"Please, i beg you, please meet me tomorrow?"
"I'm really sorry man, my cousins are here in town! i don't think i can make it."
"Do you even understand my condition, i'm hallucinating about things all the time! i need to meet you asap."
"What?"
"ASAP, as soon as possible, if you only join the initials of those four words, it becomes ASAP"
"FY"
"What?"
" FY, Fuck you! The first two.. "
"Ya ya i understood, you need not be abusive! i'm really in pain honey, please, please help me!"
" I'll try ok? now please, i need to hang up. i'll give you a call tomorrow morning. bye, take care!"
"Bye sweety, love you"
It was difficult for me. I was pretty certain that i'm imagining much more than what exists. In my single room apartment in malad, i was distinctly putting up with atleast 3 people.but i was the only one paying the rent. for a few months it was alright,
till my roommates got employed. i had presumed that as soon as they would be earning themselves, we would be able to share the rent and other necessities for staying together. but this did not happen. i continued paying everything on my own, and just about managing to lead a comfortable life style, after they repeatedly assured me that it was only a matter of little more time till they get absolutely settled. i blindly trusted them. after around 7-8 months of their ignoring and eventually avoiding the financial responsibilities, i lodged an FIR against them, my 2 roommates. this is when i was told that i was living all alone, and those two were only a consequence of my being schizophrenic.
I had kept my family in the dark about this. the only person whom i wanted to tell this was someone who did not want to meet me. Kriti was the only girl i had ever made out with. she was the only one i had fallen for. she was the only one i could tell this to. but there had been serious behavioral changes in her lately. my common friend asif told me that she is dating someone else. i almost hung up on him. Asif was the lead for me to reach Kriti. He got me through her, not just introduced me, but also made me go out on dates with her umpteen times.
"Hello, Kriti?"
"Ya, hi, listen."
"Ya, tell me"
"See i'm seeing someone else, and he doesn't want me to meet you. i did not want to tell you this but you have left me with no choice"
"WHAAAT? FUUCKK?? Asif was right. You? Kriti, you were cheating on me?"
"Cheating? Salil we were never together! we were always just close friends"
"Are you insane? What about that evening at my place? when we both made out?"
"Salil have you gone totally crazy? when the fuck did we make out? i have never even been to your place!"
"Are you sure? You have never been to my single room apartment in Malad, Malad west? Opposite Inorbit mall?"
"Salil, you should get yourself checked. this is Panjim, Goa. You stay at your uncle's bungalow. You really are sick Salil. You don't need me, you need treatment,ASAP!"
"Wwwwww...waaiit ...kkkkkriiti"
"Bye salil, take care!"
I cried, with every part of my body in pain and disgust. i could not figure in what way should i hug the pillow which would comfort me, for i felt so incomplete on my own that i literally needed something else attached to feel better. and i was so miserable that i wasn't even sure that there was a pillow. i fucking wasn't sure whether there was anything i had! i was screwed.
-----------
" Sir, hello, sir?? there? can you hear me sir?"
"Yes Inspector Koyande, tell me"
" Sir, there's a body outside ACME plaza, 24 year old boy, seems like a suicide case."
"ACME plaza? where the hell is that?"
"Its in Malad sir, Malad west, opposite Inorbit mall"
Thursday, December 30, 2010
Friday, November 5, 2010
Hungry!
This is a story of three young boys and me. The boys were working in a famous restaurant in andheri, the famous suburb in Mumbai. The restaurant was called "FOOD YUMMY, NO MUMMY"! The logic to that name was that it was not one's mother's cooked food, yet the food was delicious. It really was. Who would know that better than me? Anyway! I'll come to myself later. These three boys worked as waiters in this restaurant. They had passed out of their respective colleges after doing well in Hotel Management courses, and joined here as debut-ants. They worked with a lot of zeal and passion. They were really good, excellent in work; sharp with reflexes, handsome looking, well spoken boys. The coincidental joining of all three within a couple of months, was an extreme fortune for the restaurant owners. It was at a time when the staff had grown old and bored, the patent customers were also bored to look at them. It was indeed a new wave, a breath of fresh air.
My small Dhaba was opposite FOOD YUMMY, NO MUMMY. I had quite uneventfully named it after myself, 'Nikhil Food Joint'. It was running with heavy losses, i had only a couple of men as my staff, who would cook as well as serve and take orders. Whatever i earned, almost all of that went to these two as their salaries and then paying the rent for that little place in a posh area. I was almost considering shutting the 'debacle of an investment' down, when one day the 3 boys entered my food joint. This was the first time when i actually met them. They were dressed handsomely, in their waiter dresses, and spoke in flawless English sitting on a table that had its one leg missing. I myself went and took their order, and served them as well. They kept discussing things amidst themselves throughout, as they ate. While paying the bill, they appreciated me for the food, and said something that made a difference, " Though we work in a restaurant much classier than yours, but we would like to eat here than there from now on!"
