Bom Bahai Dairies- 6: The Crown Jewel

Hello Vicky, you are looking upset today. Tell me, what’s wrong?

Sir, it is nothing. The caretaker at my Guwahati home gave away my grandfather’s gramophone about a month ago while cleaning out unused things. It was a masterpiece and I developed an ear for music since my childhood listening to music on it as it played the vinyl records.

That’s so sad but things like this do happen. How would the caretaker know the value of these priceless antiques that have so much of memories stored in them? Anyway, don’t lose heart. I will take you to a place in our beautiful city where many a times such antiques land up from all over, some sold to kabadiwalas and in many cases stolen from the homes of people who own them. There is a huge market here and often you can pick up genuine antiques in the midst of look-alikes and fakes.

Let us go there now, Sir. Maybe my grappa’s gramophone has come here and is yet to find a buyer.

Ok, let us go to Chor Bazaar today.

We boarded a Kali-peeli taxi from Churchgate to Mohammad Ali Road and shared some trivia with Vicky on the way which was no more than 4.5 km but took us over an hour and half to reach.

Vicky, did you know, there are two versions of how the place got a name? The bazaar in the congested area of the city was always so full of people trying to buy and sell used and second-hand things that there was always a noise around and the locals called it ‘Shor Bazaar’ or Noisy Bazaar. The English on the other hand could not pronounce the word Shor and they started calling it Chor and then the locals, too, started following the white masters. The second version is that when a Governor General of India was coming to India, many of his wife’s belongings including a prized violin went missing whilst getting unloaded from the ship. All of these were traced by the police to have been put up for sale in this market and hence the name Chor Bazaar.

We, finally, managed to reach Bhendi Bazar and started walking around streets with strange names, the likes of which you will never find elsewhere…. Mutton Street and Butcher Street. We were slightly disappointed when we saw a large number of multi-storied buildings undergoing complete make-over which was taking away the old-world charm of this place with its old houses, no more than a couple of floors, and architecture that was a mixture of Gothic and Saracenic.

In some time, we found ourselves near a couple of shops exhibiting movie posters. We walked into one of them and were told not to take any pictures as some of their exhibits were originals. We saw a huge poster of Amitabh Bachchan and Jaya Bhaduri in Hrishikesh Mukherjee’s film Mili and the proud man there told us that this original piece would cost us rupees three lakhs… possibly in 1975, it would have costed the producers the same amount to make the complete movie! We also got to see some copies which too were priced at over ten thousand each so we just admired the collection and beat a retreat saying, we will be back soon.

We saw many shops selling old artefacts, books and furniture but there was a full lane devoted to automobiles. Heaps of spares of automobile body, tyres, lights, horns, batteries and engines were on display here. We also saw a few young men dismantling cars and they did it in such a hurry that in no time, every nut and bolt including the number plate was removed and nothing was left of the original vehicle. We understood why speed was of such essence in this trade…. any delay may lead to cops confiscating the vehicle and arresting the street artists. Nicolas Cage’s movie Gone in Sixty Seconds could have been easily shot here or the Formula One pit stop teams could hire these boys at no cost and yet do the tyre changes manually during the races with speed better than the trained crew.

We finally found the shop that Vicky was so desperately looking for… one which had old cameras and gramophones of all makes and models. Vicky was able to locate the same make and model that his grappa had left behind but sadly, it wasn’t the original piece for it did not have the old man’s name etched on the base. The shopkeeper told Vicky that he will do it for him free of charge and that the set was fully functional. He would drop five old vinyl records additionally to sweeten the deal but Vicky seemed confused.

Keep this piece for a week and if I do not come back by then, you may sell it to anyone. I need this time to think if at all I should buy this piece or not.

The shopkeeper readily agreed and handed Vicky his business card. He spoke with a lot of confidence, “You name anything and you will find it here, no matter how old or how special that thing might be…Chor Bazaar will never let you down.”

With a bit of humour and a bit of sarcasm, Vicky asked…Crown Jewels milega kya?

The shopkeeper said…haan milega…it is somewhere around for sure.

We laughed and, as we were walking towards the exit, we came across Taj Ice Cream. 

This is an iconic eatery that has been making ice cream since 1887 and has enthralled movie stars like Johnny Walker, Waheeda Rehman and Madhubala. We walked in and asked for their special alphonso mango ice cream and started reading about the history of this place and were amazed to find out that they still make ice creams in wooden barrels and hand churned, the way they made it 125 years ago. The fruit mixed with cream is then poured into a copper canister which makes their recipes legendary and unique. The sixth generation of ice cream makers are at work now and no prizes for guessing their surname…Icecreamwala!

We enjoyed every lick of the ice cream and then Vicky said… Sir, Taj means the crown. Now that we have found the crown here, can the jewels be far away?

Vicky, don’t worry. I know where to find the most precious crown jewel of all…the Kohinoor. You can see Kohinoor in some time, just do not ask me any questions how, when and where.

Ok, Sir, you got me excited and I shall follow my leader to Land’s End.

