Voices

(As published in the magazine Helter Skelter, based on a theme.)

“I never thought that scoundrel would do this to his only son…..” Gaurav’s grandfather’s voice trailed off and the old man could not bring himself to complete the sentence. The rising anger was accompanied by grief and helplessness. Tears flowed down his cheeks and he did nothing to stop them. His grandson lay in front of him fast asleep. The plasters covered his head and an eye as well.

Harshvardhan Jadhav had tried his best to stay strong for the sake of his ailing daughter but the sight of his only grandson, beaten up and bruised, tore him apart and he could not control his emotions any longer.

Preeti immediately rose from her chair and placed her hand on his shoulder. “Uncle… it is alright. Gaurav is fine now and soon he will be back to normal. His father is behind bars. You don’t have to worry about anything. We are here for you.” Her colleague and friend Mala also sat next to the elderly gentleman and tried to pacify him.

“Imagine if you had not called the police on time……” the old man continued in between his sobs… “I would have lost my grandson. I don’t know how to thank you beti. You saved his life. I just hope Tanuja gets better soon. I have not told her about Gaurav yet.”

Preeti wanted him to know that it was his grandson’s presence of mind that played a bigger role.....

Read the complete story here.

Her

Their relationship goes back many many years and it was one that Mariam deeply treasured. Somehow around her Mariam always felt livelier and prayed that the time would stand still. No one complained about their whereabouts except for Mrs. Angela, the grumpy neighbor. Every time Mrs. Angela caught Mariam and her together, she would complain to Mariam’s mother. “You should tell your daughter to stop this nonsense and go inside. Ridiculous!” Her mother used to give into Mariam’s games initially, but after a while Mariam realized that Mamma had begun to take Mrs. Angela’s side.

Mariam always took time to warm up to others, especially children her age. But with her, age was never an concern. Mariam remembered the first time she met her, she was wearing a frock, lilac in colour. It was also Mariam’s favourite flower. If it were not for her, Mariam would never have mastered the art of making paper boats nor discovered the joy of splashing in puddles.

It was the month of June and Mariam had been unwell and her mother had forbidden Mariam to meet her. On a Sunday afternoon, she arrived and Mariam snuck out to meet her. Only Pepper, Mrs. Angela’s cat noticed her slipping out into the open courtyard, where she waited for her, impatiently. While Mariam tiptoed outside the room, she was careful not to wake her grandfather who was comfortably settled in his arm chair, enjoying his siesta. Mariam knew that it would only be a few minutes before her Grandpa and Mamma were out looking for her. But the joy of doing something secretively overwhelmed Mariam. Later that day, Mamma was furious and ensured that Mariam went to bed early.

Every time she came to visit, she would bring along a surprise, something that was meant only for Mariam. Each time the urchins from the neighboring street befriended her, Mariam would feel a tad jealous. But somehow as the years went by, fingers were pointed at Mariam and some even called her a nut-case. Things began to get worse. A strange void started to accompany her. Once on their way back from the Doctor’s clinic, Mamma had hugged Mariam so tight that she could feel her mother’s body shaking as she sobbed. That was the last thing Mariam remembered about Mamma. Mariam never understood why suddenly everyone had become so silent and gloomy around her. Except for her, of course.

On her wedding day too, Mariam waited for her eagerly with fond memories, but somehow she never came. Her relatives were of course relieved. Even as she bade farewell to her favorite flowers, she prayed that she would visit her at her husband’s house. She missed her terribly, and somehow on that day, more than ever. Two weeks into the marriage and the husband also seemed to abhor her presence.

Many decades had passed since that day but still the memories remained etched in Mariam’s mind. But right now all Mariam could think of was meeting her again, all the more because her visits had become very rare to that side of town. She looked up at the sky from her tiny window and called to her roommate Ammu. “Ammu, come quickly.. see she has come …after so long…. I am going out to meet her….”

Mariam’s voice woke Ali, the caretaker, who had fallen asleep in his chair. The same chair which had held his weight ever since the institution was built. He scanned the verandah and the adjoining rooms. “Who could be shouting at this hour” he told himself.

Clearly it was coming from the second floor, B ward where Mariam, one of the earliest members of the Vridhalay was housed. She was pointing to the sky and talking aloud excitedly. He decided to step out to take a better look at what the manic 72 year old woman was pointing to.

The minute his eyes met the dark clouds above, Ali felt the first drop fall on his wrinkled forehead.