They came to my joint everyday from then, and also made friends with me. They kept telling me all the time that the food i serve is 20 times better than what they serve, and this is the food one can eat everyday and not their's. It was a huge compliment. But i also managed to take out some stuff from them. They helped me improve a few dishes i served, and made me secretly taste a few from their restaurant without making me go there and pay for it. But what they did most was that they ensured that i don't shut my joint down. I was preparing new stuff for them everyday, asking my cooks to make new kinds of dal, sabzee so that they don't get bored and stop coming there. It reached a point where i was almost running my joint for them, i was just cooking for them. This went on for almost an year and a half. One day when i was sitting with the accounts at the end of the month, i realized that i was again running with heavy losses. i had lost out on a lot of customers who used to come earlier , in my effort to keep these three coming everyday. In a couple of months, although i tried reviving those dishes back, i did not gain any new customers, or rather the old ones back. Consequently i was unable to pay the rent of the place and i had to shut my joint down. During the last week before my shutting down, when i had already decided that i had to shut the place, the three boys were really disturbed and sad. They asked me if i would like to join their restaurant, till i set up my own somewhere else, to which i said yes. But i was rejected after my interview.
After almost a month of that incident i received a call from one of the boys, inviting me to their restaurant that afternoon for lunch. As i entered, they received me warmly with hugs, and made me sit at a table which had all its legs intact,and had a beautiful table cloth over it.
They gave me an envelope and asked me to read it. It said the restaurant wants me to join as the Chief Chef, and would be delighted to have me on board. They explained me on my asking that it was a result of tedious efforts and making the manager taste a few dishes of mine which the boys had prepared that sealed the deal. I felt it was a really warm gesture from the boys.
I refused the offer. I was not going to take any favors from such young boys. I might have failed on my own to set up my own restaurant, but this incident was now enough for me to fight back again. I instead gave the boys an offer, of joining me in partnership, and opening a small restaurant all by ourselves.
I think they will say yes someday, though its been more than a month now since my offer. I think they will say yes!
My small Dhaba was opposite FOOD YUMMY, NO MUMMY. I had quite uneventfully named it after myself, 'Nikhil Food Joint'. It was running with heavy losses, i had only a couple of men as my staff, who would cook as well as serve and take orders. Whatever i earned, almost all of that went to these two as their salaries and then paying the rent for that little place in a posh area. I was almost considering shutting the 'debacle of an investment' down, when one day the 3 boys entered my food joint. This was the first time when i actually met them. They were dressed handsomely, in their waiter dresses, and spoke in flawless English sitting on a table that had its one leg missing. I myself went and took their order, and served them as well. They kept discussing things amidst themselves throughout, as they ate. While paying the bill, they appreciated me for the food, and said something that made a difference, " Though we work in a restaurant much classier than yours, but we would like to eat here than there from now on!"
They came to my joint everyday from then, and also made friends with me. They kept telling me all the time that the food i serve is 20 times better than what they serve, and this is the food one can eat everyday and not their's. It was a huge compliment. But i also managed to take out some stuff from them. They helped me improve a few dishes i served, and made me secretly taste a few from their restaurant without making me go there and pay for it. But what they did most was that they ensured that i don't shut my joint down. I was preparing new stuff for them everyday, asking my cooks to make new kinds of dal, sabzee so that they don't get bored and stop coming there. It reached a point where i was almost running my joint for them, i was just cooking for them. This went on for almost an year and a half. One day when i was sitting with the accounts at the end of the month, i realized that i was again running with heavy losses. i had lost out on a lot of customers who used to come earlier , in my effort to keep these three coming everyday. In a couple of months, although i tried reviving those dishes back, i did not gain any new customers, or rather the old ones back. Consequently i was unable to pay the rent of the place and i had to shut my joint down. During the last week before my shutting down, when i had already decided that i had to shut the place, the three boys were really disturbed and sad. They asked me if i would like to join their restaurant, till i set up my own somewhere else, to which i said yes. But i was rejected after my interview.
After almost a month of that incident i received a call from one of the boys, inviting me to their restaurant that afternoon for lunch. As i entered, they received me warmly with hugs, and made me sit at a table which had all its legs intact,and had a beautiful table cloth over it.
They gave me an envelope and asked me to read it. It said the restaurant wants me to join as the Chief Chef, and would be delighted to have me on board. They explained me on my asking that it was a result of tedious efforts and making the manager taste a few dishes of mine which the boys had prepared that sealed the deal. I felt it was a really warm gesture from the boys.
I refused the offer. I was not going to take any favors from such young boys. I might have failed on my own to set up my own restaurant, but this incident was now enough for me to fight back again. I instead gave the boys an offer, of joining me in partnership, and opening a small restaurant all by ourselves.
I think they will say yes someday, though its been more than a month now since my offer. I think they will say yes!
