A Date after An Era

The guy was goodlooking – almost like an Israeli: dangerous and yet inviting. And so I invited myself to an opportunity that let me ask him out. And he said yes.

We met at Bandra station and then got into a rickshaw that galloped off to Carter Road. Oh it was a date for sure. He went home to change and douse a bottle of perfume before he walked back again to Bandra station. And since, I don’t mind smelling some nice cologne, I pretended to be indifferent, but secretly loved the fragrance that pervaded the rickshaw.

After the rickshaw stopped at Carter Road, we got out and walked. The Israeli – I will call him that for want of another description –  is nice to talk to but is very very sensitive to criticism. Well, he isn’t sensitive to all the criticism you throw his way. He just detests being corrected grammatically.

I noticed that trait the moment I met him and made a conscious effort to keep my mouth shut lest I correct him. After all, he wasn’t offending me and I somehow felt nice in his company.

He is very proud of the fact that he is an editor at the age of 22. The pride swells into the shape of a monster, actually. He began to tell me how much he loves his job, how you need to have several years of experience to be a sub-editor in a newspaper, and how he had landed himself with such a job at an age as tender as 22.

Usually, I when someone goes on like this, I do give them a peace of my mind. But yesterday, I really did not want to argue. Nor did I want to contest the veracity of his statement. I just nodded, smiled, and was my agreeable self. You see I had begun to like him already.

We talked a little more. And then we sat in a cafe and drank some coffee. We got along well. I have a strange feeling I might sleep with him. I don’t know why. You see while we sat at the cafe, I was inexplicably drawn to him and I felt like taking his face in my palms and kissing his lips.

It’s just that I am a stickler for proper behaviour and so refrained from doing anything that stupid. But were I drunk, I would have and that would have been quite a sight.

Anyway, moving on, as I said, I was attracted to him. Perhaps it was the accent that did the trick. It’s exotic and rather East European-esque. And since I am crazy after such accents, I have fallen (slightly) for the boy’s charms.

Half an hour later, as I finished sipping my coffee and we began to walk to the rickshaw stand, I realized I was really pleased that I had asked him out. I was smiling, he was smiling, we were talking and listening to each other, and the manner in which we went about this was akin to a symphony well played by a Philharmonic Orchestra.

So as the piece came to a close, I played the final movement: “Oh it has been great meeting you. Are you coming this Sunday for the meet?” I asked.

“I don’t know I am not quite sure.”

“Well, do come; that way I get to see you again.”

“Oh all right! I’ll try to. See you soon.”

“You too.”

And we smiled at each other, held hands a little, and then parted.

Conversation at 11 pm IST

“Mother will you go to sleep please?”

It was 11 in the night and she was incessantly writing away on a piece of paper as she acknowledged by way of her yawns that she was indeed sleepy.

“Well, I am doing something.”

“Really? Pray tell me what mystery at 11 in the night keeps you awake and forces you to solve it right away?”

“That’s none of your business. That’s Daddy’s and mine.”

“Really, but if you don’t solve it now, no one’s going to take you to task you know.”

Mother gave me a withering look. ”Will you mind my business or should I mind yours?” she snapped.

“Oh but I don’t want you to.”

“So don’t mind mine either. Go to bed.”

And that being so decisive an instruction, I just smiled and obeyed.

About a feeling and The Shifting

An empty feeling reminiscent of the one that flooded me when I broke up with my boyfriend seems to be round the corner. I can sense it for it makes me feel rather lazy and want to stop everything I have undertaken. It hasn’t come upon me with all its glory as yet, or else, I will have been in bed by now. I will stem its progress. That’s all I can do. And possibly, I’ll get it to leave me alone.

—-

We will be shifting this week to another apartment. Mother dragged me to that apartment and got me to help her measure the length and breadth of its hall, bedroom, and kitchen. She did that because she wanted to plan the arrangement of the furniture.

