The Lifeline

Renu, was feeling extremely pleased. After all, she had done so much work in a single day.Coming from Vasai to Goregaon in an early morning train to collect the three new sarees from Motilal Nagar, then going to the Topiwala Market. There, at her regular tailoring shop, she got the blouse pieces cut from the sarees. She had the old measurements of her sister-in-law and mother-in-law and asked the tailor to stitch the blouses with the same. While waiting, she called the two ladies at home to check if they wanted any special design for their blouses but they both seemed happy with the standard cut and look. Renu, being younger and a lot more fashion conscious, looked through the magazines at the tailoring shop before zooming on a new design for her blouse. She was excited that the tailor agreed to make her the latest Kareena style designer blouse.

Leaving the cut pieces with the tailor, she put the three bright sarees in a big carry bag and moved on to her next mission… shopping! She went to the City Mall nearby and straight to the Shopper’s Arcade where she picked up two fancy salwar kameez and a gorgeous black saree with a lot of glitter on it. She always wanted one such saree for the special occasions. By the time she wrapped up her shopping, it was almost 2 pm and it was time to head back home for trains going to Vasai and Virar post 3pm would inevitably get very crowded and with two big bags of new clothes in her hands, she did not want to risk it. She took a shared autorickshaw and reached the Goregaon station, and when her train arrived, she was pleasantly surprised that the second-class ladies compartment looked almost empty. She jumped into the compartment and went straight to the window seat and sat down. She then stood up once to put the two bags in the luggage counter above, switched on the fan and once again took her seat. A couple of old ladies joined her in her enclosure from the next stations and by the time the train reached Borivali, all the seats were taken. While the other passengers were talking to each other, Renu pulled out her ear plugs from her purse and started watching a movie on her mobile. She had never had the luxury of sitting and travelling in the local trains, and as the cool breeze from the window kissed her face, she closed her eyes and dozed off. When the train reached Vasai, one of the passengers gave Renu a gentle shove to wake her up. She got up and put her hand up to bring down a bag and then got off the train in a hurry just in time before the train moved on.

Renu was excited and wanted to reach home quickly to show the things she was carrying. She decided to give herself a treat by taking an autorickshaw to reach home instead of the usual twenty minutes of brisk walking. Just as she stepped out of the station to stand in the queue for the auto, she realized that she had only one packet in her hand instead of two. She opened up the packet to find the two salwar kameez sets neatly kept in two cardboard boxes. Oh my god, the bag with the four sarees… I left it in the train… how could I make such a blunder? She turned around and saw that the train had left and the last of the passengers who had got off were leaving the station too. She walked back to the platform and sat down on the empty steel bench, holding tightly to the one bag left in her hand and the other on her forehead, hiding away the eyes that were tearing.

How could I be so careless? What will Anju didi say? She will feel so terribly sad as the three expensive sarees were gifted by Anju’s father for his daughter, her sister-in-law and the mother-in-law, meant to be worn on the occasion of his son’s wedding planned for May in their native village. She put her head up, hoping to see some Good Samaritan bringing back the lost packet. She looked to the right, she looked to the left, but alas, there was none. She needed to speak her heart out to someone and took out her phone and called Bhavesh, her husband. She narrated the whole incident as it happened and the eyes went wet again, her voice choked as she completed her tale. She then nodded her head and kept the phone down.

Bhavesh was at that time working at Bandra Kurla Complex at the Diamond Bourse as a cleaner in one of the offices. He spoke to his manager and asked for a half a day off and then called his mother who was working as a housemaid at a house in Goregaon.

Aayi, something bad has happened. Renu has misplaced the bag with the sarees in the train… he went on to explain the incident as was narrated to him.

Smita, the calm mother asked Bhavesh to add the daughter-in-law to the call…. Renu, don’t cry. Go home now and tell Anju about the loss, as it happened. You know her, she loves you like a sister and will understand. I will ask Bhavesh’s father to buy us new sarees that we will wear for the wedding. Yes, the three blouses that you have given for stitching will go waste, but it is ok. Mistakes happen and can happen to anyone.

No, Aayi, I cannot face Anju didi. She will be devastated… no, I just cannot do it!

Ok then, let us do one thing. These sarees were bought recently from Anju’s maternal uncle’s shop at Girgaum. I know the shop there. Let us go there right now and see if we can get identical sarees. If we cannot, then we will buy three that are almost look alike. On our way back, we will give the tailor another three new blouses to stitch. That should take care of the problem for now. We will also have to tell Anju’s uncle not to speak about the new purchase to anyone.

But Aayi, these were expensive sarees with heavy zari.

Don’t worry Renu. I have kept all the money that I get in my account from the Ladki Bahin scheme separately for some unforeseen emergency and this is a real crisis for us. I will go to the post office now and take out the money. You take a fast local now- for Churchgate, I will board it from Goregaon and Bhavesh can also reach Marine Lines station around the same time. We will then go to the shop together and hope for the best.

The other two on the phone agreed that this was the best option for now and the trio started moving from the three locations towards the heart of the city. As planned, the trio met at Marine Lines station and went to the saree shop where they were greeted by Anju’s uncle who was surprised to see them. Smita took the lead, as the senior member, to explain to the uncle about the loss of sarees and what they had in mind and how with his help, happiness will reign at their Vasai home once again.

We get sarees from the manufacturers in lots but mostly each one of them is unique. Rarely will we ever keep two identical sarees at one time in the shop. The best we can do is to select three sarees which resemble the ones lost. For that I will need to see the pictures of the lost sarees.

Yes, I have the photos of the sarees on my mobile. I will share them with you now, said Renu.

Ok, that is good of you youngsters that you take pictures of almost anything and everything. At least now you can say the pictures do have some utility….and the man started pulling down sarees from the shelves and compared them with the photos. He even shared the photos with his other employees who were free, as afternoons were relatively less busy. All in the shop almost ransacked the counters and the store behind. It appeared as if some thief would have entered to carry out a heist. Sadly, no match was found… none at all!

