I only wish all men in the world were English; decent, chivalrous and smart. Never will any Londoner comment, stare or even look at any woman. With this trusted notion in mind, I set out to the gym. I love the gyms here, not because they are plush (trust me, they really are not), but because no one bothers you here. You don’t even have a free trainer to bug you.
But, to my surprise, one blue-eyed boy (I am not calling him that) that is the colour of his optic. This guy kept stalking me everywhere I went inside the gym. I thought, I must be imagining things, because, no non-Asian would ever do that, unless he is a psycho. I knew I could not fool myself that I was really attractive or had great looks to magnet unwanted attention. There are several stunning looking women out there and I was the only fully clad person out there. But there certainly was something about me, and they I figured out that it was my colour, my race. I was the only Asian working out there. May be he thought women from the continent were docile and easy targets for eve teasing.
Time passed and he continued with his funny attitude, till I decided to put an end to it. I went up to him and asked him, “Hey, do you have a problem?” It sent down jitters down his spine, and he replied, “No…no, no problem.” “Good,” I thought and walked away. I was happy I had scared him.
The next day this guy walked up to me and said in Hindi, “Kal apne mujh se kya poocha? Mujhe koi problem nahi hai. Aap hamesha gusse mein kyo rehati ho? (You asked me yesterday if I had a problem? Why are you always angry?) Totally baffled to hear a white guy speak in my mother tongue, much better than me was too much to digest and I had to respond to him too. All I could do is just get up and walk away. I said, “I am sorry I have no interest in speaking to you.”
After a lot of research, and discussions with my husband, I came to the conclusion that he might be an origin of Afghanistan. For, a few days ago I had been to buy fish and this Afghani seller pointed out at the Salmon and said in Hindi, “Oh you want to buy Salman. He is the King of Bollywood.” I knew Indian Cinema was Big worldwide, but did not realise even fish were named after stars. However, the fact that the gym guy was not English was solace to me. At least he was not a psycho, or a sex manic or serial killer, but just a big Hindi movie buff.
Just to avoid confrontation and decrease my husband’s anxiety I changed my gym timings, but after many days, I did bump into him. Now, I knew how his mind works. Totally filmy estyle. The very fact that he wore huge silver chains around his neck and shades while working out added to it. He said hello. I greeted him back. I knew ignoring him, only fuelled his want to talk to me. You know, the usual heroine hates hero in the beginning and he then he stalks her and gets her to fall in love with him. My guess was right, he said he was an Afghani and he said he wanted to go to Mumbai to work in Hindi movies. I told was married and had two kids. His next question was, “Is your husband strict?” I am sure he was thinking of the common – married women, unhappy with evil hubby and wanted a hero to free her- story. I said no. He is a great guy. Then to cut him short I made him believe that I was moving back to India in a week. Anyways, I was going to change my gym soon. Even this did not deter him. He said, “Mujh se dosti karogi?” The typical protagonist dialogue. I asked him what friendship meant to him. He said, talking in Hindi, going to movies and chatting over phone. Mind you, he was no way a teenager. He must have been in late 20’s. I told him my kids (though imaginary ones) kept me busy and I have no time for this. At this he was quick to reply, I am not inspired by movies, I mean it. Sure he was guilty of being smitten by them. I just walked away and bid him good bye. And then came the last dialogue, “Don’t you want to take any memories of London with you?” I just wanted to burst out laughing, but politely said no and ran out for some fresh air.
Now, this was a typical example of how Bollywood movies affect people and that too a non-India. It is not just a platform for escapism but so easily creates an imaginary world around vulnerable people. They only break out of this shell when they fall hard on their faces and taste reality.
Friday 18 December 2009
Jadoo ki Jhappi (The magical hug)
The smile which makes his pale crumpled white skin fall gently over his cheeks never fail to make my lips go round and say, “Cho chweet.” This is Dmitri, our office attendant. Loves to greet me as ‘young lady’ and hates people who hog on junk. Dimitri often thinks he is being listened to when is goes didactic to people who don’t wash up after their use at the pantry. His ripe old age is no hindrance to his work and he always sees to it that the office balcony garden and kitchen is every sparkling. Every time I see him, my heart wants to call him ‘tatha’. But, you know no one really wants to be called that here, irrespective of being the proud seeds of generations of off springs carrying their genes.
