A Joke Gone Wrong

Christmas came and passed us all. I was in a sombre mood so it didn’t affect me much. But it seemed to have a rather unusual effect on my sister. Initially,  she threw herself in the festive cheer of the season and baked cakes, stirred up some delightful fudge, and then also lost several pounds pounding away on the milk cream dough.  So far so good.

A few days later, she lost her cool because I joked about her putting on weight. It was a simple harmless joke. It did border on being a little risqué, but I contained it well within the limits of decent humour. Yet, she frowned, told me to get lost, and talk like that at a certain relative’s place – a relative quite known for such ‘rubbish’.

The moment she castigated me for that, I had no idea how to react. There I was all smiles and animated about what I was telling her. And there she was icy and as sharp as a knife in her word choice. I did not let go of my smile – I remember – as I turned back from her room to the hall, but I do remember I fell silent rather too suddenly for my own comfort.  I sat on a chair and looked out of the window at no object in particular.

More than being insulted, I was surprised, really. Yes, surprised. I wasn’t feeling humiliated at all. That I no longer let myself experience. But yes, I was surprised.

She called the joke vulgar. It was about how she had put on weight on her behind. And yet, she saw no vulgarity in poking fun at my weak stomach and the number of times I hung out in the loo.  That apparently was all in good taste, but my joke about her hips reeked of garbage.

Well, I was quiet for a while till I could contain my anger. Anger – when in me – boils to a volcanic temperature and tries to burn down everyone around.  Luckily, I don’t let it do so these days for after the burning, I and I alone have to face the brunt. Anger avoids such confrontations.

So once my anger died down, I let myself talk. And lo and behold! I wasn’t talking, I realized I was quarreling. I told her in no uncertain terms I did not see what she found vulgar in what I said just as she was blissfully unaware that her taunts about my hangouts in the loo could be vulgar.

Well, needless to say, she refused to accept that. But of course, she did not say so. Instead, she put on her face of disagreement and yelled, “Fine! I will not joke about it then! Happy?”

I merely shut up.

No point in arguing, really, when the crime had already been committed.

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.:)

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.

Alone all over again

I suddenly get this feeling that I am all alone. There’s no one by my side. There’s not a person I can trust with the task of understanding me. And there’s no one I can relate to or relate with.

Mother will not see my point of view simply because she thinks it’s skewed.

Sister has gotten all frustrated with her life and now removes it in her interaction with me. She spoke to me as if I were dirt yesterday. I had only asked for her laptop to burn a DVD. Well, she did not want to lend it anyway. So she said yes yes in the evening and then around 11 in the night – just as I was transferring stuff onto her pen drive so that I could burn it through her laptop – she threw a tantrum.

I don’t mind the tantrum, really. But the manner in which she threw it, I felt so dirty – as if I should have begged of her but did not and she took pity on me and decided to lend it to me anyway.

So I threw a tantrum as well. I told her to go to hell with her laptop and that I don’t need it at all. Thereafter, Mother came into my room as I was shouting away. She told me to calm down. I told her to go sleep and get out of my room at once.

Mother wanted to pacify but I really was in no mood for that. So once she got out of my room, I locked it from the inside and began to cry. I hit the mattress with my fist. I called upon God and asked him whether is this going to be my darkest hour. I have no clue why this has happened to me. And I told him that as well.

Good God! That has left me so tired today. It makes me feel like leaving my body and heading off to a place in which I can be at peace with myself.

Again, last night, as I was crying and venting out my dissatisfaction with my life, I felt an urge to join the seminary. There were the hills that overlooked the playground of the college. It rose right in front of me. I could see the seminarians playing and immediately I felt as if I knew that view came to me because I stood on the ground floor of the main building of the college in one of its large corridors adjacent to the playground.

I could see the grass being trod upon by the football players. I could see the grey of the walls that gave birth to the corridor. And I could gaze into the dark depths of the end of the corridor at which I knew were a flight of steps to lead me to the first floor.

This vision – or shall I say figment of my imagination – stayed by my side all through the time I cried silently knowing not what else to do. A few minutes later, my spasms stopped and the vision evaporated into oblivion. I was tired and so, lay down and slept.