We took another Kaali-peeli and took a turn to the left from the imposing RBI Building at Ballard Estate, Fort, and got dropped opposite an old, dilapidated building with a number of people hanging outside. The old rusty board read, Britannia and Co, Exotic Parsi Iranian Restaurant. All boards displayed ‘Cash Only’. Vicky, the foodie, couldn’t help laughing seeing this iconic eatery but asked, how do you plan to find Kohinoor here, Sir?

He is there inside…come with me and I will show you. As we entered the eatery, we found a dog sleeping on one side of the cash counter and a cat on the other. An old man sat behind the desk and welcomed us as we took our seats. We found ourselves at a point where I felt that every person passing was trying to take a picture of us and so I would smile at them. Vicky shattered my dreams and told me that people were actually taking picture of the interesting rules of the restaurant that was hanging on the wall next to us…. No Talking, No Combing Hair, No Leg on Chair….

I asked the man serving…Boman Kohinoor Saab kahan hain?

He said, “Saab passed away in 2019. You have not been here for long or else you would have known about it.”

I explained to Vicky, “Boman Rashid Kohinoor started Britannia in 1923. He called himself India’s biggest fan of the Royal family of UK. He even met Prince William and Kate Middleton when they visited India in 2016 and I have seen their cardboard cut-outs kept in this restaurant when I had last visited. Boman would walk around and make sure he would meet each and every customer who came to the restaurant and take a feedback about the food and also recounted about the traditional recipes served here.

Vivky smiled and said, “So now Boman Saab is entertaining Queen Elizabeth up there in the clouds…how fascinating indeed!"

Not Boman Saab…Kohinoor, the Crown Jewel, himself.

We ordered the traditional Pallonji’s Raspberry soda and followed it up with the lazeez Mutton Salli Boti (small mutton balls with crispy potato slices finely cut) with chapati and then there was no way we would miss the Berry Good Chicken Berry Pulao. This pulao is really very special for it is full of barberries that are imported from Iran to retain their authenticity. The place proudly adorns the flags of Iran and India, the place of origin of the ancestors and the residency of the present owners. We rounded off this fine food with the special caramel custard which is not too sweet or eggy and tastes just right. Both of us burped as we cleaned up the desert and understood the signal from within which shouted…bas kar…no more please.

No matter how much we explore this city, it never fails to amaze us. The more we see, the more we fall in love and the more we want to see of Bom Bahai. Hasta Manana till we meet again.

Vicky & SS

To Sir, With Love

                                     

The two-member high-powered interview board were having a heated argument while a candidate named Dasu waited outside.

Just look at his credentials…by the time he was sixteen he on his way to join the Christian Brotherhood. Coming from a well to do and learned family with a mother teaching in a reputed school and father, a decorated officer in the Indian Army, when the world of opportunities lay before him, he chose an austere life of simplicity, selfless-service and a desire to change the lives of innumerable boys and girls. Revered and loved by all and a spotless life of seventy-four should have given him a straight entry into the Pearly Gates. He belonged there and there alone and there was no need for this interview which was meant to separate the wheat from the chaff.

Lt.Gen D'Souza, The Father with Sam Manekshaw

Mrs. N. D'Souza, The Mother

Peter, you’re a selfish bugger. You already have the best of people with you. Don’t you think we need some good people?

Dear Cerberus, if people like Dasu are sent to Hell, everyone will lose faith in goodness and humanity and Earth, which is already over populated with evil forces and will make the place completely unlivable and a totally dark planet.

Dear Peter, while I understand your apprehensions but my problem is that the place I guard here is getting over populated. We need someone who can possibly work with some of the people here, make a change and get an opportunity to cross over into your land which is completely underpopulated and can accommodate many more people.

Cerberus…Cerberus…what you ask for is outright blasphemy and unacceptable. Just see what some of his students of the first class he taught at St. Columba’s School, Delhi have to say about him on his passing on 13^th of Oct 2024…

“Brother D’Souza’s passing really hurts and breaks our hearts- he made us, the boys of 10-C, men (nearly) during the 1979 school year. As my mind rewinds, the distant memories come back to me slowly like gentle waves hitting the shores of a lake.

Not a 100% sure but I think the first words he said to us on that cold March morning on our 1^st day of 10-C (all of us were excited and making a lot of noise after rejoining school in a new class)- Will you guys shut up!

He brought about a paradigm shift on the way he taught us- so refreshing and so much fun.

His singing to us with the guitar, math classes on Saturdays- we used to look forward to that (what a change after John and Innis) and how he gave us all assignments during the summer holidays and made us post them to him every week in Shillong.

What a Man- I must be forgetting so many other good memories and things we did with him.

A true Gentleman and arguably the best Teacher St. Columba’s has had. I’m sure he’ll find a bunch of guys in Heaven and teach them good things in his unconventional style- all of us will cheer him from here.

God Speed and R.I.P. Brother.”

Look Peter…that’s what I need… someone who can teach my folks differently and make them better. So far they’ve been exposed to people of the worst kind who drag them further down the ladder of humanity and ensure that they will never find any redemption.

