What's the story?

If you happen to have a brain cell or two similar to mine, you’ll be suffering from my problem as well. Although in a more formal company, if I ever had to mention it, I would probably boast about it as being my highly developed creative streak. But in real, it is just an exercise which acts as a huge distraction and does not solve any purpose. And what exactly am I ranting about here? It would be easier to explain with the help of an example:







As usual I don’t have a place to rest my derriere in the fantastically crowded metro. I still wonder from where did so many women come in city? Anyway, I am drifting again. So, in the metro my shins are rubbing with a girl’s knee who is sitting right in front of me. I am engrossed in my book and am trying to push back a fat auntie’s even fatter handbag when I hear a loud sniff. I lower down my book. I am greeted with a very moving sight of the girl with her nose tomato red, cheeks streaked with smudged kohl and hands wringing a very creased towel napkin. It is very obvious that she is distressed and her anxiety is so great that she is forced to display her grief in public. Out of habit I ask her if she is fine and immediately I regret bothering. The girl throws a killer look at me which clearly says: Mind your own business, B*tch! So, I shrug nonchalantly and get back to my book, only to find out that I just can’t concentrate anymore. My mind is busy making up theories behind the girl’s state. Maybe she has had a terrible fight with her boyfriend (C’mon, I can be more original than THAT, dear brain!). Maybe she has been kicked out from her job. Maybe she has had an argument with friends or parents. Maybe her boyfriend dumped her or she walked in his room only to find him cheating on her (Cliché, let’s please move on and think beyond boyfriend related issues, brain!). Maybe someone died. Maybe she found out that she is suffering from an incurable disease. Maybe she was listening to a sad song which reminded her of something sad. Maybe she lied to her parents to meet her boyfriend; her parents found out and ordered her to come right back and now she is scared of the consequences. But then she wouldn’t cry before she faces the consequences, would she? (Ok, I admit, most of the girls cry like babies because of boyfriend related issues only. Happy dear brain? You win!).


Even after the girl had somewhat pacified herself and was fixing her make – up, I was bubbling with curiosity. What could have made the girl cry buckets in the metro?






So now you understand what problem I was referring to? Ofcourse it can act as a brilliant means of time pass but what usually happens is, that this ‘curiosity’ generally pops up when you are supposed to concentrate elsewhere. Like this other day, I had finally decided to start studying for my M.A. exams. With a heavy heart, I had replaced my half read novel with study notes in my office bag. While waiting for my metro on the platform, going through my notes, I saw a distinctly middle aged woman. She was donning a kurta with fitted leggings which emphasized all the wrong curves. Her face had laugh lines and dark spots and her eyebrows were artlessly darkened. I could see gray hair near her ears and on her hairline. There was no doubt she would be either 40 years of age (if I give her too much leverage) or older. I kept staring at her with a raised eyebrow wondering what exactly is weird about this woman. When I saw that the woman had noticed me gawking at her I turned my gaze. But then in a few seconds I was looking at her again trying to find out what was different. And then I noticed the red and white sparkly wedding bangles that were adorning her wrists. For those who don’t know, first of all you should be ashamed of not knowing, and secondly, red and white bangles are worn by newly married women for about a year till after their wedding. Don’t ask me why, I have no clue, but they are quite the rage! Anyway, just when the bulb in my mind lit, the metro came and we boarded it. Now, as I tried to focus on my notes my mind kept wandering to the woman again and again. Infact I found myself combing the coach with my eyes searching for that woman. And when I did find her, I found it hard to look away. I am sure she noticed my shameless gawking as well and kept giving me sly looks as well. So while I forcefully made myself read my notes, I couldn’t help not wondering about this woman’s story. Why is she wearing those wedding bangles? (Stupid question Brain!) How come she got married so late? Maybe this was her second marriage. But why would she want to advertise her second marriage by wearing that red and white chooda that young and newly wedded girls love to flaunt? Maybe she just got married late. Does she not feel weird wearing them at this age? What would she have been thinking when she would have made up her mind to wear the bangles? Is she used to people staring at her wrists? Why did she get married so late? Was it a love marriage? And so on…






I know it is shallow of me to think like that for someone I don’t know. But, as the saying goes, Curiosity got the cat. Everyone has a story. You might find your story utterly boring or sad but you can’t imagine how much it can tease and torture someone like me! I see a young boy with a band-aid on his elbow and this sets my neurons off! I spend a good 15 – 20 minutes cooking up a story behind that band – aid. Agreed that it is a distraction, but, it definitely is a lot of fun as well. You might find endings to some stories, but for most, you would just have to be more creative.






