Short Story - The Proverbial Revenge

 

“Amma,  AMMA, when will this Thatha go back?”, whined my 10-year old daughter Megha.  She was referring to my Father’s  elder brother, Venkutu Peripa, who was visiting us for a while.  I quietly asked her, “Why Megs, what is the problem?”

Megha immediately started her tirade. “Oh God, he is so irritating!  He always has something to say about everything! And not just that, he has to justify everything with a proverb!  I am sick and tired of listening to him Amma.” 

I cajoled her gently,” Common Megs, he is not that bad.  He has his  quirks, but he means well.”

Megs continued her rant. “He makes me MAD. The other day, you asked me to finish my homework and I didn’t.  You were upset when you found out.  Venkutu  Thatha mockingly said ‘Spare the rod  and spoil the child.’  It is only homework, why should you beat me for not doing it?”

I explained calmly, “Well Megs, it might be just a small bit of homework that you missed.  But Thatha wanted to ensure that it did not become a habit…you need to be disciplined so that you don’t lose out on the important stuff in life.”

Megha smirked and continued, “He embarrassed me when my friends came home.  Siri and Puja were here last week.  Thatha had to butt in and talk to them. He gave a lecture on the importance of being punctual and doing our chores on time   And ofcourse, he used a proverb – A Stitch in time saves nine.  UGGHH!!” 

Just then, Varsha walked in and heard her younger sister’s angry narration.  She jumped into the conversation and shared her tale of woe. “Listen Amma, you need to book Thatha’s return tickets quickly.  He is a royal pain.”

I reprimanded Varsha, “No Varsha, that is no way to talk.  He is an elderly man and has experienced so much of life.  He is just trying to help us all by sharing his experiences and making us see what is right and what is  wrong.   Don’t be rude.”

Varsha countered, ”Ok, sorry. But do you know what he did? You asked me to clean my room but I kept postponing it.  I finally did it when Anju was coming in for  a sleep-over. He was so astonished that a friend should actually stay back with us.  And derisively said, ‘in our times, we had enough cousins who stayed with us. We didn’t need friends.’  What is his problem?  And seeing me clean the room, he told Appa in Tamil – ‘Vennumna veraliyum kaykum, vendatta koppilayum Kaykadha.’  What do you think he meant?”

I hid my smile and said, “It just means - where there is a will, there is a way.”

Varsha angrily said, “NO, it is not just that.  I asked Appa the meaning and he told me. It means that a tree can bear fruit even in its roots if it really wants to.  But if the same tree does not desire, it will not bear fruits even in its branches. So what Thatha insinuated was that I cleaned my room only because I had a motive;  I would not have done it otherwise. What a mean thing to say!“

I thought to myself “Oh, how absolutely right is your Thatha!” But then, didn’t tell it aloud for fear of inciting the girls further - they were already in quite a rage.  So I said placatingly,” Girls, bear with him for a few more days. Thatha will be going back to Madras next week.“

As I left the room quietly, I heard the two girls hatching a plan.  Varsha said, “we must give Thatha a taste of his own medicine - taunt him with a proverb before he goes back.”

A couple of days later, Varsha and Megha were playing a game of Subway Surfers on the iPad.  They were playing in turns, laughing boisterously and having fun.   Venkutu Peripa  watched them keenly and then asked hesitantly, “Girls, why don’t you teach me how to play this game.  I too would like to try.  Seems to be fun.” 

The girls were surprised at Thatha’s sudden enthusiasm for the game and decided to oblige him.  Varsha said, “Okay Thatha, this policeman is trying to catch you.  You have to run away from him.  There will be several obstacles in the way. You can jump, move to the left or right.  To jump over, you swipe with your finger and use the arrow keys to move left or right.   You should also catch as many of the gold coins as you can – they keep floating in your path.  The more coins you have, higher will be your score.”

Megha piped in, “Don’t let the policeman catch you.  If he does, the game is over.”

Varsha handed over the iPad to Venkutu Thatha and asked him to play the game.  He adjusted his glasses, and tried diligently, but just as the game started, he immediately got caught by the policeman.  This went on for several minutes but Venkutu Thatha could not get the hang of playing the game.

He said, “Sorry girls, I don’t think I can do this.”  Varsha and Megha were waiting for such a situation.  Megha said, “But Thatha, didn’t you tell us ‘Where there is a will, there is a way’ – what happened now?

And Varsha, with a twinkle in her eye added, “Thatha, maybe we can’t teach an old dog, new tricks!”  

The girls, sporting broad grins, looked across at me. They had the gloating look of a warrior who had exacted his revenge!