The Search

The Uncle said, Smita Didi, now that I have the pictures, I will speak to the place from where we had sourced these sarees. I am sure, they will arrange to send us similar sarees in the next two weeks. Since the wedding is still a month away, you will still have enough time to get everything ready as per schedule. I promise not to speak to Anju or anyone in her family or village about the lost goods. And one last thing, you take such good care of my niece, you will not have to pay for the same. Let the new ones be gifts from me.

Thank you, Bhau. You have saved us so much trouble…said Smita and the three left for home.

With the oath of secrecy weighing heavily on all three, it was late evening by the time they reached home. Smita, got busy with the cooking, with Anju helping her. Renu went to her room and lay down complaining of intense headache. She just came out to have dinner but she only ate a few morsels and then went back to her room. She did not utter a single word and did not look eye to eye with Anju even for a single moment. Next morning, she remained in the room and did not go to work. Everyone in the house knew that she was not feeling well. When all others had left for work, Anju, went to Renu’s room and spoke…

What happened sister? Last night, I heard you cry from my room. Do not keep anything from me. Did Bhavesh hurt you or speak to you badly? You are my younger sister and you should speak freely with me.

Hearing this Renu sat up and threw herself into Anju’s arms and broke down. Renu cried incessantly while Anju kept consoling her… Arrey behen, kya hua?

I am sorry Renu didi. I have foolishly lost all the new sarees your father gave us. It happened yesterday in the train… and she sobbingly narrated the whole episode.

Anju pulled Renu close to her and kissed her forehead and said… It is ok. Mistakes happen. All we have lost are some sarees. Much worse can happen on trains. We can always buy new ones. You did not lose them on purpose, you too lost your own special saree as well which was in the same bag. We will go tomorrow to buy new ones. For this small thing, you were so upset… you thought this Didi of yours will get angry and accuse you of bad things… never ever think like that.

Renu smiled as tears kept rolling down her cheeks and hugged Anju tightly… Oh Didi, thank you so much. I am sorry not just for losing the things but thinking wrongly about how you would react.

Anju kissed her again and the two sisters-in-law began setting the house in order and cooking the afternoon meal together.

Next morning, Renu left for work and on her way back home, in the crowded compartment, she heard a woman speaking about having found a bag a couple of days ago. Renu reached out to her and said, I lost a bag with four new sarees two days ago.

You are lying… said the elderly woman. My bag contained old sarees and clothes and not new ones. If you really lost the sarees, tell me what were their colours?

Renu, went to her photo gallery on her phone and showed her the pictures. She did not have a photo of the black sari she had bought for herself and so described it vividly to the lady.

The other woman started laughing… You are lucky. I found the bag kept on the luggage counter before getting off at Virar station. Since no one was picking it up, I initially wondered if it was hiding a bomb or something but then brought it down and found it contained four beautiful and expensive sarees. I was planning to hand it over to the Railway Police tomorrow if no one were to claim them. Good that we met today. The bag is in my house. Take down my address and phone number. Come and take the bag in the evening.

Renu, despite the crowd around, bent down and touched the old lady’s feet and with folded hands thanked her profusely. She got off the train at Virar and, along with Bhavesh, took an autorickshaw to the place where the lady had asked them to reach. They took the bag, looked inside and were overjoyed. They handed the old lady a packet containing sweets and chocolate for her family. They returned home and happiness prevailed in their humble abode. The three ladies in the family did an impromptu dance with the men clapping their hands while giving the beat.

The Lifeline

Trains…the Mumbai locals… are what keep this city going. While there is a lot of crowd, dirt, fights and foul language on board, there is also a pot full of goodness lying within its core. Sometimes I wonder whether these railway tracks, quite like the meandering holy rivers of India, along which people build their homes and lives, creating a never-ending mound of dinge and squalor all around, continue to serve as the lifeline- taking the people to their destinations and homes every day, connecting the city with the ever-expanding suburbs. Only on days when heaven opens up its floodgates and the rains come down relentlessly for days that the world stops for the people in this Mahanagar. It happens only once or twice a year during the monsoons when these tracks get submerged. On all other days, the journey seeking the Amrit Kumbh goes on. In Mumbai people do not have to wait for twelve years or a hundred and forty-four years… it happens every five minutes for them.

SS

Pictures: Courtesy Internet

Bom Bahai Diaries-7: Jamva Chalo Ji

Vicky, you are looking funny today.

Why Sir? These are such fine clothes I am wearing.

Yes, it is quite unlike you. You are usually wearing jeans and a loose shirt but today you’re in all white. Looks like you are going to play some cricket at the Azad Maidaan today except that you are also wearing a chocolate-coloured makhmal topi and smart boots.

Jokes apart, Sir, this is the traditional Parsi clothing for men. It is Navroze in a couple of days from now, the Parsi New Year and I wish to pay my respects to the community that has done so much for the country.

But I always thought the Parsi New Year fell sometime in the middle of August each year and at times when working for the Tata’s, we got a day off.

Let me explain, Sir. In Iran, they celebrate Navroze each year on 20^th of March and in India we do it on the 21^st of March. This marks the Spring Equinox. Since Parsis also have their origin in Persia, they too celebrate Navroze and do what they do best, khao, piyo, maze karo. The Parsis in India celebrate their new year in August, as you have rightly said.

Thanks Vicky, for this useful information. I will remember to send out messages to my Parsi brothers and sisters on that day.

Forget it Sir. They will be too busy celebrating to see your boring cliché messages…Navroze Mubarak. Let us, instead, celebrate the big day of this community by doing a hopping tour of some cafes that serve Irani food and beverages.

What an idea, Vicky ji. Let’s do it…we have done pub hopping at night, now let us do bakery hopping during the day!