“Damn this wretched rain” he grumbled as he swiftly rushed inside for cover.

Confessions of an (incredibly!) indecisive mind

Monday

7:00 am: Didi, Aaj kya banau?

7:02 am: Dal, aur…

7:02 am: Gobi.. ?

7:02 am: Haan thik hai..Actually, yeh Dal ke bina kuch curry nahi banta?

7:05 am: Kyon didi?

7:05 am: Nahi, bas aise …Dal kha khake bore ho gayi hoon!

7:06 am: Acha, thik hai, toh phir main anda curry banau?

7:06 am: Nahi, Aaj mein anda nahi khaati...

7:07 am: To phir main soya sabji banau?

7:07 am: Aaj dosa khaayenge, sambar banao

7:08 am: Sambaar mein dal daloon?

7:08 am: Arey, yeh kya pooch rahe ho! Dal ke bina kaise banayenge aap?!

:-O

Wednesday

10:00 am: Does this graphic look good on this invite?

10:03 am: Hmmmm, it is looking a little boring.
This is an award ceremony rt? Use a trophy?

10:03 am: Trophy?? That is even more boring, no?

10:04 am: Yeahhh.. mmm true. What about a Red Carpet?

10:04 am: That will not suit this creative I feel..

10:05 am: Ok, so see what else we can do then.
I have to send so many mails, will discuss in a bit, ok?

------

10: 15 am : Arey, why have u used a Red Carpet?

10: 15 am : Actually I was wrong, it fits pretty well..take a look..

10: 15 am: No No!! it looks weird…..remove it!

10: 16 am: Then I will put a trophy?

10: 16 am: Trophy? Who said anything about a trophy! Think Out of the box yaar!!

:-/


Saturday

11: 00 am: I want to go out.

11: 02 am : Ok, but where?

11: 02 am: Movie?

11: 02 am: Ok, which one? You want to watch the latest Julia Roberts flick?

11: 03 am: Nope, that one has bad reviews on IMDB.

11: 04 am: So let’s go for something else

11:04 am: There doesn’t seem to be anything else, anything that WE haven’t seen! Tch!

11: 05 am: Ok, then decide. You only said Movie!

11: 06 am: OK, forget movie then..

11: 06 am: U want to go to Hard Rock?

11: 07 am: Actually I was thinking let’s go for a play..

11: 07 am: Ok, which one?

11: 10 am: Oh no, I just checked… this week they have some pretty lousy ones...
Hard Rock sounds like a good idea.. but on second thoughts,....…

11: 10 am: Can we just go for a drive instead?

11: 10 am: Oh I was just about to say that. But the maid comes in two hours..
will we be back by then?

11: 12 am: Silence

11: 12 am: Why are you not saying anything?

11: 13 am: What do you want me to say? You make the plan..

11: 14 am: Ok, So I will. There has to be some movie worth watching..
there definitely has to be. Let me check…

11: 14 am: Silence. Zzzz…

11: 15 am: ??? WHAT!

11: 16 am: Nothing at all! Wake me up once you have made up your mind.

:-I

On Reading......

I was born with a reading list I will never finish.
- Maud Casey

So were many.

My fondest memory of reading goes back to the days of Amar Chitra Katha (ACK) and Enid Blyton. Hans Christian Andersen’s Fairy Tales and My Big Fat Book of Bedtime Stories were amongst my other favourites as a child. In those days, mythology and adventure ruled the roost, at least for me. The best part about ACK was undoubtedly the illustration. Skillfully drawn images of Gods & Goddesses, kings and queens, in all their beauty and grandeur adorned the pages of these story books. Each book carried a descriptive and well written story about the lives of these divine souls, said to have lived and died for the glory of mankind. I was clearly smitten by these books and if it were not for Uncle Pai, who knows, I may have even thought Dashavatar is James Cameron’s next!

All credit goes to my mother, who used to write to ACK’s office in Mumbai and have the books home delivered. When she realized I could slowly progress to novels, she enrolled me at a library in the neighborhood where I could pick up one or maximum two books at a time. Books were one of the few luxuries that I was allowed as a child. I clearly remember this “library” was just a small room with books crammed into shelves, bursting at the seams. The librarian was a petite bespectacled lady who sat at the entrance, amongst a pile of books, eagerly waiting to make conversation with any living being that walked through the door.