However, when she made known her plans to all in the evening, none agreed wholeheartedly with her arrangements.

After all, how can you even think of stationing the cupboards – ALL the cupboards – in the hall? Her explanation is that there will not be place to sleep in the bedroom. Well, I don’t think Mother, Father, and Sister need so much space to sleep. Sister thinks the same too. And so, an argument broke out at 8:15 pm IST. Mother was hell bent on having her way and we were heaven bound to not let her.

It was then that she dug into her bag of dramatic statements and pulled out this: “Why have to bother about it looking nice? Why do you care? This house is – after all – a flock of borrowed feathers!”

A minute’s silence ensued and Sister had her retort ready. “Mother,” she said, registering determination in every syllable, “Just because you think that way doesn’t mean we ALL think that way.”

“Oh!” Mother sighed, “you just don’t understand.”

“On the contrary, Mother,” Sister snapped, “YOU don’t understand. You expect the cupboards, the dining table, the computer table, AND the music system to be all in the hall. Where will he sleep?” And she pointed at me.

“Well, there’ll be place.”
“Where Mother? Just think. Don’t just get carried away!”

But instead of re-thinking the whole idea, Mother just gave up: “Fine!” she said exasperated, “Do what you want!”

And that’s exactly what we are about to do.:)

Conversation

“You know what he said to me?”

I replied that I didn’t.

“Don’t you want to know?”

I slipped my bookmarker into The Painted Veil, looked up at her and said: “You do seem to be in a mood to tell me and I am not about to say no!”

That – my sarcasm notwithstanding – sounded like an invitation fit enough for her to begin with what she had to tell.

“He tells me why on Earth are we looking for a one BHK.”

I put the book aside and sat up straight. “He said that to you?”

“Oh yes! He of all people says that!”

“I know. He wasn’t even willing to leave that place.”

“Oh totally! And now he said that?”

“Yes; I told him that that’s what is in our budget. And anyway, we did live like this for 25 years.”

“Haha! So what did he say to that?”

“Ha!” she said as she put on an air of triumph, “What can he say? He just looked at me and shut up!”

“Well you know how to silence him and you do it well.”

“Oh it comes with practice my dear.”

“I know. You have practiced quite well on me. So I know what you mean.”

“Haha! You are such a dear!”

I sighed: “Yes I always am!” And I picked up The Painted Veil yet again.

Off the Block

Some people can be really irritating. Take this acquaintance of mine for example. I had gotten to know him a few months ago – a time when I had just broken up with the boyfriend. We got along well – this acquaintance and I – and we did talk a lot about stuff quite intrinsic to the affair I was in. I satisfied his curiosity about my ‘relationship’ with the boyfriend and he kept asking more.

Well, I did not have a problem answering his questions. But it began to dawn on me that I was forever in the dock so to say. The times I had a question for him, he never ever gave  me a reply that was direct. Instead, his replies roamed all around the words he knew in English and then decided to choose the ones that made his answers rather vague.

Initially, it wasn’t much of a hassle to me. I let it pass. But this morning, while we were talking, he asked me about life and what do I expect of it. I unwound and told him the truth about my opinion of life. I also dug into the recesses of my mind and bared many of my thoughts that I otherwise would not have shared with anyone.

You must understand that I did all that and more all because I trusted the guy. I felt he understood me and I was at ease talking about it all.

However, a few days ago, a bolt of thunder and lightning struck that understanding of mine.

It so happened that I had logged onto Facebook and there he was. Needless to say, we began chatting. One bit led to the other and soon we were discussing my life and thoughts as if I had laid it all out for a barnyard sale.

After I had finished selling myself, I asked him about his plans. Well, he hesitated and then told me he was going through a crisis. His study plans interfered with his career aspersions because what he was studying was not what he wanted to make a career in.

I told him that he needs to then decide and eliminate what he thought wasn’t meant for him. He said yes, he would but there are other compulsions as well.