Note: all images have been sourced from the internet
 

Short story - Bridge Across the Years

 

I stand on the street and look up at the house.  Nothing has changed.  The ceiling-high wrought-iron gates that rise up from the compound wall, the compound wall itself painted in bold stripes of white and brick-red colours, akin to temple walls,  the imposing pillars inside the thinnai (verandah) that bear the weight of the roof above – yes, nothing has changed.  I can even picture my grand-mother and me sitting there on the thinnai – she leaning against the pillar while I sit in front of her with my back towards her - her gentle hands applying coconut oil on my unruly hair and slowly removing the knots.  I close my eyes and I can almost sense it – the wonderful feel of languor that spreads through my body as she slowly weaves her fingers through my hair, so soft and gentle that I can only feel them fleetingly, causing absolutely no pain. 

I open my eyes and look outside at the street.  The corner opposite the house used to have a tube-well with a pump fitted.  I remember jumping up and down holding on to the hand-pump, my braided plaits moving in tandem to my jump, while drawing water from somewhere deep inside the bowels of the earth and magically filling the pot with the clear, transparent liquid.  The tube-well is no longer there.  Instead, in its place is a cemented, cylindrical tank fitted with a tap.

I turn my attention back to the house. I walk up the four steps, unlock the heavy latch and push open the gate.  The loud twanging sound made by the gate is comforting – it is still the same, maybe a little less intense than I can recall.    I walk past the thinnai and enter the long corridor that connects to the main hall.  It is dark.  It was always this way.  Sunlight hardly ever enters this place – there is no window on the wall.  A few steps inside, there is a door to the right which opens into a room.  This was kept locked then and it continues to be locked.  It actually acted as the granary.  After the harvest season, the room was filled with sacks of un-polished rice, paddy and other produce. The dim light, the musty smell of jute sacks, the slightly poky, brown sheath of paddy strewn around, the thick cobwebs that covered most of the ceiling and the wall corners – leant the room a mysterious air and as a child, I was a little fearful of entering the room.   My imagination used to go into overdrive – I would conjecture all kinds of monsters and hairy devils lurking behind the sacks, waiting to pounce on me.

I walk past the ‘granary’, take a few more steps in the corridor and enter the main hall.  Sunlight streams through the couple of open tiles of the roof that act as skylights. As I adjust my eyes to the sudden brightness, it feels like I am walking through a time capsule. Despite the passage of 20 odd years, my Uncle and Aunt have retained the place as it was then.  With the exception of the television which is a new addition, everything else remains the same – my Uncle’s writing desk that has a plastic sheet covering it and an old radio sitting atop it.  I remember the pen-stand too, a wooden one made of mahogany with beautiful, intricate work adorning its sides.  Instead of housing an ink pen, it now holds an assortment of ball-point pens. The Bril-ink bottle, the one with a slightly fattened belly and filled with a rich blue hue is missing.  I can recall the various times I used to sit on the wooden chair in front of this table, drawing and doodling on scraps of paper.  Once, while trying to fill the ink-pen with ink, I spilt quite a bit of it which left a big blot of blue on the plastic sheet covering the table.  In fact, as I peer at it, I can see faint traces of the blue blotch.

Next to the table hangs the calendar against the wall.  Goddess Lakshmi stands tall and dignified, with her right hand raised and open – offering blessings to one and all - and a pot of gold coins streaming down from her left palm.   I can still see some of the earlier years’ calendars stacked behind the current one – my Uncle does not discard stuff easily, especially those that carry a picture of a God or Goddess.   Neither can he tolerate the rustling sound made by the calendar sheet as it moves and stirs to the ceiling fan’s air movement.  He pins the sheets down with a ‘gem’-clip – I can see the steel clips fastened to the sheet, on both the sides.   A couple of my Uncle’s shirts hang from a hook on the wall. 

My eyes dart to the opposite side of the room; the cot that my grand-mother used to lie on is very much there.  I can picture her sitting there, leaning against the wall, with a warm and happy smile playing on her face, eyes brimming with love when she spoke to me or watched my antics - showering love as only a grand-mother can.  The small stool right next to her cot is still there but the green plastic tray that held her medicines is missing.   The wooden doors of the built-in cupboard stands mutely beside the bed.  The doors are kept locked by dangling a steel spoon through the latch.  I remember it was an aluminum spoon that did the trick then. The smaller open shelf on the wall is as it was before.  My Aunt has it neatly covered with an old newspaper and it holds all the key items of her daily make-up – a bottle of coconut oil, a comb, a rectangular mirror, a tube of maroon-red Shringar kumkum, a smaller round vial of Shringar kajal, and a can of Gokul Sandal talc, with the picture of Lord Krishna as a chubby baby lying on a bright green leaf and holding his well-rounded ankle with an equally well-rounded hand and bringing it to his mouth, emblazoned on it.  She is a lady of minimal needs, my Aunt. 

