Not my day – Attack of the Delivery Men

“Hazzar rupaya dena” ( Give me thousand rupees). I had opened the door in the middle of the afternoon to the incessant ring of the calling bell. This is the quiet time of the day so I was taken by surprise. 

The milk man stood outside, all dressed up with a very huge grin. It was the 24^th of the month! In my sleep befuddled mind red warning bells were ringing and if I had something to throw I would have!

I controlled myself, “I don’t have thousand rupees”

He said, “What is this madam, you don’t even have thousand rupees!”

I looked at him squarely in the eye, “End of the month I don’t have it with me”

He looked a little abashed, “Actually the delivery van is downstairs, and he needs it”

If I was a magical being I would have frozen him with my looks, “Well, I don’t have it”

After seeing him all dressed up I was determined not to give him any money. I was convinced there was no van downstairs he just wanted to go and have fun!

“I will come at six o’clock, you keep the money ready”, he said, as if he was doing me a favor.

I refused to reply.

“You cut it from the bill for the month”

As I had resumed taking milk from the middle of the month I knew the bill would not even touch thousand!

“OK?”

I said, “No! I am going out and will not be going to the ATM to withdraw money!”

At last he left me to stare wide awake at the clock and watch my precious sleep time get over.

Normally the milk packet is dumped on the floor outside the door in a haphazard fashion and I have to keep checking whether it has been delivered or not! But the next day there was the ting tong of the bell at 7 in the morning.

“Good morning madam!” the milkman stood with two packets of milk in his hand.

I took the packets, “Aren't you delivering tomorrow?”

“I am!”

“Then why are you giving me two packets?”

“I got extra, so take it”

I was already to burst, “NO! I don’t an extra one today. I will let you know when I want one”

“OK OK Can you give me that thousand rupees today?” he asked ingratiatingly

I was so tired of him I gave it to him saying that he now owes me so much for the next month.

“Theek hai theek hai” (OK OK)

I warned him, “Don’t give me any brand you feel like, I will throw it and not pay for it” was my parting shot!

It was a jinxed day ….

At nine the bell rang again. I assumed it was the garbage collector. I kept sitting as the maid normally dealt with him. But today was not my day!

She said he wanted to talk to me.

“Can you give me my money?” looking at me in half drunken stupor

I looked at him pretending incomprehension.

“Only five days left for the month to end, anyway.” He said airily

I didn't argue with this one. I just silently gave it to him.

I got a salaam for my effort and a triumphant smile. I realized my mistake! The month before I had given the money to his wife, who must not have given it to him, hence the hurry to take it from me!

The bell rang again at two o’clock in the afternoon; thankfully I had not gone for my nap. I was expecting someone from the office to pick up some documents. Without checking I opened the door.

It was the newspaperman!

He gave the bill with a flourish. After having been cheated numerous times, these days I check everything he writes.

As usual there was an extra thirty five rupees!

“What is this for?”

“Monday… Economic times!” he said smugly

“I don’t keep economic times and I don’t get any extra paper on any Monday!”

“Tch! That delivery boy is mad!”

I waited....

He reluctantly took the bill and cut off the thirty five and gave it to me.

“Today is the 25^th” I said pointedly

“It’s only so little, you can give it”

I realized today was not my day and I gave it to him with bad grace.

“Why don’t you keep DIVA, it comes every Friday?”

“No I don’t want it”

“What about magazines? You don’t read or what?”

“No” came out like a shot

I think you should read Economic Times. Shall I give that?”

My weary ‘no’ came along with the lift and I was thankful to see the back of him.

After three harrowing battles I was all girded up to meet the flower man next! But he never turned up and never delivered the flowers either.

Let me tell you what the conversation will be like.

I will give him one day/ five days less worth of money.

“What madam, one day/ five days only, why cut money for that?”

And no amount of argument will help me because ultimately I will give!

Whoever thinks that managing home finances is easy should come and live in Mumbai. For us poor housewives pay at least ten percent extra for every commodity; over and above that we are bullied into paying more than necessary, openly and callously!

Rediscovering One’s Love

“I celebrate myself, and sing myself,

And what I assume you shall assume,

For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.”

I was introduced to Walt Whitman when I joined first year of my PG course in English literature. One of our papers was American Literature. In those days the professors who had been brought up on British literature never gave the Americans much importance (“what history do they have?” said my professor who taught us Chaucer!) Nevertheless I fell in love……

I had always loved poetry as a means of expressing myself and here was someone who did exactly that. I hated the discipline of English poetry and here was someone who laid his own rules. I believe that anything with beauty and form is poetry and here was someone who had believed in this, years ago. I devoured his “Leaves of Grass” with fervor that one would devour a lover’s letters with. I read up his history; was a little uncomfortable with the fact that he might have been gay; stopped reading about him and concentrated on his works.

Other than the lines that I have quoted in the beginning, there was another – “A child said What is the grass?” is something that even now has the capacity to make me feel elated. “..The smallest sprouts show there is really no death,” is something I identify so strongly with that I feel a chill down my spine. Maybe I knew him when he was alive and the cosmic string that ties me with him is strong and one day we will recognize each other. Does that sound very mushy and romantic?

I had his book and it always had a pride of place in my book shelf. Over the last twenty five years it has reposed as an article of decoration in all the many houses that I have lived in; the pages have yellowed and become crisp yet I have always lovingly dusted it and kept it down with more gentleness than the other  treasured books. But the years have passed by and I have not really read my songs of love!