Sir, let me give you some more trivia about the Parsis in India who came from Persia fearing religious persecution and landed at Sajan on the Gujarat coast. They sought refuge from the King Jadi Rana. The King was initially hesitant to grant them permission to settle on his land. To express his concern about overpopulation and the strain on local resources, Jadi Rana sent the Zoroastrians a glass full of milk. The Zoroastrian priest stirred a spoonful of sugar into the milk without spilling a drop and returned the glass to the King. This gesture symbolised that the Parsis would blend into the local community, sweetening it without causing any disturbance or displacement. The King granted them permission to settle in his kingdom.

The Parsis were great traders and, at one time, were among the most prominent businessmen in India. Some of them like Tatas, Godrej and Wadias dominated the economic map of India. Today, the population of Parsis is fast dwindling and as per the census of 2011, there are only 57,000 of them remaining in India. Their birthrates are the lowest and their literacy at 99.1% is the highest in the land.

The Iranian community, made up of Zoroastrians and Muslim Shias, have been a recognisable part of Mumbai since the late 19^th century for the Irani cafes they set up. At one time there were about 350 of these cafes in Mumbai, however, today there are less than 35 left. The origin of these Irani cafes once again is in traditional Iran which had Qahva-Kanas which were used to supply opium for smoking, and drinking coffee and black tea. Here in India, of course it was tea with milk and sugar and zero opium.

You have done full research on the Parsis, Vicky. I think you should be given a good name befitting your looks and knowledge. What about Bomsi Manasjee? Sounds good, eh! Before we start our chai shop hops, tell me why the Parsis are often called Bawas?

Bawa is the colloquial of Baba or father figure. Because of their habitual interjections, Arre Bawa at all conversations, which simply means Arrey Baba, they are referred to as Bawas. Now let us start our tour in the right spiritual way by going to Bhikha Behram Well which is celebrating three hundred years. Sitting adjacent to the Churchgate station, this well, erected by Bhikhaji Behramji Panday, is sacred to the Parsis. Even though the place was very close to the sea, the well springs sweet water till this day. Three hundred years ago, a Parsi gentleman was aware of the need of fresh water, don’t you think we should make him a champion for water conservation in our times? The future of mankind is in danger unless we act on this grave crisis now.

Do you know the difference between bun and brun, Sir?

I did not even know there existed anything called brun.

Ha ha…the brun is the same bun or pao you have but with a very thick crust on top. You might dislodge your remaining teeth if you were to take a bite directly. The locals enjoy the brun by dipping it in the chai or have it with some dish with gravy. The brun and buns or pao evolved into the Irani cafes due to the fact that the first of these started around Dhobi Talao, a place dominated by Goan Christians who were the bakery pioneers.

Irani restaurants are best known for their no-frills ambience and menu. The traditional restaurants have mirrored walls that act as ‘closed circuit TVs’ for their owners, European chairs, marble-topped tables and chequered flooring. The fare is limited, yet satisfying. Irani cafes serve bun maska (bread and butter) or brun-maska (hard buttered croissants), and paani kam chai, or khari chai, mutton samosas, and kheema pav, akuri (scrambled eggs and vegetables), berry pulao, mutton/chicken dhansak (a spiced lentil dish with meat and vegetables) and biryani, caramel custard and Duke's Raspberry drink.

Sassanian

Sassanian and Gol Masjid

While we have tasted the soft maska pav of the oldest surviving Irani café of Kyani’s on an earlier tour, we decided to start the tour by going to Vicky’s favourite joint from college days, Sassanian Boulangerie & Restaurant which started in 1913 by Rustom K. Yazdabadi and is situated in Dhobi Talao near the Gol Masjid. Sassanian is famous for its dhansak, salli chicken and roasted chicken. Its mawa and plum cakes along with chicken puffs are the most sold items. Several famous celebrities, including film stars, politicians and academicians, swear by the food but our Bomsi Saheb ordered chicken mayonnaise roll. This was something very new to me…chunks of cold chicken between hotdog buns and generous droppings of mayonnaise dripping from all sides, making the roll taste delicious with a tinge of sweetness.

Chicken Roll and Brun

Sassanian continues to attract huge crowd even today despite not advertising. The old timers always drop in and then there is the word of mouth that brings in newer customers. The unwritten rule that prevails here is “to always serve good food and take the blessings of people.” The old Bawa who runs the place always had a very bad mouth and Vicky had many an anecdote to share. We went to the bakery side where the old man was sitting. We started taking pictures of the bakery items kept there and were asked, “Why are you taking pictures?” We said we wished to write about the place and beat a hasty exit.

B. Merwan & Co.

Established in 1914, B. Merwan & Co. is one of the iconic places in Mumbai, situated right outside the Grant Road Station. The cafe was founded by Boman Merwan and now his grandsons run the establishment. The cafe is famous for its mawa cakes that sell quicker than you can imagine. On some days, the mawa cakes are sold out in less than an hour. Since we reached at 5.30pm, they had already started pulling down the shutters. Somehow, we requested for a quick bite and all we managed were bun-muska with chai. The place has this colonial British era touch with high ceilings, wooden chairs from Czechoslovakia and the marble top tables are from Italy. The walls are not painted; instead Irani cafes make use of glass on the walls that creates a feeling of larger space. The waiters here do not have any uniform. You get a glass of water before you place your order. Your order taker is your waiter. So, the quicker you place your order the quicker you can get your meal. If the item you order is not available, he will let you know. Most of the staff here are daily wage earners but have been working here for at least 2-3 decades or more. No wonder, they started wrapping up the place while we were sipping the Irani chai and then they went on to turn off the fans, just to make sure we did not hang around for long. The manager there was a pleasant fellow who explained that they do not have any branches and the Merwan’s cake shops you see around the city have nothing to do with the original B. Merwan’s. But rememeber the old saying that at Merwan's, only the early birds gets the mawa cake!

