appropriate quote, adding: My kids and wife now tell me to rest at home and let them take over the finances, but I just tell them that as long as I am able, I want to work and fend for myself. I am not hurting anyone, I don’t cheat anyone by driving an auto. I will work till I can. What’s the use of sitting and doing nothing? That’s the root of all that’s wrong.

As we stared (and gaped) admiringly at the auto zoom ahead, it struck us both: “We should have at least asked his name”.

The little red box

The warm, sunny porch

The little jute mora

The butter-smattered roti and dal-mut

And a line-up of chhoras

The school gong would ring

The wrought-iron gates would open

The second door with the jaali manoeuvre

The CFL “laser gun” bulb above, like a modern-day totem

The recliner with the extended table

Newspapers everywhere

The garden outside

Each plant brought up with tender, love and care

The jewellery box on the shelf

The bejewelled comb, slipping through silken hair

The tinkling earrings, the clinking bangles

All come to life, even out of thin air

The starched cotton sari, so unbelievably soft to touch

The voice full of warmth, love and laughter bubbling over

Head on your lap—home so close to home

Especially with the stern, disapproving looks when a line was crossed over

Schoolbag in one corner, Pishi on the diwan

Moshai reading the paper, seated on a cane chair

Go straight, turn right, into the bedroom and on the table

Lies my little red cardboard box—always kept there

The photos in it? I have my own version now

The eyes close often, a drop of tear with a small smile appears

Because in my special little red box, my heart

You know you’ll always be there.

Reba Vidyarthi (2 February 1928-10 February 2011)

The Indian BRO Code!

So, you really thought that the Bro Code was the brainchild of the evil genius that is Barney Stinson?

Hah!

If you haven’t been zipping (read slowly and carefully driving) across those narrow, but awesomely laid out Indian border roads, then not only have you been missing out on some breathtaking scenery, but you’ve also haven’t had the extreme pleasure of being privy to the uber-funny, completely authentic, Indian BRO Code!

BRO, my dear sisters and their cousins (why cousins? you ask. Well that’s because the Bro Code says: If a girl falls into the following criteria, she is off limits forever until the end of time: A. Was an ex-girlfriend; B. Your friend specifically told you he wanted her; C. Is your buddy’s sister (However, if it’s your buddy’s cousin, well she’s up for grabs, and you’re welcome to rub it in his face for years to come) and I choose option C! Hee hee), in the Indian context, is short for Border Roads Organization. These are the people who, along with other organizations such as Himank in Ladakh and Setuk in the North East, build roads where mere mortals otherwise fear to tread.

And altitude obviously does a lot of good for the funny bone, because other than the usual tragi-comedy that our bureaucracy makes us live through every day, the Indian BROs rely on their, and our, sense of humour to save lives (oh yes, the whole “Speed thrills but kills” type of one-liners are soooo blah!) So, if you’re driving through the towering Himalayas, the chilling breeze blowing through your hair, nature’s finest offering laid out all around you, it’s very easy to miss out on those boring, good-for-you signages that tell you to temper your speed or keep your eyes on the road. But when that sexy, curvy, sensuous road tells you to be gentle... you sit up and notice! After all, which man can be impervious to a plea that says: I AM CURVACEOUS, PLEASE BE GENTLE. Or the sensuous whisper of that yellow slab of stone from across the road softly and sans serif-ly saying: BE SOFT ON MY CURVES. And if that didn’t have enough oomph, maybe you’d comply to this request: Be gentle on my curves. You prefer some soft music to set the mood? Big BRO knows—CURVES ARE BLIND AND SHARP, DRIVE YOUR VEHICLE LIKE PLAYING THE HARP. Doesn’t that get your...ummm....mind(?)...singing? :-P And for a long-lasting performance, it’s always good to: On my curves, check your nerves.

