cash-less

Listen, did you know that my thatha(thatha - grandpa; patti - grandma) was a free spirited young man in the good old days? He had his way with the women folk in town, who adored him. In fact, by the time I was born, he was done with two marriages and was back in the market for ‘love’. After a sustained period of bachelorhood, he managed to find the love of his life, forever, again (third time). He married her very quickly and very quietly in the presence of well-wishers.

The man and wife were decades apart in taste and age. The lady’s preferences were very different from thatha’s. Her daily spending drove him mad. “I’ll end up without a penny in my name” he thought (neither his name nor her’s was penny and he was sitting on a considerable fortune).  

Anyway, a few years back, when I was just a bumbling young lad, I decided to up my 'coolness' by getting myself a pair of sunglasses. I needed monetary support, immediately. Amma said no. Papa ignored me.

Not to be deterred easily, I walked up to thatha and pitched my case.

“Thatha I want a pair of sunglasses! You are cool. I want to be cool. Please give me money”

Thatha nodded, “take this card kutti(kiddo), Buy yourself a good pair”.

I skipped and jogged and cavorted right into the shop. “Bro, 1 Aviator parcel" (‘parcel’ is how we ask for take-away-food in Tamil Nadu).

Shop Bro: “Kasu?” (money?)

Me: “cardu” (card)

Shop Bro: “Kudu” (give)

      *Swipe*

      *scratches head*

      *swipes again*

      *scratches head again*

Shop bro: “your card is blocked bro….”

Me (also bro): "Is it?.. lemme check."

I felt cheated. I ran back to my thatha’ s place as fast as I could. “thatha thathaaaaaa.. card blocked”.

Thatha looked startled and closed his laptop abruptly. Stroking his beard back into place (neatly shaped goatee with a connoisseur mustache), he took the card from my outstretched hand.

“Oh! did I give you this one? This is my wife’s card. She was spending a lot on frivolous things da, so I blocked all Third patti transactions”

The dandi march

The year was 1930. Sarojini Naidu lay lounging on her divan. She was contemplating different openings for a song - a hook that would carry the rest of the song.  As usual, the perfect verse was proving to be illusive. “Should I try this in Hindi?” she wondered... "should I try Bengali for more traction?"

Her thoughts were in a muddle.  She stretched out and picked up her phone. This “Gandhi sux” WhatsApp group was always buzzing with boring conversations and she wanted to mute it for eternity, if only she could. She couldn’t. Scrolling through the texts she understood that people were planning another march. It was almost end of February and a march was long overdue.

Scribbling and scratching on her scrap book was tiring her. She had learnt English, she had learnt Hindi, she already knew Bengali and she had read verses and verses of poetry but she couldn’t muster up a worthy line. The phone buzzed and buzzed with +1s and "thumbs up"s while she waited for a song to materialise.

It didn't!. Frustrated with herself, she picked up the phone and dialed MKG:

Bro Gandhi...,

yo, Naidu?

ABCD padhli bohot

Thandi aahein bhar li bohot

Acchi baatein kar li bohot

Ab karunga tere saath

Dandi march

Dandi Dandi Dandi Dandi Dandi march

whattey wow babe!!

tumult

It has been ages. The fingers are rusty, the body is restless and the mind dazed. But, I made a promise to myself last year, that I will come back here. So here I am.

The time is nearly nine as I type. My thoughts are in a muddle and there is an all pervading sense of melancholy. Where am I? Where am I heading?... I'm Jack sparrow's compass. But in the muddled water that is my mind, I am reminded of people more desperate, sadder and much more in pain than I, who manage to put up a cheerful front.

Ruminations have become more philosophical. The prolonged battles with my pursuits, the family’s wishes and my desire for a better life – an idea that keeps getting more and more ideal and incredulous as days go by, have taken away a lot of my innocent happiness. These moments are now few and far between and mostly restricted to gastronomic satisfaction.

But, not everything has been blue. I did manage to change jobs. I took a decision that many considered unwise and unsafe, and managed to make it right. I learnt new things. I was exposed to interesting perspectives. I was taught to think. Think structurally, think logically. At the end of it, while, The world erupted in joy and indulged in permitted/controlled orgy, I wore the satisfied smile of Bhuvaneshwar Kumar after a 5-for.

Somehow I find the cliched metaphor of life as a "long drive" fascinating. A drive where you are guessing and second guessing the final destination A journey, sometimes off the beaten path, in other times taking wrong turns, all the while taking in the weather, the scenery and the music in the air. The last couple of years though, have not been about these wrong turns or rough weather. I have felt many a time, my hands slipping on the steering wheel or flailing about to find the right gears, like a puppeteer who has lost one too many of his strings.

Uncertainty has never scared me much. I have always found an inner resolve to stay on my feet to stay focused. This thing though, has been scary. I can’t find “me” to find the resolve within myself.  Things that were steady are now slippery. There’s the road, there is the car and then there’s me. It’s all a mess and I have no idea where to start to fix things.