The Revenge

It was the most beautiful time of my life as I ran my hands across the hundreds and thousands of tulips of red, white and pink spread over hundreds of acres of beautiful garden surrounded by the snow-capped peaks of the Himalayas. Would you believe it, I was also singing the Silsila song “dekha ek khwaab toh ye silsile huye….!” Soon I was jumping onto a flower laden shikara and singing ‘Yeh chaand sa raushan chehra’ and yes, there were a host of pretty faces all around me, each one prettier than the earlier one. Wish I could remember some of their names and get their numbers so that I could keep in touch with them post this vacation. And then, all ended in a crash …. a terror attack! The terrorist kicked me so hard that I found myself flying from the bed to the floor. As if this was not enough, the terrorist on the bed shouted… You snore like a bull and I cannot sleep for one moment. Henceforth, I refuse to share my bed with you.

This was me after thirty-six years of putting sindoor on the forehead of a pretty damsel who appeared meek and docile and to whom I promised that … for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part… How I pray that the last line happens quickly and I am relieved of this homegrown terrorist who pulverizes me every now and then. I now needed help and help not from any shrink or local person… from a professional. I now felt more than ever the need to quickly train to become a terrorist myself and fight back this constant act of terror that has been threatening my peaceful existence. I called up my friend across the border, Sharif. As the name suggests, he is Sharif. His elder brother is also Sharif. Both had great experience in the trade I wished to now learn. I kept trying his number for four days and all I got was a recorded answer… This number does not exist… I had given up hope when on the sixth day, I got a phone from an unknown number. Initially, I thought this must be a spam call from Jamtara and hence did not pick up. I then got a message from the same number… Pick up the call. This is Sharif. I then picked up the next call and shouted…

Saale, number change kar liya aur bataya nahin! Why were you not taking my calls?

Kya bataun bhai, I was hiding in a bunker for the last six days where there was no connectivity. Anyway, I don’t have much time… tell me, why were you trying to reach me?

Sharif bhai, I want you to enroll me into one of the many terrorist camps in your land and train me up. I have a fight at hand.

Arrey Bangali… forget it. All our camps are now destroyed. Don’t you read the newspapers or listen to Arnab shouting? For the last four days, your people have been bombing my peace-loving country from north to south, from the skies above and land below. Anyway, since you seem to be very disturbed, why don’t you tell me your problems.

Terrorism comes in various shapes and sizes but mine is like sarvagun sampanna. In short, she knows all the terrorist tactics and is a master of all.

First is religious terrorism. I was so eager to take a dip in Holy Ganga on the occasion of 144^th Mahakumbha. All my arrangements had been made including payment to the travel company when she put her foot down… you are not going, she declared. And that’s it, all my devotion to Ma Ganga was quashed by Ma Kali at home and I missed the auspicious snaan. She shouted… When sixty-six crores of Indians are already taking their bath there, no one will miss you there. Gods and goddesses are already confused with everyone remembering them for these two months of unending devotion that they are unable to sleep or rest in peace.

Next is economic terrorism. Every weekend, she wants to visit one mall or another and I must accompany her. She will go into almost every store there, bring out every piece of clothing and then, finally, walk out without buying anything. I feel so embarrassed that I often go outside the store and keep scrolling my phone. She shouts for me from inside as if a fire has broken out and all I will find is a silly looking dress or a utensil that I must say looks pretty on her or is a very useful thing for the house. if I protest or say something otherwise, then the home terrorist activity will happen in public in the form of a solid dressing down. Whenever she buys, she buys the most expensive stuff around. She will enter the stores where 50% discount would be boldly displayed and she will pick up the things from the fresh arrivals rack. She will then insist that my current set of socks and undergarments have holes and she buys me a couple of Jockeys…. It must be giving her some solace that the outings to the mall were for my sake and not hers. I have even told her many times that her terrorism and trade cannot go hand in hand but it has had no effect on her.

One more form of terrorism is the Kalashnikov terrorism.

That’s something… your wife uses the AK47!

No, it is her constant chattering which sounds in my head as the firing of the automatic weapon best used by people trained in your land. From the time I wake up and till the time I hit my bed, the firing continues. It can be on any subject but the firing takes a speedier turn whenever she feels I have goofed up…. bringing home a bundle of sarson instead of dhaniya… I wonder if I ever do anything right. Have lost all self-confidence and now have accepted this rat a tat a tat of the blazing gun as part of the shaadi ka laddoo that I must consume. The other day I even told her terror and talks cannot happen together, but all in vain.

Oh brother… how I wished I could help you.

This is not all. There are two more armaments in her armoury that she uses when, if at all, things are going in my favour during a discussion. One is called the Nuclear terrorism which in other words is the signal to my death by hunger… the gas stove is switched off and no food is cooked in the house. Finally, there is the Indus Water terrorism. Since she is the higher graded citizen of the house, she is granted the status of upper riparian which means she controls the waters and in critical times she releases so much tears without giving me any warning that I get submerged and beg for mercy…. Bas karo jaan… I hate tears… I tried warning her not to do nuclear blackmail but she never relents.

Bhai, you are in real deep ….!

Mian ji, I have stopped watching SRK movies since the time he made the silly comment… Chutki bhar sindoor ki kimat, tum kya jante ho…. Haan main jaanta hoon chutki bhar sindoor ki kimat and for the last 36 years have been paying the price for it every single day!

Bhaijaan, I really want to help you but you see I am a persona non grata in my own land now. My people are looking for my scalp. The destruction of the airfields and our strategic locations by the Rafales, Sukhois and Brahmos and the complete failure of our drones and air force to your country’s air defence systems by Akash and S400 have reduced my country to ruin with no water for the fields and no money to run the state. All the help that I got during this fight was a plane load of Turkish towels. But honestly, my advice to you would be that forget all this anger. It is truly your birthright to stay the way you are because the day your Begum really gets angry, you will have no place to hide. Meanwhile, you may approach the big white man who is trying to make everything great again, provided you can get the visa to meet him. 

Thanks Sharif Mian. Wish you good luck. Let us pray for a terror free world and hope we all live in peace and harmony.

SS 

Picture courtesy TOI