THE FUTILITY OF IT ALL

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This Was A Contribution For Creative Collaboration for

Bina Gupta on Sulekha.

Rules: 225 words. City is the speaker in the post.

I am a seat of power. I have been constant witness to the folly and foible of ambitious men and women who desperately seek to win me. I am the centre of major and minor conflicts. I have been such for centuries. Therefore, my moments of ecstasy are rare. Sorrow is more my providence.

Hence, a joyous moment that happened on my terrain on the midnight of August 14/15 remains strongly embedded in my memory. At that point of time, the yoke of subjugation of 400 years was lifted off my neck and my own sons and daughters took on the responsibility of looking after me. One of the noblest sons of mine in ringing tones proclaimed, “Long years ago we made a tryst with destiny ….. A moment comes, which comes but rarely in history, when the soul of a nation, long suppressed, finds utterance.” It was a moment of joy. It was a moment of inspiration.

However, it was short-lived. Alas, within less than six months the same son was saying, “Friends and Comrades, the light has gone out of our lives and there is darkness everywhere.” It was a moment of depravation.

The apostle of non-violence had been felled. As the great messenger of peace sank into my bosom, I received him - the ultimate destination of the powerful and the helpless.

CUPID'S CAPERS

Their marriage was only six months old but already showing signs of foundering. Thus, the drive from Mumbai to Khandala was an agonizing experience with Paayal moaning all the way that it was going to be an unexciting get-away. After checking into the luxurious holiday resort, it was still the same story.

“It is so dull and boring here in Khandala. I am dying for some action. Rinku, think of something exciting.” whined Paayal.

“Let’s go to the Bushy dam” said he, trying to placate her.

“No way. The crowd there is full of eve teasers and you are no Samson to be able to keep them away” snapped Paayal getting back on to her cell phone.

“But all the same we will have some action” replied Rinku with sarcasm dripping from the corner of his lips. But it was lost on Payaal as she seemed involved in a cell phone conversation.

After she finished her over animated chat, she excitedly said, “BTW, Rinku, my office friend Jason is also in Khandala. I’ve invited him over. He is so witty and charming and such a delightful company. Not a recluse like you. You really are going to hate him” she added with a mean laugh.

Jason arrived. He was indeed a tall and good looking guy with an air of easy charm about him. Paayal went ballistic on seeing him. She hugged and air-kissed him. Rinku looked on resignedly.

Suddenly, Jason’s wife Rehana, who was at the back, shrieked and called out, “Hey, aren’t you, Rinku.”

“Rehaaaana” replied an equally delighted Rinku.

In no time they were transposed back to their college days, laughing and exchanging high-fives. Rinku bloomed and was in his element making Rehana burst into giggles all the time. Stories and escapades of days gone by were remembered, related and relished with great glee and amusement. At that moment of time, they were lost to the world. It was only as if just the two of them were there. The spark of the former days looked like igniting once more.

Jason, the lady-killer, had never seen this side of Rehana ever and was literally dumbfounded at the chemistry between the two.

Rinku and Rehana simultaneously remembered their college picnic to Bushy dam and how they had cavorted under the waterfall.

“And Rinku do you recollect how you carried me when my foot slipped?” said Rehana bursting into peals of laughter.

Jason now had enough of it. However, with a polished tone, he said “Rinku, can I have my Rehana back before you seduce her any further?”

There was laughter all around and to which Paayal added, “And Rehana, may I have my hunk back? I want him to take me to the Bushy Dam.”

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THE PATHWAY TO A WOMAN'S HEART

Women, of all ages, are romantic at heart. It is one of the world’s most well kept secrets.

Women are, thus, a soft touch for starry-eyed stories. This is the golden pathway to a woman’s heart. This is what women really want – a good warm story. Only Yash Chopra and I are on to it.

Accidentally, I just happen to be an incorrigible storyteller. In my stories, I love mingling facts, fiction and fantasies. I have become such a veteran of this art, that after having woven the story, even I cannot separate the ingredients. Neither can Yash Chopra.

The biggest victim of these endless flights of my imagination was my wife in the early days of our marriage. Like any insecure person, I would tell her stories, more likely, fables, wherein I would make myself the hero. I could put Walter Mitty to shame any day.

Just after marriage, this story had my wife spellbound. I feel it is best to hear that narrative as I had told to my wife then. It made her believe that she was extremely lucky to be married to a very enviable lady-killer like me. Of course, she is wiser now. But unfortunately for her, it is a little too late! The stick-on has set.