Cerberus Dear, please do not disturb me. See one more of the posts…

"While he was suffering that last few years and possibly this was deliverance for him, the fact is, he leaves us with countless, amazing memories that will always stay with us. People like him leave a mark on those they touch in an indelible way. And what is a great life but one that touches the lives of others deeply? He lived a selfless life that transformed the life of so many young men. God bless his soul and may he rest in eternal peace.”

See Peter, what I was telling you…Dasu will help transform the lives of people in my Underworld so that they may have a chance to move up and live a better afterlife. 

Sha..sha.. Cerberus. Just listen to some more of the posts and tell me if it will be right on my part to move him into the dark world. How will I look into the eyes of my Lord after doing such injustice to this holy soul?

“Assignments in the summer holidays!! He took classes through the summer holidays. Thank God and him for that. With his teaching, I did brilliantly with…70+ in math. I remember his remark to the class during the summer tuitions. If you don’t know something after a class has finished, say so. I will thrash you but explain it again. But if you tell me three days later that you didn’t know, I’ll thrash you even more, because I will have to learn the lesson all over again to teach you. More than the math, this changed my life. I figured everyone isn’t a Srini, sorry mate no offence, who understands everything at first shot. One has to work at understanding…It gave me so much confidence for dealing with life. F**k, he was just too good…God Bless him.”

That's it Peter, Dasu knows how to thrash unruly people. He fits the bill to the dot. I am told he has a cane named Charlie that he wields like a sabre and puts sense into the heads of people. No teacher will survive even a single day in the Underworld unless he is able to thrash and get the rogues to toe the line…remember what you’ve always preached…spare the rod and spoil the child.

No way Cerberus! Listen to another of this student…

“I am deeply saddened by the passing of Bother Eric D’Souza. It is difficult to express my gratitude for him in words. He was a remarkable educator and a selfless person, whose passion for teaching and ability to make learning enjoyable and touched the lives of many, including mine. His contributions to education and personal growth will be cherished by all who had the privilege to learn from him. Brother D’Souza’s legacy will live in our hearts. He will be remembered for making school enjoyable and inspiring countless students. Rest in Peace, Brother D’Souza.”

Before you speak again…here’s one that will convince you- where Dasu truly belongs.

“Brother Eric Steve D’Souza- Fratress Christiani. Unknown hero who launched India’s powerful emergence as an IT superpower. In 1980, he wrote the first syllabus for O-level Computer Education and installed a bank of PCs in the school basement. That single act precipitated a boom as every school and educational institution in the country scrambled to catch up.

He came into class, a diminutive man with the most riveting eyes, a constant, almost sardonic smile as he laughed at life and its idiosyncrasies. The son of a decorated General in the Indian Army, he chose the Holy calling to become a monk, a teacher. He was at once the best footballer on the field, the sharpest mind in Mathematics and English and amazingly good with the guitar- in the middle of the most difficult classes he’d strum and sing his signature “Bouna Sera Senorita...”, with gleeful look. He’d stride across class in three steps, cassock billowing behind him. He equally loved the brainiacs and the back-benchers, seeing in each one of us what we could not see ourselves. He had no doubts about the Divine. But it did not prevent him from dealing with atheism and homosexuality in Shakespeare’s works. As a monk, he guided us through the most difficult teenage years of our lives, dealing with the most tabooed subjects imaginable. He took us from being a rag-tag bunch of almost certain failures to the best that each of us could be. I last saw him twenty or more years ago. in a remote corner of India, running a school for marginalized young people. More than anybody else, he taught us that money and fame mean absolutely nothing.

The only true wealth is who you are. In prayerful gratitude to my hero, my mentor, my guide. God be with you.”

See Peter…he is the fittest person according to me…he can teach beyond catechism and holy texts to subjects difficult and often tabooed by your folks. He can change the lives of ‘rag-tag’ and make my people see what they cannot see in themselves. I have already built a Reformatory School where he can join as the Headmaster and start his classes with immediate effect.

Let us call him in and ask his wish. Normally we decide, for our decisions are unanimous but since we are unable to arrive at one, Brother Eric…come in please…

A slim man in casual clothes walked in and took the seat across St. Peter and Cerberus.

St. Peter spoke…Brother D’Souza, you have an impeccable record fit for being cannonised but here Cerberus, the Gatekeeper of the Underworld wants to take you to run a reforming school for his people. There is much merit in his request, but I am worried about how the people down below, who are yet to come for their admissions to Heaven will interpret such a decision.

I have been a teacher all my life and teaching is what I do best and love most. The place and the building never mattered to me. Happy to go to the Reformatory School even if it lies in the darkest place in the Universe. Give me my children and give me my books and of course I already have Charlie with me.

Cerberus smiled and said…You’re truly a blessed soul. I am requesting St. Peter to give you the multiple entry visa for Heaven and asking you to visit my world temporarily and make it a better place for all.

..................................................................................................................................................