Heck, sometimes it takes a while to get on the same bed...oops... page as them, after all, if someone tells you: DARLING, I LIKE YOU, BUT NOT SO FAST, you’re hardly ever likely to believe ‘em! But then, Peep peep, don’t sleep, is pretty sound advice no matter where you are or who you’re with, correct? But it’s not all about the men. Female drivers might appreciate signs such as: Clean and tall, liked by all and Himank—Mighty One, Eighty One.

And not to worry, if you think this code from the Land of the Kamasutra is only about raunchiness, you couldn’t be more wrong. These BROs have a spiritual angle to things as well—Love thy neighbour, but not while driving—is a fair representative of the Ten Commandments methinks, and even the fallen angel’s territory has proper representation too: Drive like hell, and you will be there. Won’t Yamraj love such publicity!

Modern-day problems don’t escape the notice of these brilliant brothers of mine. So, with divorce rates going up with every passing day, the Indian BRO Code does its bit to add to the numbers with this piece of advice: If married, divorce speed. But if you’re a family man, the next line is definitely for you: Alert driving on the road, fetches you tea at home.

In fact, the BROs know my clinomaniac generation really well. Why else would they say: If you sleep, your family will weep? My parents wholly sympathized with this particular road sign! Sigh! I, on the other hand, was rather kicked by their version of a haiku:

A spill,

a slip,

a hospital trip.

Pretty neat, don’t ya think? (This next one goes: TRAFFIC JAM. YELLOW TAPE. PARENT CRYING. Profound!)

So, well, here I was the year before last, all kicked and excited about this “new” discovery, when I was speaking to this guy about my experiences in Ladakh, and how “I had found” all these funny road signs and was thinking of compiling them and doing a story on them. The guy I was speaking to, as he whipped out his card to inform me, was Ajay Jain of Kunzum.com! For those who don’t know him, click on the link, and for those who do, well, you now know why the encounter made it to No. 13 of my list of “Million-dollar moments of my life”.

But then, I wanted to write about it all the same, and I did... two years later! And that’s what you kind souls have been reading. But that’s not enough...you need to see these beauts for yourself. So, Don’t be a gama, in the land of lamas, and get out there and appreciate the funnier aspects of those beautiful, long drives. I’ll see you on the road. It’s going to be legen...wait for it...dary!

For the moment, here are some more gems to keep you entertained:

-- Don’t gossip, let him drive. (yes, yes, they’re a tad bit sexist too! Hmph!)

-- I am sharp as a knife. It’s a cute life.

-- Life is short, don’t make it shorter.

-- Speed is like a knife, it cuts through life.

-- Daydreaming is good, but not while driving.

-- Ladakh gives a lot of pleasure, but only if enjoyed at leisure.

-- Gadi chalaane ka showk farmaaiiye, shoke nahin.

-- Know AIDS, no AIDS.

-- Lower your gear, curve is near.

-- This is a highway, not a runway.

-- Mountains are a lot of pleasure, but only if you drive at leisure.

-- After whisky, driving is risky.

-- Be Mr Late, not Late Mr.

-- Drink and drive, you won’t survive.

-- Alert today, alive tomorrow.

-- Drive on horse power, not rum power.

And last, but not the least: BRO: We can make roads anywhere but the sky.

I hear ya Brother!!!

The bridesmaid’s diaries — Part I

This is the first of what will probably end up as a series. If I get ambitious, I might even take out an Indian version of “The Bridesmaid’s Hand-book”. Well, how this started was when I realized that I was (and continue to be) on my third bride in less than a year, with two to go next year, and my memory refuses to come to my help any time I have to go on countless shopping trips or spa bookings, or discussions on venues, themes, cards and guest lists.

Now, don’t get me wrong… I love doing all that, but I’ve always wondered it would be easier if someone had chronicled this, so that I’d have some pointers to start off with. There are several resources for the Western bride, but what of my beautiful Indian ones? So, after Bride No. 3 refused to do this on her blog, I figured I’ll give it a go instead.

First up, it’s important to remember that there might be several kinds of brides, but some things will never-ever change!

There’s the one that’s done so much research herself that one would wonder why anyone would have to go looking anywhere. But then, she wouldn’t be a bride if life were that simple right? Nope! Even if she had a 10kg scrapbook with all the information, you’d still have to go all around town looking at 15 versions of everything before a decision is made.