Bun-Muska and the Tables & Chairs

Yazdani

Yazdani and the fine art of selling Mawa Cake

Having missed the cake at Merwan’s, we rushed to another old Irani café called Yazdani. This shop too was almost shut but the man at the counter offered to sell us mawa cakes. He had a peculiar style of cutting a small portion of the silver foil at the bottom end of the packing and handing it over to customers who could enjoy the cake right away without wasting time in opening. Yazdani Bakery was opened in 1950 by Meherwan Zend. Known for its brun-maska, this cafe used to take pride in baking bread. Yazdani was possibly the first bakery in Mumbai to “go beyond Bun, Brun, Laadi Pav and Sliced Bread”. We enjoyed two mawa cakes each and also packed some for home while the Bawa kept smiling and singing…Enjoy the day, enjoy, for tomorrow you may die…

Yezdi, Yazdani & Mawa Cake

Jimmy Boy

We thought of first having dinner at Universal Café near Old Customs House but being a Sunday, the place was full. We tried our luck at The Military Café but the Bawa here does not work on this day of the week. Finally, we landed at Jimmy Boy near the Bombay Stock Exchange (wonder why they have not changed the name to Mumbai Stock Exchange so far). This is a family restaurant that started in 1925 and was spruced up in 1999. With all that had gone into our tummies since evening, all we could order was salli-boti, pao and lagan nu custard. Before the food reached our table, Vicky drowned a bottle of Duke’s Raspberry and I took a bottle of Jeera Masala drink. The food here is very good and we were quite enamoured by what others were ordering…keema pao, chicken farcha and patrani machhi. In typical Parsi style, the owners here want you to eat and drink to your heart’s content while enjoying the warm Parsi hospitality. In short, Jamva chalo ji...or come, let’s eat.

Salli-Boti Pao and Lagan nu Custard

Parsi Dairy

Our Bomsi Saheb was very adamant that we visit the renovated Parsi Dairy. This dairy-cum-sweet shop was established in 1916 and is possibly India’s oldest operational dairy. They started door to door delivery of milk in 1920s and used the coupon system to perfect the order taking and deliveries. Today, the place has been totally renovated and looks like a chic place that can put any top end shop to shame. We were too full to eat any of the mouth-watering sweets on display and so we packed the special masala paneer for our homes.

Khada Parsi

While a lot is spoken about the philanthropy and goodness of Parsis, they are also known for their eccentricities and today my friend Bomsi Manasjee displayed one such trait. For the entire evening we spent at the various Irani Cafes, Vicky kept standing. The people at the cafes and waiters were laughing seeing him eat while standing. I kept requesting him to sit down but he wouldn’t budge. Finally, he declared that he had resolved to stand the whole day in respect of a Parsi gentleman who has been standing near the Byculla flyover for over 160 years.  This is the magnificent cast-iron, 40-foot statue of the Parsi atop a Corinthian pillar, reputedly one of the only two in the world, the other is the statue of Cires in Chile. This Khada Parsi memorial was built by a son for Seth Cursetjee Manockjee who championed women’s education by starting an English school, The Alexandra Girls’ English Institution in 1859.

Finally, Vicky let me tell you a story about a Parsi, I admire the most. This was around 2008, when as the head of the Mumbai office for my company, I would ask my people to stay away from accepting any business from Parsi individuals. The reason was very simple, for any issue relating to policy, premium or claim, they would threaten…main Ratan (Tata) se baat karega…Working in a Tata company I was petrified of them. However, one day, one octogenarian Parsi, six-and-a half-feet-tall with broad shoulders, came to the office to meet me and he sat down before me. I offered him water but he insisted on having a cola. I sent my office boy to fetch a bottle of Coke for him and then he asked for ice. The boy went rushing again to get ice and the man now seemed pleased. Next, he insisted on seeing his car that he wanted to be insured. I went along and saw a red coloured sports model Mercedes standing at the building porch where no vehicles were permitted. We insured his car and he came again next year. This time he wanted me to see his chopper. Off I went again and he sat on his 350cc bike and turned on the engine and on the display, it read…Welcome back Bomsi. My friendship with this remarkable man grew over the years and I learnt that he was a big man, not just in size alone, he was a legend. He was a Professor Emeritus and a famed surgeon with over 400 patents in Obstetrics and Gynaecology. He had done the London-Sydney car rally twice and represented India in international Bridge Championships. What I loved most about him was his zest for life. Each year he would buy a fancy car and give away his old ones to his nieces and nephews. And that is why I named you today after this Parsi Superman, Dr. Bomsi Wadia.

Navroze Mubarak!

Vicky & SS 

Bentho

When his daughter first came into the world, everyone was wanting to get a glimpse of her. It was not just the people from the family but almost everyone from the village. All except one person, Dinu, the father. He was busy working at the field of the landlord. Dinu never missed a single day at work and, to his good fortune, he had never fallen ill during the last ten years which made him quite a hero in the place. The local landlord was busy eating lunch at home with his wife when one villager came and shouted out so loud that all could hear him speak from one end of the field to the other…Dinu…congratulations! Bhabhi just gave birth to a beautiful girl. Come home now and take a look at her. Hearing this the landlord left his food, washed his hands and mouth and called for Dinu who came rushing to him.

Did you know that your wife would be delivering a child today?

Yes, Sir.

So why did you not stay back at home and be with her? You are entitled to some leave. This is such a happy moment and you ought to be with your wife and child.

Sir, there is so much work here that needs to be done.

Just shut up and go home now. Do not come to work for the next seven days at least. We have enough people who will get the work done.

The landlord’s wife, who was listening to the conversation, spoke... Here, take this as our present for your daughter. This morning, Shanti, our loving companion, gave birth to four beautiful pups. With this little one around, your daughter will never be alone and she will have the best companion for life.

Dinu looked at the little pup whose eyes were closed and looked very weak. Shanti also knew Dinu well and she just looked at him and her pup once before walking away to say in her own words…Take him. I know you will take good care of my son.

Dinu started on his way home with the little puppy held gently in the palm of his hand. When he reached home, the crowd had increased manifold and it looked like a festive atmosphere. Dinu and Sheila were having a child after many years of marriage. They were loved by all and they even prayed for the couple to be blessed and, today, the angel had come down to them.