The television is placed on a stand at one end of the hall and a few odd chairs and a 3-seater sofa rests at the other end.  Right in the middle, are four huge pillars, two on each side, forming a neat little rectangle.  My eyes are attracted to these shiny pieces of architecture, huge and round at the base, and tapering gently towards the ceiling.  They remind me of the Queen piece in a chess set, which is also similarly structured.  These 4 strong pillars have served as great companions in our childhood games – hiding behind them while playing Hide and Seek, acting as the ‘Home’ spot in a game of Four Corners, just going round and round them while singing loudly and tonelessly, leaning against them while seated and playing a game of Ass or Rummy.     The quadrangle, formed by these four pillars, used to be the most sought after area in the whole house - because the ceiling fan hung on the beam right within this area.  So, after having a quick dinner, my cousins and I would spread the paiis – mats made from a particular weed – select the best pillows and lie down to sleep right underneath the fan.  Many a morning have we spent in this quadrangle, trying to thread the jasmine flowers freshly plucked and collected in a bowl, plucked from the plant growing outside in the backyard, with fibrous threads got from the half-dried bark of the banana plant.  This was also the favored place for an afternoon siesta.  My mother and aunts would shoo us children away to the thinnai to continue our game of cards there while they would lie down and take rest – chat and gossip for a good hour before actually taking a nap of 30 minutes. 

Often in the evenings, if there was a lot of food left, my Aunt would get us cousins (we were six of us aged between 6 and 9 years) to sit in this area, forming a semi-circle.  She would sit in the middle, with 2 big bowls; one filled with sambar rice – mixed with a good amount of ghee so that it tasted heavenly and made all us children want to eat more; and the other with thick, creamy curd rice.  Just thinking of the curd rice makes my mouth water.  We would stretch out our palm, she would place a small mound of the mixed rice on our palm, which we would then drop into our mouth.  Before she could finish serving the sixth child, we would all be ready for the next round, with our palms stretched out and clamouring for more.  When she placed the curd rice on our palm, she would make a small clearing in the middle of it; we would then fill it up with a spoon of tangy and mouth-watering vathal kuzhambu  and plop the whole thing into our mouth and lick the remnants of the curd mixed kuzhambu off our palms.  It used to taste absolutely divine!  Thus, we ended up eating more than we would have otherwise done had we eaten by ourselves.    

As I reminisce about my childhood memories, I gently place my palms against the pillar close to me – it is cold but feels very smooth and soft.   I am suddenly aware of feet clambering behind me.  My little girls, my nieces and nephews – my sister’s and my brother’s kids- are all rushing into the hall from the corridor.  They take a few seconds to get used to the sudden change in light –from the dark, dimly lit corridor to the brightness of the hall.  They take one look at the four pillars and they charge forward with outstretched arms to touch and feel them, their voices squealing with laughter.  Within seconds, they devise their own game of Running and Catch and run around the pillars, their voices echoing with mirth and resonating with the voices from my childhood – their shrieking and yelling melting the years away, bridging the gap and connecting with similar yelps of playful happiness that emanated from me and my cousins. 

This is the children’s first trip to the Grand Home and they are excited about being here.  Coming from urban homes, this rustic home in the village, with basic amenities, is new to them.  My girls have heard plenty of stories from me about this home in the village and they are now eager to visit the river that flows close by – just a 5-minute walk away.  I take them all down the side-path that was once familiar to me.  It has changed quite a bit; it is no longer a small path but has morphed into a wide alley.  Thankfully there are no buildings here and some amount of greenery is still preserved.  As we walk slowly, the children are eager to move faster.  Just like a dog that strains at the leash and tugs at its master to make him move at its pace, the kids pull me along.  The path slopes downward and we pass by the small temple built in honour of Lord Shiva; he presides in the form of Dakshinamurthy.  I slow down to point the temple to the kids but they are clearly not interested.  We move along and a few steps later, we reach the river bank.  The children cry out loudly in excitement and move to the water’s edge to dip their feet in the water.  I urge them to be careful and not step on rocks and boulders covered with slippery moss – I once had a great fall thanks to this green, gooey jelly-like substance.   

As I sit on a rock and watch the gently flowing river, I am transported back to the times when we would visit this same place, almost every morning and have an hour long splash in the cool waters of the Amaravathi.  Women would come down in groups, carrying with them rounded sacks of dirty clothes.  They would then wash the clothes in the river while gossiping continuously – setting a rhythm of chatter, followed by the ‘swoosh’ of the clothes as each cloth was swung high up in the air before hitting it against the rock, causing the sound of ‘phat’,- similar to a  drummer beating the stick against the drum; and followed by chatter again.  This cycle would continue for quite a while and finally once all the clothes had all been washed and the water wrung out, they would then remove their saris and blouses, hoist their petticoats to the chest and get into the cool waters and have a relaxing bath. My cousins and I would play our own games, splashing around.  Sometimes, when one of us ventured a little deeper, someone from this group of women would yell out to us and alert our Aunt or Mom who had accompanied us.  Immediately, a barrage of shouts and rebukes would rain upon us and Aunt or Mom would threaten us to get out of the river and go home if we did not stick to safe areas.   This would quieten us a bit but not for long.