Monday, October 11, 2010
'Cold' experience
It was undoubtedly cold that morning. in delhi during winters, unless one has to attend to school, college or office, it is best to be at home under one's blanket while sipping hot coffee and reading a book may be. this might just be romanticizing the whole concept, but how can i help it, i'm a romantic! but inspite of all this and my being on a college christmas vaccation, i had to step out of my house that day. not just step out, to be precise, i had to cycle out. i had thought of giving my girlfriend a surprise. it was her birthday, and due to the vaccations, my chances of meeting her were nil unless i did something like what i did. she was a part of a strict north indian family, where it's almost impossible for the girl to go out with her friends on an off day. although it was her birthday, even then the maximum she was allowed was to call her friends (only girls) to her place for lunch. this didn't go too well with me, and since i was so madly in love with her, i could not have not met her on that day. i had decided the night before that i would secretly reach her place early morning, call her downstairs via my mobile phone, give her the gift, kiss her and come back. needless to say, my vision was pretty optimistic. to kiss her right infront of her house downstairs can only be a dream. neither did i ever have the balls, nor was she that willing to do something like that so visually close to her parents. anyway, i set out for her house, keeping my hopes alive and looking for a bouquet shop on the way. i later realised that i've been pretty absent minded to not buy the bouquet earlier, as finding a shop at 8 in the morning in that kind of cold was next to impossible. but then i thought by the time i reach her place at around 9-9:30, i would get a shop near her place that would be open. i was going to ride no less than 16 kilometres,one way, to reach her place. i was proud of the fact that very few boys would actually execute such a bizzare plan, only for their girlfriends. while i was riding, i realised that it is not just cold but chilly, and invisible ice cold knives went across my face, making it red and my nose watery. on the other hand, the fact that i was riding a bicycle kept me warm with heat transferring from my thighs to my entire body. after covering a fair distance, i decided to take a minor halt & look for a tea stall where first i could get my throat wet with some 'non distilled' water and then have a glass of hard boiled tea from a ridiculously burnt & black kettle used for years without any renovation. after i finished my tea, i began again for aliya's place, this time with more speed induced in my riding. i began ignoring a few red signals and made my way through thin gaps between cars and scooters, disgusting most of them but i couldn't care less. it was 9:15 and now i was within a kilometer of her place. now i resumed my search for a bouquet shop, and after a little bit of asking around, i found a shop that was open. i think i was the first customer of the day, so i was pleasantly treated by an otherwise rowdy shopkeeper (intuition). i made him arrange a few kinds of flowers and make an improvised bouquet, which also exceeded my budget, but i was thankfully carrying more money. now while riding i had the bouquet in my left hand, while i held the handle of my bicycle with my right. this reduced my speed but since i was close i was not very keen on riding fast now.
i reached her place and gave her a missed call. she called me back,
"hello, aliya?"
"ya, tell me"
"i'm right there at your place, just come downstairs"
"what? why didn't you tell me? i'm at gurgaon, at my cousin's place!"
"oh shit man! i rode my bicycle all the way from my home, just to give you a surprise."
"i'm sorry yaar, but you'll have to go back, can't come all the way from gurgaon now. hope you understand!"
"ya, anyway,happy birthday! love you, bye!"
i reached her place and gave her a missed call. she called me back,
"hello, aliya?"
"ya, tell me"
"i'm right there at your place, just come downstairs"
"what? why didn't you tell me? i'm at gurgaon, at my cousin's place!"
"oh shit man! i rode my bicycle all the way from my home, just to give you a surprise."
"i'm sorry yaar, but you'll have to go back, can't come all the way from gurgaon now. hope you understand!"
"ya, anyway,happy birthday! love you, bye!"
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
'Common'wealth
Reporter: Hello sir. Thanks a ton for finding out time for us from your busy schedule.
Mr. Almadi: No problem at all…hehehe
Reporter: Oh that’s so sweet of you! How is everything progressing?
Mr. Almadi: Very fine, I had problems in my marital life, they have suddenly disappeared. My bank loans are all gone on their own, old friends have again become friends…hehehe
Reporter: No sir, sorry you didn’t get my question! I meant how is everything going with the games?
Mr. Almadi: Oh that, hehehe… they will be held at the scheduled times only, we are not bothered by the weather, besides its just around 10 days, not like football world cup which goes on for a month...hehehe
Reporter: Ok! We’ve heard that the city is coming up with latest equipments and devices for the games. How true is that?
Mr. Almadi: Yes yes, very true. I’ve gifted all my officials with huge almirahs for massive storage. Each has multiple chambers and central locking system…hehehe
Reporter: Ummm…How do you see our nation performing in these international games?
Mr. Almadi: Our country has always been mediocre when it comes to ….llbbbbmmmmmbbb… brilliant when it comes to performing at the big stages…hehehe
Reporter: What’s funny?
Mr. Almadi: You mean hehehe?
Reporter: Yes!
Mr. Almadi: Well that’s my habit. Just like the way I can’t look into anyone’s eyes and talk…hehehe
Reporter: Sir, that’s not funny!
Mr. Almadi: You want some money?
Reporter: Well….ummm…why not sir?
Mr. Almadi: Here you go (hands her over a bunch of 500 rupee notes)
Hehehe
Reporter: tTtTtThank you
Cameraman: I want I want… hungry…hungry…
Mr. Almadi: Oh my god look at him, how thin is he? Where is he from? hehehe
Reporter: Dharavi
Mr. Almadi: Oh poor boy! Do you want some baby?
Cameraman: Yes yes! I want I want…hungry hungry..
