Jingle Bells

It was a starry starry night

And two old men were shining bright

And their conversation began

Looney Tony where have you been?

I’ve been at London

But never met the Queen.
And Georgie, My Bushie how have you been?

I keep forgetting where all I was

Sometimes seen, at times unseen.

The two had just come together

On Christmas at Camp David
Two birds of the same feather

Just Bush & Blair

Where no evil shall dare.

Got themselves a lovely pine tree

Decorated gifts big and small

With no one else around

The men felt completely free

And when the music began to play

They danced through the night

Holding each other tight

Drinking the finest wine

Till the old bones could shake no more

Changed into pajamas’

Hopped into bed, together of course

But not to sleep tonight

Tonight the two pals wanted to see Santa come

Come through the window

Driving his sleigh and give them their gifts

After all they were the Jolly Good Fellows!

 It was a starry starry night

When they saw a shadow outside the window

Excited the two jumped out together

Singing

He’ll be coming down the mountains when he comes

He’ll be riding six white reindeers when he comes

As the shadow crept nearer

The friends grew merrier and merrier

Until….

It dawned on them

‘twas no Santa Claus

But You Know Who!

Deadly and Deathly

Armed to the teeth

Guns, grenades and more

It was the dreaded creature from Middle IS..East I mean.

 Fear gripped our toony pals

As they once more held each other tight

Rushed to the phone

Security…Security…they shouted, they cried

But the lines were all dead

And the lights went out as well.

Quite dramatic you would say,

But not them trembling in fear

Pulled out guns hanging from the tree

The ex POTUS, President of the US

And ex LOTUK, Lord of the UK

Hardly looked The Eagle & Hawk

More the Beagle and the Duck.

Felt the earth slipping below

And could see the end of the world ahead

Very clear, very near.

Just then the phone began to ring

And in a voice loud and clear

Deafening laughter filled the air

Ha Ha Ha Ha

Afraid are you two gentlemen, is it?

Who are you, they asked

Why are you troubling us

What brings you here

Shouted Blaring Blair and Shivering Bush

He said in a grim but firm voice

I am Saddam

Sad am I

Sad and angry at what you did to me

Sad and angry at what you did to my family

It was not personal Dear Saddam

We went in search for weapons of mass destruction

-chemical, biological and nuclear weapons

Said LOTUK and POTUS

And did you find any of those, he asked

Weapons of mass destruction?
Weapons with nuclear heads?

Weapons that could destroy humanity?

We searched and searched but couldn’t find

What we started the war for

But found the real weapon of mass destruction

Much later hidden in the sands of Iraq

A brutal and fanatic force uncovered

And one among them IS standing outside

Weapon of Mass Destruction indeed

Why don’t you save us Saddam

Take back your Iraq

Take your IS men back

Save us, save the world from this attack

We’ll give you the Nobel Peace prize

It wasn’t personal Saddam

Hope you understand us Dear Boy.

Save you now…

Remember how you pulled me out of the hole

Remember how you killed my sons

Remember how my statues were pulled own

I can see fear in your eyes

I can see death in your hearts

I can see the end of your world

All for your madness

All for your desire for oil

All for your show of fire power

Today you need my help

When I am helpless and headless

All of this for your foolishness alone

Now suffer as I leave you both

To Rest In Peace

Shall now open the door outside

For you to enjoy the Christmas Eve

With sparkles and glow

In the company of one outside

One who IS not a dictator

One who does not invade Kuwait

But today is found everywhere

India, France, US and more

Bombing, killing, extorting and more.

They are Yours Truly & Lovingly IS

The Real Weapon of Mass Destruction

Discovered & Dug out by you

It is very personal, Mr President

It is nothing but personal now, Mr Prime Minister

Eid Mubarak, Merry Christmas, Happy New Year.

SS

All You Need is Love

(I had written this story for a competition on a given topic but it never made the cut. So sharing it with you all...slightly long but enjoyed writing it, hope you like it too.)

Year: 2004.

It was spring in Srinagar. Deodar and Chinar trees covering the skyline, the flowers in full bloom, the flowing Dal Lake and the majestic view of the Pir Panjal Range truly made this the Paradise on Earth…hamin asto hamin asto, hamin asto.

Shagufta considered herself to be destiny’s child having somehow cleared the state Pre-Medical Test. First day at the Government Medical College, she stepped in with a heart that was beating so fast that she could have easily been admitted to the cardiology wing of the hospital. She was excited beyond words both in terms of a career as a doctor and, after years of slogging in school and coaching classes, she was longing to meet someone here, to fall in love madly. Love was truly a priority and not just in the air.

Shafi was from a well to do family most of who were settled in the USA.  He had an academic career which was among the brightest you would find anywhere. Shafi looked very much like one who had stepped out from the Roman Pantheon with flowing hair, aquiline nose, tall and handsome. His dream was to be a famous doctor, apply a soothing balm to all those affected by intermittent cases of death and violence in the city caused sometimes by the so called jihadis and at times by the armed forces. He wanted to be a doctor with a cause.

It didn’t take long for them to hit off. Not a day would pass when they would not spend an hour or two in the cafeteria. He loved cappuccino and she was fond of ice cream…the chocolaty kind. Funnily they hardly had any fight in the six long years at the medical college. During internship they made sure they were put in the same unit so that they could spend days and nights together. The pressure on their other unit members was all the more tremendous as they were taking the load of the two perpetually missing interns. But no one ever complained, for both Shagufta and Shafi were liked by all. Their love was looked upon by the friends as what an ideal love ought to be…just made for each other.