I commenced the story to her thus:

“In my class at the college, there used to be an extremely beautiful girl by the name of Simran Bedi. She was really a pocket edition Venus. However, overpowering her total beauty, were her eyes. She had such lovely translucent eyes – light gray- green in colour.

Naturally, all the boys wanted to be friends with her but, somehow, it seemed that she was allured only by me. In spite of this, she and I would only exchange shy glances, for both of us were too timorous and hesitant to approach each other. Sadly, that was also the state of the entire new entrants to the college – all were finding it difficult to interact across the small groups that they had formed.

Therefore, the college organized an evening social for the first year students as an ice-breaking event. The social was to be from 5.30 pm to 7.30 pm as girls in those days were not allowed to be out of home after 8 pm. No hi-jinks or dancing was even contemplated for this get-together; only tame party games were to be played so that students would get to know one another. That was about all. The compere for the evening was a senior, Murli Mirchandani – popularly nicknamed Mirchi. He could well have been nicknamed, motor mouth.

The social was in a big hall in the basement. Mirchi, the master of ceremonies, went ho-hum in his opening remarks that evoked few nervous titters. The audience was too tense to enjoy his witticisms. After a few opening games, the ever popular ‘passing the parcel’ was announced.

The music started for the game and the parcel started going around at a fast pace. The music would then stop suddenly and the person holding the parcel, at that point of time, had to peel off the top paper layer of the packet and pay the penalty as written thereon. After many enjoyable punishments, the atmosphere seemed to be warming up.

As the game was nearing the end and the packet was being handed over frantically from one to another like a hot potato, the music stopped and the parcel was in Simran’s hand. She took off the top layer and the forfeit read, ‘You have to be kissed by a person of the opposite sex.’ There was an audible murmur of shock and disbelief in the audience.”

I paused here for an edge-of-the seat effect on the wife. She was wide-eyed and very excitedly asked, “Then what happened?”

I grandly asked for a glass of water. I drank the water at a leisurely pace to deliberately give her some extra anxious long moments. Thereafter, I continued,

“Simran was feeling extremely embarrassed and wanted another simpler fine but Mirchi would not hear of it. Finally, she agreed and looked around for a suitable boy. Frankly, Mirchi was hoping, she would select him. However, Simran, after looking around for a while, chose me.

As I started walking towards her at the centre of the hall, I could see that she was feeling extremely nervous at the prospect. I do not know what got into me at that moment for I boldly took the opportunity, bent down and ………………..gave her a very light peck - barely touching her cheek. She was relieved. Quietly, she said, ‘Thank you,’ but her eyes said much more.

The ice between the most beautiful girl in the college and me had been broken as I graciously said, ‘My pleasure.’ And, with a twinkle in my eye added, ‘You are welcome again, anytime.’”

As I ended my story, there were stars in my wife’s eyes. Spontaneously she said, “What a chivalrous person you were.” With that, she rushed towards me saying, “I love you soooooooo much.”

Quickly, I said under my breath, “Thank you, Walter Mitty.”


This post is an entry for the contest What Women Want @blogadda.com and pringoo.com

A MOMENT OF WEAKNESS

                       

One of the winners of Blogadda's "My first Crush !" Contest declared June 18, 2010.

The contest was judged by Preeti Shenoy author of '34 Bubblegums and Candies’. 

      She wrote: "A moment of weakness by Hanif Murad:

"Reading the above piece made me go‘aaaaaaaaw’. It is very well written too. Read it and you will see    why."

As Bombay started receding from the rear view mirror, we could feel the change in the weather. The chilliness in the air was bracing, as the car slowly started climbing the ghats towards its destination. The holiday resort we had booked was perched right on the top of the hill and was supposed to have a breathtaking view of the valley. It promised to be a great holiday. I had, then, just been promoted to Standard X of my school. I had also attained, for the first time in my school career, the top rank in the class. However, I was bespectacled and gawky in my looks.

The owner of the resort and his wife were a friendly and an affable couple. However, their 15-year-old daughter, although living in a small hill station, had a mega attitude about her. She preferred to stay aloof from everyone. It was by sheer chance that my parents casually mentioned about my recent scholastic accomplishments to the owner’s wife. She, thereupon, requested me to coach her daughter some mathematics as she had failed in that subject.

I was thrilled by this opportunity for, truth be told, I was smitten by her fresh scrubbed looks. Therefore, I was secretly delighted that she had failed in mathematics for I thought this would bring down her conceited bearing when we would meet the next day for the tuition. However, I was in for a surprise.

