Jasmine’s Aladdin

“I won’t be silenced
You can’t keep me quiet
Won’t tremble when you try it
All I know is I won’t go speechless”

Who doesn’t know the story of Aladdin? I have read Aladdin at least thrice; played the game innumerable times; watched the Disney movie at least once and before I talk about the latest, I had the privilege to watch a performance in the theatre a couple of years back. This was an entirely different and wonderful excitement. Imagine watching the actors performing live before you and singing the song on stage whilst doing all the action that is an intrinsic part of the story! When I look back at it, I am filled with wonder at the stage settings and the special effects that were created to transport us into another world.

Today I am talking of another magical experience. I watched the latest Aladdin movie based on the Disney story. Obviously a musical, it makes our imagination go on a roller coaster ride along with the lead characters. Such a simple story line yet what a lot it has to say!

We have the clear good and the bad characters(Of course Aladdin steals and tells lies but these are accepted grey areas of goodness); we also have the incidents growing progressively towards the climax of a huge battle; the natural movement of the evil overpowering goodness and then getting reckless with the power and strength of invincibility is very well crafted. Even though you know who will win, the moment you enter the world of Agrabah you are again the puny human tossed in the waves of uncertainty. So there we are sitting at the edge of the seats praying that Aladdin wins. Then of course innocence wins, and we go home happy and satisfied.

How then does the narrative offer us something new? The most famous song ‘A whole new world’ of course is a timeless classic :

“..I’ve come so far
I can't go back to where I used to be”

How well it mirrors each of our lives! How many times have we tried to go back to that space where we were the happiest but are never able to recapture the magic? The romance embedded in the lines:

“...a thrilling chase
a wondrous place
for you and me”

Makes even the heart of an ancient person palpitate with the thrill of first love. I believe that the success of Aladdin over the years is because it touches the intrinsic core within an individual and mirrors some facet or the other that is lying dormant within us.

Though not authenticated it is supposed to be a part of the thousand and one tales of Arabic origin but it is largely attributed to Antoine Galland the French translator in the eighteenth century.

What strikes one is the fact that Princess Jasmine lived in a world where women had no rights, yet over the years in different settings we are introduced to her as an independent woman with a stubbornness of getting her own way. She refuses to be only seen (as an object of beauty) and demands that she be heard. So we have a millennial Jasmine, independent, stubborn, ambitious and combat ready. She refuses to be “speechless” and demands justice even in face of the oppressive power of Jaffar.

Jasmine does not cry and berate her fate as she is captured, instead she chooses to be a lawyer and turns into an advocate for the people of Agrabah. Pleading with Hakim( head of the royal guards) to judge the correctness of the law that makes him bow before Jaffar.

The ending is also very daring and new as she takes up the mantle of being a Sultan and ‘arrests’ Aladdin for being a thief, to presumably take over his life completely.

The magic continues… the wonderful genie; the magic carpet; Abu and the cave of wonders all lend their enchantment towards the world of Aladdin. The negative energy of Jaffar and Iago create the obstacles without which this tale would not be turbulent and filled with excitement as it moves from point to point. It makes us jump over the rooftops of Agrabah with the foot tapping beats of Aladdin’s lunges, jumps, swings and somersaults!

So a new take on an old tale; an empowered woman; a millennial man; a kind genie and the proverbial ogre Jaffar; all the trappings of a modern fairy tale. There is plenty to learn; each of the songs open our eyes to truths with a humorous twist and makes us want to go back into this celluloid dream.

 

  

Never got the GOT!

The other day I saw a post on Facebook which said that ‘if you have never watched a single episode of The Game of Thrones than click on the link below’.

“Should I click on it”, I wondered. I recently found out that GOT was first aired in 2010, so I looked back at my 2010; it had been an exciting year for me, but I do not remember hearing about this series. My children were then teenagers and they should have told me about it (I must remember to ask them whether they did let me know). The first that I became conscious of it was in 2013 when my then ‘terrible teenager’ would slouch on the sofa and stream it online on her laptop.