YOUR JOB: You should have the numbers and names of almost all kinds of shops on speed dial, or at least the places where you guys liked something. Why? you ask. So that every time you need to check back on things, you can just call and don’t have to keep going back to the stores! Another thing with this kind of a bride, more often than not the final decision is a split second one, so

when she’s found “the one” of any item or clothing and 5 minutes later she wants to check back on her “list”, just insist on going with her gut feeling, right then and there. Otherwise, you’ll never reach any decision till you’re running way behind schedule.

The second kind of bride will say that she doesn’t really care about what’s going on. The main thing is that she’s getting married to the one she loves and that’s all she needs. HAH!! Get this one on the first shopping spree for her bridal wear and you won’t find a more “exacting” bride. And the trouble with this one is… because she hasn’t actually researched the latest trends, most of her answers would be on the lines of: “Erm, I don’t know, but something’s missing (Einstein, where art thou?). Just show me all the styles and then I’ll decide (Oh good lord!). Why can’t I wear even a little black? It looks so classy! (Just what one needs…a tradition-vs-modernity fight) This is just not it!!!! (And here I thought you didn’t really care.) etc., etc., etc.”

YOUR JOB: Patience! If this is what your friend is like, then you anticipated this, right? Plus, I hope you’re reading this before your friend gets married, because then you’d know that as soon as the wedding bells were being hung (as yes, they ain’t ringing yet), YOU will have to start doing your homework.

Get on top of what all that your bride will need, wayyyyyyyy before she comes to the realization herself. Alternatively, you can just take her on the first shopping spree really soon, and hammer some sense/paranoia into her.

I now come to bride type No.3. The one that will “technically” be everyone’s dream come true. She is supposed to be the p

erfect balance between what she wants, what her parents/family wants and what her in-laws want. Now this is where the job of the bridesmaid gets super tricky.

YOUR JOB: YOU are supposed to play the perfect go-between. Yes, yes, I can just feel many of slooooowwwlllyyyy nodding your head in agreement. For those who’re going “huh?”, well, face it… you’re the one who knows your friend right? And would she really be okay with

whatever her family and in-laws picked out? NO! Would she say anything to them because saying no or even subtly resisting their selection would mean hurting their feelings? NO! So, what is one to do? Go against all odds, and play the devil, as your friend secretly (and I mean VERY secretly…so much so that she doesn’t-know-it-then-herself secretly) counts her blessings for having you there. You take over the shopping sprees… start butting into conversations

with your “own” (read the bride-to-be’s) inputs and suggestions. Brave the disapproving stares of the elders. This is possibly the most exhausting kind of bridesmaid to be. All the best!

And then there’s bride 4. This is possibly the best kind of bride. She takes things as they come. She makes quick decisions. She knows that she has to buy whatever her mom-in-law wants to buy for her, but goes back to the same shops with her mom, you or just by herself to buy the things she really wanted. She’s used to shopping by herself and will make a pact with you not to go to browse around more than four stores for the same item. AND she multitasks.

YOUR JOB: The only thing that you need to do with such a bride is to make your notes, and be there for references and second opinions. That leaves you all the time to concentrate on all the fun stuff and surprises that you’ve always been planning for your best friend and just be there for her. She will have her phases of frustration, paranoia, confusion, doubt, and loads and loads of excitement… just be there, and you’ll both do good.

I suppose these are the only kinds of brides that I can think of, have encountered or heard about. If there are more, I’d be glad to hear about them. :-)

She’s got the look

Have you ever walked down the street or a market, encountered a complete stranger, shared a single look of complete comprehension, smiled and walked ahead…probably never thinking of that person again?

