Showing posts with label Here comes the sun. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Here comes the sun. Show all posts

Wednesday, May 4, 2011

The 80s Mumbai Indian


He stared at the mirror and greeted himself to a lazy Sunday. Unshaven in his Rupa vest, he scratched his chest yawning away and moving his jaw, chewing the pan that wasn't there. The heat outside was growing by the minute, it was an afternoon in the month of June, 1983. But today he had to deal with the summer terror for today was his day at the races. Recollecting his previous memories of his days at the Mahalaxmi Race Course was a very passionate hobby of his. How the wives would always commend him on his well kept moustache and his dimpled cheeks and the husbands would make plans for lunch and dinner to come see India's cricket match at the World Cup or open a new bottle of Jack they brought from the states. It was a merry time to meet the big and the small of Bombay and increase your network.

He hadn't realised how long he had been staring at the mirror and scratching himself thinking of the races till he noticed a rash being formed. Snapping out of his daydream, he got himself ready for the day to come.

Stepping out of his seaside apartment, he looked a different person altogether. Doning his Ray Bans that had been gifted to him by his uncle on his birthday, his sidelocks perfectly trimmed to the centimetre, his bellbottoms hanging with the perfect cut and topping it all with his HMT Quartz watch. He was not a man of great wealth but his panache said otherwise. With an edition of the Times of India (After hearing G.D. Birla's untimely demise) to read through his train ride to Mahalaxmi, he stepped out into the sun ready to run wild through this concrete jungle of Bombay.

Tuesday, November 23, 2010

The workaholic

I have a job where I see lazy laid back officials, Ignorant fools who cant seem to get anything right and ass kissing idiots who just cant help sticking their nose in every matter.

And then there is my boss.

A big notice on the office board reads in bold, office hours shall now be from 930am to 610 pm, a wind brushes its corner up for a second and then passes a figure right past it. At 830 in the morning he walks up to his chair, opens up his laptop, places his left elbow on the table, resting his head on the hand of the same arm and strategically places his finger infront of his teeth. As the screen of his INBOX pops open...

His day has begun

Biting on his fingernails, staring at lines of gesture and urgency, his eyes widen and narrow at figures and deadlines. They look as if they are about to drop any second but that isnt sleep taking over, its just the way he looks, gives him the gentle yet cunning image. He sits there with his phone of a way beyond obsolete model kept at such a distance that the moment it rings, it is snatched from the outside world and taken into his own. His workaholic world

And as the day turns to night, he makes his calls, settles his bills, gives his reports and is up for more but alas there is one call that he cannot attend, his better half that keeps him sane. Its 8pm and his drug has not worn off, he can have more and still stand straight. With a few soft words and a tender touch he sends his last mail and heads back home.

But in his sleep too he settles his deals and has executive meals, staples his tenders and licks his envelopes. Waiting to see a new dawn of the day.

For he is all work and no play.

Monday, June 14, 2010

Living Life Grand - II

Here I am, with my bags in my hands, craning my neck up high to the walls of G-28, Saket, New Delhi. The shadows of the dark gate of my driveway look down upon me although with that blank yet haunting stare, they welcome me back to the lair of those two individuals who are black and white, yin and yang, grandfather and grandmother.

Although my parents are the ones who have the right to call me their son, I give an equal and privileged right to my grandparents too. Not only have they fed me and given me the same amount of pocket money, they have been my major source of entertainment in my life as well. No soap opera, comedy show or horror film matches up to these two. A few years back, I had paid them a tribute by writing about them and I had realized that they deserved a book of their own, but for now I just have another article about them. This time however, they are joined by their least favorite henchman, the side-kick, the minion, Raju, also called the servant boy of our house. Raju has had his own share of exploits, where sadly he has received the wrong end of the deal. One of them being, abandoning his city girlfriend to marry a village girl according to his families wishes only to realize on his wedding night that his wife was pregnant with somebody else’s child !

Sorry to say so but on hearing that story even my grumpy grandfather had let out a chuckle. Speaking of whom, Manohar Lal Talwar or he is cutely referred to as “Laal” by his better half, is the proud owner of this house. Although he does have a little problem with his memory from time to time, whenever he is asked about his younger days, he never forgets to mention this Russian girl he had met on a ship on his way from the USA to India. The girl had grown fond of him and had asked him to elope with her. He never really tends to remember the rest of that story or maybe he catches the eye of my Grandmother at that very instant staring down at him with a rolling pin in her hand. When it comes to the issue of food, you wouldn’t find a bigger critic than my grandfather. Dinner and lunch are the times of the day when my servant undergoes the Litmus test. Raju must remember that no food must be cooked with gravy and there should be no salt in his food. If he is to ever forget one of these principles, he would get a shouting which would sound something like:

“Yeh kaisi tari banayi hai ! Man karta hai ismein peshaab kardoon !” .
(What kind of gravy is this ? I feel like urinating in it !)

Trust me, worse things have come out of this man’s mouth.

There is only one woman in this world who can take all the words of my grandfather and mince them to zilch. She is Kamlesh Talwar or better known as ‘Tennu’. Why tennu ? Well whenever she is referred to by my grandfather, it comes out as:

“ Tennu ki lod hai bolan di” (What is the need for you to talk ?)
“ Tennu koi samajh nahi aandi” (Don’t you understand ?)
“Tennu chitti aayi hai ki bijli aane waali hai ?” (Did you get a letter saying that the electricity will return?)