 I would sometime peep over her shoulder and see a lot of black, brown and blue graphics, so I never was interested! (I love the colourful ‘Rangeela” kind of pictures!). Once in a while I heard the sisters discussing it over the phone. I am not a suspicious mother, but what struck me every time they spoke was whether somebody would die. This further distanced me from even attempting to see one episode!

I have plenty of people on Facebook who love to discuss the GOT and obviously I skip over these posts. As I have a husband who is the least interested in TV serials, I did not get any knowledge from him either. The doctor in the family is very kind to me; she specifically informs me about new TV serials, the trending things on youtube videos, the latest Netflix and Prime video offerings. So I don’t feel too left out by the millennial generation. But she never discussed this with me either. I was sometimes tempted to start seeing it but all the comments regarding the episodes pulled me back .

As the younger one (TT) left her teens she continued to watch this and discuss this with her sister but neither of them attempted to persuade me to do so. In fact I remember clearly that one or both of them made me watch “Stranger Things”. This was also an uncomfortable serial with a lot of blue, black and brown colours, filled with eerie and strange things but I watched both seasons. I was under extreme discomfort, but I was fascinated by it and in my own way, loved it (I remember binge watching it too!).

Fantasy is fascinating for me; I love magic and ‘other dimensional’ narratives, hence an obsession with the Harry Potter series. Why then did I not get the GOT? Frankly I have no answer. Maybe it was the whispers about sex and violence and the mandatory death after each episode which put me off. Could be that I love to relax when I watch a movies and silent murmurs told me otherwise. Possibility of age catching up was also there (though I believe that a majority of the fans are as old if not older than me).

I believe the last season is just over and that is what made me curious about it. I, of course went to my favourite library “Google” and did a little reading. I was surprised to find that it had won a number of awards. Maybe another reason why I did not sidle into watching it! I very adroitly avoid watching Award winning movies ( I can see the eyebrows reaching the ceilings by now!). I also believe that it has a humongous cast which again could confuse my little brain!

Many of my friends do doubt my sensibilities when it comes to movies! Once I had praised a movie sky-high; the hounding response I got for my admiration, put me off ever trying to write a movie review!

So here I am feeling a little lost and talking about The GOT without having watched even half an episode! I do not understand the hoo-hah over it and do not even want to. Does that make me passé?

You tell me! I have stopped watching Hindi TV serials for the last ten years, so I am a misfit when I go to parties, specially the Ladies ones; now I will certainly be an oddity in any kind of gathering as I do not have an iota of information to contribute to  a discussion on the GOT!

Where have all the colours gone?

Having been a Jeans and t-shirt person all through my young life, I had gone berserk in the year after I got married. I wore all the feminine Indian clothes- brightly coloured with matching jewellery and bangles to boot! And Boy! Had I enjoyed myself! Green, purple, orange all the possible loud colours had suddenly become my favourite. Of course over the years I have mellowed and refrain from wearing too bright a colour. But give me a chance (A wedding or a festival) I am back, wallowing in the multiple hues of life.

“Hey! Isn’t that a lovely shade of black”, said the twenty something to her pal beside her.

“That’s good”, agreed the pal, “but you should have seen the black Sheena was wearing yesterday! it was to die for”.

These days I am like R.K.Laxman’s “Common man”, I am here , there and everywhere with a bag over my shoulder; a very silent spectator of the drama of life. If I could draw, I would be another famous cartoonist.

Listening to the above conversation, I wondered what were the shades of black? Of course I had heard of this book called the “Fifty shades of grey” but shades of black was what I had not heard of. When in doubt Google is my mantra. Sure enough Wikipedia had seventeen different shades of black listed!

For a change I tried to be “in the moment” and started looking around and noticing all the young people who  were crowded in and outside the fast food restaurant, smoking, having tea or coffee or some junk food or the other. The young men (I was pleasantly surprised) were quite nattily dressed and most of them looked healthy and well built (the gym effect?) The girls were a different story, fifty percent of them were overweight, the other fifty percent were a mixture of toned bodies, normal bodies, anorexic bodies and normal skinny ones.