I have. And even though life goes on the same way after that, it feels good to have shared that one look which said: “I see you”. (I honestly typed this before the dialogue from Avatar came to mind!!! :-) )

It happened today when I was crossing my local market and this woman was getting mehendi done on her hands. I loooove mehendi, so I was trying to a peek at the design, when she looked up. It was just a fraction of a second, but we connected. I looked into her eyes, both of us smiled in acknowledgment of our mutual love for henna. We were happy for her. I didn’t know her, but I was happy for her… the fact that she was getting mehendi done… the fact that even though she had soooo much of work to do while taking care of her house and family, and the only time she got free to get this done was in the middle of the afternoon, under the relentless sun… we were both happy that she was getting something that she likes.

I walked away. I didn’t look back. I am not wondering what kind of a life she has. I am just happy that she’s happy to be getting henna on her hands. And I know she knew it too.

The reason I felt compelled to write about this is because just after coming home, I read the news of a bunch of guys stoning a harmless truck driver to death just because he could/would not give them a pass on the road at night. That’s also a connection between two strangers. One of them isn’t alive to think about what happened between them… the others, well, one can only hope that they regret what they did. (It’s sad how I’m becoming numb to such atrocities. I sigh, comment how uncivilized civilizations are becoming, and soon forget. That’s unfair!)

We make so many connections in our lifetime. Some stay, some are just as brief as a single look. But it’s bizarre how even the briefest of connections can turn out to be so life altering. Or even that sense of being acknowledged or being “seen” by some random stranger gives your spirits a renewed boost…a reassurance that you’re not alone.

On a lighter note, there can be many such shared looks between strangers that are not as serious too. The look guys exchange when one of them has scored with a hot chick at a party. Then there’s the exasperated look women share if some guy is acting obnoxiously (and all of them may be strangers!). The assessing look between a guy and girl (this leads to a whole different story, but we’re not getting into that right now ;-))

Hmmm… can’t think of any more, but I’m sure there are several in the list. Anyone wants to give me a hand? The comments section on the blog is all yours…. :-) )

(And yes, I know the last line is a plug for you readers to comment… so save me the teasing :-P)

Mean Mom

(I'm not one for putting forwards or mass mails on my blog. But this was forwarded to me by my editor and it really moved me. So figured I wanted to keep it for posterity and share it too. Hope you relate to it as much as I have.)

(Something's finally original! My photo :-))

Someday when my children are old enough to understand the logic that
motivates a parent,
I will tell them, as my Mean Mom told me:

I loved you enough to ask where you were going, with whom, and what time
you would be home.

I loved you enough to be silent and let you discover that your new best
friend was a creep.

I loved you enough to stand over you for two hours while you cleaned your
room, a job that should have taken 15 minutes.

I loved you enough to let you see anger, disappointment, and tears in my
eyes. Children must learn that their parents aren't perfect and have their
own human weaknesses.

I loved you enough to let you assume the responsibility for your actions
even when the penalties were so harsh they almost broke my heart.

But most of all, I loved you enough to say NO when I knew you would hate
me for it.

Those were the most difficult battles of all.

I'm glad I won them, because in the end you won, too. And someday when
your children are old enough to understand the logic that motivates
parents, you will tell them.

Was your Mom mean?

I know mine was. We had the meanest mother in the whole world! While other
kids ate candy for breakfast, we had to have cereal, eggs, and toast.

When others had a Pepsi and a Twinkie for lunch, we had to eat sandwiches.

When all the other kids were allowed to stay out late, we had a 1 o'clock
curfew.

Mother insisted on knowing where we were at all times. You'd think we were
convicts in a prison!
She had to know who our friends were and what we were doing with them.
She insisted that if we said we would be gone for an hour, we would be
gone for an hour or less.
We were ashamed to admit it, but she had the nerve to ask us to take a bus
when all the other kids had chauffeur driven cars.
She always insisted that we tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing
but the truth. By the time we were teenagers, she could read our minds and
had eyes in the back of her head. Life was really tough!

Mother wouldn't let our friends just honk the horn when they drove up.
They had to come up to the door so she could meet them.

Because of our mother we missed out on lots of things other kids
experienced. None of us have ever been caught shoplifting, vandalizing
other's property or ever arrested for any crime. It was all her fault.