So, I – like a gentle benevolent fool – asked what were those compulsions? Perhaps he can share them with me.

To that came an answer that put a bee sting to shame! He said: “Oh I don’t think you will understand me. It’s best we don’t discuss it. Let’s talk something else.” All this after I had laid my life bare in front of him.

The heat of the irritation that this guy caused in me swept my anger into a frenzy. I was livid with rage. How can he even come to think that I cannot understand him when he did not even let me show my understanding of him?

It was a hot volcanic rage that ran through my fingers the moment I saw his answer. But I did have the presence of mind to not let my fingers go berserk in anger. I merely typed: “I see. Okay”

“Don’t feel bad.” He typed in reply.

“Oh no, I am not feeling bad. Okay listen: I think I have to log off. I’ll catch you sometime soon, okay?”

“Okay, and I am sorry if I have caused you any hurt.” Well, if you know you have, saying this doesn’t lessen the damage. But I didn’t say that to him. Instead, I logged off and promptly blocked him in my chat list.

The Episode about The Rent

My head aches as I write this. It’s the second time I have let it ache this much – all because of a chore known quite commonly as househunting.

You see we decided to stay on rent because we cannot afford the scandalously ridiculous prices in Mumbai. Now that we have, we realized that renting out a place is not easy and free of worry either. The landlord – or if you are unfortunate, the landlady – calls up some four months prior to the end of the lease and wants to know whether you will renew it. If you say no, a stream of prospective tenants starts to disrupt your privacy – all because: “Well, I have to make provisions you know after you leave!”

My landlady went through the exact same cycle with us and once she got wind of the fact that we won’t renew our contract, she began to send people to look at the flat. She now wanted to sell it off as well.

The other day, one such prospective tenant – or buyer – arrived with the broker sometime around 6 in the evening. Mother was all alone and so refused. So, the landlady sent her son to plead.

Mother was adamant though nervous: “I will not allow. I am all alone and I cannot risk that.” And she banged the door on their faces.

What followed was a rather caustic altercation between Sister Dearest and the landlady. The landlady insisted she will send people anytime and Sister Dearest insisted that that is not what she will tolerate.

The landlady then slipped into story-weaving mode and accused Father Dearest of telling buyers that the house wasn’t good because we (my family) fought a lot! Actually, what Father said was that the loafers in the adjacent compound drink and make a lot of noise.

Sister Dearest lost her cool and asked her to mind her business! And the conversation came to a cold end.

The next day she called and was rather sweet in tone. Obviously, she wanted something so Sister Dearest got all caustic and high-handed.

“Yes what is it you want?”

“Oh I am bringing a party to see the flat – sometime around 6 to 8.”

“Okay.”

“See the faster I sell the flat, the better for you. No one will come and disturb you all.”

“Yes,”Sister Dearest said as she let her tongue grow icicles, “but that doesn’t mean you come anytime! Don’t we have some right to privacy? You just cannot come anytime.”

“Oh but where am I coming anytime. I told you I’ll send them only between 6 to 8 in the evening.”

“Hello? It’s not as if you have booked a slot! We are paying you more than what is the usual rate here. We are not staying here free! Weekends is fine but weekdays don’t even dare!”

“Oh but where I’m saying you are staying free here?  I’m not saying anything like that.”

“And just so you know, we are private people. And we guard our privacy deftly.”

The landlady had no reply to that. So, she let silence do the talking and a minute later, began talking about notices.

“It’s not that I am telling you to go you know. After all, unless I give you a notice, how can you leave?”

“As a matter of fact,”Sister Dearest snapped, the ice in her tone very obvious,”we too can serve you a notice and leave.”

“Oh yes yes, that’s also true.” And again, the landlady fell silent. Finally, since she knew she is fighting a losing battle, she repeated that she will be sending people to see the house on Saturday between 6 to 8 pm and then hung up.