Whether it was “the black conversation” I overheard or the general gloominess in the political scenario, I saw that the bottom half of  all the girls were black. Most of them wore black leggings, some wore the very popular jeggings, many had on the formal trousers (There are many offices in the vicinity) and a miniscule few had churidars on.  So if you were to be polite and not stare, you would focus on the bottom half, right? Well there was a virtual sea of black, weaving in and out on the grey asphalt! I must have seen this before, but I had never been conscious of this fact.

Can you picture what I saw? Black sea with smoke rising from within it! The smoke could be the cigarettes or from the steaming cups of tea and coffee. Whatever it was, my world looked a little drab and forlorn. As I swept my eyes surreptitiously from ground zero to an altitude of five feet plus, I noticed the tops were either different shades of white( Check it out on google) or blue or pink. Where I wondered had the greens, purples, oranges or even the  bright yellow gone?

I did not look at the men, they anyway never had a great colour palette, it was the girls I was inspecting. Where had all the feminine love for bright hues gone? Why were they all following a uniform code of conduct for dressing? Agreed black makes you look slimmer, so I understood the penchant for bottom halves being black but what about the top half? Don’t we women always want to stand out? Be different from the others? Why if a film actress wears a dress which is even two percent similar to another actress’s dress the tabloids go crazy putting up the two pictures and pointing out the similarities! Fortunately I have cut off our cable Television otherwise all the news channels would be airing the same picture again and again!

Now that I had become conscious of the new fad, my eyes went on searching for a different picture in various backgrounds. The next time I went to the Mall I looked discerningly at the crowd. In the food court it was all dark under the table! I also noticed that three new brands of leggings had set up shop in different parts of the mall.

Out of curiosity I went into my favourite one “Go Colours” and asked them what colour had the highest sale. The answer was not much of a surprise- it was black of course! I then asked them about the different shades of black and they were very aware of it. (I felt such a dodo!)

“Why do you have such a wonderful display of rainbow colour leggings, jeggings and what not?”, I asked inquisitively.

The salesman had the patience of a saint, he said, “That is for display, it attracts customers”.

“But there are very few blacks?”, I objected.

“Madam we have a store room at the back filled with them. They do not look good on display, so we do not put them out”, the salesman said dismissively.

Having learnt a valuable lesson, I realised that even though the world is turning into a colourless graveyard, the human mind is still alive. Why do I say that? Well as long as the hoardings and displays depend on colours to attract customers then all is right with the world and God is in his heaven.

Maybe this is just a phase and my colours will creep back into the world like a time lapse picture of winter turning to spring!

Till it does will anyone answer my question- Where have all the colours gone?

Saga of drivers across the world!

We are spoilt lot! Specially the middle class in India; we are not rich, but we have the comfort of a paramilitary army of helpers! We have the maids, the nannies, the drivers, the milkman, the newspaper boy, the gardener…. The list goes on. I would not have appreciated them if I had not gone abroad for a couple of years and learnt how difficult it was to get house help, leave alone the expenses involved.

Years back when the children were very young, we were privileged to have a life with a company provided car and driver, from then on till now the drivers have played an important part in my learning-about-life process.

The first time we had a non-Indian driver was when we were in Egypt. They are astoundingly different from ours. Other than being excellent drivers- manoeuvring the huge cars in small spaces and going through choc-a-bloc traffic like a hot knife in butter, they were a part of the family. They looked after our children like they were their own. They bargained for us at the vegetable market as if they were saving their own money. They cared for us when we were ill and celebrated our joy with the same enthusiasm that we did. I always forgot that they were from a different religion and  had different rituals!

How were they different from our erstwhile drivers? Except for a couple of drivers (We went through at least ten in ten years), specially the Mumbai ones, the drivers we have had were always out to swindle us; it could be overtime, or telling that the traffic police had caught them, or demanding holidays (we Indians have thirteen festivals in twelve months!). the question of them caring for us or vice-versa was almost next to nil. There was always a wall of suspicion between us!