Mr Almadi: Come here baby, come. Take, here’s your share. And if you want to join me you will get this kind of stuff twice a day. You want?
Cameraman: I want I want.
Mr. Almadi: great. So you are going to become the new slumdog millionaire…hehehehahahahahahahahahahhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhhuhuhehehehehehehehehehehehhahahahahahahahahahahahahahahuhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhhahahahahahahahahahheheheheheheheheheheee
Mr. Almadi: No problem at all…hehehe
Reporter: Oh that’s so sweet of you! How is everything progressing?
Mr. Almadi: Very fine, I had problems in my marital life, they have suddenly disappeared. My bank loans are all gone on their own, old friends have again become friends…hehehe
Reporter: No sir, sorry you didn’t get my question! I meant how is everything going with the games?
Mr. Almadi: Oh that, hehehe… they will be held at the scheduled times only, we are not bothered by the weather, besides its just around 10 days, not like football world cup which goes on for a month...hehehe
Reporter: Ok! We’ve heard that the city is coming up with latest equipments and devices for the games. How true is that?
Mr. Almadi: Yes yes, very true. I’ve gifted all my officials with huge almirahs for massive storage. Each has multiple chambers and central locking system…hehehe
Reporter: Ummm…How do you see our nation performing in these international games?
Mr. Almadi: Our country has always been mediocre when it comes to ….llbbbbmmmmmbbb… brilliant when it comes to performing at the big stages…hehehe
Reporter: What’s funny?
Mr. Almadi: You mean hehehe?
Reporter: Yes!
Mr. Almadi: Well that’s my habit. Just like the way I can’t look into anyone’s eyes and talk…hehehe
Reporter: Sir, that’s not funny!
Mr. Almadi: You want some money?
Reporter: Well….ummm…why not sir?
Mr. Almadi: Here you go (hands her over a bunch of 500 rupee notes)
Hehehe
Reporter: tTtTtThank you
Cameraman: I want I want… hungry…hungry…
Mr. Almadi: Oh my god look at him, how thin is he? Where is he from? hehehe
Reporter: Dharavi
Mr. Almadi: Oh poor boy! Do you want some baby?
Cameraman: Yes yes! I want I want…hungry hungry..
Mr Almadi: Come here baby, come. Take, here’s your share. And if you want to join me you will get this kind of stuff twice a day. You want?
Cameraman: I want I want.
Mr. Almadi: great. So you are going to become the new slumdog millionaire…hehehehahahahahahahahahahhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhhuhuhehehehehehehehehehehehhahahahahahahahahahahahahahahuhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhhahahahahahahahahahheheheheheheheheheheee
Thursday, July 8, 2010
Thanks Dad!
I’ve hardly been so depressed before. Tackling parents never was so painful earlier, but now slowly but surely, it had started getting on my nerves. I’ve been such a well behaved and non demanding kid since childhood, why now all of a sudden was it so difficult for them to accept it? I wasn’t doing this deliberately. With age had come a natural sense of choices, which I thought would be best for me, anyone else was secondary!
I decided to move out. I felt it was if not impossible, then improbable to shine if I kept lingering on to my father’s and mother’s preferences over my intuitions. I wanted to open a wine shop in Lokhandwala. It was very unlike the rest of my siblings who managed to prosper with highly academic choices, but my love for booze was not restricted to just drinking at home and pubs. During the last half decade I had made friends with all local wine shop owners near my residence and college, and I derived from them that once one’s shop was well established for all habitants around it, it was highly unlikely for the shop to not run well, and conclusively result in huge profits! My parents were of the sorts who would take offense if I were to study hotel management, believing that I would end up being a waiter initially and at best a manager of a restaurant with zero social respect. So opening a wine shop of my own for them to accept was like asking Ajit Agarkar to give consistent performances!
After a series of investments and loans to set up the shop and business, I was under way. My shop made its place right at the heart of the Lokhandwala market. I not only sold all brands of international and national booze available in our country, I also began a new offer. Through my years of highly passionate and tasteful drinking, I had gained some expertise on creating new and un-invented cocktails. I offered every customer purchasing over 500 rupees alcohol a glass of cocktail made exclusively by me for free. These were spontaneously made and invented by me, with a unique blend of amounts of different sorts of alcohol. It would need high assumption of taste to decipher whether 15 ml of vodka would taste nice with 30 ml of white rum and drops of tequila. But even after this, what made it special was my sense of the additives. For example, a sprinkle of a few coffee beans on the above mentioned mixture would make it an orgasm drink, something you would purchase 500 rupees alcohol for. I made a huge name for myself not just in Lokhandwala, but in whole of mumbai in a couple of years. I maintained the ritual of the free glass of cocktail even with my business flourishing like Sania Mirza’s fan following. It didn’t take me time to get an offer from the Sahara star hotel near the international airport to offer me a highly paid “in charge of cocktails” guy. I accepted the offer with warm ‘rum’ hands and ran my wine shop simultaneously with well equipped assistants. I made profits in lakhs from just my shop, and let us not get into how much I made from the five star hotel’s salary including the high profile tips! It was only a matter of time before I would get a call from my family. I was still unmarried so calling me back home was always an option. The call in fact came the morning I was convinced they would call me, one of my best telepathic successes.
