God's own country !

Welcome to the land of lungis and appams ! This is God’s own country and the humans call it Kerela !

An eventful three hour drive from Coimbatore to Kerela with an unrelenting driver whose speedometer refused to slide below 100 km per hour, happened last night. My earnest desire to admire the coconut plantation in Kerela  has been realized as I did arrive here safely this morning. After profusely thanking the driver, I was led to a village called ‘Rayira Nellur’.

‘What is the difference between  a lungi and a dhoti uncle ?’ My uncle smiled at the innocent question and excitedly replied.. “You see, this white wrap around that I am wearing is a dhoti and the coloured wrap arounds are lungis..”

There is no denial to the fact that these wrap arounds are very airy indeed and hence, many pairs of thin hairy legs can be seen all over the place. Around forty per cent of Keraliites can be found in the Gulf and in our neighbourhood here, a mansion is being constructed by one such gentleman who is serving a ‘shaikh’ in the UAE.

After having a sumptuous breakfast of ‘Puttu and Payar curry’ , we headed to our uncle’s parents’ cottage nearby. A 92 year old alert father and an 80 years of age, charming mother greeted us at the door. They live in a house that is 150 years old. The father has worked under the Britishers and retired from office in the year 1975. They are surrounded by rice fields, coconut trees, mango, jackfruit etc                                                      while human beings are a rare sight, animals being more in the visible range. The nearest grocery shop is at a 3 km distance , yet the couple is so peaceful and content. The mother spoke to me in a language that I couldn’t comprehend while the father gleefully faced the camera as my photographer uncle set into action.

All the places here have sign boards that explain the subject matter to you either in Malayalam or in English. Knowledge of Sanskrit or Hindi alone will do you no good .  Interestingly, most places here have an ‘am’ effect to their name particularly, the places surrounding this village that are called, Naduvattam , Kandam kulam, kunnam kulam, Chaban kulam and Mankulam and ofcourse my favourite ‘appam’ that I will savor this evening.

This place is a stark contradiction to the cacophony seen in the metro cities of the country. Its my first day here and certainly this is not ‘God’s own country’ without a reason !

Off for lunch now and my modest menu comprises of   chawal, sambar, aviyal, uperi, papaddam, kalan, olan, pickle and payasam..  Burp !

The Real Survivor !

I am back at work now after a gap of three months. Life has changed. It will never be the same. What happened on that fateful night did not just bruise my body, but shattered my soul and crushed my spirit. Waking up each morning is a struggle now. When I look at myself in the mirror, I cant relate to the person I see..

Yesterday, my friends took me out for dinner. But I don’t like dinners, I don’t like going out in the dark. I was with a friend on that day, yet it happened. Why did it happen ? My mother did ask me to postpone my plan as there were guests coming over that day. But I insisted. Why did I not listen to her ? Why was it so important to watch a movie ?

Everybody says I am coping well. But, I can see my mother crying in quiet corners of the house. My father dosent come home until late at night. He cant break down in front of me, after all. My brother no longer quarrels with me for the remote control.

… and my pillow is wet every night as the horrifying memories play in my mind as if in a loop.. May be, it was a dream.. may be, it never happened.. I had read about it in papers but how could this happen to me ?

May no innocent woman suffer this destiny. This is my prayer to the Almighty every day. I still believe in him as He chose to keep me alive. My friends tell me that I need to pick myself up and look forward.. I am a fighter and I am certain that I will emerge victorious. Every cloud has a silver lining and a bright future awaits me…. I need to have faith, no matter how difficult..

-A 23 year old rape victim

Yenna Rascala Mind it… !

Did you know.. Rajnikanth can give a missed call to his own number ? Everything that is deemed impossible by God also, is possible for this man… and now I hear that Rajnikanth’s story has been included in the curriculum for CBSE students.

And why not ?? It is truly a ‘rags to riches’ story. Born as Shivaji Rao Gaikwad in a Maratha family, Rajni lost his mother at the age of five. An impoverished lifestyle and a constant struggle to make ends meet, Rajnikanth perceived the essence of ‘struggle’ at a young age. Bangalore Transport Service was the chosen destination of Mr Gaikwad who assumed the role of a bus conductor here. Acting in plays was a passion, when by a stroke of luck, he was discovered by a film director who encouraged him to master Tamil.