Dimitri always reminded me of the hospital attendant in ‘Munna Bhai’, who is always grumbling about people treading on the floor immediately after his mop swabbed it. And then one fine day Munna Bhai gives him a much deserved magical hug, which motivates and credits all his hard work. I wondered if this man too wished for similar praise and pamper.
I always thought why the poor old man has to come to work at this age. Stating the obvious reason as money, I often thought, how happy he would look, playing with his grand children at home or reading a book on a rocking chair with a hot cuppa, instead of washing mugs and plates here. One afternoon — to avoid burdening the old man — I was washing my own coffee mug when I heard Dimitri call me from behind, “Young lady, what fruit would you fancy? Apples or pears? I looked around and he stood there with a huge basket of glossy fruits while his eyes smiled trough the thick pair of glasses. “From where are these,” I asked him. “Oh, they are from my garden. I live in a bungalow with a garden full of trees. My trees bear so much that they often fall and turn into manure. So I just dump them in my car and bring it to office for people to relish.
For a second I thought if he had won a lottery. Guess this is the best part of this side of the world. No dignity of labour and no waste of time. Everyone loves to work and it’s not just for the money. “A bungalow and a miniature tree farm in the heart of London! This sure puts Dimitri in the list of the rich guys of the Royal Borough of Kensington and Chelsea. Perhaps he must be Lakshmi Mittal’s neighbour (same area you know), “ I thought. And now, reeling in recession I was the one badly in need of the Jadoo ki Jhappi. Anyone?
Dimitri always reminded me of the hospital attendant in ‘Munna Bhai’, who is always grumbling about people treading on the floor immediately after his mop swabbed it. And then one fine day Munna Bhai gives him a much deserved magical hug, which motivates and credits all his hard work. I wondered if this man too wished for similar praise and pamper.
I always thought why the poor old man has to come to work at this age. Stating the obvious reason as money, I often thought, how happy he would look, playing with his grand children at home or reading a book on a rocking chair with a hot cuppa, instead of washing mugs and plates here. One afternoon — to avoid burdening the old man — I was washing my own coffee mug when I heard Dimitri call me from behind, “Young lady, what fruit would you fancy? Apples or pears? I looked around and he stood there with a huge basket of glossy fruits while his eyes smiled trough the thick pair of glasses. “From where are these,” I asked him. “Oh, they are from my garden. I live in a bungalow with a garden full of trees. My trees bear so much that they often fall and turn into manure. So I just dump them in my car and bring it to office for people to relish.
For a second I thought if he had won a lottery. Guess this is the best part of this side of the world. No dignity of labour and no waste of time. Everyone loves to work and it’s not just for the money. “A bungalow and a miniature tree farm in the heart of London! This sure puts Dimitri in the list of the rich guys of the Royal Borough of Kensington and Chelsea. Perhaps he must be Lakshmi Mittal’s neighbour (same area you know), “ I thought. And now, reeling in recession I was the one badly in need of the Jadoo ki Jhappi. Anyone?
A lot can happen over a glass of wine
Marriages are made in heaven. But, who decides how they must be celebrated? In a typical arranged marriage, even if the bride is 30 and groom 35, it’s the parents who plot the event. They love doing it and what they enjoy more are contradictions of ideas emerging out of it. Often in a Coorg (Coorg is a district in Karnataka) wedding booze plays a role as important as the priest in any Indian wedding (meaning more liquor is equal to more blessings from the guests).
In a recent scenario, the groom’s side wanted wine to flow even during ‘Murtham’ and the bride’s side was not game for it. So guess what happened, the engagement broke. Is wedding a meeting of two hearts, an exchange of vows to never part from each other, or free distribution of alcohol? It is all the above, in this society which claims to be modern yet keeping alive its rich tradition and culture.
Such incidents do not happen just in this community. There are several similar stories in history in other sects too. What takes a back seat here is the emotions of those tying the knot. It is just like a trial period, where in you try the free software and then decide if you wan to go for it or not. While India continues to boast of successful arranged marriages, is it right for such trivial issues to break nuptial bonds?
When London became India: City Tubes
Enter any tube (underground train) in London during the peak hours and the number of commuters is nothing less than in any over populated country. But, there is one thing distinct about the people here, every passenger gives you enough space, I mean both literally and physically. Unlike the hand kerchief policy (very common in India) where people first throw a piece of cloth on a seat and jump on it the next moment; co-passengers here often offer the seat first to you and occupy it only after you have declined it. Well, why does this not happen in India? Not to deny, girls do give up their seats in local buses to old, disabled or pregnant women, but why is it not a common site? I discovered a few reason for it: First, journeys in India are often long, especially in traffic clogged cities such as Bangalore, so people prefer sitting that hanging on to roof straps. Secondly, you have the bus category men; trust me that is the term used (with no offence to people using buses) for men who are desperate and derive pleasure in bullying women passengers. Thus, it is safer to be seated, which also reduces the chances of being pick-pocketed.