Mother lost her cool: “How can she? How dare she? We need to move out as fast as we can.”

“But Mother,” I said, “It’ll best if she serves us a notice. After all, she has the deposit with her.”

“She can do nothing.”

“Yes but she can delay returning it back. Don’t you see that?”

“Well let’s buy a house now. Enough is enough. I am fed up of staying like this!”

So this Saturday, Father and Sister went to see a flat somewhere in Chembur. The flat was on the first floor, furnished, and painted well. The floor of its bedroom was so close to the building pump, anyone could stand on the pump and help themselves into bedroom balcony. And that cancelled out every other good feature the flat had to offer.

“So we continue here then?” I asked as they finished telling us about the apartment.

“Yes, we’ll see what to do when the notice arrives.”

“But you cannot wait till the notice arrives!” countered Mother, “We have to find something before that!”

Sister Dearest did not reply immediately. Instead, she spent some time taking off her shoes, crossed her legs and said: “Mother, there is a difference between renting and working. Rent agreements need to be finalized in 15 days once you decide on the flat. This is not the same as looking for jobs and then saying no to one of the two offers at hand! And besides, flats are available aplenty here. So just chill.”

Mother did make the noises we expected her to. She ‘tshawed tshawed’ the idea, complained that we were taking things lightly and then walked into the kitchen.

Well, so ended that episode. And we still await the notice.

Really! Staying on rent with family is always as electrifying as ever.

The Hunted House!

Buying a house.  It seems such a simple thing to do. But who on Earth knew it would turn into the most complicated processes to affect my life and give me headaches into the bargain.

I – rather we, that is my family – have been searching for a flat for ther past 8 years! And not even one deal has materialized. “Why?” you ask?

Well, we would have settled in Borivali but:

“Oh please those relatives! As it is they eat our head even when they are this far! Imagine what will happen if they are become our neighbours! We will be made mincemeat of everyday!”

“But that place’s affordable you know.”

“Do whatever you want, we don’t want to shift there. One phone call is all it takes for them to make our lives horrible. And you want us to see them everyday?!”

So Borivali was thrown out of the window.

We would have settled in New Mumbai too but:

“So far! So far!”

“What so far! So far!? It’s just 45 minutes away from VT!”

“So far! So far!”

“It’s not far! It’s affordable you know. It’s cheap and I am getting a good deal.”

“Somehow I feel that place is so LS (Low Society)!”

“LS!”

“Yes! I mean: We stay in South Mumbai and now, to go there?!”

“You stay in a chawl in South Mumbai!”

“Shh! No one needs to know that! Rather, you need not tell anyone that!”

“But look at the place! It’s so small here and we fight everyday!”

“Yes that’s true, but New Mumbai? That gaon?! No baba!”

“It’s not a village! It has buses and trains and markets too.”

“So do villages!”

“It has an ATM! Plenty of ATMs.”

“Somehow that place you know is so not happening.”

“Well somehow I think you people’s heads you know just don’t happen to think!”

And so New Bombay was trashed as well.

I then laid my eyes on the Central suburbs then – Mulund, Bhandup but:

“What! Those suburbs?”

“Yes? What’s wrong with them?”

“Why do you always want to go stay in gaons!?”

“Excuse me, it’s not a gaon and besides those ‘gaons’ are the only places I can buy!”

“But try to understand. It’s so far! And God alone knows what kind of people live there!”

“If I am not mistaken you know them too. Some work in your office, don’t they?”

“Yes yes idiot! You know what I am trying to say. Don’t try to act smart.”

And so the Central suburbs got shot down as well. Well, now the problem is: of all the places, I still can afford only the Central suburbs. All this while when we thought we could afford town and places nearby, we were busy trying to convince Father that he must help us monetarily with our intention. But no, Father was all convinced about Borivali.