To me, Brother D’Souza was

The man who threw me out of the class,
But let me enter his heart forever.
The man who once called me a donkey,
But made the man I am out of  wet clay.
And to quote from the one book he taught us that we will never ever forget…Julius Caesar
“His life was gentle, and the elements
So mixed in him, that Nature might stand up
And say to the World, This Was a Man."

Dearest Teacher, Mentor, Guide and Friend

Rest Eternally in Peace.

SS

Queue Kyon- A Photo Essay

Wonder why there was a queue outside a shop on a Saturday morning?

Went closer to the point of origin and look what I found...the people had lined up to pick up jalebi-fafda. Yesss...a must have on Dussehra.

When it comes to sweets, can the Bongs be far behind on this auspicious day? Look, the counters are full...waiting for the late rising hordes to come and conquer.

Then saw the queue at the temple nearby and people lining up to buy puja offerings.

People selling flowers and decorating their homes and vehicles...the spirit of joy and festivity was in the air.

Now look at this queue of women lined up outside the pandal and this line seems to get longer by the minute. All these women were beautifully attired and nobody was breaking the queue as we often do and no one was complaining...quite a unique sight in our part of the world.

So I ventured into the pandal and saw these women waiting for Sindoor-Khela.

A closer look showed a disarmed Ma, ready to take her journey back home...made me feel sad.

What made me sad was also the queue we saw a couple of days ago when the common people stood patiently for hours to get a glimpse of the the Visionary, and the Gentleman and bid him goodbye one last time. 

As the carriage reached the Pearly Gates, the tall man in a coloured topi with a black dog by his side walked up to a large gathering of Heavenly Gods and Goddesses who were showering the arrival with celestial flowers that filled the air with aroma. The leader of the reception committee shouted...

Hello dikra kem che...

I am fine Sir, but why are there so many people here today?

Oh, they came first to welcome back our very own Durga with her four kids. She came pretty quickly in her LionXpress but your earthly carriage took longer. So they decided to wait for you as well. They were anxious to see RND for they had heard a lot about you and are eager to meet you.

RND?...I am RNT.

Oh, we are aware of your last name. We heard about two billion people shouting your name aloud a few days ago...Tata ..Tata. But for our sake we have named you RND and that is what your lanyard shows. We we want you to take up the Research And Development assignment quickly and make this place up to date. We were impressed by the way your people handled the passport services of one country... do something similar for people of all nations. When they come here, we too will have an automated system of stamping the H Visas- Heaven and Hell. You must also improve our travel system. Most of us are still using lions, rats, horses and buffaloes. You have done wonders for the people down below with things that move on land and air. Mobility has to improve greatly in this place and a unified travel service and call it Air VayuTara. It will be a great hit here. Another of your priority projects involves communication. We speak multiple languages and often there is a misunderstanding. Please create a communications network and give all the inhabitants a HPhone that will never get discharged and convert all languages into one that is understood by all and tempers down all aggressive talks and posts.

All this sounds interesting. I am willing to work on these interesting projects immediately but I have a question... will you allow Goa to Heaven for I will not come without him? In the past you have denied permission to great godly people.

Picture courtesy: Internet

Don't worry RND, we have made special dispensation for Goa. He will be the first to enter these gates and will always go wherever you go. Welcome RND, my son...welcome to your new home.

Thank you. 

Happy Dussehra and Shubho Bijoya to all our readers.

SS

Better Bitter

I was sitting at a friend’s place in Delhi when he said, “There is too much bad news and views on the social media. We need to cut it down.” His wife immediately said, “No, there is also a lot of good news available but maybe you tend to see more of the negative things, especially in many of your WA groups, who constantly share extreme views that you find offensive which in turn colours your perspective of the world as extreme, offensive and dark. The bitterness and negativity that you get bombarded with repeatedly is what upsets you and blinds you to the good that is happening around in your viewing zone.” And that is when we started sharing some simple, everyday stories of the common man which never get highlighted and often get lost in the din and cluttered dark world of religion, politics, ego and show.

The Wet Crow

Picture courtesy: Internet

The sky gods had erupted over Mumbai and it had been raining uninterrupted for many hours. These are times when getting an auto or cab gets so much more difficult. The roads are chock-o-blocked with bumper to bumper traffic. Amit was lucky to have got an auto-rickshaw that day and was happily watching one reel after another as the vehicle slowly made its way from his workplace to home. After a short smooth run, the auto came to grinding halt on one of the flyovers leading closer to his home. He saw a young man with an umbrella standing on one side, for there was no room for him to walk in the congested road. He appeared to be completely wet as his umbrella had turned inside out in the gusty wind conditions, while the rain continued to pour incessantly. He appeared completely drenched, wet as a crow. Amit put out his hand and asked the young man:

Are you wanting to walk down the flyover?

Yes, Sir.

Hop in. I will drop you.

The boy readily agreed and found himself in the comfort of the rick which was dry and safe. The driver, turned back and smiled at him and said… aaraam se baith ja bhai.