Every time I got into a London bus I wished the scenario could replicate itself even in India, until that one day that changed my opinion. A tube strike was announced due to industrial action and left hundreds of people stranded on streets. I was one amongst them waiting at the bus stop to board a bus. And to my surprise, I saw people pushing each other and barging into buses, even through the rear doors (which are only used for exit). Well, these were the same respected commuters who travelled in dignity yesterday! And then I realised, its not people who are different here, but it’s just the system. Democracy says, citizens make rules, but in reality it’s the government who makes it. Given a great the infrastructure with frequent and efficient public transport, India would be London too, just as the same way being deprived of tubes, London became India for a day.
Every time I got into a London bus I wished the scenario could replicate itself even in India, until that one day that changed my opinion. A tube strike was announced due to industrial action and left hundreds of people stranded on streets. I was one amongst them waiting at the bus stop to board a bus. And to my surprise, I saw people pushing each other and barging into buses, even through the rear doors (which are only used for exit). Well, these were the same respected commuters who travelled in dignity yesterday! And then I realised, its not people who are different here, but it’s just the system. Democracy says, citizens make rules, but in reality it’s the government who makes it. Given a great the infrastructure with frequent and efficient public transport, India would be London too, just as the same way being deprived of tubes, London became India for a day.
The Fourth Magical Word - A short story
It was 8 ‘o’ clock in the morning, when Aarav, who needed no more weight loss, jogged on the vacant streets of Norwich. The only thing he wanted to hear while running on a cold day was - silence. But then his mobile rang killing the dead air around him. It was Sunaina. “Hello, Aarav, I…I have had a wonderful life. And… you will always live in my heart, even after it stops beating.”
“Sunaina, why are you sounding so low? Hang on, I will be there at your place soon,” he said and ran home. He grabbed his car keys from his desk, jumped into his silver Vauxhall Astra and drove as fast as he could. The deserted sight of her house sent shivers down his spine. “Hope she is fine,” he wished and prayed.
As he mounted the steps of her house, his heart pounded. He felt the organ was trying to jump out of his body. He gently pushed the ajar door, which failed to squeak adding to the deep silence in her house. “Sunaina, where are you?” he called out in a low voice. His dry throat made it difficult to utter more words. “I am here, Aarav,” whispered Sunaina, lying on the floor, resting her back on the wall. “Are you alright? What have to done to yourself?” he faltered.
He clutched her arms and lifted her up. He carried her, put her into his car and drove to the hospital, as Sunaina mumbled, “I thought I would never see you again Aarav. I am glad you came. Let us not go anywhere now. I want to spend the last minutes of my life with you. In your arms.”
For the next three months Sunaina had never called Aarav. He knew she had recuperated from an over doze of sleeping pills. He feared not hearing from her and hoped it was not the silence before the storm. Being a faculty of Environment at the School of Geography, University of Norwich, Aarav was passionate about Psychogeography. He enjoyed studying the effects of the geographical environment on the emotions and behavior of people. “I wish I could decipher why I can’t rule myself. Why I can’t tell others not to decide my fate,” he often mused.
It was time for him to call his mother, a school teacher, who lived in Bangalore with his dad, a Physics professor. “Amma, what are you doing? I am fine. Don’t worry about me,” he said at a stretch, not giving her much time to speak. He had predicted the questions that would be fired at him. Questions that would be topped up with anxiety and would leave him embarrassed. “Son, what is wrong with Sunaina? Why don’t you want to get married to her? She is slim, tall, fair and from a good family. She is intelligent too. And both of you are working in the same college,” she said. “Amma, I have told you so many times. I don’t think this relationship is working. Marriage will only end turn this into a disaster. I don’t want to ruin her life. It is easier for an unmarried woman to find a groom than for a divorcee,” he asserted in a higher tone. “Aarav, her parents are anxious and have been visiting us often. What do we tell them? Both of you have known each other for 10 years. You decide what to do, and how we should face them,” she said hanging up the phone abruptly.