So, what’s your story?

With Love, for Dad

It's only when you see other's respecting your parents that your respect for them grows even more and you begin to see them in a different light. I believe medicine and teaching are the most rewarding professions in terms of genuine respect. And as my folks happen to be teachers (a fact I am extremely proud of), I get to witness displays of respect and love quite often. Here I share such an incident:

Yesterday evening I settled on the couch in the drawing room with my laptop. I had to finish a new blog entry (which turned out to be rather boring, if I may say so myself). Papa was sitting on the other sofa correcting some sheets and flipping through the channels on the TV. So, I was sprawled on the sofa when a young (fat) girl of 16 came bustling in announcing that she has come to introduce Papa's new student. I remembered this girl. She is from our colony. I had seen her around often. She came to take classes from Papa. But if I was remembering correctly, she had just given her 10th board exams. (Here I must mention that my memory is troubling me a lot since quite some time now, I am open to sensible advice) (oh, and I should also mention that my Papa is a science teacher for 9th and 10th standard by qualification but also teaches mathematics because he loves the subject.) Ok, so when the girl (whose name I can't recall. Remember, memory issues!) announced that she has brought along a new student, I glanced at the hallway. But she was only trailed by her very modern looking mother. So I straightened up and tried to smooth the creases from my oversized gray nightshirt (all in vain, I still looked silly) and smiled hospitably at the mother daughter duo. They made themselves comfortable and I was still waiting for the new student, when the girl said that she has opted for medical science as stream for her higher studies. Although she has enrolled herself in a correspondence study course from a hi - fi institute (with a high success rate, so it claims), she wanted dad to teach her. Ok, so dad is a brilliant teacher, the best I have ever had, but for more than 30 years now, he has taught standards 9th and 10th. Higher classes is a completely different game. No game actually. As my dad tried to patiently explain his student that she had taken a good step by enrolling in that institute and she should take help from more specialised teachers, she just shook her head, all the while saying that she would only study from him. So dad turned to her mother hoping for some sensibility. And sensible she was, judging from the arguments she had! She told dad that in 11th, the institute would only provide detailed notes and dad could brush up his knowledge a bit with their help and then teach it to her daughter. Biology is dad's forte (and my favourite) so he promised to help her with Bio. But the girl also wanted him to teach Physics, Chemistry and Maths. Now, PCBM in 11th is no small feat. And expecting dad to study all these subjects himself first and then teaching it to the girl was rather idealistic. Besides, dad doesn't have the time. (And I am sure he won't want to forego his time on the computer playing solitaire and hearts :P). So Papa gave the girl contact details of his former colleague and good friend who was a master of Maths and Physics. But the girl just wouldn't budge! Even the mother pitched in saying that her daughter had taken up medical because Papa restored her interest in science and the way he taught chemistry was amazing because in all these years, she had understood the mole concept properly herself for the first time! And I just couldn't help not smiling. The daughter and mother coming up with genius arguments (and they really were good with their persuasion skills!) And Papa feeling like he had lost the battle already and worrying slightly at the prospect of studying the tedious course of 11th and 12th again. So I pitched in the discussion and advised that the girl try out the teacher that dad had suggested and if she had any trouble with him, she can contact dad again. Meanwhile, Dad can work on 11th's Biology. This seemed to pacify the mother a bit.

After they had left, I told dad that it was a good idea to go through the course of higher classes once. It is not like he hasn't studied and taught it before. And it would mean more income because the target group would increase. Dad just smiled his crinkly eyed smile at me and said money isn't everything (cliche bt touche) and he was content with what he has. And he went back to watching a dubbed south Indian film. Actually I think he loves his computer cards games a bit too much to spend his tome studying instead :P

Anyhow, seeing how genuinely Papa's students loved him and respected him and the comfortable relation they shared with him, joking and laughing loudly and imposing on him, I felt slightly jealous and mighty proud! They'l saunter into the kitchen anytime for a drink of water or some snack and Ma would willingly oblige. They'l sprawl on the floor, on the couch, in the hallway and any available space while giving their tests and the family would have to skip over their legs and backs to move from one place to another. it's a wonderful feeling, knowing that your parents are loved and respected so much. It gives you another reason to love your parents even more.