The rick started moving slowly but steadily. As the rick reached the lower end of the flyover, Amit asked the boy…

Is this where you wish to get off or further somewhere?

Actually, I have to go to Piramal Nagar…and he started checking the Google Maps for his destination.

I know where Piramal Nagar is and that is very close to where I am going, so just keep sitting.

After a while, the auto slowed down to allow the young man to get off at Piramal Nagar. The boy offered to pay Amit some part of the auto fare which he simply refused. The youngster then said,

Sir, can I have your name and phone number please. I am Vijay Srinivasan and work with E&Y.

Amit smiled and said…what will you do with my name. Anyway, I am Amit Chandra and I work for an insurance company.

The youngster thanked Amit profusely.

I have never met a good soul like you before.

Amit just smiled and the auto moved on. Later in the evening, Amit got a LinkedIn invitation from Vijay which he gladly accepted.

Usman Meherbaan

Rajib was a teacher in a municipal school at Kolkata’s Shyambazaar. He would go to the school in the morning and, after the classes got over, he would sit down with the children who were weak in Mathematics and English. Most of his students came from slums around the school since parents who could afford better schools would never send their children to the municipal schools which were in a perennially dilapidated state and lacked basic amenities including teachers. Rajib was a bachelor in his mid-forties and would enjoy his time either cooking, when he was not with his books, or with children. He could cook, both the regular stuff as well as exotic Bengali dishes. He was a pucca foodie and would at times go to the nearby shops and ask them to deliver their specialties.

One place that Rajib loved was the old bakery shop of Usman at Shyambazaar. He was a regular customer there on most evenings where he would pick up a small bite and enjoy it with the kullad chai in the shop next door. The items at Usman’s bakery were extremely tasty, fresh and easy on the pocket. The funny part was that Usman’s best seller chicken patty was priced at Rs 20, the egg patty at Rs 25 and the paneer patty at Rs 30. Everyone wondered how chicken could be cheaper than eggs and why should the veg paneer patty be the most expensive. No one ever questioned Usman Bhai who always sat behind the counter while a few youngsters managed the customers with the orders.

One evening Rajib felt the urge to eat his favourite chicken-garlic patty and off he went walking to the shop which was about five hundred metres from his home. While walking, he started visualizing the gentle piece of patty which once put in the mouth would melt faster than Kwailty ice-cream. In no time he reached the shop, greeted Usman Bhai and the girl at the counter, both of whom knew him well. While looking for options, Rajib noticed a bare-footed girl from the street in shabby clothes standing in front of him. She was also looking at the options and reading the price written in front of each. She then started counting the coins in her palm…one at a time. It was quite obvious that she had got the money from the motorists while standing at the red light at the street crossing opposite Usman’s shop.  Rajib was taken aback when he noticed that a tiny girl, no more than a couple of years old, who was also tugging at the skirt of the girl with the coins and pointing to the chicken rolls on display. The girl, by then, had realized that she did not have enough money and so she went out of the shop dragging the little one who was crying to have been denied her treat.

Rajib asked the girl in the counter to pack two chicken garlic patties for Rs 20 apiece and two chicken rolls for Rs 25 apiece. After paying to Usman Bhai, he took out the packet containing the rolls, bent down a little and handed it over to the girl who was sitting outside the shop playing with some more friends. Rajib did not wait to see the child’s expression. He just straightened his back and started briskly walking. He reached home in no time and initially took out one of the patties and ate it in no time. It tasted just too good. Now, he could not resist eating the next one immediately. He deserved a second helping today for sure for as they say, one good eat, deserves another….

Picture courtesy: Internet

The Flower Girl

Senthil had a standard Sunday morning routine. Early morning, he would rush to the door to get hold of the crisp newspapers, The Hindu and The Indian Express. He would make two nice cups of tea, one for his wife, Uma, and one for himself, take two Britannia Marie biscuits and sit down on the floor to go through the newspapers cover to cover. No one was allowed to disturb him for an hour and a half and by then Uma would have made some breakfast that he would gulp down and end up with a cup of strong filter coffee. Now he was battle ready…. He would take his two bags and walk away to Kodambakkam Municipal market to get fresh vegetables and fruits and fish of his choice. Come sun, come rain, Senthil always followed the same pattern every Sunday morning.

There was more to this routine. On the way to the market, Senthil passed the beautiful Ayyappa Temple. At times he would go inside the temple, say his small prayer to Lord Ayyappa and drop in a coin or two in the hundi kept at the entrance. On days when he did not have the change in the morning, he would make sure he got some change at the market and he would without fail put the coins on the return leg of his Sunday sojourn.

A couple of weeks ago, while walking past the temple, Senthil noticed a lady selling flowers to the devotees. Behind her, he saw a little girl, no more than two years old, playing alone with some small sticks and stones that she would have found on the road. There was something in the girl’s look that caught Senthil’s attention and he stopped for a moment. The girl had a round face with glowing eyes and she had a big cheek to cheek smile which would melt anyone’s heart and make them fall in love with the little one. Senthil was amazed at the simplicity and beauty of a kid who had no fancy clothes and shoes to wear, no toys to play with and yet was happy with what she had. And then Senthil moved towards the market place.