After an unpleasant conversation with his mother, all Aarav wanted was a cup of hot filter coffee, but for now, cappuccino would do. He sat sipping his coffee at college café and said to himself, “Falling in love is such a wonderful experience. It is often glorified and regarded as the best thing in a person’s life. But what happens when a person falls out of love. And if with time passions and emotions towards your lady love slowly vanishes. And there is a new pair of eyes that you want to keep looking at.” Aarav knew he was a one-woman man. He never enjoyed flirting. But after meeting Asha, he had felt the origin of a new spark.
He recalled how Asha, a child-hood friend whom he had met after 20 years through a community site, had entered his lonely life. The last time he was in India, he had made sure to catch up with her. To his surprise, the tom-boy back in school had transformed into a lovely woman. She no longer sounded like a school bully who often intimidated Aarav as a kid. Being the class monitor, everyone was scared of Asha. Probably this added to the fear, which forced him to hide his feeling towards her. He often adored Asha’s strategy of managing the class when their teacher failed to turn up to work.
Dressed in a salwaar-kameez, Asha brown eyes were darkened with kohl. “I rarely wear Indian attire, but since I went to the temple today, I am wearing a bindi and these clothes,” she said. For Asha, Aarav was a long lost classmate. She had vague memories of him. “All I remember about you is your neatly ironed uniform shorts, which made you look like walking with two balloons. Your inflated chaddis were too good,” she said, as Aarav turned red. “I had a crush on you,” he said, gathering all the courage he had, despite the memories she had about him. “What? I thought you were amongst the geeks, who had no interest in girls. Well, anyways I was more of a boy in school,” she said. Being 28 years old, the only thing on Asha’s mind was to ‘get settled'. Like any Indian girl, Asha was in search of MM (marriage material). After a few break-ups, she knew an arranged marriage was her last resort. And in Aarav, she did find traces of this rare substance. “Are you single?” she asked him sipped her orange juice. Technically, I am,” he said, hoping no more questions would be asked to him on this subject. For Aarav, everything seemed so perfect all of a sudden, despite his complicated life. He did not want to tell Asha about, Sunaina. The couple met often during his brief stay in India.
“These few days I have spent with you will always be cherished,” he told her, as they drove along the lonely ring-road one night. “Can I kiss you?” he asked. She said nothing but smiled and blushed. “Why is he asking me this? He has remained a fool since school. Why can’t he just do what we both want? I guess professors are bound to seek permission before they begin their practical research,” she thought. He gently held her hand and placed it on the car gear, while manoeuvring the steering with the other. Soon he drove to the service road and slowed down the engine. Asha said nothing and lowered down the window to get some fresh breeze. He held her waist and gently drew her towards him. “You smell great,” he said. “Gucci Envy,” she muttered running her fingers around his hair and guiding his lips over her neck. No longer being able to resist her first kiss with him, Asha violently smacked his lips. “I can do this all my life with you,” he said. The moment soon came to an end as Asha’s mobile phone rang. It seemed to be a reminder to awaken the couple from the trance they had fallen into. “Mom is worried. I need to rush home,” she said.
It was the last day of his holiday in India. While, it helped him de-stress, the guilt of not spilling the beans about Sunaina to Asha chocked Aarav’s throat. “Before I go back, I want to tell you something,” he said. Asha was chopping onions in her kitchen. She predicted he was going to propose marriage to her. And cursed him for being unromantic as he was about to spell the wonderful words while she was in an apron. “Go ahead, I am all ears,” she said. “I had a girlfriend in college. But we broke-up as her father did not approve of our relationship.” “So what,” Asha said, calling him a nutty professor in her mind. “Listen to me darling,” he said and continued, “She then got engaged to a guy chosen by her parents. During this span, I came over. She was out of life, my mind and heart. But after a year, she split with her fiancé, for some reason which she claims is me. From then on, for the past six years, we have been just friends.” “Where is she now?” asked Asha as she began fumbling for words. While her mind was selecting of the best words to accept Aarav’s unsaid proposal, another woman was the last character she wanted in her story. And her ship of dreams sank all of a sudden, when he said, “She is my colleague. Sunaina is crazy about me. I don’t know how to get rid of her,” he said, after which he left to Leeds.
