Missed Calls

Like every Sunday I am having my favorite coffee: Devil’s Own at my favorite coffee joint Café Coffee Day or CCD as most of us call it. It’s a perfect blend of bitter coffee and sweet chocolate with whipped cream; the way I like coffee best, bitter-sweet! I was doing what I always do when I have my coffee: reading. Only this time I was reading Shantaram. Anyways, there was this group of young girls talking in Gujarati. One of them was telling the other in rapid Gujarati “Hey, I gave you a missed call. Your mistake you didn’t realize it.”

Ah, missed calls! When I was in college, I didn’t have a cell simply because I wanted a cell only after I started earning. Then these were the conversations:

“Hey Rohan, give me a missed call when you reach the station I’ll come to pick you up.”

“Pooja, I’ll give you a missed call when I leave home for college.”

“Aga Sulbha, Aditya will give you a missed call on your cell. And when he does do tell me. I’ll have to go and meet him.”

“Hey sorry yaar, I didn’t see your missed call. I didn’t realize that I have to come.”

“Gaurav, if Mandke Sir comes, give me a missed call. I won’t enter the class.”

“Once you reach, give me a missed call.”

Gosh! The list is just endless! And the conversations were stupid! And then during exam times there were these frantic messages:

During Demography paper:
“Hey, who cares what the definition of fertility or fecundity is? What if I define them as: fertility is the product of fecundity (capacity honey!!) Ha ha ha. Crapy man!”

“Who cares who started the census, Greeks or non Greeks, Ashoka or the Brit’s? Did you realise they have eaten up one hour of my study time!”

At 3 am: “Hey I am sleeping now I am really tired. Kal jo hoga who dekha jayega! Ram Rahim bachaye!”

During Archeology paper:
“Arey I am just reading man. Going crazy. Have you realized that everyone had broad jaws, robust body etc etc…. ”

“Mesolithic tools were a lot of nonsense. Chalcolithic tools were even bakwas. See I’ve already forgotten. Wonder how I am going to pass.”

“Saw Harappa in my two hour sleep yaar!”

Theory of Social and Cultural Anthropology:
“Arey, anyone has notes for this subject? I’ll come over and collect it and photocopy it right away.”

“Definition of Culture: Culture….hmmm…I know its spelling!”

“Theory? I don’t know what Social and Cultural Anthropology is!”

Medical Anthropology paper:
“Thou art the God of Medical Anthropology, O Gambo’s student. Teach me pluralism!”

“Hey I can actually visualize Gambo teaching man.”

Wonder what you got to say to that?
Wonder where I got all my crazy behavior from?
Now you know the answer!

Water

Yes, I am still working on the story 'Missed Calls' that I had promised when I wrote 'Pandora’s Box' and it will come along soon. But for now, I want to write about “Water”.

Just last week Varsha’s husband was looking for some good music. We went to a music shop on MG road. While he was busy selecting what he wanted, I was looking around for movies and my eyes fell on the CD that read “Water”. Water – a Deepa Mehat film staring Lisa Ray, John Abraham, Seema Biswas, Sarla (Chuiya, the little girl) and others. Seeing the CD, brought back a conversation I had had then with a friend immediately after seeing the movie.

I remember telling him that the movie was good, and yet I was not happy with it. I remember telling him that it is an old story and was prevalent only in a part of India, West Bengal to be precise. Such things don’t happen any more now. I remember telling that that is not an India I want to project to the world. He told me of his grandmother’s story. She was widowed young. Her in-laws sent her to learn to type. And that is how she made a living.

Revisiting that conversation made me realise that probably at the same time when widows were burned or tortured, as the movie showed, there were also some stories where women were sent to school to help them make a living. I sat wondering why Deepa Mehta instead of showing a story like my friends grandmothers’ chose to show a movie like water. I mean why didn’t she show Savitribai Phule’s story, where Mahatma Phule taught her to read and write? Does she like projecting the evils of a society that is no longer existent?

And I am still trying to find the answers. I hate it when people make a living out of showing the ill’s of the society that I live in. Common, I bet there are things worth living for here. I bet there have always been small successes here. Why don’t we project them? If anyone can, then please give me some answers.

25 and going on...