Yesterday everything changed! My TT wanted help with a poem- to understand and analyze it. Having taught poetry for some years I was not too daunted with the task. When I opened the page and saw it was a part of “the song of myself” my heart stopped for a moment. In that single microsecond, thoughts raced to outrun each other.

 Twenty five years just dissolved into thin air and here I was again in rapt attention listening (for you have to listen to his poetry!), I read it out, I don’t know whether my TT really felt my voice throb with emotion but I felt the adrenaline rush and I was just as love sick as I was twenty five years ago!

I now had the daunting task of introducing this enchanting poet to my own daughter and to incite within her an interest so that she would be able to appreciate the beauty, power and bewitching play of words and its meanings. Would she be able to understand a poet who was born almost two hundred years ago? I was further appalled to hear that she had told her teacher that the poem confused her!

This followed one hour of my peeling off the dead and thickened skin which had enveloped me. I just read the printed paper aloud, I lovingly took out my sacred books and read the lines of interpretations that I had written years ago and the flow of thoughts came back. I needed to write my thoughts…. I was again a first year student….

The pleasure, thrill and excitement that engulfed me cannot be expressed or explained but I was on a roll! Words just flowed from my fingers and I was ready to do my tutoring.

As I explained and exhibited my interpretation of the poem to my TT, I could see the glint of excitement being ignited. I don’t know whether she appreciated the poet or she was excited that some of her interpretation was similar to mine but it is a beginning and that’s what matters. I was, I think partially successful in my mission.

I hope the interest that I ignited turns into a fire (a tiny fire) and brings the surge of interest and knowledge to make her explore, search and find the rich world of words and poetry. This I truly believe is the best support system in today’s world where psychological wars are constantly raging in all spheres of existence. Now is the time when Whitman’s song never rang truer!

Wish me luck as I venture into an old world of thoughts which holds true even today.

*TT- Terrible Teenager

The Spanish Fall and other Fallen Stories

“Look its swelling up….” Followed by a wail. This was the fourth time I had twisted my ankle and fallen down……..

The day had been packed with activities. We were on the last leg of our Spanish holiday in Seville and I didn't want to miss anything. So as soon as we had checked in the hotel, we set out on a discovery of the quaint city. It was hot and dry, the hat I wore was hardly any protection, but I hadn't travelled thousands of miles to sleep in the hotel!

We went to the city center, scrounged for food and then went visiting the cathedral, shopped, loitered and as a grand finale went to the Flamenco show.

What a show it was! Colour, passion, energy, grace and beauty twirled before us in amazing succession. The sangria they served us while we watched this agape only helped to heighten the experience. Not a moment of the one and a half hour show was wasted. Each act was superimposed by the other and we hardly had time to breath. We never understood the words of the song but music is universal and the tones exhibited what words could not.

It was ten o’clock at night and the sun had not set, so we greedily thought we would pack some more activity and went for a walk by the riverside. The cobbled pathway inter spaced with trees and flowers were a treat to stroll along. Young children were cycling, skateboarding and roller skating. There were health conscious joggers, the romantic strollers, the serious walkers and a few tourists like us on the wide path. The sun was slowly setting and the purple, red and orange that streaked the sky elevated my mood. But I was tired; it had been a long day and I could feel the weakness in my limbs but I didn't want to miss a moment!

As usual I was looking at the river and I stubbed against an upright cobbled stone and fell….

Let’s not talk about the pain and the discomfort that followed and how we managed to get back to the hotel after all the moans and whines by me.  It was late, no chemists were open. Thankfully with pain killers, ice packs and some gauze bandage I went to sleep.

Depressed and fully convinced that I would never be able to make the trip to Cordoba the next day I fell into a dreamless sleep.

 I woke up to find the swelling not too bad and the pain bearable so I decided to go to Cordoba.

It was a trip I would not have missed. The bus ride which took us through the Spanish countryside was enchanting. The walking trip of Cordoba did strain me but to have missed this slice of history would have been criminal. I don’t know how I managed to go through the whole tour – it was my family’s support and the patience of the tour guide which helped me through.

The first time I twisted my ankle – I was again walking on the cobbled streets of Mumbai with my head in the air and looking everywhere but at the road. I was alone and fell badly and I was helped by two good Samaritans on the road on to an auto. It was very very painful and I managed to reach home hobbling along painfully and crying! The foot had swollen up to triple its size. I did have the presence of mind to put ice on it. What followed was weeks of being in plaster (it had a hairline crack) and travelling around the house on the computer chair!

The second time was on the rough roads of a national park. I was very happy I remember and I was hopping skipping and jumping following the car as I wanted to walk.Then Humpty Dumpty had a great fall! I was helped by a group of people and reached the car; promptly lost consciousness was taken to the hospital and followed weeks of being in a crepe bandage.

The third time was again in Mumbai, on its strangely tiled roads; having just returned to the city again to stay alone for a long period. It was wet and dark and I was happy in my own way. And the fourth time……..

What I found in common is that all the four times it was preceded by me being very happy! Wonder if the world noticed and cast an evil eye on me? After all the instances, my reaction is “its swelling up…. Waaaaa!” All the time it has been my left ankle.

I have a veritable collection of crepe bandages and anklets (the bandage not the ornament!) strewn in both my houses. I have thrown off quite a few but now I have decided I won’t because maybe sometime I will need it. In fact I have decided to carry it in my travels too!

Other than teaching me to be careful while walking, all the falls have taught me that people are helpful and they do help you when you need them. Your family is the best support system that can carry you through bad times.