Along with battling it out everyday with her better half, she also has to deal with the great Raju as well. Whenever a trip has to be made to buy some vegetables, storms rage in the kitchen to debate on the price of a pumpkin. Furthermore, my servant has a race against time to finish preparing the dinner before the beast’s belly starts to rumble which has my grandmother running after him to get done with the food on time. It is in times like these that I bring a solution by ordering a pizza and finishing the feud, even if it is only for a day. Now, when it comes to my grandmother’s daily source of entertainment, they include only two things, the first one being the late night bhajans on TV and the second one being the daily warfare with Raju. Once there came an incident that left the entire house in tatters. It was the day when a murder took plane only 4 houses away from ours. Surprisingly, Raju was considered as one of the suspects and was carried off to the police station for questioning. As soon as my grandmother realized this, tears welled up in her eyes. I considered that she would be fearing the worst for our domestic servant. Whether he was being interrogated under a 1,000 watt bulb or was he being laid on bare ice in chains. She did not wait for a verdict and called up the police station that very instant demanding to speak to our servant. I watched with pride at the philanthropist in front of me who although considered her servant as a menace, still cared about him. Much to her dismay, she was not being allowed to speak to Raju, it was then that I heard her plea to the police for releasing the innocent, noble and blameless servant of ours. It went something like this:

“I don’t care if he has killed a man or even the Prime Minister, who do you think is going to cook my dinner? Are you doing to do it? He has a family to feed here! Find me a servant who can cook dinner for me and then you can do whatever you want with him!”

With a pale and shocked expression I saw her hang up the phone and I don’t know what it was in her voice, but in less than 15 minutes, Raju was brought back from the police station. He didn’t seem to be too happy about it though, I think he preferred the prison cells better than this 

Every year as the winter approaches, I see my grandfather get a hold of all the clothes in his closet and put them on. He hates the winters as much as he hates channels ‘Sanskaar’ and ‘Aastha’. It is during these times, he makes the plan of going to Goa’s sandy beaches with the crashing waves, countless shells and I’m pretty sure the bikini babes as well. Unfortunately, my grandmother always shuns the idea with the same one line “Who do you think is going to handle the house?”

I think once I’m done with my grueling days in college, I’ll make some arrangements for them and take them to Goa with me. I can even imagine my grandfather over there, running into that Russian girl, although an old woman now and my grandmother chasing him with a rolling pin as they run across the beach like Baywatch beautys!

It is only with them will I learn to live life grand. Cheers to them.

Sunday, March 14, 2010

The Mean Mobs

I am a child of a sweet nature that was brought up in a society that wished for us to live and let live. Today I look at that society as an imaginary and utopian image of my screenshots of life. I look at the dogs who fight for their trritory, I look at countries that fight for their oil, I watch bureaucrats fight for their seats and then I watch my colleagues, turn into number-crunching maniacs of the 21st century. Where strengths and weaknesses are more important than Simon and Garfunkel. Pay Packages are more influential than Item Packages. The hopes of a parent hangs above like a pendulum of knives, where a simple internet connection tends to act as a portal of who is the president of what under whose reign in which country established in which century under what circumstances.

I look at my beligerent predecessors and tsk at their accomplishments for the youth that they lost in the colours of festivals are now strewn in the mud of today. Where black and white of the rain clouds are more prominent than the seven colours of the rainbow. Or are they the colours of the LGBT ? Who knows, they just might ask us in the interview.

It is the line of control that is crossed in my war with my own youth. Where innocence is lost and confidence is the unanimous winner. Who wondered about the bottles of beer as long as you know the amount of consumption that takes place in each city, based on how many can afford it, steal it, racket it, hoard it or even sell it at showrooms. Distribute, add, subtract, divide and then make the percentage of a fraction.

Will I be ever selling a washing machine wearing a tie who sails his words through the tunel of doubt and comes out on the other side with a fake smile but an incentive to the bonus ? Or will I revolt to the society and continue being the sloth of the middle class riding a scooty and chasing after electricity bills ?

I will never know, maybe Gurus can predict it for me, maybe they can even choose my wardrobe, maybe they can sow my careers and give me the blessings as i raise my family of 4. They will frown upon my divorce and grant me my first grandson... Or will the balloon just pop and I shall be back on my cradle, playing with my He-Man and living a life devoid of any sort of worry or disdain. Maybe I'll just close my eyes and head for a slumber in the blind light of my future and dream of a perfect world.

Friday, March 14, 2008

Random Philosophy

relationships are like a cloud

at first, it gives you shade and you enjoy it with bliss

and as the cloud grows bigger

you tend to like it even more and more and more

but then comes a stage when the cloud darkens, and it grows bigger

youre still ok with it till....

it pours

and pours

it pours and pours and pours cats and dogs a lil more

and all u can do is stand in the rain and wait for it stop

in very rare cases does it actually stop

and while we wait for it to stop, we don’t realize how wet we get in this tumultuous rain of sorrow

and then as the cloud begins to move away

there are two choices left with the person

either follow that cloud and the pour, wanting and waiting for it to become white yet again

and put ur own self in a state of misery

OR

stay where u are and let the sun shine its way through and dry u up

the drying process will take time

and the more you stand in one place and not look at the cloud

the better

in the end, youll realise how much you missed the sun shining on your face and giving you the warmth that was absent in the shade of the cloud

and enjoy every moment of it

its a very hard move to detach urself from the cloud

but it always is the better option

TADA !