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

Something Fishy

Haseena and Hilsa are the two trouble spots in India’s relationship with our neighbour on the eastern part of the country. While I am sure the EAM will manage the first problem sooner than later, for us Bongs, the Hilsa is the bigger ‘bone’ of contention. Bangladesh has refused to continue with the export of thousands of tons of hilsa or ilish from Padma river during the pre-Durga Puja period. What is so special about this fish? No one other than a Bong will know. It is not just a fish…. bringing home this silver scaled fish is an emotion…. preparing in mustard paste is sheer euphoria…eating this shiny-eyed fish  with its infinite fine bristling bones is nostalgia and much more. 

Sharing a funny take on this Piscean Royalty written in Bonglish script almost a decade ago. 

EESH PHISH EELISH 

I am a proud Bangali Bhadralok

Brought up in rightful tradition
Of admiring Robi Thakur, Netaji and Phootball
We may have our differences of red and blue colours
But one thing we Bengalis are united
Is our laabh (love) for Phish
When Mohun Bagan wins
We eat chingri (prawns)
When East Bengal wins
It is eelish (hilsa) time in Bengali homes.
Phish makes us Bengalis bhery intelligent
So we believe.

It was a Big Day
My laabhing Phaadaar & Maadaar- in-laws were coming
Ginni (Bengali for housewife) said get maachh
Not just any maachh
But Eelish, King of Phish
Get fresh good eelish
Tell your blaady Salauddin
(Salauddin is my fishmonger of old)
If it is not fresh
“Maatha phatiye debo”
In short, will break the fishmonger’s head if not good.

Meekly I took a tholi (bag)
In my Panjabi (kurta) and check- kata lungi
Went to bajaar
Salauddin was waiting
Dada come, come
Good eelish today
When I asked for the price
Babu, why worry
Enjoy phish and pay me later
Don’t pay if not good
This one is from Allahabad
This one’s from Howrah
And this speshaal is from Bangladesh
When I asked the price of the last one
Wished Salauddin would take EMIs at times.

Anyway took the full eelish home
Gave it to Ginni
Who stared at it
Flicked the gill to check
mmm…looks alright
As she washed the phish
I gave her a two-rupee coin
She started removing the scales
I wonder why she can’t use
The same two-rupee coin
To scrub herself clean
Instead she goes to Femina Beauty Parlaar
And when she returns
She stands like model before me
And asks, how do I look
I find no difference in her
Between the look before and after parlaar
But have to say like phamous inglish singer
“Darling you look wonderful tonight”

Ginni then took out her bothi
Bothi is like a machete
With a wooden base
She sat down
Pulled up her saree…
No you blaady idiots, stop imagining!
Only a little bit up
Just up to her knee level
And began to cut the phish
While I stood behind a curtain
Like a little boy
Waiting for the ekjam rejaalt to come out.
One strong stroke…swoosh
And the head gave way
She smiled as she saw the blood
Passed with distinction… said to myself
But seeing her with the head of phish
Remembered Ma Kali
She too stands with heads all over
With a khadga (curved sword) in hand
And chopped heads all over her
This is my modern interpretation
Apologies to sentiments of others
Who may have heard otherwise
That’s Banglar Ginni
And you all thought
Bengali women were always dancing
Like Madhuri with lal alta on feet
Swinging and singing dola re dola re dola

Nothing of the eelish maachh is wasted
Tel or fish oil is a delicacy
Fry it and yum… it tastes labhly with bhaat.
With its head you cannot make muri ghonto
(Please do not pronounce ghanta
Speak with marble in mouth
And you get correct way to speak Bengali)
You can however make chhachra
Which is cooked with pui saag.
Then there is egg (roe) of the phish
From which you make the tastiest pakoras
Better than the best caviar.
Then with the peti
The triangular cut belly
You make eelish fry.
Put eelish in mastard oil
Bengalis like it best in this oil
The smell, the flavor, the crunchiness
Ask any Bengali
He will tell mastard oil is good for heart
Best for putting on your skin in winter
Go east, go west
Mastard oil is the best.

With the rest you can do many a thing

Make simple jhol
Made in nigella seeds and egg plants
Then there is shorshe eelish
This one is speshal
Made with mastard paste
The fish tastes heavenly
But it is not for the weak hearted
For it has a tang and taste which is unique.
Finally, you could make the most special dish
Eelish maachher paaturi
Which is phish wrapped in banana leaves, then steamed
Baat remembhar never eat phish with both hands
Bhery non Bengali like
Use only one hand
Lots of kaanta(bones) in eelish
No Bengali except possibly an Air Marshall
Has ever died singing
Kaanta laga…hai laga…kyon laga
Kaanta laga.

You may say Life is a Jhol, Maacher Jhol but honestly Ginni makes it taste wonderful, she is Bhery Good…upon God I say. Not joking, you know.

SS

Picture courtesy: Internet

Bom Bahai Dairies 5: The Red Alert

Vicky, I think the city needs your urgent help. I got a message from the Police Commissioner of Mumbai who is a very worried man for yesterday he had received a message, on a burner phone delivered at his office, from someone who called himself, The Joker. He is threatening to detonate a big bomb in the city. The threatening message shared by the commissioner on social media read...

On the night when the super moon is red
People have all gone to bed
I shall strike the city of dreams
Bringing it down to its knees
Will give four cryptic clues
Where lies the big bomb fuse
Solve them one by one
And once thou shalt be done
The city will be saved
Or else completely razed. 