In those days, I used to think the Famous Five was the next best thing after super heroes. I remember having stumbled upon a Famous Five video cassette at a local video lending library, and I nagged my mother so much that finally after a number of promises (associated with home work, tuitions and such!) she was forced to give in. I would have seen the movie a zillion times. Looking back, they are not even a tiny patch on the books I realize.

Secret Seven, Nancy Drew also featured in my library list, and no offence to the opposite sex, but I never liked Hardy Boys. Tom Sawyer, Oliver Twist, Little Women, Pride and Prejudice were amongst my first classics. There were also Tinkles, Chacha Chaudhrys, and Archies which I used to read in the passing, and in between textbooks. :D

A good book is the best of friends, the same today and forever.
- Martin Tupper

Along with Teenache, came Sidney Sheldon, John Grisham, Jeffery Archer and of course Sweet Valley High! SVH laid the foundation to chick lit and soon it paved way for SVU (Sweet Valley University) as well. It was also around that time that I started snooping around Femina, Savvy, and the like till my mom used to lock them in her cupboards saying these were magazines I could read later and not now!

I discovered the Ramses Series by Christian Jacq thanks to a close friend. As mentioned earlier, mythology, that too Egyptian was a must-read. Even today, when I come across a good book on any Pharaoh, I look at it longingly and we all know what happens next. :) Jokes apart, The Ramses Series by CJ definitely adds value to any bookshelf.

As destiny would have it, the miniscule library and the librarian disappeared one fine day, and yet my beloved mother never gave up. In fact she discovered one of the best libraries in the city and enrolled me and my sister there. Eloor Lending Library, one of the best libraries in Kerala, has played a huge role in my love affair with books and if you happen to stay in Cochin, it is worth a visit. They have a pretty good collection in the Bangalore branch as well.

With a better library in my life, my horizons were broadened, although my mom was not very happy with the direction in which there were broadening! I began to sneak home Cosmopolitan (Like. Really!?) Good Housekeeping, Vogue, and the other fashion and lifestyle magazines. Mom tried her best to remind me I had to wait a little longer for later to arrive!

I also started to read Dean Koontz, Stephen King, Robin Cook, Earl Stanley Gardner, Yann Martel, Mitch Albom, Michel Crichton, Robert Ludlum, Mary Higgins Clark and of course many more classics. I did try my hand at reading Vladimir’s Lolita, but I never succeeded then. Maybe I should re visit it now.

The Little Magazine was introduced to me by a dear friend and that is how I got a taste of a literary journal for the first time. This magazine is a great read if you are in the mood for some poetry and prose.

There are worse crimes than burning books. One of them is not reading them.
- Joseph Brodsky

Ahem. Truth be told, this was one phase in my life where I rarely read, apart from text books that is.

College (that too away from home) was a phase of new found freedom, closely accompanied by limited pocket money. Given the circumstances, naturally there were better avenues to explore and indulge than books. Heh!

Also, while doing a UG course in Economics where you are reading J M Keynes, Adam Smith almost every other day, reading any other book seemed like too much of an effort then. In my attempt to be in touch with books, I also joined a book club in college, but ended up either sleeping or playing tic-tac-toe through those classes as well. Strange!

But David Baldacci, Jean P Sassion and some random chick lit books did feature somewhere in those three eventful years. Not a single Mills and Boon, I find them awfully BORING!

Then it was time for post graduation and things changed for the better, well a tad bit. But the genre was completely different. Thanks to projects, assignments and class presentations, I had to read Harvard Business Reviews (HBR), books such as “Who says elephants can’t dance?”, “Blue Ocean Strategy” and the lot. Phew! Once in a while there would be a fiction, but nothing to write home about. One book that I remember clearly reading was “Snapshots from Hell”. Before you jump into conclusions, the 2 years I spent doing my MBA were far from hell, closer to ummm…..never mind!;)

The college library was a storehouse of books and magazines, and as a management student I know I was expected to be abreast of all what was happening in the global economy, but honestly my list consisted of mainly HBRs and now and then the newspaper. (Disgrace I agree!)

There is more treasure in books than in all the pirate's loot on Treasure Island.
- Walt Disney

I was clearly going through an All work and more books please phase. When I started earning my own grub, was when books were back in my life and that too with a vengeance, if you will! At least one or two amongst my flat mates, colleagues and roommates was a book lover and in those days books were lent and borrowed religiously. Every now and then, authors and their books too would feature in our daily gossip sessions.