After finishing his regular purchases, Senthil went to the grocery store and asked for two packets of Parle G Gold and paid Rs 20 for the same. He put the packets in his bag and planned to give one to the little girl on the road and the other one, he wanted to give to the guards in his housing society, for they would always do their duty well and treated him and Uma with respect. As he came close to the temple, Senthil saw the basket of flowers at the same place but neither the woman nor the little child could be seen. He waited for some time but there was no sign of the duo. He then decided to walk home and was feeling bad that he could not give the biscuit to the kid and see her smile one more time. He walked for about hundred metres then decided to go back to the spot one more time. Not finding the mother and the child, Senthil just took out the packet of Parle G and just left it on top of the flowers and returned home after giving the second packet to the guards at the gate.

Senthil just prayed that no one else would take away the biscuit which belonged to the little girl and imagined how happy she would be to enjoy a full packet of crisp biscuits.

That evening, Senthil and Uma were to go to a friend’s place and as he sat on the driver’s seat and pulled the seat belt across, he saw some notes jutting out of the small storage space on the inside of the car door below the window. He remembered, a couple of days ago he had gone to pick up his friend at the airport and paid the parking attendant a five hundred rupee note and got back three hundred and twenty. Instead of putting it in his wallet or trouser pocket, he had just kept the change in the small space below the window. However, he forgot to take the money from there after reaching home. Vignesh, the boy who came to clean the car, had seen the money in the last two days and yet had left it untouched even though this money would have meant a lot to him. Senthil did not tell Uma about the incident but decided that at the time of Diwali bonus, he would add an extra three hundred bucks.

There is a Bitter India and there is a Better India. It is for you to choose, discover and feel.

SS

The Diary

Riiinnngg…riiinnngg…

Hello Priya…you reached safely…

Yes, Baba. It was a long but comfortable flight. The weather here at Chicago suddenly feels very cold especially after being in Nagpur for a fortnight. We are in the car now. How are you doing?

Arrey, I just returned from the fish market and have got some good bombil fish and fresh coriander. I will ask your mother to fry the fish and make some vadi. We will eat it while doing our daily binge watching. It will be the Sunday-Funday for us today.

Baba…

What? You want to speak to Aayi… oh she must have gone for her bath. When I came back from the market, I rang the bell a couple of times but she did not open. Fortunately, I was carrying the spare keys with me and entered the house. I still have the shopping bag in my hands. She is taking long today; otherwise she is in and out in no time. I will ask her to give you a call as soon as she is ready.

The line on the other end went quiet and then there was the faintest of noise…

Priya… why are you crying beta… what happened? You are my brave girl. How much longer could you have stayed. After all, you have your family there in Chicago. Don’t worry baby…. Come on, cheer up.

Baba…are you right now in the living room.

Yes…why?

Please go to the TV room after keeping your bag in the kitchen. I am holding the line here…

The old man took out the fish and vegetables from the bag and put them on the kitchen table top and then walked to the room inside with his phone in his right hand, holding it close to his right ear.

Yes, baby, I am there now…why are you crying darling… I just do not understand why you are making me walk around the house.

Now sit down on the couch facing the wall with the television set and tell me what do you see…

The man saw the black screen of the television and just next to it he saw a large picture frame with a sandalwood garland. He kept staring at the picture of a smiling woman as his eyes moistened.

I am sorry Baba… it’s just been less than two weeks and I can understand how you feel….said the sobbing voice on the other side.

The old man kept staring at the picture, with the phone still glued to his ear, without uttering a single word. Then after a while, spoke…

Don’t worry, baby. I will be fine. It takes time to realise that she is no more. After all we were together for over forty years and you think, work and plan your days as your partner for life. A short lapse of memory, you may call it.

Baba.. just think it over what I said before leaving India… please come and live with us. We will be all so happy to have you with us especially your grand-daughter who keeps asking for more and more bed-time stories that you told her every night we were there last time.

With all friends, relatives and you around till yesterday, the house was full and there was something always going on. My mind was always working on what to do to ensure the ceremonies went off properly, plus with my darlings around, I never felt alone. Today, possibly, is the first day when there is no one at home and my mind wandered away and I forgot the reality and the sad truth.

Come over Baba, please.

No, Priya. Your mother and I built this house together. It was never easy for us and there are great memories associated with it. The name plate with our names Dr. Sumitra and Dr. Arvind Deshpande will always tell me that she is around for me…. every brick in this house is engrained with the history of our struggles, our pains, our victories and our joys. With a clinic full of patients and all the friends in the neighbourhood, I will never be alone here. These people have always been my extended family. Your mother was far too independent a person to seek help from anyone, be it even family and, over the years, that spirit has rubbed off on to me. As long as my hands and feet are mobile and my mind is active, I wish to be here. A new world, new people and new way of living at this age will not suit me. I know you will be worried about me, especially after today’s incident, but I promise to make a long video call every day and keep you informed at all times. And, of course, not hide anything from you even though I know that you will always worry about me, something you have inherited from you mother.