The commissioner is now panicking for tonight is the super moon night and unless someone solves the four riddles in the next couple of hours, Bom Hai will no longer be a safe harbour anymore. He has shared his direct phone number and wants the citizens to join the hunt to unravel the clues.

But Sir, how do you think I can help.

Vicky, we all know you have a very high IQ and you’re a part of MENSA Society plus you are extremely good with riddles. Why don’t you try and decipher the messages of this mad Joker? I will join you on this night expedition to different parts of this magnificent city.

Ok Sir. Anything for you and the city.

Great…. The first SMS message on the phone reads….

Riches lie in its treasury
With holes, leakages one too many
Triumphant stands the man in robe
With shimmering red, blue, green lights, one too many. 

Vicky, I think this must be the Reserve Bank Building…..riches in its treasury but the rest of the lines do not match.

Sir, I think I know the place being referred to…. It is the BMC building. BMC happens to be the richest corporation and the word holes refers to potholes on the roads and leakages are the wastage of money by you know who. Sir Pherozeshah Mehta in black robe stands at the entrance of the building which is illuminated with multiple coloured lights. Tell the commissioner to send the answer to the sender and then wait for the next clue.

Ring..ring.. Yes, Sir. Oh thank you Sir. So, my colleague Vicky was right. Yes, I will convey your compliments to him. And you have now got the next set of clue…

Once she was up in flames
Now embers fly at her backyard
With music playing to her right
Waves kissing the majestic gate soft and hard.

Vicky, I feel the Joker is talking about one of the Agiary or Parsi fire temples near the Marine Drive.

No Sir. Just read the lines again… waves kissing the majestic gates. It must be the Gateway for there is no gate on the Marine Drive. Next to it is the Taj Mahal Hotel, which was once up in flames in the deadly 26/11 terrorist attack in 2008. And to the right of the Taj is the Radio Club where music plays and I am not sure about the embers flying the backyard…

Vicky, it must be Bade Mian at the backyards of the hotel and that’s where the embers fly while the barbeque is done in the open.

That is wonderful Sir. Let us go there and enjoy an egg-chicken roll while we wait for the commissioner to tell us if we are on the right track as well as the next clue.

Ring..ring….Yes Sir. Thank you Sir… this time it was a joint effort. What… he has not sent any more clues…the message reads… the seeker shall find the next set of clues…

Vicky was munching the delicious roll and as he tore off the wrapper to devour the meaty roti, his eyes popped up… he saw on the inside of the wrapper, a message which was by now oily and blurred but we were able to decipher it after getting the torn pieces of paper together like a jigsaw puzzle.

More people seeking justice have been shot
On her famed steps, high and wide
More history lies in the coffins within

Than told in halls near the tower of light.

Vicky, this one is easy. Justice has to be associated with the High Court and then there is the big Rajabai Clock Tower at the adjoining University as well. Let us go a find the last clue there.

Sir, wait. Do you think the Joker would give away such easy and direct clues? Anyone could have deciphered this one. I am sure the mad man has some other place. Let me read the clue once again…hmmmm… No one is shot at the High Court and where is the history over there? Bingo…got it! Tell me, Sir, which place do you see in Hindi movies as the usual court house where lawyers walk up and down and the stairs are high and wide…where do you think the film shootings would have happened? And more old historical books are stored here than the University library near the Rajabai Clock Tower….

The Asiatic Library?

Yes, Sir. You are right. Let us take a Best bus to go there to find the last clue. Meanwhile, tell the commissioner about our success.

Yes Sir…Vicky did it again… now just one riddle remains….Yes Sir, we will do our best to find it and decode the message before midnight….thank you, Sir.

We boarded the Best double decker bus and went to the conductor to buy the tickets. The man smiled at us and handed two tickets and said someone had already paid for us and then had got off. We read the back of the two tickets where the last set of clues were handwritten, two lines apiece.

Watt is what I seek
Where the emperor reins and the empress is lost
Hockey football cricket movies galore
Where the iron grinding comes to a halt. 

This one is tough one Vicky. I am at sea…completely clueless.

Sir, why has the Joker spelt the first word incorrectly or does it have something to do with locomotive…James Watt? The next line makes it even clearer for the new name of the station is Chatrapati Shivaji Maharaj Terminus where Chatrapati Maharaj, the emperor, has taken the place of Empress Victoria whose statue was removed from the building façade and no one knows where it lies now.

What about the sporting clues below?

Where will you find the Mahindra Hockey, Wankhede Cricket, Cooperage Football stadiums and Eros movie theatre close by….

Churchgate Station… oh yes…that’s it, that’s where the iron wheels of trains on the Western line come to a stop. Hope we have cracked all the riddles correctly and well in time. Let me inform the police commissioner about it… you are a genius, Vicky.

Thank you, Sir.

Ring..ring…yes Sir. Thank you, Sir. So, the danger is over for now…that’s good. What, the Joker has asked us to go to the nearest food joint at Churchgate station? It is our treat from his side…should we accept it? Ok Sir, will go and see if he is around there waiting for us.

Both of us went to the small pastry shop near the Churchgate subway and we were welcomed by the staff there with a big round of applause. We felt quite embarrassed but sat down at a table reserved for us as the cold coffee, sandwiches and puffs were laid before us…. all for free. All this paid by none other than the Joker himself. While enjoying the meal, I saw a picture on the wall and I said…

Vicky…that’s you…Bruce Wayne, the Batman, the only one who can beat the Joker and I am Superman. Wonder who’s that pretty lady in the centre…. yours or mine? 

Sir, let us leave this one mystery unsolved for today…

SS & Vicky