Around this time, I also took a deep dive into Indian fiction and devoured many a book by Anita Nair, Anita Desai, Shashi Tharoor, Jhumpa Lahiri, Arundhati Roy, Jayshree Mishra, Chitrabanerjee Divakarunni, Raj Kamal Jha, Kamala Markendeya, Pankaj Mishra and so many more. The list is almost endless. (Another day, Another Post)

I also used to scout around for good bookstores and spared no book exhibitions. From my four precious years in Bangalore, I’d recommend Church Street and Brigade Road, which has some of the leading bookstores like The Bookworm and Blossoms. I could spend a whole day in the latter! There was also an old uncle who had an amazing bookstore near Koshy’s, but I think a year or so back, they shut shop.

Online reading slowly picked up pace during these years and Amazon was a dear friend when it came to reading about books and reviews. However Kindle is strictly not my cup of tea because I have never read an e-novel and I don’t think I ever will. At the risk of getting shot by JKR fans, I must confess I really enjoyed reading Harry Potter but I am more of a LOTR person.

I am also grateful that I came across Haruki Murakami, Mark Haddon, Milan Kundera, Khaled Hosseini during these years. Some brilliant authors, whose impeccable style of writing and imagination has left me in just total awe. And of course, there were many others, whose books I did struggle to finish. :I


Reading gives us someplace to go when we have to stay where we are.
- Mason Cooley

I must confess that now I don’t seem to reading as much I would love to. A huge percentage of reading can be accounted to online journals and blogs. Off late, a lot of short stories and anthologies feature in my reading list, and of course The Caravan. I urge you to subscribe to this one, if have not already. I am not at all a fan of politics, but this would probably be the only magazine where I survived a 15 page write up on a Chief Minister!

Flipkart tops my bookmark lists and I also occasionally visit a second hand store. Just a few weeks back, I finished the first book in the Millennium Series, and boy was it riveting and how! An excellent whodunit story, after ages.

Recently one of my friends shared her “Must - Read” list of books, a pretty exhaustive list that will take me a while to complete I realize. Sigh! Is there any job where I can get paid for reading and then some more reading, anyone??

At the moment, Songs of Blood and Sword by Fatima Ashraf seem to be screaming for undivided attention.

There goes my scribble.

Meeting Morris Rider

“Can you imagine….the dog is called Morris Rider!!?” exclaimed Father as he put the phone down. He had just spoken to his brother who was sending him a Labrador pup all the way from Delhi. “Morris is being brought from Delhi by Mr D’Silva and his son Peter.”

Son was obviously thrilled at the news of a pet coming home, but at the same time a tad confused about the name. Err.. Morris Rider? Sounded like a vintage car to him, but he decided not to be a kill joy.

“Dad, the pup was reared by an Anglo Indian family, that explains the name I feel. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. Mr D’Silva and son will leave the following day and we can change his name.”

“Yes. I agree…. It is not a big deal.” Father dropped the subject.

Mother chose not to comment. The news of a pet joining their family, one which had a name as exotic as Morris Rider definitely added to the excitement and of course, amusement. That seemed sufficient for her.

The next day Father and Son woke up ahead of their alarms, dressed and got ready in time to meet Morris Rider. They reached the station way in advance and Father made the third phone call to Mr D’Silva, while the Son kept asking the station master for the nth time when the train from Delhi would reach. Patience was clearly not a family virtue and Morris Rider may have to live with that.

Finally the much awaited train reached the station and Mr D’Silva, Peter and of course another VIP got off the compartment to be greeted by Father and Son in much joy.

“Good Morning, Mr Bakshi. It is a pleasure to meet you finally. Your brother talks very highly of you.”

Mr D’Silva’s husky voice made some of the co-passengers turn around and his son, a gawky 18 year old stood next to him shifting his weight from one feet to the other. It was obvious that Peter was dragged by his father to deliver Morris Rider into safe hands.

“Pleased to meet you too Mr D’Silva. How was your journey? Come, let me take you all home for some excellent breakfast. Btw how is our champ doing?” Father was waiting to catch a good look.

“Oh he is great. He did not cause any trouble during the journey. He is a very friendly dog I tell u!”

“Labs are always friendly dad” quipped Peter.

Mr D’Silva ignored his son’s comments and followed Father to the car. He slipped into the seat next to Father and Son chose to sit behind with Peter with the pup's cage on his lap. It looked like a bird cage to Son, but he decided not to start a discussion around it.