Dinu entered the hut where Sheila lay and put the pup down near the door. The other women inside walked out leaving the two alone. Dinu rushed to see his little daughter and then hugged his wife tightly. Tears rolled down his eyes and he was completely speechless for some time. Sheila then looked at the pup and asked…Where did you get that from?

It is a present from maalkin. She gave it for our daughter.

That’s nice of her but we are so tight on our own rations, how will we feed another mouth. Soon this one will become big and will demand more and more food.

Don’t worry Sheila. Like our daughter who has arrived when all seemed lost, maybe this little guy is also a gift from heaven. We will try our best to take care of them.

Sheila knew it was a waste of time to argue with Dinu and she had more important things at hand like feeding the girl and changing her nappies. One thing they agreed upon was the names of the two babies…Aranya for the girl as they lived near the Bandhavgarh forest land and Veeru for the little doggie, for the couple loved this character in the film Sholay.

By the time Aranya was three months old, she could at best look up and smile and sometimes try to push herself on her tummy, but Veeru had grown much bigger and was playful. He would run around the house, at times break a thing or two and Sheila would go mad at him…jaanwar kahin ka…she would say. She would run after him with a stick, but he was way too fast for her. He would run out of the house and come back later when Dinu, his protector, was home. The chap could be destructive elsewhere, but when he was near Aranya, he was completely docile, who for hours together could watch the baby sleep, wake up, take her bath… without a single bark or movement. His eyes would never leave the little angel. As Aranya grew to a stage when she started walking and then running, Veeru had put on much girth and grown much bigger. He was after all a German Shepard Dog and was a giant hanging around her always.  Sheila was very worried that Veeru would hurt her daughter but Dinu assured her that dogs were very loyal and her fears were completely unfounded.  Aranya and Veeru would leave the house in the morning and then come home in the evening. Aranya was the favourite kid of the village and she was welcomed at all the homes. They also accepted Veeru as her elder brother and he too roamed around freely everywhere. People would feed them something or the other and they never would refuse. So, Sheila’s one concern as to how they would feed the dog with their meagre income, was well taken care off.

Veeru grew taller and stronger by the day. He looked majestic in his black and brown fur. The confidence with which he walked and the speed with which he ran, was something that the people in the village had not seen before. Some other villagers too had pets and then there were also stray dogs around the village, but they all unquestionably accepted Veeru as their Lord. They never dared bark at him and when he walked in somewhere, the others would quietly hold their positions without making any noise or movement.

Aranya turned five and was enrolled in the school nearby. Every morning she, along with some other kids from the village, would walk to the school through a small patch of jungle. One adult male would accompany the kids who went to school and back together. Apart from that, Veeru made sure that he would always walk with Aranya when she went in the morning, he would sit outside the gates till the school got over and then walk back home along with the kids. As soon as she reached home, Aranya would change into her regular clothes and then play with Veeru and her friends. If she took a nap in the afternoon, Veeru would put his head on her tiny pillow and she would put her head on his shoulders. The two were inseparable.

All was good in the village till the news of a tiger sighting near the fields got the people worried. The forest officials were immediately informed but they brushed the sighting of the tiger as nothing but a story made up by some villagers to create some nuisance. In the evening, a meeting was called and all the villagers, elderly, young and children, assembled under the big mango tree where the headman sat on a charpoy while all others stood. Aranya and Veeru had also gone there and were amused seeing the elders arguing with each other. Finally, the headman decided that after dusk, two male adults, in rotation every day, would patrol the village till dawn. They would be armed with torches, big lathis and a bell that would be rung loud to wake up the sleeping people should a tiger be sighted. This would continue for two weeks and till then the children were asked not be sent to school. Aranya was disappointed as she loved going to school and play with her friends there. She did her best to explain to Veeru through her eyes, hand actions and sounds about tiger, danger of attack, vigil and no more going to school. Veeru wagged his tail, as if he understood everything.

And he did understand quite a lot for he followed Dinu on the first night of patrolling and he stayed awake. Seeing him, the other pets and stray dogs, joined the night watch party in doing their bit for the safety of the village people.  The good part about securing the village was that on the side that faced the dense forest, there existed a tall wall of barbed wires erected by the forest rangers and on one side was a big lake. In short, the patrolling had to be done on just two sides and one adult guard would take charge of one side at a time. Veeru and his pack on the other hand found this quite amusing and they never thought in terms of sides to watch for. They moved around all over the village. One interesting thing about these dogs was that, after every half an hour or so, they would bark aloud together making quite a ruckus and spoiling the sleep of many. For the dogs, it was their way of telling the intruder to stay away for we are all together here and if you dare come, we shall tear you apart. Anyway, a fortnight passed without any incident. The village headman said that they would continue with the night guard as usual but people were now allowed to go outside the village and children could return to their school.

All seemed fine and life was coming back to normalcy. People were no longer talking about the tiger. The night guards were also taking it easy and would often go home in between to sleep. One night, when Dinu was on duty, Veeru was moving around with his friends. After their barking in unison, they went to the lake to drink water when suddenly out of the water came a huge tiger. The tiger saw before him a pack of dogs. It gave a loud growl and then there was just one dog standing. All the others had fled. Veeru looked around and saw that his friends had deserted him but he was not one to be deterred by the monster standing before him. Now the tiger took one step ahead and Veeru did the same. The tiger was ten times the size of Veeru and his canines had the power to tear apart every known living creature. He could put the fear of death into anyone but Veeru was not one of them. The tiger now picked up pace and moved forward while the dog also moved faster towards the tiger. The tiger stopped and with his one paw, lashed out and threw the dog four to five feet up in the air and Veeru came crashing down. Surprisingly, the dazed and bleeding Veeru staggered up in no time and moved again menacingly towards the tiger who growled even louder. Veeru realized it would be impossible to face the enemy face to face so he changed his tactics. He ran past the bewildered tiger and attacked him from the rear. He bit into the rear thigh of the tiger who tried desperately to free himself from the vice like grip of Veeru. The tiger started dragging his leg and along with it dragged Veeru over a patch of rocky surface. The rocks were like small daggers that hurt Veeru but he just did not let go of the leg.