I glance upwards and look across at the steel bridge that was constructed to connect one river bank to the other.  There are now two of them – a new one has been built right next to the old one; the older bridge was designed for the movement of bullock carts, cycles and the occasional four wheeler.  It has weakened and cannot be trusted to carry the load of buses and other heavy vehicles.  The new bridge stands pompously, with its shiny bright façade glinting as the rays of the setting sun fall on it.  I shield my eyes and feel sorry for the poor old bridge that has served diligently in its time.

The sudden shout of the kids wakes me from my reverie; my daughter has slipped on a moss-covered rock and has landed butt-first into the water; she has a small gash on her ankle, caused by the rock’s sharp edge.  She is in pain and cries out to me.  I comfort her and threaten the other kids to play safely, else I will march them off home.   After a while, with promises to bring them all back again the next morning, we head back home. 

After all that play in the river, the kids are now hungry.  I herd them to the quadrangle formed by the four pillars in the hall, and make them sit in a semi-circle.  My Aunt has lovingly mixed two bowls of sambar rice and curd rice.  I sit in the middle and place rounded quantities of food into their open, outstretched palms.  I watch them as they clumsily put the food into their mouths and even before I can finish with the sixth child, the others have stretched out their palms again and are clamouring for more! Life certainly has come a full circle!

Note: Photos used in this blog post are sourced from the internet

Short Story - A Train to Catch

 

Mom was shaking me awake.  “Get up! Get up, Rahul! We have a train to catch. Get ready quickly.” I slowly yawned, opened my eyes and stretched.  I wanted to pull back the comforter and go back to sleep but Mom continued her tirade from the kitchen –“ Leave the comforter aside! GET UP!”  You can never argue or get away with Mom.  She has eyes that can see through walls.

I reluctantly got up, went into the bathroom, and slowly brushed my teeth.  I could hear Mom moving around in the bedroom; she was laying out clothes for me to wear.  She then came into the bathroom, filled up water in the bucket and hustled me towards the shower.  “Come on, have a quick bath.  We need to leave within the next 20 minutes.” The warm water woke me up a little.  I asked her, “What time is the train, Amma?”   She replied, “The Shatabdi Express leaves at 6:30.  We have to be at the Railway station at least by 6:15.  Ok, stop playing with that mug.  Let’s get you towelled and into those clothes.”

Mom helped me get dressed quickly, ran a comb through my hair and handed me a glass of milk.  “Rahul, please drink up the milk quickly.  I will book the taxi.”  While she was fidgeting with her phone, I slowly drank my cup of milk, grimacing when I felt a thread of cream on my tongue.  “Amma, yuck! Why did you put the cream?”  Mom replied, “Sorry, I don’t have time to filter it now.  Leave that bit and drink up the rest.” After making some unpleasant sounds, I gulped it down quickly.    

Mom said, “Ok, the taxi will be here in 5 minutes.  Let us get the bags and wait outside.  Put on your crocs and stand near the gate, Rahul.  I will lock up the house.” As I stood outside and watched Mom lock the front door, I shouted, “Amma, wait.  I have to pick up Teddy.  He is lying on the bed.” Mom said in exasperation, “Rahul, I just finished locking up.  And the taxi has arrived.  Let Teddy be here.”  I immediately stomped my feet and wailed, “Amma NO.  Open the door, we have to take Teddy. We cannot leave him alone for a week.” Not wanting to deal with a tantrum, Mom reluctantly opened the door, muttering under her breath.  She got my beloved Teddy, locked up the house again and bundled me into the waiting taxi. I hugged Teddy close to me as the taxi moved along. Mom kept looking at her watch repeatedly and said, ”Bhaiyya, please drive quickly to the City Station. We have only 25 minutes; our train leaves at 6:30.” 

The taxi driver mumbled something and tried to make his way through the unprecedented early morning traffic.  He said, “Ma’am, why didn’t you book the taxi earlier?  You are cutting it too close.”  He veered suddenly to avoid an auto that barged into his lane.  He was angry and screamed at the auto driver.  He used some words that I had not heard before. 

Mom sat tensed and said, “I hope the train leaves from Platform 1.  We will then have a little time.”  After a few minutes of dangerous driving, we finally spotted the lights of the City Station. I exclaimed loudly, “Amma, look! The Train Station!” The taxi driver parked right outside the entrance and  Mom hurriedly paid him.  She quickly glanced at the information board to check the platform from which our train was leaving and let out a pained scream, “Oh no, the train is leaving from Platform 3.  We need to run.  Rahul, quick, hold my hand. ”  Mom pulled the suitcase with her right hand while she held on to mine with her left hand.  I could hear the announcements being made about the coming and going of various trains.  But we had no time to waste.