Year: 2010

No sooner had they turned doctors, than they decided to get married. Post graduation was an ambition both had but were willing to set it aside for a year to settle down. Life, which so far seemed beautiful, suddenly took a turn…an awkward one. Shafi’s family would agree to their marriage if Shagufta converted herself, something to which her family would not agree. It may sound clichéd, but that’s the eternal truth of Indian Secularism in which many a love story gets cruelly crushed and lost.

Shafi got his admission to PG in Surgery at India’s premier institute, AIIMS, Delhi. Shagufta stayed back at Srinagar and started working at the Government Hospital. Even though distance separated them, they initially stayed connected as in their undergraduate days. The only difference was that connect would now happen thanks to Skype and Vodafone. Their talks and chats would be endless. But there was a pain in their hearts, something they knew for certain, that no matter how much they loved, the schism was too big to cross. Shafi would often suggest that they should go away to another country where they did not have to explain anything to anyone and then live together happily.  It was wishful thinking and no more.

Gradually Shafi got more and more busy with his PG which hardly gave him a couple of winks a day to rest. It was work, work and more work with endless patients coming through the doors of the hospital. Shagoofta would dial his number many a time during the day but in vain. She too got busy with her life.

Year: 2013

Three years passed soon and Shafi was back at Srinagar for a few days of break when the two met, held hands and cried together. Their love was deep and they decided that they would always stay connected and of course will wait endlessly for one another, wait for the spring to usher one day in their lives. Both Shafi and Shagufta believed the day would soon come when they would be together forever. Till then they would pursue their own course of destiny.

Even though her family had lived in Srinagar for three generations, the political conditions kept deteriorating. Her parents had moved to Delhi but Shagufta stayed behind in their ancestral home all alone. She would go to the hospital everyday and would work non-stop at the Casualty Wing taking care of those injured by accidents and blasts that echoed through the city at frequent intervals. Love, care and service were synonymous with her. She soon became a legend in the hospital and everyone loved her.

Shafi suddenly vanished from the scene.  Shagufta was worried as there was no news of him and he also stopped calling. Months went by and the silence was complete. She would read the morning newspapers everyday for some news…she even learnt to read Urdu for his sake. But he was nowhere to be seen or heard of.

One night, as Shagufta lay in her bed reading A Thousand Splendid Suns there was a knock on the door. She was reasonably brave to be living alone in an atmosphere of insurgency but this was quite unlike any other night. She looked at the watch…it was 11.14pm!

“Shagufta darwaza kholo jaldi…”. She knew the voice well and so she rushed to open the door. The moment she opened, a bearded Shafi limped in. He had a backpack and was bleeding profusely on his left leg.

Tum yahan..is haal mein…what happened?

I will tell you everything but first help me take the bullet out of my leg.

How did this happen? Why didn’t you go to the hospital…why here?

I can’t go there. Just get some hot water and bring your medical kit quickly…I don’t have too much time. I will tell you everything, I promise.

Next couple of hours seemed an endless struggle to take the bullet out with little equipments at home. He had stuffed two pairs of socks in his mouth to prevent his cries from being heard outside as the operation was underway. Finally, she managed to extract but not before he had lost a lot of blood. As Shagufta finished dressing his wound, Shafi fell down on the carpeted floor and went blank.  She waited till he came around and offered him hot stew and some leftover rice. No questions were asked, no answers given…just her serving, him recovering, slowly but steadily.  

In a few days he left with an unfulfilled promise. But to her it did not matter for she had seen his backpack as he lay unconscious for over 24 hours. There was an automatic pistol, spare magazines, 3 different passports, packets of resins and figs, a copy of the Holy Koran and a bunch of letters neatly folded in a packet. She opened the packet and completely froze, for inside were the letters she had written to him during college days. She felt a lump in her throat and her eyes started watering. She staggered onto the armchair and sat down. The tears just would not stop. She always knew he loved her but even now, though times had changed and Shafi had taken a new life, at heart he remained ever so loyal to her. He was hers and hers forever!

Shagufta was the daughter of Brigadier Rana. Her family had been serving the armed forces for generations and love for the country was something that came to her naturally. But she had gone weak at that moment. Had it been anyone but Shafi, she would have called for the army and would have had him arrested, but love, which gives you strength at times, weakens you beyond comprehension at other. He loved her so, how could she betray him. He was her life, her past and possibly her future that she tried to build in her dreams so delicately. She, too, had many a story to tell him. She had her secrets to tell as well, she too had her yet to be posted letters to share with him….Shagufta just stood still.

Soon Shafi became a local hero, a new Che Guevara roaming the countryside in his motor cycle, killing army men intentionally and civilians inadvertently. Many, wanting self rule, saw in him an educated person who had been pushed to join the rebellion due to excesses committed by the armed forces. There were posters of Shafi at all important buildings and streets, some read ‘Wanted’ and others hailed him as the Che of Azad Kashmir.

Year: 2015

Place: Starbucks, Saket, New Delhi

She sat in the Starbucks café, sipping her coffee and staring out of the window. The blood stained knife lay next to her handbag, covered with her blue silk scarf. She picked up her mobile phone and dialed a number.