And then the Maratha lad transformed into a south Indian deity. Yes, the Omnipotent, Omniscient, Omnipresent ! Consider this.. Rajnikanth has a brain tumor which is incurable. But, in one of the fights Rajnikanth is shot in the head. The bullet passes through his ears taking the tumor along and Rajni is cured ! In another scene, Rajnikanth is confronted with a gangster but he is unarmed and  only has a knife with him. The gangster fires and Rajnikanth, with the knife, cuts the bullet into two pieces !

We are hopeful that the students studying Rajnikanth’s life story will not attempt such logic defying stunts but what is remarkable about the man is his humility post this unbelievable stardom ! Struggle is good. It strengthens the foundation of a human being and with a strong foundation, no building can ever collapse !

As an ambitious child, I too dreamt of growing up to be a bus conductor one day since I believed that the conductor took home, along with him, all the earnings of the day. But it’s a good idea to dream and dream big. After all, did Rajni know that one day he could eat dosa with chop sticks ?

Language is no barrier... moye !

'Mr Deutch is a very important client. Please take good care of him. He wanted to get a first hand feel of the Indian markets.. so, suggest you take him to Lajpat..ok?…' This order was wrongly framed as a question and Prashant Kapoor had no choice but to function as Mr Deutch’s escort. A production manager with an export house, Prashant simply abhorred shopping. He never accompanied his wife for shopping purposes and thus wasn’t familiar with the interiors of Central Market in Lajpat nagar.

'Okay sir.. I will.. Umm..'

Mr Deutch was an American and like an unrestrained, super excited grown up kid, jumped into the car waiting downstairs. Prashant reluctantly followed him inside the car.

The traffic jams and the dissonance at the Central Market didn’t dissuade the ‘angrez’ from exploring every nook and corner while Prashant was pleasantly amused.

'Please ask her.. how much are these flip flops for Prashant?' Mr Deutch was all set to bargain with the lady at the shop. In India, do as the Indians do !

'Kitne ke diye ??' Prashant was the compliant translator.

'Ded sau ke do..' the lady at the shop hurriedly replied while trying to manage the many customers at her shop.

'Sir, she says.. she will give you two pairs for Rs 150 only…'

'Tell her to make it three pairs for 150 Rs … Yes Prashant ?' Mr Deutch didn’t want to close the deal so soon.

'Aunty, ded sau ke teen de do..' Prashant insisted

'Hum kyun khade hain yahaan ? is angrez ke ghar na chale jayein…' The lady replied scornfully and Mr Deutch could fathom that she is angry.

'Ummm what is she saying Prashant.. ?'

'Well sir, she says that this deal is not possible buttttt she would lovveeee toooo , youuuu knowwww ummm see the market places in your side of the country…' Prashant knew that Mr Deutch was an important client, hence behind pleasing him was an ulterior motive.

Mr Deutch looked at her, smiled and wanted to take this conversation further.. but the lady interrupted, remarked ‘Hatt Moye’ and resumed talking to other customers..

‘What did she say Prashant ?’ the American was curious.

‘She said .. let it be dear.. not possible…’

‘Aaaahh ok.. so moye stands for dear..’

‘Yes ?? yes.. yes.. you are right Mr Deutch..’

Next Mr Deutch saw a crowded take away and chole bhature here was a tempting sight.

‘Prashant moye, let us order a plate..’ Mr Deutch had picked up a ‘punjabi’ word after all, it had to find a place in every statement of his now.

'What ? yes…ok…' Not knowing whether to laugh or cry, Prashant looked confused and obediently brought along two plates of chole bhature.

‘Thanks moye’

Prashant controlled his laughter with great difficulty.  Mr Deutch had a spoonful of the chole and finding it extra spicy raced towards the shop counter.

‘This is too spicy… How can you serve such spicy food ?’ Mr Deutch was quite unhappy with the quality of the food while the unclothed chef was unaffected.

‘pehle bol dete.. cheeni mila deta ..’

‘What is he saying Prashant ?’