This morning has seen me no better than last night. My eyes are swollen and I can barely keep them open. Sigh! Why has this to happen to me? Why 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!

See see! Just See it The Way I See!

People can be so irritating. Take the case of Sister Dearest for example. She walked into my room a while ago.

She had applied for a job and the interviewer had asked her about a particular aspect of work that she hadn’t any experience for.

“So,” see she began, what I am thinking is I’ll do some research in the evening and then write to her?”

“Write to whom?” I asked. I was busy passing my time surfing the Internet.

“Write to that HR woman who interviewed me.”

“But why do you want to write to her? If you do so, you’ll only show how desperate you are.”

“Will you even listen?” she snapped, “that was the only question I could not answer.”

“So?”

“So I don’ want her to say that – you know – ‘you don’t know about that and so, we could not consider you for the job’.”

Well I explained to her that that was what HR women and men always do: Make you feel you don’t know aspects of our job so that they can bargain for a lesser pay package.

“Oh don’t be ridiculous! They cannot give me lesser than what I already earn. On the contrary, they’ll not give the other fellow who has applied for the same post as I. After all, he earns a lot more than I do.”

“Yes, so what is the problem now? What did you come to ask me?”

“Well, I was thinking of writing to them. Do you think it’s a good idea?”

“Well, why do you want to write to them? It’ll only show you’re desperate.”

“Did you even listen to why I want to?”

I gave up.

“Look,” I said in exasperation,” if you have decided to write to them, write to them. Don’t try to convince me to convince you to write to them. You are convinced anyway!”

And what happened next was just what I expected to: She raised her eyebrows, rolled her eyes, declared me as impossible to talk to, and walked off.

Marry Me, Marry Me a Little No More!

We sat at the table to breakfast. I had no particular topic in mind but wasn’t going to give a cold shoulder to any that Sister Dearest would have brought up.

Right enough, two minutes after half my cheese sandwich disappeared into my mouth, she said she had spoken to Mother ultimately.

“About what?” I asked.

“Well – about that boy she was so keen on making her son-in-law.”

“Oh that fellow! Well, I thought that chapter was closed long back.”

“Well, no it wasn’t until I told her whatever happened.”

Sister Dearest was in touch with the boy in question. She dropped many a hint much against my advice to not do so. And finally, when the fellow did not show as much as a whiff of interest, she dropped the bomb. She asked him – I don’t know how – about his feelings for her or something to that effect.

Well, needless to say, he said: “I don’t know.” I told her then that this was so obvious and she snapped at me saying that Mother was quite adamant she pursue him. Of course, Sister Dearest wouldn’t have pursued the matter hadn’t she some interest in the man herself. But I did not point that out to her. Instead, I just kept quiet and let it pass.

So today, she told me she had to tell Mother about the boy’s answer all because Mother was building up pressure all over again.

“You know,” she continued, “how Mother is our Cate Blanchett (referring to the actress’s role in The Gift).”

“Yes.” I said, “I know. She’s quite a psychic.”

“So the other day when I told her about my grand proposal and its refusal, she had a dream: She met the boy’s mother!”

“Really?”

“Oh yes, and she tells Mother Dearest: Look you daughter is nice. But she’s short. My son wants someone who’s taller.”

I did not know whether to appear amused or entertained or both.

“So,” Sister Dearest continued, “I told Mother if that is the case, then there is no point pursuing that fellow anyway. I don’t want someone marrying my height you know!”

“Yes, that’s true,” I said as I decided to look amused.

“So,” she said with an air of finality as she finished her tea, “it’s settled.”

“What is?”

“That I am a career woman.”

‘Oh come on! It’s too early to say that!”

“Oh no! It isn’t. I am a career woman now. Not that I don’t want to marry. But-”

“-given the crop of men around, you don’t want to.”

“Yes.”

I left it at that.

I picked up my bowl and walked off to the kitchen sink. She had decided already and I wasn’t about to change her decision.

After all, I feel she’s right: I know men too!