Browsing on his laptop at the café, he missed the warm weather in India and more than that the company of Asha. Getting nostalgic about her is the best way to refresh, he thought. But his ‘pie in the sky’ soon crashed on the table, when he heard Sunaina’s voice. “I have been looking for you in the whole college, and you are in this café, daydreaming,” she said in a stern voice. “Oh I just wanted to have something hot, so I came here,” he said looking into his laptop. “It is six months since you have been to India, do you want to come with me? I have booked two tickets for this weekend,” she enquired. Aarav gathered all his courage to deny her offer, “You know I love travelling alone,” he said and looked into her eyes. But Aarav’s audacity nearly vanished into thin air like the mist that gushed out of his mouth along with his words. Her suicidal tendencies that loomed large in her black big eyes forced him to change his mind. “I will inform my parents that I am coming,” he said, and thought this was a blessing in disguise; an opportunity to meet Asha, whom he was missing more and more with each passing day.
After Sunaina left the café, Aarav called Asha to give her the good news. “Hi sweety. How are you? I will be in Bangalore soon,” he said. “Oh, are you coming down? But you just came six months ago. Is the Norwich University paying you to work in India? You are more often seen here than the UK,” she said, eager to know when he was arriving. “Do you want anything from here? Do let me know,” he said politely. “Thank you so much, but you know of late we get everything in Bangalore. There is just one thing I don’t find here and but it is available twice a year,” she said smiling. “Hope what you are wishing for comes true. That is my wish too, more than yours,” he said.
Asha hoped Aarav’s visit to his home country this time would turn their volatile relationship into and espousal. Being a software engineer, she had scores of wedding proposals gushing into her mailbox, but she knew she had fallen in love with the tall geek. She called in sick to work and left to meet her long-distance flame. “I missed you so much all these six months,” he said, hugging her. “Me, too,” said Asha as she blushed. The two decided on luncheon at a Mexican restaurant.
“I am going to meet an astrologer tomorrow,” he said, knowing Asha would discard such acts as superstition. “Guess this escapism. You don’t know what to do. You can’t decide on whom you wan to get married to. You are going to spend the rest of you life with the one you choose, not the astrologer or you parents,” said Asha, as Aarav’s non-ability to take a firm step, annoyed her. “I know Sunaina for so many years. She is a good friend. I can’t ignore her,” he murmured.
The next day, Aarav and his parents went to meet uncle Murthy, who claimed to know the influence of heavenly bodies on human affairs. Clad in a crème dhoti and kurta, Murthy was in his 60s. A retired, professors, he was their family friend too. “I don’t want to check the compatibility of these two horoscopes. When all of you have decided about the wedding, all I have to do is find an auspicious date to get you married to Sunaina. She is nice girl. I know her father too,” he said.
Little did Aarav think his fate would be sealed on that very day. He was going to be married to Sunaina in a week. He had no words to say, while deep inside he wanted to yell at Murthy uncle for speeding up things. And he did not know how to break this news to Asha, with whom he wanted to live forever.
He called Asha on her mobile. Aarav did not have the courage to meet her in person to tell her his kismet was ruled by others and everything between them was shattered. “Asha, I am getting married to Sunaina. I hope you understand. I have lost you,” he said and hanged up unable to stop tears rolling down his cheeks. The next few days flew fast, with Aarav inviting people and making preparations for his wedding reception. And even before he realized, Aarav had tied the nuptial knot. “I am jealous of Sunaina. She is happy and married to the one whom she loves,” he thought as he saw his bride laughing and chatting with his friends and relatives. “I only hope, I had the valour to tell her - I love her not. The fourth magical word - not - would have perhaps changed my life. My destiny is not in my hands,” he said to himself.
“Sunaina, why are you sounding so low? Hang on, I will be there at your place soon,” he said and ran home. He grabbed his car keys from his desk, jumped into his silver Vauxhall Astra and drove as fast as he could. The deserted sight of her house sent shivers down his spine. “Hope she is fine,” he wished and prayed.
As he mounted the steps of her house, his heart pounded. He felt the organ was trying to jump out of his body. He gently pushed the ajar door, which failed to squeak adding to the deep silence in her house. “Sunaina, where are you?” he called out in a low voice. His dry throat made it difficult to utter more words. “I am here, Aarav,” whispered Sunaina, lying on the floor, resting her back on the wall. “Are you alright? What have to done to yourself?” he faltered.
He clutched her arms and lifted her up. He carried her, put her into his car and drove to the hospital, as Sunaina mumbled, “I thought I would never see you again Aarav. I am glad you came. Let us not go anywhere now. I want to spend the last minutes of my life with you. In your arms.”