‘Umm he is saying that he could have prepared the dish as per your taste buds but he didn’t know you were coming..’ Prashant was in a state of flux.

‘Oh ok.. I cant have this.. I am sorry moye..’ Mr Deutch left his plate at the counter and paraded towards his parked car while the shopkeeper was still trying to comprehend what he had just heard from Mr Deutch..

‘Kya bola ?'

'Jaane do bhaiya…' Prashant had to cover up for the damage caused.

After an eventful day at Lajpat Nagar, it was finally time for Mr Deutch to leave. He was very grateful to Prashant who had taken him around the whole day and had also doubled up as an efficient interpreter.

‘Okay Prashant moye.. its time for me to leave’ .. Mr Deutch had to now check in .

Prashant was waiting to rush out of the airport and laugh to his heart’s content when Mr Deutch hugged him one last time and said.. “Your language interests me, I will master it soon… moye..”

Manish weds Sumedha

 “Only if my boss becomes compassionate enough to relieve me on time, can I relish the sinful dinner of my hostel mess”  Mess food is rarely palatable but Kirti Gupta was done with her odd working hours. Priyadarshini Working Women’s Hostel , Shahdara, was where Kirti shared a room with Simran from Chandigarh and Aparna from Jaipur.

“You must revolt Kirti. The mess is not going to remain open for you all night. Your boss should understand this. What are you earning for if you don’t  get to relish the watery dal and the bland, half cooked vegetable preparations and….” Simran wanted to cite some more examples when Kirti interrupted..

“ Listen, its 11 pm already. I am very hungry, stop before I hunt you down girl. Think of a plan.. food.. food .. Get me some please….pleaseeeeeeee..”  Poor Kirti had slogged all day long at her workplace. Aparna couldn’t  be a mute spectator any longer…

“Okay girls… I have a plan. There is a wedding taking place in the neighbouring ground. Lets go there and get some food…buhahahaha” It was a great idea but Kirti objected.

“ But we are not invited.. That’s not right. What if we get caught..  ?”

“Oh come on Kirti. Our wardrobe boasts of some very interesting and expensive collections. We will merge with the crowd easily. Lets get ready and you better move your butt now.. quick..” Simran, the ‘punjaban’ was an expert at attending weddings with or without an invitation. Confidence comes with experience, after all !

“ Yess ! I am so excited. Finally I get to wear this expensive ‘Anarkali suit’ that I purchased at a 50 per cent discount last week..” Aparna’s taste buds weren’t as excited, the idea of flaunting her new suit was more enticing.

“Okay.. I am never doing this again. God ! Please forgive me. I am not the sinner, my boss is !” Kirti finally gave in, since they didn’t have a choice.

Charlie’s angels  couldn’t be missed in their colourful, bright attires as they catwalked to the wedding venue. 

“Manish weds Sumedha” indicated the board at the entrance. But the girls were neither interested in Manish nor Sumedha. They walked towards the buffet and without a moments pause, started helping themselves with all the delicacies. Their plates were flooded but they wanted a little bit of everything, Kirti just couldn’t thank her stars enough.

“Okay… I think I am done… Hahaha..” Simran and Aparna were happy to see Kirti smiling.

“But.. what about the dessert ? Its already 12..”

“The ‘baraat’ hasn’t arrived as yet. So we are not going to get the dessert till the groom is here..” Simran knew it all but Kirti wasn’t too pleased with this fact.

“No, but I am not leaving without having the dessert. Come on , Manish is wedding Sumedha.. We need to have something sweet… “ The lass wasn’t scared anymore but Aparna and Simran were visibly stumped !

“Listen, we are done now.. We don’t know how long is this Manish idiot going to take ?” Aparna’s office cabbie arrived outside the hostel every morning sharp at 7am and she was now, worried.

“No.. I am going to have ‘Moong dal ka halwa’..not leaving before that… No No No No No..” Kirti was a stubborn two year old disguised as a 25 year old woman.

The other two girls had no other option but to wait for their beloved ‘Manish and party’ to arrive. They were as anxiously awaiting his sight  as Sumedha and family. Finally, the baraat arrived at 1am and the girls took a sigh of relief. After having the dessert to their hearts content, they decided to make a move.