After Borivali was turned down, Father turned up his resentment against any other venue. He said no to Bhandup, he snickered at Chembur, said “Go find out.” for Vashi, and promptly backed out when I did go find out. Infact, one not so fine a day, when a quarrel erupted, he accused us all of having a one-track mind – all because we had silently or otherwise said no to his decision to move close to his relatives.

Anyway, now, in 2009, I at least have realized there is no such thing as consensus when it comes to buying a house. You just have to plunge in, buy the house, and announce that you have bought one. What happens next is none of your business. After all, what happened before was not your business. It was theirs – Father’s especially. He messed it up – it’s not your business.

So if he or Mother or Sister Dearest don’t like what you buy, or feel you should have waited (till eternity, perhaps) for the prices to come down, it’s really none of your business.

You have got the business done as far as you are concerned. And that is what really matters. The rest can either go to hell or grudgingly stay with you.

Segregating Ways

I told Mother Dearest I want to leave the city and go to a small town. She looked up at me and after a moment continued to bargain. I continued to tell her how displeased I am with the way things are right now and how I think I am entitled to a little happiness.

A full five minutes later, as we walked down the lane that led to our apartment, she said: “I know you are unhappy and you are free to go wherever you choose to. But just remember starting all over in a new place is difficult. I am just telling you. There’s a lot you will have to take care of – laundry, cooking etc.”

“Really Mother,” I said, quite irritated,”I am not the only one who will be shifting all alone to a new town. People have done that before and I am sure they did have teething problems to face as well. But they managed and so will I.”
“Oh I am just telling you. Later you should not say you weren’t warned and then get all disillusioned and come back.”

“Come back!” I repeated in an exasperated tone,”Who is thinking of coming back? Seriously, Mother, you cannot expect me to come back to all I do come back to these days.”

Things at home are a volcano of sorts. We decided to buy a house, but Father will have none of it. He refuses to back that decision monetarily and so, our plans to live in a space that is truly our own have not yet taken flight.

Yes, when I said we took a decision, I meant Mother, Sister, and I. Father never is a part of our decisions for his plans are always tangential to ours. We want to shift to the Central Suburbs, but he insists on going house-hunting on the Western line – more specifically in and around Kandivli and Borivli. The reason being his relatives reside there.

So, he – and his relatives – have this plan in which we stay close to their place and end up being their servants! Mother will cook for them, take care of them, and Sister and I will be their punching bags. Now we will never let that happen and Father has gotten to know how abnormally stubborn we are on that. So, he finds relief in acting all frustrated about the fact that his family doesn’t listen to him. Truth be told, he never considers us to be his family. He may have been a father and a husband and may have carried out his duties, but when it comes to trusting our word over theirs, it’s always they – his sisters and their progeny – that win.

As a result, Father and us are never ever at peace. He finds the silliest of reasons to pick a quarrel with us and we do the same.

Now the thing is I am tired of it all. I realized not so very long ago that all this quarrelling and snapping and sneering is leading me and my family nowhere. I am all the more depressed after every bout of such a war and I have not the heart to stand all this bitterness anymore. So I decided I had better pack my bags and go find my own happiness.

After all, I am 30 now and I am entitled to a little happiness you know. I cannot always be unhappy when I know of way to smile. It’s just that I ignore those ways for they involve me separating my path from that of my family.

I was thinking about all this that day when I told Mother I wanted to leave. And I think she understands. For after I had that conversation with her, she hasn’t ever bothered to tell me to reconsider.

I think Salvation is quite close. Probably, it’s standing outside my door!

The aftermath

I blame it on the day. It was unusually acerbic and nasty to me. Of course, it made up for that by allowing me to reach Andheri station by 7:00 and then get a bus to Sion the moment I reached the bus stop at Dadar. But, that acrid taste of what it had done to me at work refused to let me forgive it.