I turned 25 today. How does it feel? Umm... nice .... and old (especially after my friends rubbed it in)! 25, a quarter of my life spent well. Full of fun and joy. It reminds me of a song by Simon and Garfunkel...

"I was 21 years old when I wrote this song

22 now, but I wont be for long

And the leaves that are green turn to brown."

Anyways, I did the things that I wanted to do the most.

I got up at four today. Had a bath. Prayed. And was off to see the sunrise. I wanted to see the sunrise today. I had a feeling that it was like a blessing to me. I had to walk up to NCL to see the sunrise. The walk was pleasant. I enjoyed the moment when I joined my hands to pray, to the Sun God.

My Dad gave me the usual bouquet of red roses.

My mom gave me her usual set of blessings.

My neighbours, got me a gift. Felt like a kid.

Pooja gave me a boquet of my favourite pink roses.

Kedar gave me a very nice card.

I met a couple of old friends today at one of our favourite hang outs - Chaitanya. We had those awesome, huge, mouthwatering parathas. We had a lot of silly conversations and Patiala Lassi! We enjoyed to the fullest.

I went to my favourite temples here. Kasba Ganapati, Dagadusheth Ganpati and Ganesh Khind. What remains are Sharda Math, Guruji Talim and Tambdi Jogeshwari. I think I'll do that tomorrow. I feel light today. I decided to throw away a lot of the baggage's that I was carrying around. I decided to forgive myself for all the wrongs that I have done. Forgiving others is God's business... not mine. But, I did ask God to forgive others. While I was at Kasba, I reflected back on last year. It was a tough year, for sure. But I did put a lot in the box that is labelled 'lessons learnt'. I thank those people who came my way, to put a few things in the 'lessons to be learnt' box. It must have hurt me then. But it has helped me be a better person. I thank them. God bless them.

Now that the day is spent well....my mom's awesome godi paysa is waiting for me.

Pandora’s box

"…And all that remains in her box is Hope!". Yuga was telling me Pandora's story as though Tanny and I didn't know it. We have known her too well to ask for any specific explanations. We just let her carry on. We could not make her feel better or worse anyways. In other words, We knew why she was suddenly telling us the story of Pandora's Box.

Yuga's life has not been the same for some time now. She lost a lot of weight in a couple of months. I suspect she has not been eating well. Although, she complains about the bad mess food. She has suddenly got dark circles, something she never had even during our 12 th exams. Her lame excuse for this is "that's what happens when you constantly work in front of the computer". Fool's we are to believe it, isn't it? She smiles a lot less these days. Not that you'll notice it. She hides it too well. Sometimes I think she hides a lot from herself too. Sometimes I think she prefers suffering alone. I guess it is about not showing how vulnerable she is. When you know she is not keeping well, you've just touched the tip of the iceberg. That is all she will show you, if, you are privileged. Sometimes I think she wants to prove him right. "You are too bold", he had told her, the first and the last time they had met. "You are too strong. No, strong is too strong a word. You are too tough." And she will be, even if she breaks up into pieces at the end of it. I can feel her cracking, breaking; inside. And yet, she wont let us help her.

If it had not been for Tanny and me, I wonder if she would ever open up. Having grown up together, the three of us knew each other in and out. We knew when to ask questions, when to keep our mouths shut, and when to ask for explanations. This was the time to shut up. We knew she had a lot of venom in there, and she had to get it out. And the best way to do that was to let her talk, uninterrupted.

She had severed ties with her family friends. There was some marriage talk there. She had almost said yes to the guy…well almost. Before it all broke into pieces. There was a lot of ill feeling. What hurt her the most, was that because of her, the parents also could not look at each other in the eye. What hurts her now, I think, is that in spite of all that happened, she still likes him. "The truth comes in strange disguises" she had told me once. This little piece of truth, Tanny and I found out when she said, "I wish he had broken up with dignity. I wish he had told me the truth that his mother was not impressed instead of trying to provoke me the way he did". That one statement told us what we needed to know.