“What drink can you make me right now?”
My father seemed breathless, panting heavily and sounding extremely fragile.
“What does that mean?”
“It is going to be my last drink; I want to have it from you!”
“Last drink? Dad, what is the matter?”
“I’m going son, my heart is almost not pumping blood anymore. Your mother has lost hope. I need you for the last few minutes!”
I didn’t even reply to that, threw my phone and ran out of my place. I drove carelessly and reached my parent’s in quarter to an hour, the fastest I could. My mother sat crying with her head in her hand, and dad palpitating lying in the drawing room on the single bed. He saw me and pointed his index finger towards the kitchen. I understood. I rushed to the kitchen, and ran my eyes through all kind of edible products arranged in a highly civilized way. It took me more than a couple of minutes to identify and reach out to a small 180 ml bottle of blender’s pride whiskey kept on one of the congested slabs. The fridge offered me some cold water, but the cocktail needed some more alcohol. Looking at dad’s condition, it looked highly unlikely for him to be able to wait till I go and bring back some more alcohol from the nearest wine shop. I had never felt so challenged in my whole life. I knew dad was going to die. I had not been with him for the last 12 years. Never has there been any correspondence from either side in all these years. I could not have failed this time. I wanted to make the best cocktail for him I ever had, but with zilch resources it was almost improbable, but not impossible. I looked at everything around me once again. There was no clue for me to unlock this mega mystery. That whiskey bottle was not even half empty, so I took a wild swig from it and made not just my throat but also my intelligence wet.
I got it. I was certain my blood contained more alcohol than a bottle of beer did. I slit my wrist and poured a few drops of blood in the 60ml whiskey in a glass, and mixed it with soda. I rushed back to my dad, made him drink the contents of the glass as he noticed my slit wrist. His last word before he expired was “Genius!”
I decided to move out. I felt it was if not impossible, then improbable to shine if I kept lingering on to my father’s and mother’s preferences over my intuitions. I wanted to open a wine shop in Lokhandwala. It was very unlike the rest of my siblings who managed to prosper with highly academic choices, but my love for booze was not restricted to just drinking at home and pubs. During the last half decade I had made friends with all local wine shop owners near my residence and college, and I derived from them that once one’s shop was well established for all habitants around it, it was highly unlikely for the shop to not run well, and conclusively result in huge profits! My parents were of the sorts who would take offense if I were to study hotel management, believing that I would end up being a waiter initially and at best a manager of a restaurant with zero social respect. So opening a wine shop of my own for them to accept was like asking Ajit Agarkar to give consistent performances!
After a series of investments and loans to set up the shop and business, I was under way. My shop made its place right at the heart of the Lokhandwala market. I not only sold all brands of international and national booze available in our country, I also began a new offer. Through my years of highly passionate and tasteful drinking, I had gained some expertise on creating new and un-invented cocktails. I offered every customer purchasing over 500 rupees alcohol a glass of cocktail made exclusively by me for free. These were spontaneously made and invented by me, with a unique blend of amounts of different sorts of alcohol. It would need high assumption of taste to decipher whether 15 ml of vodka would taste nice with 30 ml of white rum and drops of tequila. But even after this, what made it special was my sense of the additives. For example, a sprinkle of a few coffee beans on the above mentioned mixture would make it an orgasm drink, something you would purchase 500 rupees alcohol for. I made a huge name for myself not just in Lokhandwala, but in whole of mumbai in a couple of years. I maintained the ritual of the free glass of cocktail even with my business flourishing like Sania Mirza’s fan following. It didn’t take me time to get an offer from the Sahara star hotel near the international airport to offer me a highly paid “in charge of cocktails” guy. I accepted the offer with warm ‘rum’ hands and ran my wine shop simultaneously with well equipped assistants. I made profits in lakhs from just my shop, and let us not get into how much I made from the five star hotel’s salary including the high profile tips! It was only a matter of time before I would get a call from my family. I was still unmarried so calling me back home was always an option. The call in fact came the morning I was convinced they would call me, one of my best telepathic successes.
“What drink can you make me right now?”
My father seemed breathless, panting heavily and sounding extremely fragile.
“What does that mean?”
“It is going to be my last drink; I want to have it from you!”
“Last drink? Dad, what is the matter?”
“I’m going son, my heart is almost not pumping blood anymore. Your mother has lost hope. I need you for the last few minutes!”