The next morning found us sitting together, at one corner of the huge dining table, for the teaching and learning of the Unitary Method. She was arrogance personified and almost made it appear as if she was doing me a favour by being willing to learn the subject from me. I checked her mathematics’ class workbook and found it not only untidy, but also full of angry crosses by her teacher in red ink.

Nevertheless, keeping her outlook in mind and my feelings for her, I asked her in a very conciliatory tone, “Mrinalni, tell me what you don’t understand about these sums?”

Haughtily she replied, “Everything.”

Keeping my cool, I jokingly replied, “That’s good. We can start from the beginning.”

She condescendingly nodded her head to imply that she may just deign to hear me out. It felt that I was the one actually on trial.

I started with the simplest of the equations and told her how to place the fixed and the variable values in the proper slots to arrive at the correct answer. Thereafter, I set her a problem but she just could not get it right. Being as infatuated as I was at that time, I remained extremely patient with her. Repeatedly, in different ways, I tried to explain the formula to her but it was all in vain.

Finally, I could not take it anymore and with great exasperation told her, “You don’t have brains. You have sawdust there.”

She flared up at that, and with her cheeks glistening red with anger, she pulled the books from me, shut them with a loud bang and, after giving me a regal sneer, walked away. She went straight to her mother and banging her fist forcefully on the table told her, “I don’t care if I have to repeat this class for a hundred years but I will not be taught by him. He is an awful teacher. He cannot even explain a simple formula!”

For fifteen days after that, we did not speak to each other. However, a picnic and a game of antakshari came to the rescue. Knowing the cold war between Mrinalni and me, we were put on opposite sides. I launched the game with the soulful number from Madhumati, ending with,

Ruthhe Hain Naa Jaane Kyo, Mehamaan Woh Mere Dil Ke

I must have rendered the song with some feeling for most people thought I was pouring out my heart to Mrinalni. The game, however, proceeded normally until Mrinalni, most unsuspectingly, responded to a later antakshari cue and sang the opening line of another song from Madhumati,

Aaja re,

There is a small interlude after that and as Mrinalni paused, a lot of furtive glances were exchanged amongst the participants but Mrinalni was totally unaware of them. She continued,

Pardesi,
Main To Kab Se Khadi Is Paar, Ye Ankhiyaan Thak Gayi.
Panth Nihaar, Aaja Re Pardesi

As she innocently ended the mukhda, there was a burst of spontaneous laughter. Someone, looking towards me, quipped, “Hey, you have got your answer.” That was the first time Mrinalni realized the possible implication of the song. She blushed furiously, hid her face in the palm of her hands and went right at the back where no one could see her. After the game ended, I went up to her and said, “Mrinalni that was a beautiful way of expressing your feelings.”

“Eh, Mister, don’t flatter yourself. Chhera kabhi seeshe mein dekha hai” was her quick retort. It was vintage Mrinalni. But the defrost had begun. After a week, I left for Bombay and Mrinalni found it difficult to put up a brave face at my departure.

Many years have passed since then and Mrinalni is now married and has two cute children. The children love to hear me recount the above anecdote. I begin the narrative thus to them, “Your mother is a very beautiful woman but even at the age of 15, she could not add up 9 + 7.” The children - who are five and seven years old - are greatly amused by this revelation about their mother. Finally, I would end the story by saying, “Ananya, you are as beautiful as your mother but I hope you don’t have sawdust in your head!” At this, both the children would squeal in delight and Ananya would say, “No, no. I am like Papa.”

Mrinalni, at this point, with mock-strictness, would tell the children, “You have heard your Papa’s favorite bedtime story, now off to bed.” Mrinalni fondly remembers that Valentine day, about nine years ago, when, as she blushingly says, in a moment of weakness she had agreed to marry the Pardesi.

US Playing Good Cop, Bad Cop With India - Post 007

As expected, some Nuclear Suppliers Group (NSG) members like Austria, Ireland and Switzerland are against giving India a "clean waiver" without a formal assurance from it that there will be no further nuclear tests. Now, New Zealand, Canada and Japan have also joined them. They are the bad cops. All the same, this is an upfront demand and India, if it so wishes, can reject it.

However, the real danger is the United States - playing the role of the good cop. The Bush administration is deploying the classic diplomatic strategy of appearing to be India’s friend whilst persuading the UPA government to give in to the demands of the above countries to incorporate the additional clause - that all nuclear commerce would come to a halt if India conducted any further nuclear tests. This would virtually mean signing the Comprehensive Test Ban Treaty (CTBT) in another form and accepting a status of a non nuclear weapons state permanently.