Hello Colonel, this is Major Shagufta Rana of Army Intelligence Unit. The Che-cken is cooked. 

Bravo Major…well done. Proud of you for having redeemed yourself. Jai Hind!

As she waited for the military police to come to the café, she took out an envelope from her bag. She opened the same and took out a photograph of a baby with light curls and sparkling eyes. She was Safia, her child with Shafi, who had grown up at a crèche attached to the hospital. The insurgency in the locality had gone up and those wanting azadi had been rampant in destroying everything that had anything to do with the Dilli Sarkar.

Government Hospital at Srinagar had become the place where the wounded Army soldiers and policemen were being treated after the insurgents had blown away the Army Base Hospital. Rumours were rife that the hospital was also one of the places from where intelligence information was going to the army and they would attack the insurgents with precision, killing many Kashmiri youth. Although the Government Hospital was well protected, those wanting to shake the government were far bolder. One day the truck that carried away the trash daily dashed into the campus and before anyone realized, six men in battle attire jumped out from the rear. Shagufta was, at that moment, in the Casualty Section when she saw the commotion outside. She saw the driver come down and give the orders.

“Jaldi jaldi karo…ooda do fauji aspataal ko…kuchh bhi nahin bachna chahiye…saale iske baad Dilli jayenge apni patti karaney..”

The team was swift in its action throwing grenades at the hospital and spraying bullets at security personnel posted there. Cries and shrieks were heard everywhere. Shagufta froze when she saw the driver, with a Balaclava mask covering his face, had a bad limp on his left leg.…it was unmistakably him…Shafi. How could he? He was a doctor himself…was the cause he was fighting for larger than the cause of humanity he had taken an oath for?

The truck drove away quickly leaving behind a trail of death and destruction. Shagufta ran towards the crèche and all she saw was smouldering fire and smell of burning human bodies…she searched and searched and finally found a little body. A mother had not failed to recognize her baby .She wailed at a shrieking pitch and kept crying till she couldn’t remember what happened after.

Soon after Shagufta passed her college, she had been recruited by the Army as a Special Intelligence Officer who knew the locals well and they trusted her. She could give the Army much needed information that patients and their relatives would give out unknowingly. She had been a great resource and had recently got her promotion as a Major as she continued her life as an undercover doctor at the Government Hospital.

Coming out of the trauma, heartbroken but not weakened, Shagufta had just one mission in her lonely life. She was able to reach Shafi through the interlocutors who managed some contact between the two opposing camps with a hope to bring about lasting peace. She knew they couldn’t meet at Srinagar. So she asked him for a meeting at Delhi.

Shagufta did not tell her superiors where she was going that weekend as she took the flight to Delhi. Shafi too did not tell anyone of his rendezvous. All they knew was that their leader was going on a special mission. Shafi always loved Starbucks for the ambience and its delightful coffee. He had told Shagufta about Starbucks at Saket which was close to Tughlaqabad where he had put up with a loyalist.

That fateful day they met at the appointed time. Shafi stood still but Shagufta was normal as she stepped ahead, held his hand and walked him inside. As they sat down and waited for their order, Shagufta excused herself to go to the rest room. She locked the door from inside and then took off her shoes, picked it up and pulled out the sole. Inside lay a small knife, the surgeon’s scalpel. She touched the blade once and felt the sharp edge. Yes this will do. She slipped on her shoes again and walked out. This time she was confident. Her eyes were shining bright, fingers tight and stable and mind crystal clear.

She had forgiven him many times. Forgiven him for not marrying her. Forgiven him for having joined the rebels. She even forgave him though she faced ignominy and had been reprimanded both by the army and her family who had come to know of the incident where she had helped him after the bullet injury. Her love for Shafi had been far more important than anything else, surpassing the love for the country, in whose service she had enrolled, keeping the family tradition alive. But now Safia was all she had, her baby was her light of the world, her Li’l Noorjehan. She loved her so, loved her more than anything and anyone. No Shafi, not this time. Safia was innocent and you’re not. No forgiveness, no mercy for you!

She took a couple of brisk steps towards the table as Shafi was checking his iPad. With military precision she gripped his forehead from behind with one hand and slipped the other hand through his thick beard and swoosh….one straight cut on the jugular vein..…blood oozed, splattered all over and Shafi’s head slumped on the table which soon turned into a pool of red.

Military Police came in quickly, cordoned off the café and made sure pictures and videos on people’s mobiles were deleted. All this while Shagufta kept staring at Safia’s  picture, laughing till tears poured and poured…somewhere diluting the stains of red flowing from the other side.

SS

Romancing the Grass

It was the summer of 86 and the romance of two men, both no more than 5 feet 2” inches or so, half way round the world separating them, caught my fancy. To be precise it was 29th June 1986.

Mexico City: It was the World Cup Finals and Argentina was playing Germany. One man was making the tournament his own, Diego Maradona. No one can ever forget the two goals he scored to knock England out of the tournament. The first goal was the Hand of God where this short magician out jumped the England keeper Peter Shilton and headed the ball into the back of the net. The television replays showed Maradona had cleverly used his hand rather than his head to score. The next goal, however, no one will dispute, would rank absolutely among the top Goals of the Century. Picking a ball in his own half, Diego dribbled past 5 English players before out maneuvering the keeper to score.