The day began like any other ordinary day: I was at work early and had begun to tie and sew the ends of documents I had left in a lurch on Saturday. Just as I – oh wait, I had also left the monthly report in a lurch as well. So, just as I thought about all this and was delighted by the fact that I could handle all of it, the Executive Director arrives and throws a spanner in my thinking by asking me to take a look at a document that his boss needed in an hour!

“End of morning,” he said.
“End of morning?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, I’ll see what I can do about that,” I said.
“Okay.”
“Did you try to make him realize how difficult a task this is?”
“Yes,” he said and nodded like a bullock, “I did. But it’s hard to bargain with him.”
“Well, he’s being so unreasonable,” I explained, “and you are, too!” I added in my head.
“I know!” came out of his mouth yet again and he nodded his head – this time with his lips set firm as if to convince me that he wasn’t about to go back on his demand.
“Well,” I said, “this really isn’t happening. It’s a day’s job – probably more than a day’s job – and you expect that to be done in an hour?”
“The boss wants it,” and he made that stupid irritating gesture to indicate he had nothing in his hands.
“You realize this is the second time he has asked for this?” I asked, “Aren’t we supposed to tell him this will not do? I cannot keep encouraging this you know. The way my team member is working on it right now – it’ll lead to a burnout and that is not what we want to encourage here, surely!”
To this, he shifted in his chair and went all melodramatic.
“Oh no oh no!” he said, “the reason why she had to work that way is because she was the only one here at that time.”
“Well you realize, ” I began in a tone rather curt,”that even so it’s not an hour’s job but that of a day or more?”
“Yes, but he wants it by yesterday!”
“Really?” I snapped, “If that’s the case, why didn’t he do it himself? After all, it’s just an hour’s job, isn’t it?”
“Well,” he sighed, “he knows it’s not an hour’s job!”
“Then? How do you expect us to finish that in an hour?”
To this, his reply was just a stare – a stubborn, slightly helpless, but rather obstinate stare.

I gave up.

“Well,” I said, “I’ll see what I can do about it. Thank you.” And I did not even look back at him as I walked out.

So you see the day wasn’t good at all. By the time, I reached home, I was all tired and quite disgusted by the proceedings at work. And for the life of me, I could not make light of the matter at all. I was rather piqued that a Britisher of a man would be so easily be reined in by an ass of an Indian who – quite frankly – knows nothing about his job.

Anyway, I got home and began to unwind. I stood in front of the mirror for a while and realized my face looked rather oily. It had these patches of shine that for some reason made my face look like a rag. I knew I had to wash them off and bathe as well. But before I let myself do all of that, I slumped in front of my computer and played Snow Patrol’s You Could Be Happy.

It’s a nice song albeit sleepy and sad – but easy on the nerves. I let it play and as usual Mother Dearest had to remark: “Will you stop playing that? It’s so sleepy. It’s putting me to sleep.”

Before this, she had the cuckoo-caller ring tone and a song clip on her phone being played in a loop. So I told her she had her fill and now she should let me have mine.

And a little over a minute later, I remarked: “Mother, why is work such a drudgery! I feel so displeased doing it.”

She was silent for a while and then her pearls of wisdom fell on me: “Change your attitude, she said, only the lazy think this way. Remember the lazy shall go hungry…”

I switched off my ability and intention to hear her as she strode halfway into that sentence.

“Enough Mother,” I said, “I made a mistake talking work with you. I will never ever make it again. It’s a promise!”

I then played her favourite song and went off to bathe.

Conversation

“You know we are one up over those people from That Nagar!”

We had just paid the cab driver and were crossing the road to climb the steps that lead into the Church.

“Really?” I said, “how is that?”

“Well, rickshaws go to That Nagar. But to Our Nagar? Only taxis can!”

“So?”

“So,” she said as we lead our feet up the steps to the Church, “that means Our Nagar is in town, while That Nagar isn’t!”

“Haha, really! You come up with the most silliest oneupmanships!”

“So what? We are – at the end of it all – hifi!”

Yes yes I said and proceeded to get inside the Church.