By now, other villagers had woken up and were seeing the fight Veeru was giving the tiger. They now started pelting stones at the tiger and slowly and cautiously started walking towards him with long sticks in their hands. The tiger realized that his surprise element of attack was lost due to the fight with the mad dog and he had to make a quick retreat. It turned around towards the lake and, seeing this, Veeru let go of the leg that he was bravely holding on to. The tiger in one last ditch effort turned once again and caught Veeru by the neck and choked him completely. He dropped the dog down and limped to the lake and vanished. Villagers gathered around Veeru who seemed to be in great pain. Dinu sat down and started gently rubbing his hand over Veeru’s head. He could see blood gushing out of his neck and, in some time, the eyes closed. Next morning, when Aranya woke up, Veeru was not there by her side. Veeru was lying in a cart which was surrounded by villagers. Dinu explained to Aranya about the tiger attack and how Veeru foiled the monster’s attack all alone but in the end gave up his life for the safety of the village. The little girl cried and cried, holding tight to her mother’s bosom. The villagers buried Veeru under the mango tree which was earlier the reserved place for the village headman. They also decided to rename their village from Rampur to Veerupuram.

Bentho: courtesy TOI

This story is inspired by GSD named Bentho who heroically saved his owner from a tiger attack near Bandhavgarh Tiger Reserve. With shaky legs and having its neck gouged and pierced in about a dozen spots, Bentho repelled the tiger. The owner later said, “I owe my life to Benthoo. I had heard that German Shepards are loyal; Bentho gave up his life for me.”

SS

Rehmatein

Waking up

Moving arms

Shaking legs

Smile

 

Seeing sun

Watching moon

Clouds darkening

Dancing

 

Flowers blooming

Birds chirping

Trees greening

Bliss

 

Little hugs

Big tears

Laughing aloud

Joy

 

Mountains calling

Oceans flowing

Forests sprawling

Thrill

 

Mother’s love

Father’s warmth

Baby’s cheeks

Melt

 

Good food

Roof above

Friends beside

Abundance  

 

Old songs

Live games

Explore places

Alive

 

मेरे हर कण में

Every part of me

मेरे हर पल में

Every moment of me

है तेरी रेहमतें

Is there because of your blessings

तू नहीं तो मैं नहीं, कुछ भी नहीं

Without you, I am no one and nothing exists

SS

MatheMagic Italiano

It has been a little more than a year since I relinquished office and it is time to sit back and see the world as it goes by. As I see the past four hundred days, I can say with a reasonable amount of conviction that this new phase can be described in Italian as ‘La vita e belle’ or life is beautiful and I am loving it. It is the time in life without the glamour and razzmatazz, grand victory parades, huge spread of food and stay at star hotels around the world. All that get replaced with calmness, togetherness and you becoming the master of your own life for once. Mathematics was never my strong subject in school, but still, I am juxtaposing some of my experiences with mathematical symbols and some interesting Italian phrases for no other reason other than the creative freedom my space allows me here.

Zero

The concept of zero is India’s gift to the world of math and science and that is something I have started to enjoy. Old colleagues and family members ask me this one question each time they meet- What are you doing now? I smile and tell them- Nothing! In Italian, there is a beautiful phrase that reads, Dolce far Niente…the sweetness of doing nothing. Earlier, every night before hitting the bed, the mind would conjure nightmares of business growth, profitability, attrition, reviews…all of which often made me sit up at night and then I would keep on twisting and turning till the alarm clock woke me up physically. Today, the time is well spent, sitting for hours on the couch with my partner in crime, watching movies and serials, often ending up doing binge watching till late in the night when it is impossible to keep the suspense out for another day. It is fun doing the afternoon siesta at any time from morning hours to post lunch or early evenings. And yes, I do get up in the middle of the night but now it is only to relieve my inflated bladder and at times to see the football maestros playing in the UEFA Champions Trophy starting at 01.30am. Doing nothing is actually doing much and is surely more fun.

Subtraction

When at work, there was always a concern about the reporting system and, as luck would have it, I always ended up having multiple bosses. The matrix system is quite like the jumble in the movie Matrix where the employee called Keanu Reeves flips, shoots and tries evading the bad guys from the first shot to the last. And so, it was with me, with three to four reporting heads and then on top were the so-called top-level guys. No matter how hard I tried to impress these multiple bosses with hard work, I always ended up on the wrong side of a couple of them. Hard work has now been replaced with a term called smart work which also includes a high dose of sycophancy which is an essential art of survival and success in the corporate world. Since, I failed miserably in this highly skillful and social art form, there was no way I hoped to thrive in the order where multiple bosses meant multiple goal sheets and multiple mine fields. But now in my new avatar, the multiple reporting system has been reduced to a single chain of command - One Boss and She speaks, She decides and She reviews everything and She is always right. She has put up two big posters in the bed room which reads Rule 1: Boss is always Right and Rule 2: In case of confusion, read Rule 1. This state of affairs is much more manageable as there is no confusion. I know that my well-being and success depend on my ability to manage this one Super Boss at home.

Compound Interest

When we were both working, we always envied a couple living across our house at Delhi who would be sitting in the balcony, reading the newspaper while enjoying the morning cup of tea while the two of us were rushing out to catch the 9 am chartered bus to reach our office on time. Today, after almost thirty-six years of toiling, we are able to sit together on the dining table with the newspaper spread before us as we enjoy our morning round of fine Darjeeling tea. There is no rush to get the kid ready for school, cook and pack tiffin boxes hurriedly for ourselves, then stuff some breakfast in a jiffy not knowing what was being eaten as long as something went down the gullet and then take long and brisk strides to the bus stop that was half a kilometer away, reach there well in time to board the Chetak bus driven by a sardarji who would not wait a minute extra for anyone. While having tea in the mornings, we like to dip the Britannia Marie biscuits in it but lately are finding the pieces growing thinner by the day resulting in portions of it just melting and disappearing into the tea mugs. We then try to pull it out with the remaining part of the biscuit it results in another portion falling off. This reminds me of Jerome K Jerome’s Uncle Podger trying to hang a picture. We also get to taste the fine filter coffee at 10 am and a final round of fine tea at 5pm. Now getting rewarded three times over for all the years of toil surely can be said to be more than simple interest.