We half-ran, half-pushed our way through the throng of people on Platform 1 to reach the sub-way that would take us to Platform 3. We had to climb down a series of steps.  I was panting now and kept saying, “Amma wait. Amma wait.”  Mom, also out of breath, continued, “No Rahul, not now. We cannot stop.  We have only 5 minutes; we need to hurry.”  I held on tightly to Teddy lest he fell off my hand.  Mom pushed her way past the people who were coming right in our path.  I could feel several hands and arms brushing against my shoulders and head.  Thankfully, we saw the arrow that pointed to Platform 3 and rushed up the steps.  I was completely out of breath, but Mom would not stop.  I could hear my heart pounding loudly and it seemed ready to explode.  Finally, we reached the platform and saw our train.  Without waiting to check the compartment number, Mom pushed me up the nearest open doorway of the train, climbed in herself and finally relaxed for the first time that morning. She slumped against the coach wall and tried to catch her breath.  And right then, the train started moving. I exclaimed loudly, “Amma, we made it! We made it.” She hugged me, let out a huge sigh and smiled broadly.  

She then asked a fellow passenger, “Excuse me Sir, which compartment is this? We have to get to A2.”   The seated man said, “This is S1. The previous coach is A3. So the one before that should be A2.” Mom thanked him profusely and we moved towards the end of the compartment.  “Amma, how will we go to our compartment?”  Mom said, “Rahul, all the compartments are connected through a vestibule.  We will just have to walk over the connecting metal board to go the next compartment.”  The train had picked up speed now and we were being pushed side-ways as we slowly made our way.  We approached the end of the coach and I saw the small, slightly dark connecting passage that was rattling and heaving on the rails. I also noticed a gap between the two connecting boards and though the gap, I could see the tracks below.  And as the train turned rightwards, the connecting plates got pushed away from each other.  I screamed, “NO Amma, don’t go over that.  We will fall down!”  Mom tried to reassure me and said, “Rahul, don’t worry.  This is safe, we will not fall down.”  I was still whimpering when she quickly carried me and stepped on to the vestibule.  In the hustle, I somehow dropped Teddy.  I saw him falling towards the opening between the connecting plates.   I thrashed, I kicked and screamed, “Amma, NO, NOooo..my poor Teddy! NO, don’t let him fall…” 

And then I felt my Mom gently shaking me and saying, “Rahul, wake up. Rahul, get up. We have a train to catch!”

Note - Images used have been sourced from the internet.  They are not mine.

Short Story - The Curse of the Old Lady

The train chugged slowly along; we passed paddy fields and soon we crossed the bridge across the River Cauvery near Srirangapatna – the river flowing silently along on its seaward journey.  I had boarded the train 2 ½ hours earlier in Bangalore. I thought about Gayathri, my good friend whom I would be meeting after nearly a span of 10 years.   We were earlier neighbours when my father was posted in Mysore.  

I got off the train at Mysore Railway Station and took an auto to Indiranagar.  We passed through some familiar roads, the Mysore Zoo and a few other streets before I reached Gayathri’s nice little house.  It was a moment of deja-vu as I took in the long driveway, the veranda, the coconut trees and other little details of her house.  Suddenly, the car parked in their portico surged to life and with the loud, whirring sound of a raised engine, the car shot past me, almost knocking me down.  As I regained my composure and walked up the driveway, Gayathri came running out of the front door to welcome me.  We hugged each other, smiling and laughing all the while.

We spoke about common friends and got up-to-date on the happenings in each other’s life.  And then I remembered and asked, “Who was it in the car? He was in one great hurry and shot past me…he almost ran me down!  

Gayathri replied, “Oh, that must have been Sriram, my younger brother.  You remember him, don’t you?”  I said, “Sriram! Of course, I do.  He was the kiddo of the house.  But why was he in such a tearing hurry?”  Gayathri then haltingly said, “I have to tell you something.  After all, you are a psychologist.  You will be able to understand this better.”

Gayathri continued, “You remember that old lady who stayed all alone, down the road, in that small hut?  She used to rave and rant as her children had abandoned her.”

I said, “Yes, yes, she was always yelling at somebody or the other.  She hated all children and would take away our balls and cricket bats. I remember her distinctly.”  Gayathri continued, “Exactly!  After we all grew up, it was Sriram and his set of friends who played on the road.  Invariably, while playing cricket, they would hit the ball towards her hut.  She would confiscate it and never return it, all the time shouting at them.  Sriram and his friends tried to talk to her sensibly but she would not listen.  They in turn got angry and called her all sort of names - You crazy crow, you stupid old dog, you mad cat, you fat rhino..” 