New Delhi: It was the MA (Previous) Finals next morning on 30^th June. 7 of the 8 papers had got over and as luck would have it the last of the exams on American History fell on such a date. Surely the examiners and the illuminati at Delhi University could not see beyond books and cricket.  All the preparations were ready for the Big Night…the Boys Common room was packed. Lines had been drawn between those supporting the reigning champions Germany and the eternal favorites, after Brazil, the Argentinians. No matter which side you were on, all knew this was a one man show…Diego Maradona. My Friend M was no soccer buff but not one to miss the fun, had his early dinner and was there among the crowds who had gathered there that night.

Mexico City: This tournament, apart from Maradona’s marvel, was the Mexican Wave where the crowds in the stadium would stand and wave their hands in air in batches and would appear like the waves in the sea. This got popularized world over after this tournament.  The final was being held at Stadia Azteca where Jose Luis Brown opened the scoring for Argentina in the 23rd minute and it stayed at 1–0 until half-time. It was Argentinian brilliance to German resilience and Diego, the danger man, was marked heavily.

New Delhi: The lemon break for the player meant the bio-break for the hostellers as they jostled together and stood in queues to wait for their turn. Most of them were good boys, what else do you expect from the Stephanians. My Friend M walked out for some fresh air and went beyond the walls of the college. For those who have seen Delhi University, there is no place greener than this. M landed himself walking near the ridge. It was nearly 2 am and little white flowers had filled the shrubs and many of them were falling to the ground. The match in the other part of the globe would have started and Maradona was scorching the green grass, M was picking tenderly white little flowers from the grass. He soon pulled out his handkerchief and started collecting more and more of the flowers…surely his mind was working on the next step, exactly the way Maradona’s was as to how to break out of the tight man marking Germans, who had planned to pin him down.

Mexico City: After the break, Jorge Valdano doubled Argentina's lead 10 minutes into the second half. Karl Heinz Rummenigge pulled a goal back in the 74th minute for West Germany and then equalized in the 80th minute through Rudi Voller. You just can’t keep the Germans down. Diego Maradona was heavily marked the entire game but managed a superb pass to Jorge Burruchaga in the 84th minute who went on to score and that allowed Argentina to regain the lead at 3–2. That is how it  remained till the 90^th minute and the world erupted in celebrations of blue and white.

New Delhi: M had by now collected flowers everywhere…handkerchief, shirt and trouser pockets and hands and as he entered the  hostel gate, he saw a lot of his mates coming out shouting and celebrating in their own way. M’s heart was pounding and was full of joy. He sneaked into his room and shut the door. As he poured the flowers on to his bed, Maradona was lifting the World Cup…the joy for both the men was quite alike. The only difference was that while in Mexico the work was done and dusted, at Delhi the game had just begun. From his cupboard, he brought out the emergency box and out came the needle and thread. Slowly first and then picking up pace, M weaved a big garland out of the flowers. He held the garland admiringly with his outstretched hands and then brought it close to his nose to smell the fragrance…..smmmmm ahhhhh…simply divine! As he closed his eyes enjoying the moment, he was visualizing the Beautiful One in his heart.

As Maradona started his victory lap at Azteca Stadium, M started his journey to Pandara Road where the Beautiful One lived. Dot at 6 am, M reached her house which was at the heart of Delhi where the top civil servants stayed. M never knew the meaning of the word fear and pressed the bell..zzzzzzz. As they say fortune smiles on the brave, not the father or mother but it was the Beautiful One, hoping to see the newspaper boy dropping the paper early morning, who opened the door. And what she saw was M standing there, smiling. He put his hand forward and put the flowery garland in her hands. The girl smiled and took the garland to enjoy the soft beautiful fragrance. M turned around as he heard her say, ‘Thank You’.

30^th June 1986: M along with all other DU students gathered in the large halls to appear for the American History Exam. Almost all looked weary, tired and red eyed…after all none of them had slept for over an hour or two after the match and the celebrations got over. More importantly like all students, they studied generally on the night before the exam but this time it was different for last night they had a much more important thing to do. As they settled down on the benches, the examination question paper was distributed. Suddenly there was an uproar and all looked back. Someone shouted, “Yeh question paper out of syllabus hain….Walk Out!” Possibly this was what all wanted to hear and everyone even before reading the question paper started shouting…Walk Out…Walk Out!! The same happened in South Campus of DU. All walked out and did not give the exam. The Mexican Wave had caught on far too quickly in the backyards of Delhi University.

Bees Saal Baad: Maradona, the Greatest Footballer of all time, was caught with grass and made a mess of his life. The halo of the football field had given way to the smoke rings. M continued his love affair with nature, enjoying the earth in all its beauty….moving around on his bicycle from Kanyakumari to Khardungla, from Sonpur Mela to Ganga Ghats. If you were to hear someone singing an old Bhojpuri folk song on a DTC bus, it may be M sitting somewhere enjoying the ride and the breeze.

SS

DEATH OF AN UNDERWRITER

(Wrote this piece in early 2010 and was instantly rejected for being blasphemous to appear in a government journal. They later showed more ‘tolerance’ and this featured in the IRDA Journal of May 2010 Sharing with you all as one of my favorite official write-up… being normal is boring!!)