Knowing Yuga, I cannot blame her less. We were just in standard 6 back then, 12 or 13 years old I think. She had not knit the scarf. And she told Ms. Martin that she did not knit over the weekend. The bad habit that Ms. Martin had when she was scolding, "…your parents…" she said something. And right then and there, Yuga got up, looked straight in her eye and said, "Don't get my parents in between. It is my mistake. And I admit it. Just don't get my parents in between". Yes, we were just 12 or 13 then. We are 24 now. And she has not changed one bit. What aunty (his mother) did was exactly the same. She blamed Yuga's parents. And Yuga, for who she is, gave back …if I can put it that way…right, left and center. Yuga will tolerate anything said to her. You only vex her to the point of no return when you say something to her parents. That is when she shows no mercy…

"And hope is not such a good thing you know…" she continued "it stops you from thinking logically." She went on.

Out of nowhere, I remember Tanny worrying that she will loose it soon if she continues this way. And then on another occasion Tanny told me that "she could take all this only because she was strong." With contempt in her voice Tanny once told me in her flawless marathi; "To jar majhya samor ala na, tar mi tyachya pekatyat ghalin" (If that guy ever comes in front of me I will kick him in his butt). "I am not sure Yuga would like that" I had told Tanny then. And Tanny shut up with a smile on her face. "Yeah. May be she'll kill me instead." And we burst out laughing.

"Then why do you still hope?" Tanny's sudden interjection brought me back to the conversation.

"Because loves labour is never lost." Yuga answered. "Neither mine, nor his. Neither my parents, nor his."

"Now this is annoying me Yuga." I said. "That ass hurt you. And you are still saying things like this. What the hell are you made of?"

"Yes. I am still talking like this. You know why? Because love is stronger than pride."

That was all she said. And she walked of looking back just once and repeating…. "Love is stronger than pride!"

Tanny was shaking her head, aghast.

"Pandora's Box" I sighed!

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Coming up next: Missed Calls

Gabrielle’s Shaft

‘Thak thak thak’, I made that noise while walking down the corridors of the campus. It actually reminded me of those ‘gurkhas’ that stroll at night 3 a.m. That was the noise that they make. ‘Thak thak thak’ I still continued. I then walked the same way on the streets. And suddenly, I was conscious of the whole world around me. I met a Kaka from the institute “Aap hume marne nikale ho?” he said looking at the stick in my hand. “Na kaka, hu tame kem vadhu?”(No kaka, why would I hit you?) I said in my broken Gujrathi, just to make him feel comfortable. “To kathi kem?” (why the stick?) he asked, “Kutrao mate” (for the dogs), I lied, I didn’t feel like explaining a lot. “Kutrao mate?” he laughed and walked off.

I indeed did feel like Gabrielle walking with her shaft or like ‘hunterwali’, ready to hit anyone in my way. I could actually laugh out loud. The amount of stares I was drawing to myself! The vegetable vendors were staring at me. A group of guys turned back to have a second look probably wondering ‘why is she walking with a stick’? I wanted to avoid those stares, so I decided that I’d walk on the footpath. But no, seeing a stick in my hand, the dogs started barking! Phew! So much for a hot water bath!

Yeah. For a bucket of hot water bath! I never thought that a hot water bath was so tempting. But of late I have started believing in a lot of things that I otherwise would not. Ahmedabad gets cold at night, its like it is in the deserts. The wind is strong, real strong and cold, real cold. And so, the water also gets cold too, real cold. I would die but never ask the Kaps (more on them later!) to fix a geyser in my bathroom. So what’s a stick got to do with hot water? Naah, not Birbal’s khichadi!

I was cribbing about the cold water bath to a friend of mine. And she said in the granish tone of hers’ “Duffer, can’t you buy a water heater?” Oops, that never clicked me, did it? The next hour I find myself buying an electric water heater rod. I smiled to myself. Now I wouldn’t have to rush to my room after office hours so as to get water just tepid enough for my evening bath and still find myself shivering. Now I can have a bath morning and evening like before. That is more important to me because of my daily pooja routine. But I still had a problem. I needed a stick so I could hang the heater on it.