I sat listening wondering what this was leading to.  Gayathri continued, “You know, all harmless stuff that children usually say when they are angry but hardly ever mean it.” 

“Anyway, all this was nearly 7 or 8 years back. Sriram and his friends have all grown up now, they are all in college.  Quite a few of them have moved away too.  In fact, there is only Sriram and his friend Vittal who continue to stay in this road.”

“Well, that old lady died a few months back.  Before dying, she walked up to our house, called out to Sriram and said, - ”Here, take all your stupid balls, and your stupid bats, you miserable boy.  You taunted me all those years back, you called me horrible names.  I will remember every one of those names.  I will come back and haunt you and your friends!”

Gayathri paused dramatically.  I could only gape at her.  She continued, “That old lady, she then let out a maniacal laughter and said, “Watch out for me.  I am like Alamelamma;  the Wodeyars could not escape her wrath, neither can you.”

I listened to all this, trying to suppress my laughter.  Seeing the troubled expression on Gayathri’s face, I guffawed and said, “And you believe all that the old lady said?”

Gayathri, in a troubled voice continued - “Wait, there is more to it.  We all thought it was just some rubbish - an upset, old lady trying to make a lot of noise and dropping names from the old folk lore.  But over the last couple of months, after her death, strange incidents have happened.”

I was curious. I said, “Oh, really? Like what?”

Gayathri continued, “Sriram loves the new second-hand Maruti Swift car that Father bought him.  He is always cleaning it and taking care of it.  He used to park it in the portico.  But everyday, a crow would come down, shrieking loudly, and would drop bird-poop all over the car.”

I said, “C’mon Gayathri, that is hardly strange stuff.  It is what birds do.  Aren’t you over reacting?”

Gayathri said, “No wait, that is what we thought as well.  But this kept happening every single day for nearly a week, and exactly at the same time, in the same manner.  Sriram then decided to park the car inside the shed.  The next day what does he see - a cat has entered the shed and has pushed down a can of paint on the car. The bonnet is now splashed with a dark shade of blue.  Sriram completely lost it – his car, the possession that he most cared about, was being attacked.”

I kept nodding my head and said, “Well, this seems more like coincidence.” 

Gayathri retorted, “Well, you can say it is coincidence when it happens once.  But again, after the paint-dropping incident, we found that the same cat – a full-black one - had entered the car through an open window and had clawed its way through the upholstery.  It had not spared an inch – its claw marks are splayed both on the front and back seats!  What do you make of that?”

I was a little thoughtful, trying to figure out a likely explanation. But I quipped, “How do you know it was the same cat?” Gayathri continued, “Sriram heard strange sounds coming from the shed and went in to check.  That is when he saw the cat.  The funny part was when Sriram tried to shoo it away, it stood its ground, glared at him and mewed repeatedly in a strange tone, in almost the same tone that the old lady had used!  Don’t you think that would freak somebody out?”

I was a little perplexed.  Gayathri said, “The story does not end here.  Sriram’s other friend Vittal, well, he too faced similar incidents.  He had left his favourite sports shoe out in the shoe-stand at his place.  He saw a black dog jump across his compound wall, walk towards the stand, pick up the shoe and run.  He chased it.  But the sly dog was much too fast and made escape.  Vittal later found the shoe torn and shredded in front of his house gate.” 

I said, “Gayathri, you guys are reading too much into these incidents. They are just random acts and you have nothing to be worried about.”

Gayathri said, “I knew you would say that. Just like you, we too thought there was nothing to it.  We decided to move the car out of our house.  You know Kumar Mama, right? He lives in Madikeri.  So we drove down to Madikeri  to his house.”

I could not resist saying, “Don’t tell me, the same black cat, the same black crow along with the same black dog followed you from Mysore to Madikeri?”

Gayathri got a little upset.  She said, “Okay , laugh as much as you want.  But this is what happened in Kumar Mama’s house.  A similar black crow -obviously, I can’t say if it was the same one- dropped poop on Sriram’s car, in exactly the same manner and at exactly the same time like it used to do before! What do you make of that?  Isn’t that rather strange?”

I looked at her and laughingly said, “Maybe crows just go about doing their business in the exact same manner, across all geographies.  What else can it be?”

Gayathri was ready to strangle me.  Instead she yelled, “Don’t you get it? Don’t you see the connection? Sriram and his friends had referred to the old lady at various junctures as a crow, a cat, a dog and a rhino.  She is now taking those forms to harass Sriram and Vittal! Her curse seems to be coming true!”   

I then asked, “Okay, but why was Sriram rushing out of the house in such a panic?”

That is when Gayathri threw the bombshell.  She exclaimed, “He heard the flash news on TV just before you arrived. The lone black rhino in the Mysore Zoo has escaped!”

Picture credit - all images used here are sourced from the net.  