On a Black Sunday, I sat and thought,

Is this a life worth living for?

Is this a life worth dying for?

For what is life without the 3 Ps

Pride Premium Profit

The balance sheet of life was staring down at me

Death to this world of woe

Better dead than living.

Being a Master Mariner all my life

Just couldn't hang like an acrobat from a tree

Never think of death by rat venom

Stabbed to death many a times by Brutus

Found my way to the blue sea

Jumped off the rickety Black Pearl

Freedom at last!

Deep under no price to fight for

All is well with no pride to live for.

They found me floating, pulled me out

They put me on a bed, took me to yard

Where my best friend read an epitaph

Agents, brokers, clientele men, lend me your ears;

I come to bury an Underwriter, not to praise him;

The evil that men do lives after them,

The good is oft interred with their bones,

So let it be with this underwriter ... The noble Brutus

Hath told you the underwriter was ambitious:

If it were so, it was a grievous fault,

And grievously hath the underwriter answered it ...

I found myself floating high above the clouds

Till I reached the Gates of Heaven

Saint Peter was waiting there for me

Blessed was I to see such a sight.

Good morning Father.

Good morning son.

What's your name? What's your PAN number?

Puzzled was I at the last request.

Father said, that's an order from the Boss

The Regulator who controls us all

Says no evasion no con up here…

Sen, AXN 3344, I said

An Underwriter with Tata AIG, Sir.

His Holiness scratched his flowing beard

Underwear, Undertaker, Undercover I know of

What's an underwriter is new…phew

Googled Windows Version Heaven

Pop came the answer

A rare specie of aboriginals on planet earth

Fast eroding, evaporating and eliminating

Sole guardians & interpreters of Holy Tariff, Clauses

Examine Risks but hardly accept same

Write Policies but hardly anyone understands

Believes I am the Best.

Ummm an Underwriter…

A job quite fit for Gods.

Sen & Sensibilities go together for you, son

Honored to have you at heaven

But before you enter we do a check

Check the credentials befitting the place.

A board of 3 Holy men will do the test.

Father, I've faced many a stern test all my life

With no vice of Wine Women Wealth

Have nothing to fear but fear today, said I.

Walked across to the first cave

Brilliantly illuminated and decorated

With heavenly music of Rahman playing

Jai Ho, I knew I had arrived.

Welcome Son, I am Father Saleuman

As my name suggests I'm here for Sales

I ensure that the census here is more than …

You know where…Yes Father.

My motto is “Grow or Go”

Let me open your Book of Life

One - You were very Creative

You wrote a book on business

101 Ways to Kill a Proposal.

Two - You were very knowledgeable

But kept it close to your chest

Never shared it with people.

Three - Your motto in life

Bottoms Up, Top line is for Fools.

No Son- you don't fit in here.

Walked into a soberly adorned office.

Welcome Son, I am Father Orderly

I take care of Compliance and Audits

My motto is “Follow Rules or Fall”.

I check if a soul has done his job correctly

Followed all directions expected of him.

Let me open your Book of Life

One - You were very creative

You made airplanes out of circulars

Of  vessel approvals and overages.

Two - You were very knowledgeable

But why Textiles @ 0.10% Sugar @ 0.01%

Sanity was never your strong point.

Three - your motto in life

Highest Price, Lowest Cover

Sorry Son, you never followed the law.

Finally walked into a marketplace

Where a Saint came up and said,

Welcome Son, I am Father Fairplay

I do a check on the character of a man

My motto is “Johnny Be Good Be Good”

He who is good will find a place in heaven

Even if he fails the tests of sales & audit.

Let me open your Book of Life.

One - You were very creative

A thousand claims denied

As you interpreted words in policies.

Two - You were very knowledgeable

eMarine, STOP, STP- eliminating competition

Driving fellow underwriters elsewhere nuts.

Three - Your motto in life

Only Marine, Only Marine

Let other lines go to…..

Sorry Son, can't let you in.

Hell was staring at me, so was Saint Peter

Son we have a problem

You failed the Sales Test

You failed the Compliance Test

You also failed the Humanity Test

I have just called up my counterpart

In Hell, of course

They are delighted to see your resume.

They are sending a rock band

And an open bus to take you there.

Went down on my knees and said,

Father can't I get a Second Chance

A Second Chance to get it Right this time

Pious Peter saw my tears and nodded

Sent me back to earth

Today I am called SALMAN Bhai

Short for SALes MANager of Mumbai

I constantly wear a T shirt

I am SALMAN and 

I am not a Terrorist.

TANGO CHARLIE

Tuesday 13^th April 8.00am

Where is Charlie? I’ve looked for Charlie everywhere and just can’t find him. I know one of you’ve played the mischief. You better own up now or I am leaving the classroom and will not be back until I get Charlie back.

We were all stunned as we saw Brother Eric storm out of the room.