For the next three months Sunaina had never called Aarav. He knew she had recuperated from an over doze of sleeping pills. He feared not hearing from her and hoped it was not the silence before the storm. Being a faculty of Environment at the School of Geography, University of Norwich, Aarav was passionate about Psychogeography. He enjoyed studying the effects of the geographical environment on the emotions and behavior of people. “I wish I could decipher why I can’t rule myself. Why I can’t tell others not to decide my fate,” he often mused.
It was time for him to call his mother, a school teacher, who lived in Bangalore with his dad, a Physics professor. “Amma, what are you doing? I am fine. Don’t worry about me,” he said at a stretch, not giving her much time to speak. He had predicted the questions that would be fired at him. Questions that would be topped up with anxiety and would leave him embarrassed. “Son, what is wrong with Sunaina? Why don’t you want to get married to her? She is slim, tall, fair and from a good family. She is intelligent too. And both of you are working in the same college,” she said. “Amma, I have told you so many times. I don’t think this relationship is working. Marriage will only end turn this into a disaster. I don’t want to ruin her life. It is easier for an unmarried woman to find a groom than for a divorcee,” he asserted in a higher tone. “Aarav, her parents are anxious and have been visiting us often. What do we tell them? Both of you have known each other for 10 years. You decide what to do, and how we should face them,” she said hanging up the phone abruptly.
After an unpleasant conversation with his mother, all Aarav wanted was a cup of hot filter coffee, but for now, cappuccino would do. He sat sipping his coffee at college café and said to himself, “Falling in love is such a wonderful experience. It is often glorified and regarded as the best thing in a person’s life. But what happens when a person falls out of love. And if with time passions and emotions towards your lady love slowly vanishes. And there is a new pair of eyes that you want to keep looking at.” Aarav knew he was a one-woman man. He never enjoyed flirting. But after meeting Asha, he had felt the origin of a new spark.
He recalled how Asha, a child-hood friend whom he had met after 20 years through a community site, had entered his lonely life. The last time he was in India, he had made sure to catch up with her. To his surprise, the tom-boy back in school had transformed into a lovely woman. She no longer sounded like a school bully who often intimidated Aarav as a kid. Being the class monitor, everyone was scared of Asha. Probably this added to the fear, which forced him to hide his feeling towards her. He often adored Asha’s strategy of managing the class when their teacher failed to turn up to work.
Dressed in a salwaar-kameez, Asha brown eyes were darkened with kohl. “I rarely wear Indian attire, but since I went to the temple today, I am wearing a bindi and these clothes,” she said. For Asha, Aarav was a long lost classmate. She had vague memories of him. “All I remember about you is your neatly ironed uniform shorts, which made you look like walking with two balloons. Your inflated chaddis were too good,” she said, as Aarav turned red. “I had a crush on you,” he said, gathering all the courage he had, despite the memories she had about him. “What? I thought you were amongst the geeks, who had no interest in girls. Well, anyways I was more of a boy in school,” she said. Being 28 years old, the only thing on Asha’s mind was to ‘get settled'. Like any Indian girl, Asha was in search of MM (marriage material). After a few break-ups, she knew an arranged marriage was her last resort. And in Aarav, she did find traces of this rare substance. “Are you single?” she asked him sipped her orange juice. Technically, I am,” he said, hoping no more questions would be asked to him on this subject. For Aarav, everything seemed so perfect all of a sudden, despite his complicated life. He did not want to tell Asha about, Sunaina. The couple met often during his brief stay in India.
“These few days I have spent with you will always be cherished,” he told her, as they drove along the lonely ring-road one night. “Can I kiss you?” he asked. She said nothing but smiled and blushed. “Why is he asking me this? He has remained a fool since school. Why can’t he just do what we both want? I guess professors are bound to seek permission before they begin their practical research,” she thought. He gently held her hand and placed it on the car gear, while manoeuvring the steering with the other. Soon he drove to the service road and slowed down the engine. Asha said nothing and lowered down the window to get some fresh breeze. He held her waist and gently drew her towards him. “You smell great,” he said. “Gucci Envy,” she muttered running her fingers around his hair and guiding his lips over her neck. No longer being able to resist her first kiss with him, Asha violently smacked his lips. “I can do this all my life with you,” he said. The moment soon came to an end as Asha’s mobile phone rang. It seemed to be a reminder to awaken the couple from the trance they had fallen into. “Mom is worried. I need to rush home,” she said.