Family Roots - The Origin of new Beginnings

 

My father was born into a big family - he had 3 brothers and 7 sisters - a veritable cricket team!  In addition, there were several first cousins, second cousins and cousins twice/thrice removed living along with them.  The house that my grandfather built was huge and was able to accommodate all the members of the household.

 

Every year, like a ritual, we would spend our summer vacation visiting my grandparents' place in Madras.  Every one of my father's siblings would also come down to the grand place and life was one big playground - cousins of all ages, each of us vying for attention, playing games, playing pranks.  It used to be two memorable months of non-stop playtime and fun. 

When I look back, I think of my grandparents and their home as a huge banyan tree with deeply laid roots that held and supported the entire family. Soon, with each of their children moving out to other cities and starting families of their own, it felt like part of the main root was transplanted into these different cities.

My parents set their roots in Bangalore. They laid the foundation, built a home and family, nourished and supported my brothers and me, nudged us in the right direction of career and family and soon each of us went away to different locations.

My parents lived in the same house for well over 40 years. Home for us was always my parents’ place. Home meant a place where we could be ourselves; where we could be seen, be loved and be cherished for the 'persons' we are with all our faults and blemishes; where our needs were always given priority, where tasty food was prepared lovingly after considering our likes, dislikes, and favourite dishes; a place where we could share our thoughts freely and not be judged, a place to literally put our feet up.   

 

As far as I was concerned, my home and roots now meant the roots that my parents had put down - firm, strong, stable, supportive, and ever-nurturing. Even with a home and family of my own, I continued to think of my parents' place as the one that had the roots planted firmly.

A few months back, my father passed away at the age of 88, having lived a long, fulfilling life - living independently, always calling the shots and always being in-charge.  Suddenly with his demise, it felt like the huge tree that had sheltered us all, had been completely uprooted as it came down  shattering to the ground.

 

With my father's death, I now no longer have a parents' home to go to. It was a safe place that I could run to anytime - sometimes to hide, sometimes to heal, sometimes to just be. It has not been easy, but I am slowly learning to overcome this huge feeling of loss and come to terms with my grief.  While trying to make sense of life and death,  I realise that a part of my father lives on with me. In all my thoughts and memories, he will always be there. In his passing away, he has passed the baton to us. He has passed on the roots taken from his parents and has handed it to all his children to be firmly planted at our respective homes.   I now carry forth those same roots, passed on from one generation to the next, to grow and nurture my family, to guide and shelter my children, to grow into a loving and giving tree that can sprout branches while keeping the values and roots of my forefathers alive.  

Note: Pictures and images have been sourced from the internet.

Learn a new language - Teen Lingo

“Hey Bro, Whassup?“ 

“Nothing Bro, just chilling.”

“Listen Dude, did you watch the latest  video of JordIndian?

“Lol. It was so litt man!”

If you were to read or listen to this, it would be natural for you to assume that it is a conversation between two young boys.  Well, this is how teenage girls also talk to each other these days – addressing each other as bro and dude! 

There is a whole new lingo that amazingly every little kid seems to be aware of. It is just adults who need a new dictionary or thesaurus to understand their slang words and acronyms.   Take the above sentence – ‘It is so littt’ .  Here ‘litt’ means something that is fantastic.  The greater number of ‘t’s added to the word indicates an increase in its amazing-quotient!

This new language that teenagers and the youth use is all pervasive – SMS messages, Instagram posts, telephone conversations – everywhere, their dialect is filled  with short, terse sentences that may often be incomplete.  For a generation that grew up with Wren and Martin, ploughing through their incorrect sentence constructs can be frustrating.  But for gen-next, acronyms are the most sought-after words. 

Here is a glossary of some of the words popularly used by them – this will help us understand our young friends better!

IKR – I know, Right!  When using this, you are vehemently agreeing with whatever the sender is suggesting.  My teenage daughter uses this quite frequently in her messages – especially when a friend of hers shares some bit of gossip about a mutual friend from school who acts in a certain way.

GTG, TTYL– You will find these two used one after the other. Sentence construct - Dude, my Mom’s calling, GTG – Got to Go.  TTYL – Talk to you later!

YOLO -  You Only Live Once.  This is a profound truth of life – used often as an excuse when you especially do or indulge in something extravagant.  This word is a passport to leading life on your terms.

LOL – Laugh Out Loud.  When you find the message interesting and funny, you remark LOL. You may not laugh but will use it to convey that you found the message funny. 

ROFL – Rolling on the Floor Laughing – You use this when you find something extremely humorous or funny.  It is so funny that you are rolling on the floor with laughter.

LMAO – Laughing My Ass Off – Another expression used when you find something extremely funny.  This is used a lot more informally than ROFL.

BFF – Best Friends Forever -    Not to be confused with BF (Boyfriend), a  BFF is like a soul sister – understands your every mood and puts up with your idiosyncrasies.