Multiplication

For more than three decades, life in metros has been all about rushing to work, then work, work, work and then returning home late in the evening, tired and exhausted, having dinner and hitting the bed. We used to meet people in the places we lived mostly in the streets, elevators and at times during the Durga or Ganpati celebrations. Life revolved around work place and we gradually reduced our social acquaintances to a handful. Gradually, WhatsApp became the dominant connecter to the people beyond the tiny Home group. Things have now changed. Every evening, we go for a walk around the society campus for about forty-five minutes and, during this time, we get to meet toddlers in push chairs or in the arms of their mothers. We make it a point to interact with these little angels who are so pure and cute that they bring undiluted joy. There are a couple of panchayats of old men and women sitting at different places in the housing complex. A few of these octogenarians and nonagenarians make it a point to wave their hands at us every time we walk past them and then wait for us to reciprocate. Over the course of the year, a few of them have begun speaking their hearts out to us and we, too, give them a patient hearing and seek their blessings on important days. We now come down to the common space to celebrate much beyond Ganpati- be it Independence Day or Holi. We make it a point to go to our neighbours’ flats when babies are born or on the passing away of an elder. Today, we can say with reasonable amount of certainty, that our social circle in the place of living has multiplied many times over. People often ask us where we were if we missed out on our evening walks on a couple of days in succession. We have become the universal Uncle-Aunty of the society and get a knowing smile from almost everyone we meet. Our so-called social networking has flourished beyond the world of Apps. As the Italians recommend for a good life, Fare una passeggiata or Go for a walk. Walking clears the mind; eases stress and helps you reconnect with the world around you. It truly does!

Time and Motion

In climbing a twenty-one metre slippery pole, a monkey climbs five metres in one minute and slips down four metres. How long will it take the monkey to climb the pole?

I am sure, we have all faced such silly questions in school. Then came the office game where multiple people are trying to reach the corner office. Some reach there quickly, some take longer and then there are others who never make it beyond a point in the pole. Similar is the case with making money and more money. There are some who hit the jackpot early and then there are others who are left behind but all of them are still running the race.

For me, today, this new innings is not about joining another race for power, position and money. It is about being free from the stress of competition. My race is over and I enjoy my new world of doing trainings and guiding some youngsters who come to me. I am happier to see so many of the youngsters who worked with me during the long innings do so well and reach the top of the pole. Even while driving, I let anyone honking behind me to pass easily. I do not need to drive with speed and yet take phone calls and attend video meetings. Days of multi-tasking and doing things immediately are over. I am in no hurry to be someone or to be somewhere. I have the greatest asset, Time, on my side. The Italians call it Festina lente or Make haste, slowly. Don’t rush, break up the tasks into smaller ones, take steady steps and avoid doing everything at once.

Infinity

Months before retirement, I was told by many that I must mentally accept the reality that all the so-called love, affection and respect that the people at work show are not for you but are directed towards the high chair you occupy. Once, you hop off the chair, all would be lost as their alignment would in no time shift to the new man in the same chair. In short, it is the high chair that commands loyalty and respect and there is nothing called love for the person occupying it. So, I was prepared for accepting the treatment of being a nobody. Firstly, let me admit, my seat was never too high and my proximity to the ground level helped me connect closely with people beyond the officialdom. And, thankfully, after 365 days of retirement, the number of folks who called me, not texted, on my birthday was a rejoinder to all the naysayers who told me of the importance of the chair alone. In another instance, there was this lady who despite my protesting year after year, would leave a small Diwali token gift at the office reception. This year, I told her, specifically, that I am no longer working and she should now put an end to the annual ritual. She still insisted on leaving the gift with another old colleague and said, Sir, when I started my career, you believed in me when others did not and so long as I continue working, I will remember you on every Diwali and more. And then there was this colleague from my earlier company, someone I have not met for over a decade now, who continues to send me a set of diary and desk calendar with Lord Jagannath’s pictures as he would do when he reported to me. When I spoke to him again this year asking him not to send it from now onwards, he said, Sir, this is one thing you cannot ask me to give up. I do not do this for anyone but for you; it is out of my respect and love for you. For this infinite and unending love and respect, I am yet to find a suitable Italian phrase. Maybe, the closest phrase in English that comes to mind is- Be good to people without reason and good will happen.

SS

Pictures: Courtesy internet

The Old Man and the Sea

The old man sat on the sand, under the shade of a coconut tree, with a story book in hand to enjoy as the waves gently caressed the shores. He had reached a point in the story when putting down the book was almost impossible and, with a whole lot of time in hand, the man thought of finishing the same before heading back to the hotel. He lit a smoke and took one look at the beach before he started flipping the pages of the book. He saw a toddler sitting on the shore, with the tiny strands of his hair blowing in the wind, playing in the wet sands, dirtying his hands and clothes. The man got reminded of a similar scene in his life a long time ago.