Monday 5^th April- Friday 9^th April

Brother Eric was the class teacher for X-C. He had just joined a week ago from another school outside Delhi. He was just 20 years old and the students in the class were anywhere between 15-17 years old, most of them Richie Richs but no better than urchins who would make the life of teachers miserable.  The first day in school he was treated with a bit of respect for his white flowing robe, a bit of disdain as he was probably the first Desi Indian Brother, as they called the missionaries in a school which had only seen fair skinned Irish Brothers, and a sense of being a nice prey seeing his small stature, curly hair and frail looks.
In the first week Brother Eric treated the students as younger brothers and impressed everyone with his hard work and dedication. The students were awestruck by his energy levels and freshness of approach. No one had taken so much pain for them; no one made History seemingly interesting and Math seem doable. Eric had cast his spell more so when he came out in his shorts and football boots to practice with the class team. The boys just couldn’t hide their joy and felt a saviour was here just for them.  With the arrival of the Knight in White Armour, The Dark Ages seemed a thing of the past.

But boys will be boys…slowly they got into their strides and started living in their own merry way…creating ruckus in the class, not doing the homework and much more. Brother Eric kept on counseling the boys to correct themselves….he was always like the elder brother telling the children what not to do…no beating, no punishments.
On Friday the 9^th of April, things changed. Eric gave the boys homework and said,

Make sure you do the last year’s ICSE Test Paper this weekend and hand it over to me on Monday. I want no excuses and I am warning you all that those who fail to do the work, Brother Charlie will get angry…very angry.

Monday 12^th April 7.30am

We were standing in the school ground for the morning assembly. While the Headmaster was saying the prayers and thoughts of the day, most students in X-C were in an animated conversation of their own ranging from whisper to loud talking.

Yeh Charlie kaun hai rey? Never heard about this character and why should he get angry? Chal chod, Eric Bhai aaise hi dara raha hai….kuchh nahin hoga. So many teachers have come and gone, we never did our homework and what homework man…one full board question paper! If I could solve it now, why will I need to sit in his class from tomorrow? 

After the assembly at 7.45 am, the boys entered the classroom. Brother Eric was seated on the desk near the blackboard nodding his head and shaking his legs…looked quite funny.

Ok boys settle down and before we start our reading of ‘Julius Caesar’ please put your homework test sheets on the floor there in front.

Strangely that day a lot of the boys had done the work and piled the answer sheets in one corner. About 10 of us remained seated.

All those who have not done the homework please step forward.

I walked up as did the others. This was not new to us. So many times we had not done our homework, made some excuse or the other or at best were asked to stand outside the classroom for that one period…two hoots…who wants to be in the gas chambers anyway.

I don’t want to know why you have not done the work. It doesn’t matter. I warned you Charlie will be very angry and now you’ve had it.

He stood up and from behind the desk took out a fine cane in one swift move like a trained swordsman with his epee. He curved it in front of all of us to see how flexible it was and smiled wickedly.

Charlie will now punish you and after this day whenever you make such mistakes, Charlie will set you right. I tried being nice to you all but you wouldn’t listen. So from now I will be good to those who are good and Charlie will take care of the rest.

And then it rained behind our backs…zick zack zick zack…4 tight whips for each of us. The cane touched our bottoms and bent neatly without breaking. Felt an intense burning sensation there and a sense of shame for getting caned in front of all was ignominy.

Now go and sit down.

As I sat down, I immediately stood up. The pain increased manifold as I tried sitting. It was burning hard.

Sit down or I will whack you again.

I closed my eyes; made sure I held back my tears and somehow sat down. The whole day I did not eat anything, I hardly heard anyone speaking including the teachers. Just one thought came repeatedly…Badla..revenge…chordunga nahi saale ko!

Tuesday 13^th April 10am

Sir, please come back to the class. We are begging you to come back.

A delegation of classmates had gone to Bro. Eric’s room to plead.

No. I have nothing against anybody but I want my Charlie back. I don’t even want to know who did it and how he did it. I know one of the boys has only done it but I will forgive him, all I want is my Charlie back. The moment you bring Charlie to me, I will go back to the class and start afresh forgetting this chapter.

The boys left disheartened. They came back to the class and came straight to me.

Uday, please give back the cane or else we will all suffer. We’ve never had such a good teacher in our lives and if he goes we will again be saddled with another of the nincompoops. Please Bhai, de de na.

Hey why me? I’ve long been branded as someone who takes off a pen here, a bottle of coke there…but I was in no mood to accept that I had whacked Charlie for whacking me yesterday.

Get lost and stop bothering me.

Tuesday 13^th April 6am

I cycled down from Lodhi Road to Ashoka Place telling Mom that I had an early morning football practice. Having parked my cycle outside near the Church, instead of the regular school parking bay, I walked into the school. It was very early even for the staff to arrive and start the cleaning and gardening activities. Quickly walked up the stairs of the Middle School Building and took out my skeleton key. Took a quick look around and turned the key…click click…it worked. Quietly I went in the hall, slid the main door back again as I ran up the stairs to the third floor where X-C was. It was all quiet and lonely but my heart was beating fast. I could hear it loud and clear as I put the key into the lock again and magic happened again…the classroom door opened. Entered and pushed the door back…click…it got locked on its own again. Never mind, I have the master key.

Now just the wooden almirah remained where the brutal Nazi Charlie lay. My strides became more confident and I walked to the last door that remained between me and my revenge. Just then I heard some footsteps outside.

Oh no…who can it be now? Is my game over? If I am caught like this then it will not be only Charlie but Dad, Mom and police who will batter me to death.

God is great…they always tell you and so He was. I saw a small opening between the almirah and the wall and I somehow quickly managed to squeeze in behind it as the classroom door opened and in walked Brother Eric….