OK BOOMER – When your millennial agrees to unwillingly accept your suggestion and go with it.  He or she uses this disparagingly to convey that your ideas are old and quaint and that you are an old-timer.

TBH – To be Honest.  When you try to soften the criticism or fault,  you hem and haw.  TBH will help you to cut to the point.  Sentence construct – TBH, I don’t know if I am doing the right thing.

FOMO – Fear of Missing Out – This is peer pressure at its worst, when we end up doing things despite our dislike for it, due to the fear of being left out.  This highlights the reason why we do certain things – the fear of not being part of a social circle.

NM- Nothing Much – When someone asks you what you are doing, and you are not really doing anything in particular, you reply with a NM.

SAVAGE – The word actually means wild and untamed but when used by teens, it is a positive adjective.   When someone is savage, it means he/she is super cool. 

CHILLING – When you are hanging out with friends, enjoying their company, maybe having something to eat and drink – you are basically relaxing and having a good time.

TMI – Too much Information -When you find that there is an information overload and you want the talker to stop discussing a topic. Sentence construct –“Whoa, Bro!  TMI – please stop.”

SMH – Shaking my Head -Used in messaging, when you want to convey how dumb or annoying the other person’s idea is.   It has the effect of rolling your eyes at the other person’s suggestion.

WHATEVER – Most commonly used by youngsters, it highlights their indifference and their view that they are not remotely concerned by whatever you are doing or suggesting.  

Now that you are armed with their lingo, I hope you will be able to chill with Gen-next!

 PC - The pictures used are not mine. All images have been open sourced from the internet.

Bangalore Days - Then and Now

Good old Bangalore - where art thou?

Our Bangalore was once known as the Pensioner’s Paradise.  Today, the only paradise that one can find here is Paradise Biriyani!   While we once took pride in its moniker of Silicon Capital of India and Garden City, we now have to sadly accept some of the more realistic tags of Garbage Capital, Traffic-Jam Capital. 

Growing up in Bangalore, we would have full-arm sweaters and half-arm sweaters to combat the cold season that would start from July-August itself and go on till February. But now, sweaters are hardly required. We need full-armed shirts to protect our arms against sun-burn and sleeveless shirts to beat the heat.

Gear up on your running Gear!

Running is now a big rage and serious business in Bangalore. Gone are the days when you just had to slip into a simple pair of canvas shoes and let your feet take over. If you need to run today, you will first have to get yourself a pair of the latest and funkiest pair of shoes from a well-known brand. Next, to match the shoes, you will have to invest in good quality dry-fit clothes (preferably with the brand icon neatly displayed). And obviously, one cannot repeat the same set of clothes everyday. So you will have to buy a minimum of 3 sets – possibly a pair of shorts, a full length track-pant and one that comes till your calf. Next on the list is a hip-belt that can hold your vehicle keys, and a bottle of water/energy drink that you will have to sip every few metres. In addition, you will need an arm-band that will hold your mobile phone while you can run hands- free. The ear-phones are an absolute must: you can listen to the music of your choice as you go about your running business. Finally, you will also need the latest, hi-tech watch to tie around your wrist – not to see the time but to record and analyse your run - time taken, distance covered, speed, calories spent, total steps taken, and such other important details. All this, along with your ‘selfie’ picture will ofcourse have to be shared through your Face Book account. After all, what good is running if your friends don’t know you are doing it!



Another change that you will find in Bangalore is that every locality now

Restaurants galore!

has not only the ubiquitous liquor store but also several medical stores and a vast number of restaurants. Infact today, the restaurant business is possibly the most successful one to be in. You just have to put up a sign-board and open shop; people will come thronging to your eatery at all hours of the day. This makes you wonder if people really cook in their homes and if the increase in medical stores is a natural outcome of the increased number of restaurants!



Also now, with DISK (Double Income Single Kid) or DINK (Double Income No Kid) families, pets - especially dogs- have become very popular. On a morning/evening stroll, you will see middle-aged men holding on to leashes, and taking their dogs for a walk (or is it the other way, the dogs pulling their masters?) Earlier, it used to be children and youngsters who would walk their dogs, but this has changed – it is now predominantly middle-aged men undertaking this task.

There are two reasons for this. Firstly, kids of all ages are busy attending tuition classes and other improvement classes. Between school/college and additional classes, they hardly have time to breathe, forget taking the dog out. Secondly, most young women and teenaged girls stop to admire the dogs and pet them. The men enjoy this indirect attention, and take pride in their dog’s reflected glory! Hence, they voluntarily opt to take the dog out for a walk!

Bangalore's very own motto!

With the growing cosmopolitan outlook, Bangalore has certainly changed in very many aspects. But for the common man, one thing continues – “Swalpa Adjust Maadi!”



Note:  The pictures in this blog post have been sourced from the web, they are not mine.