I didn’t even reply to that, threw my phone and ran out of my place. I drove carelessly and reached my parent’s in quarter to an hour, the fastest I could. My mother sat crying with her head in her hand, and dad palpitating lying in the drawing room on the single bed. He saw me and pointed his index finger towards the kitchen. I understood. I rushed to the kitchen, and ran my eyes through all kind of edible products arranged in a highly civilized way. It took me more than a couple of minutes to identify and reach out to a small 180 ml bottle of blender’s pride whiskey kept on one of the congested slabs. The fridge offered me some cold water, but the cocktail needed some more alcohol. Looking at dad’s condition, it looked highly unlikely for him to be able to wait till I go and bring back some more alcohol from the nearest wine shop. I had never felt so challenged in my whole life. I knew dad was going to die. I had not been with him for the last 12 years. Never has there been any correspondence from either side in all these years. I could not have failed this time. I wanted to make the best cocktail for him I ever had, but with zilch resources it was almost improbable, but not impossible. I looked at everything around me once again. There was no clue for me to unlock this mega mystery. That whiskey bottle was not even half empty, so I took a wild swig from it and made not just my throat but also my intelligence wet.
I got it. I was certain my blood contained more alcohol than a bottle of beer did. I slit my wrist and poured a few drops of blood in the 60ml whiskey in a glass, and mixed it with soda. I rushed back to my dad, made him drink the contents of the glass as he noticed my slit wrist. His last word before he expired was “Genius!”
Thursday, June 24, 2010
ANALYTIC GRIEVANCE
My heart was beating as fast as it could. If it did any more, it would come out of my mouth now. Although I was doing this for the umpteenth time in my life, I felt as if I was a virgin at this task. The room was darker than what it should be, inhibiting my any vision. I had not only to find my way, but also do all this without making any noise. I walked on my toes, avoiding as little contact with the floor as possible. My feet were like those of a kathak dancer, it was impossible for them to not make any sound. I reached the dressing table, felt all the drawers up and down through my long fingers, and then calculatedly opened the third from the top on my left. Amazingly, as I literally bit my own teeth with the scare of breaking the pin drop silence while unlocking the drawer with its key, I managed to pull the drawer with zero decibel sound. I almost clapped with joy, but stopped again at the thought of breaking the silence. Again letting my fingers run through the items inside, I managed to find my mother’s secret purse in which remained thousands of rupees from so long that she did not remember it herself how many were there! It was my monthly routine to steal a couple of thousand rupees from that purse in the night without my mother’s knowledge. I had spent around 25-30,000 rupees in the last 5 years without her notice. My mother was the principal of a convent school and earned more than around that much every month, and kept her savings in that bag. She since her young days had been an ardent disapprover of banks. She believed that banks are organizations for people who are not potent and willing enough to save money on their own. So once there was no dad, she started saving all her money for my future studies in that purse, which was apparently a secret. She used to keep telling me that just because I don’t have a father I have no right to limit my dreams and I have every right to look for the highest thing academically, be it NASA, and that she has enough savings to let me in it. Although I didn’t believe her exactly on the NASA bit, but yes, she had saved lots, almost in lakhs. My stealing hence remained almost non guilt able because I felt I have just taken one tenth of the money which was anyway going to be spent on me. I found a valid justification for myself.
I took the purse in my hand and opened its zip to fetch out myself some valuable 500 rupee notes. As I took out around four of those notes, I felt the density of the bunch of notes remaining not very impressive. So with all my gut, I took an effort in counting them. There were only 11 such notes remaining, which meant 5500 bucks. It was unnerving. I just took three 500 rupee notes the last month, and did not notice such low density of notes then. How then suddenly all the money had vanished? Had my mother opened an account in a bank recently? It seemed highly unlikely, for a stubborn lady at 55 to change her mind and take back her words which she had believed in for over thirty years. Then how was this possible? Had she found another place for her savings and this was only the leftovers of a long time saving? Or was it me, who over a period of five years, had used her money like this and enjoyed life with high class prostitutes and alcohol and drugs, and ‘occasional’ spending on some books for academic purpose? Had I spent her ‘lakhs’?
I was perplexed, and terrified. The thought of finishing up all her money made me not steal that night. I kept the 4 crispy notes each of half a grand back into the purse, and made my way out of the room, this time not on my toes. My ‘kathak’ feet didn’t make any sound. I went to my room and stared at the ceiling lying on my bed, not realizing when I fell asleep!
I woke up the next day rather early, in fact as early as 6:30. My traditional getting up time was around 10 am, and this perennial behavior was defied due to the previous night. I went back to my mother’s room to see in light what I felt in the dark the night before. But I ran inside once I reached the door to her bedroom. She was lying on the floor unconscious. On further examination, I discovered that she wasn’t breathing and there was no heart beat. I looked around and noticed the drawer. That particular drawer was still open. I had forgotten to push it close and lock it, so it remained open the whole night with the key on it.
The police came in a couple of hours. The post mortem report declared that she died due to a heart attack, and it was a natural death. I was unable to study after my graduation, and ended up opening a shop for electrical and hardware appliances near my house. I charge almost half the price other electricians and shops do for the same service. I run in heavy loss, and just manage to make a living.
I took the purse in my hand and opened its zip to fetch out myself some valuable 500 rupee notes. As I took out around four of those notes, I felt the density of the bunch of notes remaining not very impressive. So with all my gut, I took an effort in counting them. There were only 11 such notes remaining, which meant 5500 bucks. It was unnerving. I just took three 500 rupee notes the last month, and did not notice such low density of notes then. How then suddenly all the money had vanished? Had my mother opened an account in a bank recently? It seemed highly unlikely, for a stubborn lady at 55 to change her mind and take back her words which she had believed in for over thirty years. Then how was this possible? Had she found another place for her savings and this was only the leftovers of a long time saving? Or was it me, who over a period of five years, had used her money like this and enjoyed life with high class prostitutes and alcohol and drugs, and ‘occasional’ spending on some books for academic purpose? Had I spent her ‘lakhs’?