It was his kid’s first birthday and the family had gone to Goa to celebrate the big day. His kid loved sitting in the sand and playing with the plastic shovel and bucket, picking up sand from one place and then pouring it at another spot while the mother was trying her hand at building a castle but was failing miserably, much to the merriment of the father and daughter. The man had just bought a camera and a Kodak film reel that he fitted in the slot in the back of the small magic box. This was the moment and the day he wanted to capture for eternity and out came the camera from the pouch and he started clicking candid pictures of the kid and the sea relentlessly. In no time, he had taken over thirty pictures and then he decided to keep the last six for the evening when the cake would be cut in the hotel room. A specially designed cake in the shape of a bunny had been ordered, balloons and streamers were hung across the room and the family wore their bright coloured clothes along with birthday caps. A candle was lit on the cake and the kid enjoyed the cutting of the cake and tasting it too. The man took six or seven pictures of the evening party before they all retired for the day. The next morning, the man went to the photo shop in the market nearby and handed over the camera to the man at the counter asking for express printing. He was keen to show his family the pictures of the beach and the birthday party. The storekeeper opened the pouch and took out the camera and then proceeded to take out the film roll to develop it. His mouth went agape and he told the man…I am sorry but you seem to have made a mistake in loading the film roll. The film was not fixed properly to the slots on the roller which means that all your clicks were blank. There is no picture captured in the film and now that we have opened it up, it is exposed to light and is a complete waste.  The man was aghast and requested the man to check if he could develop a few pictures for there was no way to capture those precious moments again. The man just shook his head and handed over the roll and the camera to the man who walked back not knowing how to explain his blunder. All that remains of the first birthday is a huge card sent by the kid’s uncle that the mother had preserved over the years.

But, today was another day and time when he did not need a separate film roll. His automatic digital camera that lay beside him did the trick. He picked up the camera and zoomed in to capture some beautiful moments of the toddler playing in the sand. A bright smile came to his wrinkled face and he got up and went to the shack nearby to get himself a beer to celebrate the good old times.

The midday sun was blazing but the old man was well protected under the canopy of the coconut trees and he got busy with the thriller in his hand. He always preferred the physical books even though his kid had sent him the latest Kindle from the US of A. After a while he heard the sound of the waves loud and clear. He knew it was high tide and people on the beach were slowly making their way up the higher slope of sand. His eyes caught a young couple who looked very much out of place in this beach where people were either in their beach clothes and others who wanted to tan their bodies had no more than a towel covering them as they lay on the beach chairs with their bums looking up at the blue sky. This young man was wearing a well creased trouser, full-sleeved shirt and his young maiden was in a silk saree, all of their clothes looked new. The old man realized these two were newly weds and were here on their honeymoon.  He picked up his camera as the duo gently walked past him with the waves rolling in with gusto. With every click of the camera, his mind did a rewind of five years and by the time they walked away, he remembered his life almost forty years ago.

They had been married after a year’s courtship and while his better half had saved on her office leaves for the wedding and the honeymoon to follow, he had no leaves left. He barely managed three days of casual leaves for the wedding and on the fourth day, off he went to work. They were fortunate to have some good friends who saw the young lass’ tragedy and they decided to take matters in their own hands. One of them booked an overnight train from Kolkata to Cuttack for a weekend honeymoon to the eastern coast of Puri. But then as luck would have it, the late evening train on Friday was cancelled and, without confirmed tickets, they boarded the next early morning train and somehow landed at Cuttack from where the friend drove them to the bus stop to take public bus to Chilika. The young couple, dressed in terry-cot shirt and trouser and silk saree, were overjoyed at the prospect and somehow reached the beautiful lake, walked along the long shore and even took a ride in a boat. Now the challenge was to return to Bhubaneswar where their hotel was booked. They did not have enough money to pay the tourist cabs and public transport was infrequent. The man hailed a big truck carrying goods on the highway and somehow the good driver allowed them to sit in the cabin as he drove to the capital city. Climbing into a full-sized cabin of a Tata truck for the lady in silk saree was something she never forgot or forgave the man for but, much later in life, laughed at the whole episode as a honeymoon trip worth remembering.

The old man was now feeling hungry and so he went into the shack and ordered his usual sea food platter and a couple of beers to gulp down.  Some youngsters had also dropped in and they were having a good time doing the karaoke. One girl in particular would somehow force herself on the microphone and sing just one song…Summer of Sixty-Nine…a song the old man could also relate to. Despite the noise and music all around, the man dozed off in his easy-chair at the shack and, by the time he opened his eyes, evening was setting in. He once more diligently picked up his book and this time went closer to the water that had calmed down. He sat down and opened his book that now had only a few pages left to finish. With the sun beating down gently and the cool breeze blowing on his face, the old man loved this time the best. Soon he wrapped up his book and saw another couple in their fifties. While the man, with a receding hairline, kept wading into the water till his knees went wet, the lady, with short salt and pepper hair, kept shouting on the shore asking him to return quickly. It looked quite funny to the old man now. He took out his camera and took a few shots of the couple having fun on the beach. He then noticed that the woman stood still and looked straight at the sun slowly softening by the minute and going down the horizon. She was enjoying the sunset more than the water kissing her feet. The man suddenly went emotional as he saw the woman on the shore, looking at the setting sun. He took a few pictures of her silhouette and remembered an important part of his life story.

They had been to Kovalam and were staying in a good resort overlooking the sea. Every evening, his better half refused to go anywhere. She would sit down at a high point overlooking the sea and spend an hour every evening watching the setting sun. She loved this time of the day the most and often spoke how the sunlight in the morning differed from that of the evening. The last bright orange glow was a sight she would wait for. She said this was the ‘godhuli lagna’ or that time of the day when the cattle would return home and, in the olden days, parents would bring out the would-be brides to the prospective grooms and their families as, in the soft glow of evening light, the young maidens would look the brightest and prettiest. She would even take pictures of this hour of day from her high rise flat in Mumbai and complain about the multitude of high-rise buildings that kept cropping up around their house, obstructing her view of the horizon and the setting sun.

The old man put his book and the camera down and walked to the point where the water was touching his feet. He folded his arms tight and looked at the sea before him and wondered what the sea meant to him…was it an endless mass of water, fearful and deep or a place that was beckoning him to ride the waves and see the world beyond or was it that with every incoming wave, a part of his life’s story was unwinding and taking him into his beautiful past. He walked back to his hotel room and started enjoying the photographs he had clicked and told himself what a beautiful day it had been…a good book to read, good food and drinks to go with it, lovely people on the beach, water fast, furious and gentle flowing in and out and a plentitude of happy memories. What more could he want from life…!

SS