Mom, Dad.. I am extremely proud of you. I love you.

Little Somethings

Last night after a long relaxing bath I made my way to my bedroom with the resolution to catch up on my sleep by getting in bed early. So I went up to my bookshelf to choose a book from my limited library for some night-time reading. I took out an old volume of Sherlock Holmes mysteries. Just as I was about to settle in my bed, I saw two smooth pebbles crammed in the empty space from where I had just taken out the dog - eared book. One was gray - green and smooth to touch, the other one red and rough textured, but both were beautifully oval. I had picked these pebbles from a river bed when in Simla with friends, on a vacation, as souvenirs of the good times. In no time I realised I was smiling while looking in space like a lunatic, remembering that trip and all the fun we had. I blew the dust off the pebbles and replaced them on a more respectable place on my already crammed shelf. 

Forgetting all about my book and my good intentions of sleeping early, I found myself a duster and set about cleaning my shelf. On the top shelf, there’s a collection of little statuettes of the laughing Buddha gifted to me as good luck gestures. Along with the content Buddhas, there is a pretty little idol of Lord Krishna which glows in the dark; a beautiful finger sized Lord Ganesha with a missing arm; a heavy one eyed statue of the Laddoo Gopal; a mini crystal shiv linga and a blackened plate of navakar mantra. The surprising thing is that I am not a religious person! I feel proud in being 'almost - an - atheist'. I wonder why so many deities adorn my bookshelf in that case! But I just did not have the heart to put them away or hand them over to Ma where they would be in safe hands. But the stories and people and memories related to them made it difficult for me to part with them. And I am good at avoiding difficult things.

After rubbing the tummies of all the Buddhas (for luck) and dusting the other deities, I moved on to the trophies. When I was 15, I had about 120 trophies and cups to my name. They gathered dust on the curtain pelmet, almirah tops, table tops, next to the TV, behind the TV, perched precariously on the wall clock.. I guess you get the idea. Every available free space had a trophy on it. No, I don't intend to show off here, (OK, maybe just a bit, there's nothing wrong with being an extra-ordinarily talented child, now is there?). These tokens of appreciation and recognition caused me a lot of embarrassment and usually acted as conversation starters. People used to enter our little drawing room and be taken aback by all that junk! And my parents would pounce at the opportunity of regaling the poor guest with stories behind the trophies and moving on to how talented their daughter is. Anyway, I am drifting here. So, when I grew up and got enough authority in the house, I gave away some trophies and cups to the neighborhood children, most of the lot went to the 'raddi' waalah (My mother was heartbroken. She had planned to give away these trophies as a part of my dowry! :O), some I saved and now they gather dust on my bookshelf. If I had known how nostalgic I would get about my school years, I would have never ever given away all those cups.

(MENTAL NOTE TO SELF: Hunt down the kids I had distributed my awards to. Get them back)

I came across an old diary of mine and when I flipped through it, out fell torn and faded A R Rehman concert passes. It had names on it and smileys and I just couldn't help smiling back at the slightly off balance smiley. I fingered a lone rose pressed between the pages of the diary. I remember selecting the rose from my birthday bouquet. The bouquet was an unexpected gift from a dear friend studying abroad.

There was a lotto ticket with just one remaining number. Our entire family, some 60 people, had gathered on New Year’s Eve to celebrate together. We had chatted and played Lotto. I had waited for ages and ages for that one number to be announced but it never was. I pinned that ticket to my purple board. There were college fest tickets to Jal’s concert and lots of letters and notes, received and written, movie tickets, restaurant bills.

A lot of stuff in my room is totally useless for me. There is a sea - shell, ornamental candles (which don't burn, obviously), a crystal ball with a German cathedral and fake snowflakes and a score of other this and thats. Each one of no obvious use to me, but each a reminder of some incident or someone. It was after seeing all these little nothings that I realized what an emotional idiot I am. I never thought of myself as a keeper of memories, but then my diary records, my writings, my collection of cards and souvenirs prove otherwise. Well, another new revelation about myself. Thought I’d share it with everyone. Maybe I have saved something which reminds me of you as well. J