I was perplexed, and terrified. The thought of finishing up all her money made me not steal that night. I kept the 4 crispy notes each of half a grand back into the purse, and made my way out of the room, this time not on my toes. My ‘kathak’ feet didn’t make any sound. I went to my room and stared at the ceiling lying on my bed, not realizing when I fell asleep!
I woke up the next day rather early, in fact as early as 6:30. My traditional getting up time was around 10 am, and this perennial behavior was defied due to the previous night. I went back to my mother’s room to see in light what I felt in the dark the night before. But I ran inside once I reached the door to her bedroom. She was lying on the floor unconscious. On further examination, I discovered that she wasn’t breathing and there was no heart beat. I looked around and noticed the drawer. That particular drawer was still open. I had forgotten to push it close and lock it, so it remained open the whole night with the key on it.
The police came in a couple of hours. The post mortem report declared that she died due to a heart attack, and it was a natural death. I was unable to study after my graduation, and ended up opening a shop for electrical and hardware appliances near my house. I charge almost half the price other electricians and shops do for the same service. I run in heavy loss, and just manage to make a living.
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Pinch Of Salt
“Excuse me!”
“Yes?”
“Can you please drop me till the highway? I can’t get hold of an auto rickshaw. I’ve to reach somewhere.”
“Sure, get in!”
She looked very pleasant. I’ve never been too keen on giving lifts to people, even the ones I knew, but this time I couldn’t deny. She looked earnest, sincere, and worked up. I was going the same way so there was no extra effort required from my side.
“Where do you work?
“I don’t yet, I’m appearing for an interview, so I’m really tensed and I don’t want to get late!”
“I understand, relax. Where is your interview? I mean where should I drop you exactly?”
“HDFC bank, near the highway.”
The traffic wasn’t pleasant at all. I travelled daily from Versova in Andheri west to Ghatkopar near Andheri east. It was always a nightmare in the morning office hours. The humid heat wouldn’t help much too. But more than the heat, which I had eliminated after purchasing an air conditioned car, it was the time consumed unnecessarily due to the traffic that pissed me off. On this occasion, it meant spending more time with this lady. She looked approximately around 23-24, but with a look of someone who’s seen much more than what her age permits. She was wearing what I call now the “Preity Zinta glasses from Kal Ho Na Ho”, the rectangular black frame which went perfectly with her roundish face. She was attractive.
“Do you have some music?”
“Yes. Why?
“I’m sorry, I’m just a bit nervous, thought some nice music might ease it up…”
“Well in that case, let me make you hear some stuff I regularly listen to when I’m stressed. Shall I?”
“Sure”
I took a compact disc recording of Ustaad Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan. It was one of my favorite recordings of his. And as the rendition began,
“Nusrat?”
“Ya, Nusrat saab! I’m sure you will love this.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Why?”
I had nothing else to ask. But she didn’t reply. There was arrogance in her silence. I also ignored her as some ignorant fool, who knew shit about classical and sufi music. As the song reached its peak, I declined my any effort for any conversation, and genuinely got involved in the song, tapping on my steering periodically and shaking my head as if I was in a live concert. And then I noticed her, sitting next to me, making a painful face as if someone just twisted her arm.
“Are you alright, what happened?”
“Can you please change this song, and if you have nothing else then turn off the music?”
“What?”
“Yes…wait…”
She pinched me on my tummy which was protruding out of my body, thanks to the liters of beer in the last half decade.
“AAAAAAAHHHHHH!!! What the hell?”
“Did it hurt you?”
“Of course, you fucking pinched me; it is supposed to hurt isn’t it?”
“This song is hurting me the same way, it is out of tune! This man is always out of tune. How can someone get so famous when the voice cracks all the time and there is no sweetness?”
“What the fuck are you saying? You are talking about Nusrat fateh ali khan? “
“Yes!”
“Ok enough, I will not just turn off the music; I’m stopping my car here. Please get down.”
“What?”
“Yes, I’m sorry. I’ve a few reservations about people talking so rudely about something they don’t understand and treasure! Please get down.”
“Why will I say something like that unless I know music? But yes, I could have avoided expressing my displeasure. It is your car after all!”
“It is not about that. Just…..please get down! I’m sorry.”