It was the last day of his holiday in India. While, it helped him de-stress, the guilt of not spilling the beans about Sunaina to Asha chocked Aarav’s throat. “Before I go back, I want to tell you something,” he said. Asha was chopping onions in her kitchen. She predicted he was going to propose marriage to her. And cursed him for being unromantic as he was about to spell the wonderful words while she was in an apron. “Go ahead, I am all ears,” she said. “I had a girlfriend in college. But we broke-up as her father did not approve of our relationship.” “So what,” Asha said, calling him a nutty professor in her mind. “Listen to me darling,” he said and continued, “She then got engaged to a guy chosen by her parents. During this span, I came over. She was out of life, my mind and heart. But after a year, she split with her fiancé, for some reason which she claims is me. From then on, for the past six years, we have been just friends.” “Where is she now?” asked Asha as she began fumbling for words. While her mind was selecting of the best words to accept Aarav’s unsaid proposal, another woman was the last character she wanted in her story. And her ship of dreams sank all of a sudden, when he said, “She is my colleague. Sunaina is crazy about me. I don’t know how to get rid of her,” he said, after which he left to Leeds.
Browsing on his laptop at the café, he missed the warm weather in India and more than that the company of Asha. Getting nostalgic about her is the best way to refresh, he thought. But his ‘pie in the sky’ soon crashed on the table, when he heard Sunaina’s voice. “I have been looking for you in the whole college, and you are in this café, daydreaming,” she said in a stern voice. “Oh I just wanted to have something hot, so I came here,” he said looking into his laptop. “It is six months since you have been to India, do you want to come with me? I have booked two tickets for this weekend,” she enquired. Aarav gathered all his courage to deny her offer, “You know I love travelling alone,” he said and looked into her eyes. But Aarav’s audacity nearly vanished into thin air like the mist that gushed out of his mouth along with his words. Her suicidal tendencies that loomed large in her black big eyes forced him to change his mind. “I will inform my parents that I am coming,” he said, and thought this was a blessing in disguise; an opportunity to meet Asha, whom he was missing more and more with each passing day.
After Sunaina left the café, Aarav called Asha to give her the good news. “Hi sweety. How are you? I will be in Bangalore soon,” he said. “Oh, are you coming down? But you just came six months ago. Is the Norwich University paying you to work in India? You are more often seen here than the UK,” she said, eager to know when he was arriving. “Do you want anything from here? Do let me know,” he said politely. “Thank you so much, but you know of late we get everything in Bangalore. There is just one thing I don’t find here and but it is available twice a year,” she said smiling. “Hope what you are wishing for comes true. That is my wish too, more than yours,” he said.
Asha hoped Aarav’s visit to his home country this time would turn their volatile relationship into and espousal. Being a software engineer, she had scores of wedding proposals gushing into her mailbox, but she knew she had fallen in love with the tall geek. She called in sick to work and left to meet her long-distance flame. “I missed you so much all these six months,” he said, hugging her. “Me, too,” said Asha as she blushed. The two decided on luncheon at a Mexican restaurant.
“I am going to meet an astrologer tomorrow,” he said, knowing Asha would discard such acts as superstition. “Guess this escapism. You don’t know what to do. You can’t decide on whom you wan to get married to. You are going to spend the rest of you life with the one you choose, not the astrologer or you parents,” said Asha, as Aarav’s non-ability to take a firm step, annoyed her. “I know Sunaina for so many years. She is a good friend. I can’t ignore her,” he murmured.
The next day, Aarav and his parents went to meet uncle Murthy, who claimed to know the influence of heavenly bodies on human affairs. Clad in a crème dhoti and kurta, Murthy was in his 60s. A retired, professors, he was their family friend too. “I don’t want to check the compatibility of these two horoscopes. When all of you have decided about the wedding, all I have to do is find an auspicious date to get you married to Sunaina. She is nice girl. I know her father too,” he said.
Little did Aarav think his fate would be sealed on that very day. He was going to be married to Sunaina in a week. He had no words to say, while deep inside he wanted to yell at Murthy uncle for speeding up things. And he did not know how to break this news to Asha, with whom he wanted to live forever.
He called Asha on her mobile. Aarav did not have the courage to meet her in person to tell her his kismet was ruled by others and everything between them was shattered. “Asha, I am getting married to Sunaina. I hope you understand. I have lost you,” he said and hanged up unable to stop tears rolling down his cheeks. The next few days flew fast, with Aarav inviting people and making preparations for his wedding reception. And even before he realized, Aarav had tied the nuptial knot. “I am jealous of Sunaina. She is happy and married to the one whom she loves,” he thought as he saw his bride laughing and chatting with his friends and relatives. “I only hope, I had the valour to tell her - I love her not. The fourth magical word - not - would have perhaps changed my life. My destiny is not in my hands,” he said to himself.