It would also mean that the pioneering work of over 60 years of the Indian nuclear scientists in developing indigenous nuclear technology, despite the strenuous attempts of the Western powers to suppress their endeavor, would also go in vain. As per the terms of the safeguard agreement, all further work would have to be done under the scrutiny of International Atomic Energy Agency (IAEA). These scientists have done such highly creditable research work that even the nuclear deal 123 agreement, which also refuses to recognize India as a nuclear weapon state, admits that India is a state "possessing advanced nuclear technology."

Moreover, India also has sufficient uranium resources for its immediate requirements. Mr. Ramendra Gupta, the Chairman and Managing Director of Uranium Corporation of India Ltd., categorically stated on June 8, 2008, in an interview with a leading national newspaper, “We have enough uranium resources.” He went on to add, “There is some mismatch for the time being which is expected to be over once these new projects (mining and processing) are commissioned. And for 20,000 megawatt of power, we have enough uranium resources in the country.” By that time, hopefully, Indian nuclear scientists, if there are no restraints of IAEA on them, would have cracked the advanced heavy water reactor technology of using the substitute thorium, described as the fuel of the future, instead of uranium, to generate electricity on a massive scale. And we have the world’s largest reserve of thorium.

Therefore, there is absolutely no need for India, at the behest of USA, to back down on our terms of a clean waiver from the NSG. Security of India should not be compromised to propitiate the Bush administration.

Shahrukh Ke Pass Kya Hai - Post 006

An on site account of Kat’s Birthday Bash.

Enter Shahrukh.

“Hi, Kat. Happy birthday. Won’t you kiss me?”

“Of course Sharukh, I will. But in private.”

Laughter all around. Kat then goes off to meet other guests.

Sallu now enters the scene.

“Hi, Shahrukh.”

“Hi, Sals.”

“Dude, I believe you are getting too close to Kat. Just lay off her.”

“But, what can I do? She is the one who dreams about me all the while.”

“Oh, she told you about it.”

“Yeah, she did. But really not her fault. Actually, my charm is such; millions of women go to bed dreaming about me.”

“And I believe, some men too. Whatever be it, just forget about her. Remember dude, you are trespassing on my property.”

“Uh uh. That’s not right. Kings do not trespass. All properties belong to the king and he can go wherever he wants.”

“King or not, just lay off Kat.”

“Sals, threatening a king is high treason.”

“I don’t know about that but if you do not lay off her, I will make the king literally bite the dust in the next few moments.”

“Cool it, buddy, I was just kidding. Okay, if you say so, I will only stick to K… K… K… Kiran.”

“Hey, who is talking of my wife? No one is sticking to my Kiran. She is mine and only mine.”

“Heard that dude? Same way, Kat is mine and only mine.”

“And Kareena is only mine, for the time being at least” said a new voice.

Then all the 3 voices said in unison, “And, Your Majesty, who do you have of your own?”

The king having no one, thought for a moment and then said, “Mere pass K….K…. K….. Karan hai.”

And with that the king walked out from the party in a huff.


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Why Kat Went Under The Bed - (Post 005)

THE PREQUEL TO THE BIG BOLLYWOOD FIGHT

Kat picks the landline phone and hears,

“Hi, Little Kitten. Happy Birthday.”

“Oh, hi, Sharukh sweetheart. Thaaanks. Hope to see you at my birthday party to-night. Sweety, I’ve to tell you something. I’ve been thinking about you the whole night.”

“Oh, have you?”

“Yes darling. The kiss you gave me last night at my pre-birthday party is still lingering on my hot burning cheeks.”

“Oh, really.”

“And also the tight hug you gave me afterwards. I replay those moments in my memory all the time.”

“Oh, do you?”

“Yes dear, I do. Thank God Sallu was not there.”

“Oh, were you happy he was not there?”

“Yes, I was. He spoils everything.”

“Oh, does he?”

“Anyway, let us not talk about him. Tell me, when are you coming over to my pad?”

“I am on my way. Only this is not Sharukh but Sallu. Keep your door open. You know what I do to closed doors.”

“Help, Billy. Billy, please open the door quickly. He is coming.”

“Who? Sharkuh?”

“No, no. He is coming.”

“Oh my God.”

Both the sisters then cover themselves with a big single bed sheet and go under the bed.

“Billy, I have closed my eyes and you also shut your eyes tight. That way he will not be able to see us.”