I know Baba. Please keep someone for cooking.

Hey baby, I am a good cook myself and you know it. Your Aayi never allowed anyone inside the kitchen, for it was hers and hers alone…sanctum sanctorum. She would cook for everyone and make fresh food everyday without ever complaining. No matter how much work she had at the clinic and how late she would return but she would make the daily food. I was allowed only on Sunday mornings to make breakfast for her and she loved my dishes with eggs and anda-Maggi was her favourite. But then in the last few years, when she went over to your place in Chicago, she gave me the easy cooking recipes over phone and I would experiment the same. Initially the dishes did not turn out good, but with every passing day, I kept improving and then from simple khichadi I graduated to cooking prawn curry and keema-mattar. I used to keep some portions of my specially cooked dishes for her to taste on the day she returned home and her smile would give me the Michelin Star…mast bana hai. This time when she returned two months ago. she said… now I can say with confidence that you will survive after I vanish…. Yes, darling I will survive.

But Baba, how will you cook all those other things now with no one to give you directions?

Don’t worry, Darling. Your mother was always very meticulous and knew what a bhullakkad your dad is. She knew that I had to be repeatedly told of the way each dish had to be cooked each time I cooked it. So, she started writing these recipes in a diary… her Blue Diary which I have with me. The beauty about her recipes is that she made them idiot proof…they are so easy and simple that I can follow them and the end results are usually very good. Sometimes the salt tastes more and sometimes it appears to be missing, but other than that, I know that I can manage and I can survive. Moreover, cooking for myself every day, will keep me busy apart from my other habits of reading, walking and meeting friends.

Will you make a copy of the Blue Diary for me and send it over please Baba? She tried in vain over the years to get me into the kitchen but I was always very reluctant and, apart from baking cakes and some special dishes, I was more comfortable with the scalpel doing live surgeries than using the kadhai and spoon on dead meat and fish for them to come alive on the dinner plate.

Ha ha… of course I will do it. My only concern is that I never remember birthdays and the special days apart from hers, yours and my own. Your mother was like the finely tuned Swiss watch that ensured the phone calls and messages to family and friends on such days. And then there were those other dates I always tend to forget…days when the fixed deposits would mature, filing of tax, health and home insurance premiums, license renewal… the list was long, but she never missed one date. I will try and sit down on one of the days to compile them properly but am sure I will goof up now and then.

My bhullakkad Baba… don’t you worry. Aayi knew you well and she had given me a small diary… a Red Diary in which all important dates are chronologically hand written. It also contains when to give Diwali bonus to house staff and how much to increase annually. Incidentally, she has one half of the diary devoted to my dates, special numbers and passwords to remember.

Please make a copy and send it to me.

No, that will remain with me Baba. I will remind you of these days and occasions. It will give me one more reason to constantly call you.

Baba, Sumeet was saying that if you were to install CCTVs in the house that we could watch over you from here. We have done it here, as both of us leave Pinky behind with the house help when we go out to work.

No… no means no beta. I do not want surveillance. I seek fresh air of freedom and openness. I want you to live a good life together and not be glued to the screen watching Benjamin Button grow old. And then you never know, some lady may come to my place and then I will have you guys listening to what we are talking and seeing what we are doing… ha ha… give me independence and my privacy.

Ha ha… dad how can you talk like that…

Humour will keep me in good health darling. Hey, you must be reaching home now. Give my love and kisses to Pinky and Sumeet. There is just one problem which I foresee today…

What is it, Baba?

I have never cooked bombil or made kotmir vade before and so the Blue Diary will not have the recipe for these two things…Checkmate…Queen’s Gambit indeed!

I am the last person to tell you these recipes… just do a deep fry of the Bombay Duck and see to it that it stays crisp. Sprinkle some flour before dipping it in the oil. And as far as the coriander leaves are concerned, just give them to Shanti who will be coming to clean the house. Tell her you got some extra.

That’s good…from today you are Aayi of the house…Aayi to Pinky and me as well. Take care Darling.

Bye Baba.

SS

Karma Conversation

KC is the highest form of AI where two or more people converse without uttering a single word that we mortals generally use to interact. Magnetic vibes get transmitted which then get converted to the language understood by the giver and the receiver.

I wish to meet Brother Steve.

May I know why? You do not seem like one of his old students who keep visiting him now and then.

The man pulled out a letter and handed it to the manager at the old age home for Christian Brotherhood at Goa. The manager opened the letter and his eyes lit up….

I am sorry Father for I did not recognize you.

The man went down on his knees and bent his head till it touched the floor.

I had never seen the Papal seal before today, I am blessed.  But I must tell you that Brother Steve is completely bed-ridden for almost a year now. He is on round- the- clock life-support systems and he just lies on his bed without speaking a word to anyone. He is fed through the tubes and, possibly, only his heart is pumping. All the other systems have given way, but strangely he has a smile on his face despite all the pain and suffering he is enduring.