The story of the endangered species: Kodavas
Cock tail: a tinge of alcohol and loads of fruit juices. Now imagine this drink is being poured into a goblet till it over flows and then the trickling droplets fall one by one and take the shape of a person. Yes, no fantasy or fiction this is but, the story of a child who was born into different cultures in India. As a kid I was often called as a 'hybrid' for having parents from different states. And for a seven-year-old it was as humiliating. Being brought up in a then small-time place – Mysore -- meant knowing more people and them wanting to know you better. The most commonly asked question that followed this conversation was: "Love marriage?” This was followed by "Where did your parents meet?"
With passing years, I began to relish both the cultures of my parents. My father is a Punjabi, and my mother a Coorgi (the clan prefers to be called Coorgs; I think fearing to be referred to the breed of canines - Corgis). Though my mom's family is Kodava, they speak Hindi at home as they lived in the North for long. So over all, we are a happy family, where everyone speaks the national language and follows all traditions known to all. So, what's there to write about it? Well, well, don't you want to know more about the rich tradition of the Kodavas? For their origin and tradition, please refer a handful of books authored by writers from the clan. But where is the community heading to? Coorg the land of warriors is now a mere habitat of coffee growers striving hard to lure Bangalore techies to their Home Stay to survive falling coffee prices. While most people have moved away from the district in search of bread and butter, the rest have formed an association to fight for a separate state. My visit to the district after nearly six years saw no much difference. Pathetic roads, power cuts, absolutely no mobile coverage in areas, lack of water (ironic that the land originating the river Cauvery has no water) have shown the apathy of the government towards this beautiful place. Not to forget the State Government has done nothing to lure tourists to Karnataka's heaven.
The community certainly needs to be placed under the endangered species list. Most Coorg women are marrying out of caste for they are not finding suitable grooms and do not want to live in the laid-back place. And who is to blame for this? The answer is the Kodavas themselves. They talk about conserving their tradition but why won’t they accept half Coorgs as their own. They don’t understand that by marrying a girl from another caste into their own they are growing their clan (they need to learn from the Muslims, who believe in converting). The district is the most sparsely populated in the state today. While places here are much more beautiful than Kerala, potential tourists know nothing about them. It is high time the Kodavas find ways to retain their land, culture and economic status in society; else, all ‘Maple Mallus’ who once came from Kerala to work in their estates will soon buy their remaining estates with Dirhams from Dubai!
With passing years, I began to relish both the cultures of my parents. My father is a Punjabi, and my mother a Coorgi (the clan prefers to be called Coorgs; I think fearing to be referred to the breed of canines - Corgis). Though my mom's family is Kodava, they speak Hindi at home as they lived in the North for long. So over all, we are a happy family, where everyone speaks the national language and follows all traditions known to all. So, what's there to write about it? Well, well, don't you want to know more about the rich tradition of the Kodavas? For their origin and tradition, please refer a handful of books authored by writers from the clan. But where is the community heading to? Coorg the land of warriors is now a mere habitat of coffee growers striving hard to lure Bangalore techies to their Home Stay to survive falling coffee prices. While most people have moved away from the district in search of bread and butter, the rest have formed an association to fight for a separate state. My visit to the district after nearly six years saw no much difference. Pathetic roads, power cuts, absolutely no mobile coverage in areas, lack of water (ironic that the land originating the river Cauvery has no water) have shown the apathy of the government towards this beautiful place. Not to forget the State Government has done nothing to lure tourists to Karnataka's heaven.
The community certainly needs to be placed under the endangered species list. Most Coorg women are marrying out of caste for they are not finding suitable grooms and do not want to live in the laid-back place. And who is to blame for this? The answer is the Kodavas themselves. They talk about conserving their tradition but why won’t they accept half Coorgs as their own. They don’t understand that by marrying a girl from another caste into their own they are growing their clan (they need to learn from the Muslims, who believe in converting). The district is the most sparsely populated in the state today. While places here are much more beautiful than Kerala, potential tourists know nothing about them. It is high time the Kodavas find ways to retain their land, culture and economic status in society; else, all ‘Maple Mallus’ who once came from Kerala to work in their estates will soon buy their remaining estates with Dirhams from Dubai!
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