The person you want to see last is the one who faces you the first…what fate…kaput! What’s he doing here so early?  He’s not even dressed in his white robe. Phew!

I had not anticipated this. Eric walked in, took a piece of chalk and started writing some equations on the blackboard, something I never could understand. He kept on writing till he wrote on every inch of the blackboard. Here was a teacher who was getting ready for the first class even before the school had started so that not a moment was wasted!

I was getting fidgety for I had to be out of here quickly and be standing in the assembly for a perfect alibi or else if I remained behind the almirah when all the children entered, death was but certain. As Eric took one last look on the board, dusted his hands and started walking back.

I observed him carefully as he walked to the door. I knew that time was running out but suppressed the urge to check my watch. I took a deep breath and started counting in reverse under my breath. “Ten, nine, eight, seven…” Dad had told me to count from ten to zero whenever I would get tensed and worried about anything and it always worked…it was one of the millions of things he taught me since childhood but most of it fell on my deaf ears.

I slowly came out of my hiding and opened the almirah and there it lay like a Sword of Honour above all the answer sheets. I took it in my hands and felt blood rushing to my head…I should break it up into pieces so that it is never able to stand straight again, never able to beat any student ever…Death Death Death roared the Romans as I stood in the arena, a victor ready for the last lunge.

Tuesday 13^th April 7.30am

Hi Uday! How are you man? I am sad at what happened yesterday…he shouldn’t have done it. It is inhuman to cane someone so badly. He talks about atrocities on Jews during World War II and here he himself is perpetrating similar things…trying to create a ghetto out of our class. Very sad man, our school was never like this…

Sandeep was being nice to me. I kept a straight face neither saying yes nor no, just kept looking sad and serious. Sandeep went behind and stood in the queue as we all started chanting, Our Father in Heaven…

Tuesday 13^th April 10.30am

Come on Uday. Brother Eric says he will forgive the act. We are all suffering because of you, pleaded Sanjiv, the Prefect and many more so called good boys of the class.

I don’t have it. Don’t bother me. I was standing with you since morning then how could I have done anything. I left school together in the same bus as Ajay…ask him and I was at the assembly with you all. Stop bothering me. I am trying to finish the next test paper before I get beaten again.

Tuesday 13^th April 12 noon

No teacher was stepping into the class as they had heard about Brother Eric. Each of them, Mr. Kuriakose, Mr. Jose, Mrs. Pallamatam…veni vici vedi…they came, they saw and they conquered…or whatever you may make of it. The 40 students of X-C were the vanquished forces lying low. There was surprisingly no noise in the classroom even though there was no teacher. It was indeed a strange day.

The look on everyone’s face was too much for me to bear. So I walked out of the room and after a while stepped right back but this time not alone…

Here take this thing to him and say we’ve found him. He can now come back and start the classes.

Whoa!! You should have been there to hear the joy and laughter on every child’s face.

Kaise kiya Boss….batao batao…

Just shut up and go from here. Don’t bother me. Just tell him that his bloody Charlie is back from grave.

Tuesday 13^th April 7.10am

I did not break Charlie even though I had the opportunity and the reason to do it. I just took him and put him where he belonged, a big red dustbin with a cover outside the classroom and then walked out of the main gate closing all doors as I had opened.

Tuesday 13^th April 12.15 pm

Brother Eric walked into the classroom, opened up the literature text and starts reading aloud as the students started underlining the pages…

Friends Romans Countrymen

Lend me your ears, I come to bury Charlie

And not to praise him…

Eric never used Charlie again. I never gave him a chance to use it either for I realized it was time for me to turn a new leaf. My father had gone out of his way to put me in a good school and it was time for me to start my affair with books. I started enjoying classes with Eric and would never fail to do my homework. Slowly my grades started improving and I felt for the first time the desire to rush to school in the mornings.

Two people died that day- Uday of Old and Charlie of New. Both were laid to rest in peace forever.

Two people came alive that day- Uday, The Reformed and Eric, The Teacher.

And so began a long journey together, first as student and teacher and then as friends forever.

UNEXPECTED VISITORS

I always enjoyed reading Gerald Durrell and James Herriot. Their books made such interesting read and helped me live through so many idle afternoons in my days of youth. Neither am I an animal rights activist or a PETA fan or a SPCA member nor do I carry around packets of Marie biscuits to feed my canine brothers and sisters living in the neighbourhood . I just loved the way these two writers brought all those creatures great and small so close to us .They made them one of us, bringing out all their little emotions and instincts which we are so familiar with .Often smitten by the snide remarks of many a relative, a book titled Birds, Beasts and Relatives or My Family and Other Animals had a particular personal appeal and made extremely desirable reads in my growing up days. And, of course, who can re-create the bright and beautiful, wise and wonderful world of the unforgettable vet peppered with his brilliant wit and sprinkled with dollops of humour.

These days, too, I am once again at peace enjoying the company of my lesser known guests who call on me in my apartment on the 17^th floor of a typical multi-storied structure in a Mumbai suburb. They are probably visitors you least expect amongst these blocks of concrete but they do come and give me company and I am actually growing quite fond of them.

The regulars of course are those belonging to the family of Columbidae but I will come to them later. Those who come every day or rather are permanent residents do not fall in the category of revered ‘guests’.