It is all God’s will. I would like to be left alone when I meet him today.

Sure, Father. I will take you to his room and then stand guard outside to ensure no one disturbs or intrudes whilst you are inside.

The priest, enters the room and the manager closes the door from behind. It is a dark room with curtains drawn on the windows. A solitary man lies on the cot with machines, big and small, connected to his vital organs. As Father draws closer, he sees the numerous tubes coming out of the patient’s throat, mouth and underbelly. The eyes are shut but as the man had said before, there is a smile on the face. Father steps next to the bed and gently puts his right hand on sleeping Steve’s forehead and softly utters…

Son, I have come for you.

Steve’s eyes open up and he tries to communicate with movements of his eyelids, brows and eyes…

Thank you, Father, for coming but I have been long gone. What have you come to take now?

I agree, Steve, but now I come to take what remains of you.

But I am not ready to go now. I need some more time, Father.

Why would you want to be like this for even one moment longer? I come to relieve you of your pain and misery.

No, Father. I have been in this state for far too long and have accepted this as part of my fate and penance. I still have my old students and well-wishers coming to see me here. I can see love in their eyes even though I stay on the bed, motionless and speechless. I am fine here in this state for, if you really wanted me, you would have come much earlier. Why now?

The time for all is set and cannot be changed. You lived your good days and not so good ones here and then depart for the next life.

No Father, let me be here longer. And if you really want me to come, then you must answer to my one question that have troubled me since the time I came here to live and also grant me one last wish.

Go ahead, Steve. I will try and answer your eternal question as best as I can.

The smile on Steve’s face grew bigger and there was a new-found light in his eyes. And then he started communicating once more…

Tell me, Father, did I lead a good life, life as laid out in scriptures.

Yes, you did and you were fortunate to have been born in a good family and led a life better than many for the first twenty years.

Yes, Father. I was indeed fortunate that my father who was a senior military man and my mother was a teacher in a school. They brought me up well with all love and care. I was never denied what people call a good life. But then, I decided to join the order at an age and time when young men and women of my time lived a life of fun and gaiety.  I lived those years cloistered in a church with no attachment to the world. I voluntarily gave up my good life to follow the path of the Lord and I did it without any dereliction.

Of course, you did it, son.

For the next thirty years or so, I devoted myself to the cause of educating children. I went beyond the call of duty of a school teacher and sat down with children who needed more time and attention. Today so many of my students have done so well in life. I even taught children of the weaker section of society to learn the life crafts and find a way to earn their living. I pulled them out of drugs and abuse and showed them a better path and many of them now lead a healthy life and have families of their own. They, too, come down here to visit me once in a while.

So, what is your question, Steve. All this life story of yours is known to me and it is recorded for posterity. We know how good a person you have been and how you have helped the meek, the sick and the needy and given a new life to a huge mass of children.

Did I cheat on anyone? Did I live a life of luxury? Smoking a couple of packets of cigarettes was the only vice or luxury you may put against my name. Then why me, Father…why did I have to endure this phase of life… what did I do to deserve this?

I do not have an answer to this question of yours. All I can say is that the Good Lord tests us in many ways. Some of it, we understand and the rest we do not. I have personally seen your book of life and can say with complete certainty that there is not one iota of a black spot anywhere. Your life is an example for many generations to come, especially how you guided young minds to develop love for education, the way you ensured your presence on the playgrounds when they took to the fields, you created some of the most memorable musicals with the children…. to each one of them, you are the first and, the last image that they recount when they hear the word teacher, the word life changer and the word guide. Then there are the innumerable young men that you helped fight drug menace and showed them the path to change and vocational employment. I could go on but now the time has come for me to take you to God’s own land, hand you unto his sacred arms and shower you with infinite love.

The smile on Brother Steve’s face grew smaller and with sadness in his eyes, he said…..Forgive me, Father, for having staggered from my belief momentarily. My faith in Him is as firm as ever and what I asked you was something my evil human mind had been seeking answer to, as I lie here alone. I have no sadness or anger in my heart for surely it is His way of testing me and cleansing me.

As I said before, His ways are not always easy to understand and the paths to His bosom are many.

Father, I seek from thee one last wish.

Yes son, tell me about it.

Father, the love that people are showing towards me even now, makes me long to stay here for a little more but I do not seek to be here forever. When I started my life as a teacher, there was this one class of ’80 where it all started and that one phase holds a special place in my heart. They all have loved me the most and they remember me often in their prayers. The pain that I endure is something small as compared to the respect and pure love that I see in their gentle footsteps as they walk into the room, place fresh flowers in the vase and silently stand and keep looking at me. Some have tears in their eyes and go down on their knees. I wonder if I will find this love in the Garden of Eden you plan to take me to….. . Some of them have come already and met me here. A few more are left to come. I am sure they, too, will be here soon. When the last of them have come and left, you can come for me and I shall gladly accompany you.

SS