Now that we have left home, we are all educated, honest adults. We are
doing our best to be mean parents just like Mom was.
I think that is what's wrong with the world today. It just doesn't have
enough mean moms!

(PS -- I think this applies to fathers too... no? :-))

Neem Tree

By Banaphool (Translated by Dipannita Datta; published by Rupa & Co., 2004)

Some people are skinning the bark and boiling them.

Some are tearing off the leaves and crushing them on the grindstone.

Some are frying them in heated oil.

They will apply it to scabies, itches, and chilblain.

It is an unfailing medicine for skin diseases.

Many eat the tender leaves too.

Just raw…

Or fried with brinjal.

It is very beneficial for the liver.

Many people split the young stems and chew them…

Keeps teeth healthy.

The ayurved experts are effusive in its praise.

The wise people are pleased if it grows near the house.

They say the neem-breeze is good for health; let it stand—don’t chop it off.

They don’t cut it, but don’t nurse it either.

Garbage accumulates around.

Some fence it with whetstone—there’s another kind of rubbish.

One day a new type of person arrives.

He keeps on gazing at the neem tree fascinated. He does not flay the bark, nor does he tear the leaves, or break the stems, he keeps on staring at the neem tree with amazement.

He utters on a sudden inspiration: Wah! How beautiful the leaves are… What a beauty!

How lovely are the flower bunches too… They are like a shower of stars that have come down from the blue sky to the green below. Wah!

He gazes at it for sometime and leaves.

Not an expert in ayurved, he is simply a poet.

The neem tree wishes to go away with that man. But cannot. The roots have gone far and deep into the soil. It is forced to stand there, in the backyard of the house amidst heaps of rubbish.

Exactly like the gentle, hard-working daughter-in-law of that house.

This is the first story from the book Neem Tree, a compilation of short stories by Bengali writer Banaphool (Balaichand Mukhopadhyay).

The first thing that struck me in Banaphool’s stories is the sheer simplicity of writing. Sure, the version I read was superbly translated by Dipannita Datta, so my reaction to the stories has as much to do with Datta’s interpretation of Banaphool’s words and thoughts, as it does with the original author’s plot.

Being a “trained journalist”, one is taught the value of brevity. And so, even if I can’t do it myself, I can certainly appreciate it. Telling the entire story is as few words as possible is something Banaphool has mastered. His sentences are short, crisp, complete. There’s no getting lost in a muddle of words trying to pour the entire dictionary into 10-odd pages. Rather one gets lost appreciating the profundity of his word play. His genre would not only be short stories, but “ultra short” stories.

According to Datta, who had once collated his 550-story oeuvre, 125 of Banaphool’s story could be printed on one single sheet!

Banaphool’s propensity for the ironical twists in our lives is definitely O. Henry-esq. He does dabble in the painting contrast pictures every now and then, but his real skill lies in playing with the deeper contrasts in life. Two brothers questioning their religion/faith for someone they love; a couple in bed dreaming about their respective romances before they got married; the n number of possibilities for Sulekha crying on a full-moon night—his repertoire is endless.

Intrinsically based in the hinterlands of Bengal, the writer talks about all kinds of human relationships that’s built of out love, respect and even hatred, with that characteristic twist at the end of it all. But at the same time, his plots are timeless, and his connections global.

My reading of the Neem Tree bouquet (as Datta introduces the book) was reminiscent of my experience with an Asimov omnibus, where after 11 stories I knew exactly where the storyline was headed. Eventually I gave the book up out of sheer boredom. But Neem Tree was more pleasant. Not only could I not keep the book down, even if the “twist” in the tale was staring me in the face from the fourth para onwards, what mattered to me was the journey to the end. And that is where Banaphool excels—stringing those sentences in such a tantalizing way that you’re addicted to them. You know the destination, but you want to get there with Banaphool—not before him, not after him.

Thank you Rajeshwari for introducing me to such a wonderful writer.

And for those who have taken the time to read this post, do get yourself a copy. It's certainly worth it.