She got off, and I saw in my rear view mirror that she boarded an auto rickshaw almost immediately. I had been thinking about her all the time since then. She looked that person to me who could be with me, and with whom I could be with. I mean honestly, I didn’t even know her name. I felt this amazing vibe when we were sitting together; there was this feeling that she is the girl. Throughout the silence during the song, I could hear her breathe, almost at rhythmic points of the composition. And then she said something which thrashed it all. I think I almost flared up with so much anger because at that moment I could not decide whether my belief in my taste of music was stronger, or whether my attraction for this lady was stronger. But now I feel even though I literally kicked her out of my car, she managed to make me feel weak about my taste. Suddenly I was not sure whether I was right or she was. I had to find it out now. I could bear this no longer. I made a sudden trip to my cousin’s place on the next weekend, hoping to find the answer. My cousin’s father is a very well known sitar player, and an acclaimed radio artist. I made him listen to a couple of renditions by Ustaad Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan. He remained silent throughout, and this time I did not enjoy the songs. I kept a close watch on his facial expressions, but he remained composed.
“What do you think uncle?”
“About what? He was obviously a very famous singer.”
“No, I mean did you like what he sang?”
“Come here”
I went to where he was sitting, as he pinched my tummy and said,
“This is how I felt!”
“Yes?”
“Can you please drop me till the highway? I can’t get hold of an auto rickshaw. I’ve to reach somewhere.”
“Sure, get in!”
She looked very pleasant. I’ve never been too keen on giving lifts to people, even the ones I knew, but this time I couldn’t deny. She looked earnest, sincere, and worked up. I was going the same way so there was no extra effort required from my side.
“Where do you work?
“I don’t yet, I’m appearing for an interview, so I’m really tensed and I don’t want to get late!”
“I understand, relax. Where is your interview? I mean where should I drop you exactly?”
“HDFC bank, near the highway.”
The traffic wasn’t pleasant at all. I travelled daily from Versova in Andheri west to Ghatkopar near Andheri east. It was always a nightmare in the morning office hours. The humid heat wouldn’t help much too. But more than the heat, which I had eliminated after purchasing an air conditioned car, it was the time consumed unnecessarily due to the traffic that pissed me off. On this occasion, it meant spending more time with this lady. She looked approximately around 23-24, but with a look of someone who’s seen much more than what her age permits. She was wearing what I call now the “Preity Zinta glasses from Kal Ho Na Ho”, the rectangular black frame which went perfectly with her roundish face. She was attractive.
“Do you have some music?”
“Yes. Why?
“I’m sorry, I’m just a bit nervous, thought some nice music might ease it up…”
“Well in that case, let me make you hear some stuff I regularly listen to when I’m stressed. Shall I?”
“Sure”
I took a compact disc recording of Ustaad Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan. It was one of my favorite recordings of his. And as the rendition began,
“Nusrat?”
“Ya, Nusrat saab! I’m sure you will love this.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Why?”
I had nothing else to ask. But she didn’t reply. There was arrogance in her silence. I also ignored her as some ignorant fool, who knew shit about classical and sufi music. As the song reached its peak, I declined my any effort for any conversation, and genuinely got involved in the song, tapping on my steering periodically and shaking my head as if I was in a live concert. And then I noticed her, sitting next to me, making a painful face as if someone just twisted her arm.
“Are you alright, what happened?”
“Can you please change this song, and if you have nothing else then turn off the music?”
“What?”
“Yes…wait…”
She pinched me on my tummy which was protruding out of my body, thanks to the liters of beer in the last half decade.
“AAAAAAAHHHHHH!!! What the hell?”
“Did it hurt you?”
“Of course, you fucking pinched me; it is supposed to hurt isn’t it?”
“This song is hurting me the same way, it is out of tune! This man is always out of tune. How can someone get so famous when the voice cracks all the time and there is no sweetness?”
“What the fuck are you saying? You are talking about Nusrat fateh ali khan? “
“Yes!”
“Ok enough, I will not just turn off the music; I’m stopping my car here. Please get down.”
“What?”
“Yes, I’m sorry. I’ve a few reservations about people talking so rudely about something they don’t understand and treasure! Please get down.”
“Why will I say something like that unless I know music? But yes, I could have avoided expressing my displeasure. It is your car after all!”
“It is not about that. Just…..please get down! I’m sorry.”
She got off, and I saw in my rear view mirror that she boarded an auto rickshaw almost immediately. I had been thinking about her all the time since then. She looked that person to me who could be with me, and with whom I could be with. I mean honestly, I didn’t even know her name. I felt this amazing vibe when we were sitting together; there was this feeling that she is the girl. Throughout the silence during the song, I could hear her breathe, almost at rhythmic points of the composition. And then she said something which thrashed it all. I think I almost flared up with so much anger because at that moment I could not decide whether my belief in my taste of music was stronger, or whether my attraction for this lady was stronger. But now I feel even though I literally kicked her out of my car, she managed to make me feel weak about my taste. Suddenly I was not sure whether I was right or she was. I had to find it out now. I could bear this no longer. I made a sudden trip to my cousin’s place on the next weekend, hoping to find the answer. My cousin’s father is a very well known sitar player, and an acclaimed radio artist. I made him listen to a couple of renditions by Ustaad Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan. He remained silent throughout, and this time I did not enjoy the songs. I kept a close watch on his facial expressions, but he remained composed.
“What do you think uncle?”
“About what? He was obviously a very famous singer.”
“No, I mean did you like what he sang?”
“Come here”
I went to where he was sitting, as he pinched my tummy and said,
“This is how I felt!”
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