The team was home in less than half an hour and Morris Rider had already started whining on the way.

“I think he is hungry… he has not had his morning milk” Peter remarked.

“Sure, Sure.. we will feed him right away” Father called out to Mother and both Mother and Son were busy with Morris Rider. He was quite a looker, unbelievably cute and cuddly for a 3 month old Labrador pup. He was famished after a long train journey and finished the milk in no time. Then he hopped around Mother, till she raised her voice to indicate there was no more food coming his way.

Most mothers typically try to be stern with their off springs and this one somehow decided to treat Morris Rider the same way as well. She kept yelling “Sit Sit.. …….SIT.”

Father heard this and ran to the kitchen “For heaven’s sake, stop it woman!.... Morris is just 3 months old. He cannot be trained at this age… for now you can shout at your son. Not the pup!”

Mother almost had a quick retort coming, but on seeing Mr D’Silva and Peter, she immediately changed her mind and kept quiet.

Son noticed that Peter was trying to control his laughter, ….maybe he has never seen anyone getting shouted at? Or maybe Father was being too protective about Morris Rider? Mr D’Silva kept a straight face and seemed quite embarrassed. Son realized that maybe he was feeling a little odd to be witnessing a family squabble, and that too for something so silly.

After a heavy meal, Father was in high spirits and so was Morris Rider. Mr D’Silva and the son watched the duo as they played.

Father would pretend like he was running, trying to move around the room, making rapid movements to catch Morris Rider’s attention. The Son was feeling a tad jealous that Morris Rider had not yet warmed up to him.

“Morrsis.. Morris… come here..” Father called out.

Morris Rider would take a few steps and then stop and wag his tiny tail and let out a small bark.

“Hahaha! Morris is so cute no..” gushed Mother

Father continued “ Morris… come to me.. now.. ….... that’s my boy ....good boy Morris!” Father took him in his lap and patted the wriggling pup. Morris Rider seemed to say “Let me GO ……..!”

Mr D’Silva sat quietly all through this public display of love and affection and Son also noticed that every time Father called out to Morris Rider, Mr D”Silva would shift uncomfortably in his chair, his face reddening. Peter had risen from his chair and excused himself with a big grin on his face.

The Son knew there was something going on, but once again dismissed it off as something trivial.

The day passed by rather quickly and most of the time the family would play with their new found friend , Morris Rider or watch TV in between. Mr D’Silva made a few phone calls and in between discussed the global economy with Father. Peter could not care less. The guests retired to sleep as early as 8 pm.

Son remembered reading in of his Enid Blyton novels about how Julian, Dick, Anne, George and even Timmy the dog would have their supper at 7.00 pm and go to sleep by 8.30 pm, unless of course they were out exploring a secret passage and snooping around with their flash lights. Then he stopped, he didn’t know why he was suddenly reminded of Enid Blyton. It could also be because that was the only book he had read about foreigners, phirangs as his mother referred to them. "Anglo Indians are lot like them you know...." he had overheard his mother tell the aunty opposite their house. She was discussing what to cook for the phirangs.

The next morning again Father and Son woke up early, putting their alarm clocks to shame, and dressed quickly to drop their guests off at the station. Morris Rider was taking his power nap.

Father thanked Mr D’Silva for having taken the trouble to carry Morris Rider all the way from Delhi. Mother packed gifts for Mr and Mrs D’Silva and Peter in an attractive ethnic bag. “Desi bags are what these phirangs are fond of” she whispered to Father.

“Good Lord! They are not phirangs , …… never mind” Father was in no mood for another altercation and he didn’t want his guests to witness another brawl.

Mr D’Silva and Peter decided not to wake Morris Rider and tip toed to the car where Father and Son sat waiting for them. They reached the station on time and Father bragged about how time management was one of his fortes, and how he had trained his wife and son to be just like him.

The men shook hands, bade farewell and just when the station master began to wave the flag, Father decided to ask an important question.

“Thank you very much Mr D’Silva…… I am sorry. I didn’t get your first name….”

Mr D’Silva quickly stepped onto the train before answering the question.

Father repeated his question. “Actually…….what did you say your first name was??”

Mr D’Silva smiled and waved as the train honked and started to move.

“Morris….. Mr Bakshi.” Then as to reiterate, he added. “My name is Morris Schneider D’Silva”

It was Father’s turn to turn red while Son tried to control his laughter. As for Mr D’Silva, he was glad that the train had picked up speed.