Among the less frequent ones is one Mr. Raven. He is truly ‘as black as a…….’; there’s no mistake about his identity. My 81 year old mother hates him the most especially when he is sitting at the window cawing with all his lung power. The reason being, his cawing forebodes ill-luck. Remember Julius Caesar:

“And in their steads do ravens, crows, and kites,

Fly o'er our heads, and downward look on us,

As we were sickly prey.” 

Then we have Mr. and Mrs. Mynah. They come off and on, not every day. I prefer to see them as a couple because once again seeing only one may bring sorrow…You have to be very alert. All the birds sound different and you need to have sharp ears to catch who is at the window. That’s how I never miss Mr. and Mrs. Parrot (actually rose-ringed parakeets, green bodied and red beaked). They come very often but do not like to stay for long. Sometimes they bring their friends along and it is a treat to see them all sitting in a row. Their home is not far away, two huge trees in the next compound. As I water my plants every morning, I see a flight of them leaving their homes and again as the sun is setting they make their way back.

This little bird world is often disturbed by the mighty King Kite. I think he has his throne perched on our rooftop and the day the king decides to swoop down for a kill, there is mayhem all around. The big ones, the little ones, the fat ones and lazy ones are all flying hither and thither ,all trying to be out of his range, as he first soars, then circles the Goregaon sky and finally swoops down on the catch. I watch till peace returns and the king has settled down with his prey, may be a big one or just a fledgling. However, the hunter always alerts his prey with a shrill call before swooping down- the shrill piercing cry of the kite is truly spine chilling.

The tailor-bird, my little Tuntuni, loves to come and swing on the branches of my Bougainvillaea. I love to hear her sing…but those ‘terrorists’ never allow us each other’s company for long.

One day I think I saw a sparrow…but it was for such a fleeting moment that I am not too sure. The urbanization and concretization that we chose for ourselves have made the sparrows an endangered species today. It was not too long ago, when we were kids, we did see so many of them everywhere, even nesting inside our homes. But now they are gone…  ‘gone to graveyards, everyone’ .Do you realize that our children are growing up in these cities seeing skyscrapers cropping up every other day but not the house sparrows collecting twigs and straw to build their nests?

And would you like to know a little more about my other visitors? There were the Squirrel Twins who even made a home just above my living room window. The first time I spotted them, there were three of them- Mother and the Twins. The Mother must have been on the lookout for a safe place to give birth. Soon the mother left and the twins could be seen coming out of their hideout, playing hide- and- seek among my potted plants, nibbling on the leaves, gnawing at the thin branches. Finally, I could see only one of them .When the house was all quiet, especially in the mornings and afternoons, this young fellow would come out his den, frolic around, eat my plants, nibble at the pods, and then, not satisfied with one window-sill garden, would move on to the next window. He had become so bold that even when I went and stood at the window he would continue with his nibbling and chewing. Once, he even made his way through an open window into my guest room! Imagine a squirrel inside a house- I had never seen one before! In my childhood I had seen squirrels living only on trees and every time you approached them they would vanish. I guess, when we humans encroach on their homes, they will enter our houses. Once inside the room, he completely panicked. He was scampering here and there, on the television, jumping from it, falling into the waste-paper basket, coming out of it, running up the book-shelf. All lost, confused, confounded. I left the window wide open for him, shut the door and left the room. I let him find his way out.

Now let me turn to the little rogues of the Columbidae family who have completely terrorized my life. I think they have enrolled with the IS. Each one is a little Kalashnikov- they don’t have to carry one.  I admit that these stocky and stout birds do not look like terrorists nor do they lead the lives of terrorists. But they are completely capable of turning your world upside down, creating havoc and ravaging your peaceful existence. In an earlier piece on the same blog, my daughter was charmed by their loves and quarrels but I, for one, am not at all impressed with them. With my little knowledge of the world of flora and fauna, I thought doves and pigeons belonged to the same family and so the pigeons, like their sisters, the doves, would be harbingers of peace. I have been proven completely wrong- they are such a menace. Sadly, unlike the other guests, they do not visit for a short while, they are there always- day and night. In my house you will be woken up in the middle of the night or wee hours of the morning to a sudden loud thud. With an octogenarian living with you, who is also osteoporotic and a cerebral stroke survivor, that is probably the last sound you wish to hear. As you rush to her bed and find her sleeping peacefully, the thudding grows into pounding. Remember Daphne du Maurier ’s  The Birds, in which the birds attack the humans, made popular by Hitchcock’s classic thriller? Yes, it’s the pigeons banging against my bathroom window. The glass panes need to be cleaned twice a week; they completely defy ‘Swachh Bharat’ and follow their own dictum of “Gandgi Machao’. They have digested more plants and saplings from my window gardens than I have managed to save. With constant cooing and insatiable lovemaking they can completely erase the word peace from your life. If that is not enough, they refuse to build nests and instead lay eggs inside my flower pots. Last, but not the least, they stroll into my house and once inside they are so perplexed that, even if the window is completely opened up, they do not know how to get out. The fans have to be switched off, before there is bloodbath, doors closed and these fatsoes have to be literally shoved out of the windows. By then the whole room is in absolute mess.  

Even then, neither do I want to be caged in behind bird-proof nets nor do I wish to have an air-conditioned existence. So, for the company of a few good guests I have to learn to be tolerant.

DS