My quest for the stick began in the campus garden. Thankfully for me, I found Amit, my ex-colleague, who helped me find a bamboo stick. I was taking that back to my room. But when I reached my room, it was a thought came across: Have you ever wondered how a caterpillar feels when he is just out of that cocoon of his? Raw and stark naked? Stripped off of every cover he had and exposed to the whole wide world? But that is just the beginning. Life has a lot to teach the caterpillar for sure before he becomes a butterfly. That was exactly how I felt at that moment when I was placing that stick on the bucket trying to balance the heater on the stick. Life had turned topsy-turvy in the last couple of months. I can still feel the thorns. My landlady and her obnoxious dealings, my job and its challenges, my colleagues and their eccentricities and God alone knows what else. Staying alone is difficult, I agree. You stumble and fall. You are hurt. You try to get up and yet, you fall again. You know you won’t ask for help, simply because you think you are grown up and think you should face your problems yourself. But even in the cinder, comes a sweet pleasure in facing the challenges that life throws at you. Of having grown up a little above the foibles. Of correcting yourself. Of facing the people you otherwise would not like to look at. You learn to take snide remarks without them getting into your system. Life teaches you all that. Not because it wants to, but because you have to and because you have no way out! There is a slight difference there. And when you are ready, slowly but surely, you come out as a beautiful butterfly, just like the caterpillar. And then, before you’ve known it, there you are… a beautiful butterfly!

And while I was waiting, heating the water, while I was enjoying my hot water after over a month, life’s little pleasures came back to me.

That day, after a long time, I also enjoyed washing my clothes … in hot water. Wonder what the Kaps will say if they know I’m using hot water to wash clothes! Oh their electricity bill... And I am laughing, to myself!

Cutting Chai

Not that I am an avid tea or coffee drinker, but the memories that the cutting chai, especially the special chai that I recently had at the University’s oh so famous ‘closed canteen’, one of our favourite hang outs, brought back fond nostalgic moments. One glass of special chai takes its round with at least five people. And then, another glass, and another, and another! The ambiance of the canteen, those familiar faces that pass you, the wada pav or the masala pav in your hand …and the chai(s) taking its rounds! The bliss! Cutting chai and its nostalgia!

I'd call a place heaven, where each street has a memory etched in my mind. Each tree has its own significance. The school with its basket ball court, that house where a friend stays by the corner of that road, the sunset at tekdi, that ice-cream parlour, that cake shop, those lanes in the University, that canteen, those stairs, that wada pav wala, that misal, that bhel, that sabudandchi khichadi, that upma, that pohe, and then there is that cutting chai!

The smile is spontaneous, even when you think of cutting chai. Our logic used to be simple then, you get ¾ of a cup for ½ the rate, essentially economical for us as students. I remember a friend telling me that he can have two cups of cutting in place of just one cup of full chai for the same amount. That reminds you of the days when you used to have just enough pocket money and you used to try and save most of it, not for your bank account per say, but so you can see some movie when you wanted to bunk classes, or eat something delicious by the wayside restaurant, or to be able to go zoom on your bike to some place near by. But what does that have to do with cutting chai? One possibly cannot save so much buying cutting cahi! But back then I suppose it had everything to do with saving! Well whatever…

“There is some magic in it”, a friend said. It’s that magic that gets that spontaneous smile on your face. Cutting chai is more about sitting in leisure with your friends and having chai. You possibly would never sit with your date at a tapir! It’s about that comfort zone that you share with your friends, about those silly jokes that one cracks then, pulling each others leg, about a time when logic and reasoning have no place in your conversations. I guess that is why cutting chai is nostalgic. Not that it all begins or ends with cutting chai. But surely, one of the many nostalgic moments will be one with a cutting chai!

NEVER QUIT

This is my favourite poem. Every time I stumble, I read this. It gives me the inspiration to carry on doing what I believe is right. Here it is, for you.

Never Quit

When things go wrong, as they sometimes will
When the road you are trudging, seems all uphill,
When funds are low and debts are high,
When you want to laugh and you have to sigh.
When care seems to be pressing you down a bit
Rest if you must
But NEVER QUIT.

Life is strange with its twists and turns
As every one of us sometimes learns,
And many a fellows turn around
When he might have won had he stuck it out
Don’t give up though the pace seems slow
You may succeed with another blow.

Often the goal is nearer than
It seems to a faint and faltering
Often the struggler has given up
When he might have captured the victor’s cup
And he learned too late
When the night came down
How close he was to golden crown

Success is failure turned inside out
The silver tint of clouds of doubt
And you never can tell how close you are
It may be near when it seems afar
So stick to the fight when you’re hardest hit
It’s when things seem the worst
THAT YOU MUSTN’T QUIT!!!!
-William Murray Angus