Aparna and Simran had almost reached the exit gate when they found Kirti missing. They looked behind to find her speaking to the obese ground manager.

“ Sir, I must congratulate you.. Excellent DDA ground, I would also like to get married here..” Kirti was lying through her teeth.

“Thank you, sure… When is your wedding Madam ?” The ground manager was excited to see a pretty young girl entertaining him.

“Oh.. ummmm it is ummm later next year…”

“Wow ! Congratulations madam…”

“Thanks.. Ummm by the way, is there a wedding here, tomorrow as well ??”

The Art of Driving..

"You are in your mid 30’s, making a fortune every month, have a luxurious car standing in the garage.. yet prefer coming to work by taxis and cabs, even better, autorickshaws , every single day..?? Come On Siddharth”.

"That’s rude Rajeev.. Sid is a baby.. and our baby is scared to drive in the capital city.. Have you seen the traffic ? So many girls as well on the driving seat.. This is a serious matter.. One should be scared.. Right Sid..” added  Keshav.

“Shut up you both…” Siddharth Bajwa was constantly vexed  by his colleagues at work because he was scared of driving.  A car nut, Siddharth maintained his car very well but he could never imagine being on the driving seat himself. The idea of a driver handling his dream machine wasn’t appealing either. Daily arguments with the autorickshaw drivers had taken a toll on him. Cabs were expensive and  changing three metros to get to work was equally tiring.

As a boy of 19, Siddharth had once experimented with his father’s Maruti Van. Unfortunately, for the neighbours, their Ambassador along with the Maruti Van was later found at the mechanic’s workshop. The neighbours had to be compensated monetarily and the frequent flow of halwa, chana, rajma from the neighbourhood into the Bajwa family ceased thereafter.

Sid could never forget the abuses hurled at him from Senior Bajwa and the neighbours on that fateful day. He was deeply hurt and pledged that day , he would never dare drive a vehicle !

One fine day, Sid was struggling to fix the deal with the autorickshaw driver.

“Meter se chaloge ?? Nahin chaloge to complain kar doonga tumhari..” Sid was familiar with the tricks by now.

“Jao.. Jao.. Nahin jaoonga Meter se.. Complain kar do.. itna hai to khud gaadi chalao na..” The autorickshaw driver was gone but left Sid furious. Now the Autowala hadn’t spared him either.

Determined to undo the pledge, Sid ,now, decided to enroll himself in a driving school. Procuring a driving license has never been a problem as Delhi is the city of ‘jugaad’. With renewed confidence, Sid started his early morning driving lessons with ‘Driver Jagjeet’. Sid believed that his skills were improving with each passing day while Jagjeet knew the bare truth. With an extra accelerator, brake and clutch under his control, Jagjeet called the shots while Sid cheerfully played around with the steering wheel.

Finally, after two weeks of assiduous practice, the D day arrived. The happy bachelor offered his morning prayers after a long time and was ready to grace the driving seat of his unused , almost new, Swift Dzire. The guards in his apartment were also pleased at this sight but most of all, Sid wanted to seek revenge on his colleagues. This was his day.

He was stable on the wheels, confidently managed to bring the car out of his apartment, took a left turn , had barely travelled a km and there was a traffic signal. Sid, like an obedient citizen, stopped his car, was trying to set the radio frequency when he heard a BANG !! Lo Behold ! A truck had rammed into his car’s posterior very shamelessly. An accident at the ‘Red Light’ was even more shameful !

After a lot of chaos and drama in the middle of the road, Sid had to make a choice. Either he returns home with the battered car and heads to work in an auto or takes the battered car to work with oomph and pride !

Since then, its been a  year and Siddharth Bajwa continues to drive his Swift Dzire. His car looks like one returned from a war zone with scratches and dents all over, the side mirror was damaged last week by a bull that appeared from nowhere in the middle of the street.

Sid has overcome all fears and drives to work happily , also follows his favourite Radio Jockey  on the way because he has realized that the plight of his car will not be determined by his driving skills alone, it is largely determined by the fellow citizens and animals on the busy streets of Delhi !