The Durrells of Another Kind

Mother likes the fact that we – as a family – are know as a gentle educated family. She hates it if people think otherwise.

I think everyone ought to know we are all anything but gentle all of the time with each other. Of course, we are educated: I have a degree in Computer Engineering and my sister displays her Masters Degree in Statistics with the air of a conjurer who has just made the whole world disappear. Mother too is a double graduate and Father is well-versed in printing technologies. Well, Father doesn’t have a degree; it’s a diploma he earned. But then at least he earned that. I know of Fathers who have merely earned rotten abuses because of their alcoholic habits – My Father has none of those habits.

So, we are educated, but we cannot spend an evening without a quarrel. We argue and we do storm out of the venue of the conversation, but come a knock on the door, we morph into the most amiable family you have ever come across. We are all smiles and we will go out of our way to ensure that you think that there’s not a split in the seams formed by us being stitched together.

But come sometime unannounced and invisible to visit us and you will see what we actually are.

Mother dreads this being discovered and so, always ensures we never quarrel outside the house. Father does make a wan face and at times spoils it so bad, we have difficulty figuring out whether he is thinking or is just in a bad mood.

Well, Mother hates it when he makes those faces but she cannot do anything about it. So, she pretends to assume that no one will notice them and sallies forth as if her family were the best in the world.

I have told so many times to get rid of this best-family title that she so assiduously sticks to. But no, she never will.

Mothers! I think they are born to nurture and born to care. But I also think they are born stubborn!

Quarrels, Fights, Angst, Etc.

I feel useless, really. At work, there’s not much to do other than think about how useless I am. At home, I get into fights at the drop of a hat. Yesterday, I fought rather violently in the verbal sense of the term with Mother Dearest and Father Dearest. Mother accused me of not doing much in the house and that blew my cool. I yelled at her saying she had no idea how difficult it was to travel to Andheri and back and be humiliated everyday with the kind of talk I have to bear during lunchtime.

Father of course avoids confrontation. So, he began to make noises to get us to end the quarrel. I lashed out at him in the bargain. I reminded him and Mother of the times he would come home and raise his voice just because his boss had yelled at him. That time, I said, no one said anything to him.

“Everyone says they’re frustrated here,” I said, my decibel-limit rising with each syllable, “Fact of the matter is I am the most frustrated man in this house!” And I slammed the door of my bedroom shut.

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.

A Lazy Sleepy Holiday

The day arose from its slumber just like any holiday would – slow, meticulously lazy, and in no mood to go anywhere at all. I like such days and I let it grow on. I finished breakfast at 10:00 am and then just sat in the hall. Father was at the computer in my room, so I decided to look out of the window that let the Sun into the hall.

Sister was at breakfast still and we spent some time talking nonsense. The Sun walked in and flooded the floor with patterns rather common. But this was the first time I had sat in the hall at that hour. So, I was quite pleased with the rays as they painted squares and circles of light near my toes.  I let my mind think what it wanted to and in a flash, I saw scenes from the day gone by flitting past me. I saw the boss nodding his head just for the sake of showing me he was listening to me. I saw myself walk from the company to the bus depot, I saw myself indulge in listless conversation and then all of a sudden – as if someone had snapped shut the screen on which I saw all this – it all vanished into thin air.

I saw the clouds drift across the skies. They had not a worry in the world nor were they bothered of the fact that no one bothers about them. They have no chart to refer to, no path to chart, nothing at all. All they do is just float away as and when the wind decides to push them. Yet, I did not wish to be a cloud. After all, I do have a head and heads usually hate being pushed around.

Well, I left the clouds where they were and walked back into my room. Father was done with the computer and so, I plonked myself in front of it. As usual, I surfed aimlessly. Surfing doesn’t need an aim. You get onto a Web site and then just keep clicking and before you know it you are on a page you had no intention of landing upon. I began with a harmless social networking site and ended up on a rather sleazy page – all because I had clicked on links that came up in the margins of pages I had surfed up to.  I saw what I had to and got fed up of the whole exercise within an hour.

So, I switched off the computer and went to read Daphne du Maurier’s Jamaica Inn.

Of course, the book kept me occupied precisely for another hour and I returned to surfing yet again…

After all, I am on a holiday. I’ll do just as I please!

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!

Father makes me Sigh

It’s raining, I arrived in office early, and yet I can’t seem to finish what I had planned to.

My headache has returned all over again. To make matters worse, Father Dearest is not being all that dear in his behaviour at all. He has been complaining about my behavious towards him: Apparently, he says I do not ask him about his health. Well, that he was sick I got to know through Mother Dearest. He did however volunteer to tell his nephew about his condition, but us -Sister and I – he will never even so much as take us into confidence.

Naturally then, we leave him to his own devices. Now even that he doesn’t like. Well, so we asked him about his ailment and all we did get to know was information we already knew. And it was told to us as if he was extremely hesitant to disclose it all.

I don’t understand my Father at all. He will vomit all our secrets and all our problems – and his problems too – in front of his darling nephew, nieces, and his sister and her husband, but in front of us – the family that takes care of him, that knows how violently brutal his temper is – he clams up and never even tells us what his relatives are upto.

I wonder whether all Fathers are the same. If they are, well, I can do without interacting with mine!

Hail Mary! We are Family!

I have to go say the rosary alongwith the family. That’s one of the few deeds we are in together as family.  We rarely ever involve ourselves in anything else with this much fervour. Oh there is the occasional argument or two that competes with the rosary, but the rosary always wins.

I remember, when I was too young to understand any complicated feeling, Father would rumble through the Hail Mary like an angry engine all set to explode. Mother would however always keep her cool and trundle on like a bullock cart – slowly and knowingly, pausing to reflect on every word of the prayer.

Father would show a lot of impatience then and sigh and make noises indicating he wanted to be done with it as soon as possible. This – and I remember very well – was the only time Mother ignored whatever he wanted to convey and have her way. By the end of it all, as we would be coming to a close with the Memorare, Father would be off into the balcony having already finished with his recital at jet speed in a tone as disdainful as ever.

Mother would continue in her slow unhurried pace and not lose her control until the sign of the cross was accomplished.  Once that was done, she broke free of her chains and allowed herself to look hassled as Father made angry remarks about the house and the time we chose to say the rosary.

You see Father seemed rather frustrated to me even then when I was a schoolboy. He never was introduced to the meaning of the word ‘appreciation’ nor did he bother to look it up in the dictionary. So, all throughout, though appreciation did come his way, he never ever let it flow through him to us or anybody around him.

Mother on the other hand did know how to appreciate subtly. And it was a real sad visual to see her talking to her better half. He was always in a mood to criticize and she bore it all – all because of us, her children. I am sure she would have slapped him and walked out were it not be for us.

I did ask her one day why did she bear all that and more.

“You know Mother,” I said after I had asked her, “you should have filed for a divorce.”

“Oh shut up!,” she said as she banged her spoon on the gas stove, “file for divorce! It’s not that easy!”

“Well it is. All you have to do is tell the judge I am fed up of this man and the man too may be fed up of me.”

“Don’t talk rubbish my dear,” she snapped, “marriage isn’t a bed of roses.”

“Well, you can always make one by removing the thorns.”

“Oh shut up,” she said yet again, “I have taken vows at the altar to be with that fellow for better or for worse.”

“Yes but I am sure The One in front of whom you took those vows will understand why you decided to break them.”

In reply to this, she did not say anything. Instead, she gave me a stern look and told me to get out of the kitchen.