The next type was the European one. We had a driver to take us through Italy and its beautiful countryside. He was of course different from either the Indians or the Egyptians. Extremely elegant, he was like an exalted guide; educated, articulate and informative. He neither gave us any information about himself nor asked us for any. Never did he follow us when we went sightseeing or advise us where to eat or what to buy. In the car however, he was a part of our family; friendly and humorous. But he had his lines which neither he nor we crossed!

Recently we had the opportunity of experiencing another set of drivers in the heavenly kingdom of Bhutan. The driver who was with us throughout the day was also our unofficial guide. He advised us about meals, regaled us with stories of this land of Buddha and took care of us in every possible way. Welcomed us with a smile (however early it was) and bade goodnight with the same smile (however late it might have been). He drove us to the base of the Tiger’s nest and climbed all the way up (believe me it is a torturous climb!) and came down insisting on carrying our backpack and then drove us back to the hotel! He knew I was in pain and never missed a chance to enquire about my wellbeing! By the time we left we were friends. What I realised was, they were not too well off in terms of money, but they were always filled with happiness; they were satisfied with their lives and grateful for what destiny had given them.  

Even the Taxi drivers had a smile on their face when they ferry you unlike the Uber drivers in the USA who think they are much superior to you!

We took a small break in Guwahati before braving the noise and crowd of Mumbai, here fortunately we had a good driver but being Indian they have their own barricades.

Landing in Mumbai, it was a cultural shock to be harassed by the Uber drivers! They neither have a smile nor an apology when they are late. In fact they will state their delay in such a way that you feel guilty that you asked them for a ride!

Could be the stress and pressure they go through make them this way (I am trying to empathise!) However it would be wonderful if they could learn that being happy in spite of adversity is not a crime; that a smile does not cost them a penny; responding to a thank you with a “Welcome” rather than grunt would not hurt either.

Believe me they earn triple the amount that a Bhutanese or an Egyptian driver does! Can you blame us for not having a full time driver in Mumbai?

Status-“Pending Verification”

I remember my twenty first birthday vaguely. A couple of my friends had a small celebration of my coming of age. It was no big deal; I still think adulthood is a lot of hogwash! Other than bringing with it burden and pain, it stresses that you are now responsible for yourself. Of course we Indians as compared to the rest of the world are a spoilt lot. Our parents continue to take care of us till we are either married or working, whatever the age of the child- I could be thirty five, but because I am unmarried, I live with my parents!

Going back to my twenty first, I remember we discussed a lot about being able to vote. Most of my friends and I came from families who moved every three years, it was the norm rather than a novelty. There was no Aadhar card (UID Card) so we never had any ID with a permanent address. The privileged few who had a passport those days were really not bothered about voting. To be honest -as my Face Book page will inform all-, I was apolitical. I had this idea that politics was meant for uneducated and corrupt people of the country. Only criminals and goons played in the political arena . I admit I was wrong! But at that age your attitude is “I am RIGHT about everything”.  If I cast my mind back, what resurfaces is I loved taking all the privileges that I had and ignored the ones that I did not. Its better to walk on clean roads rather than clean the sewers that run underneath them was my motto!

Well, the sewers got murkier! All the dust was swept under the carpet of governance. Like many of my contemporaries, I continued to grumble about the state of affairs. It was in fact a good conversation piece like “the weather”, at parties and get togethers. Fortunately we are in a democratic country where we have the freedom of speech. I must be honest here that many and not all were like me. We had a host of student leaders who tried to bring in changes (debatable whether they were good and positive!) But in their own way they tried, that is more than can be said of me!

I did move out of parents house soon after and started my own family. But I continued to be a nomad. This trickled down to the fact that I did have proof of my permanent address but unfortunately, I was never there when the elections were held. I have to confess now that I have never voted in my life. Once or twice I tried enrolling in the voters list of the then residential place, but the ‘red tape’ was so tortuous that I would give up mid-way!

Life went on; busy life if I may say so! Managing a house, bringing up children, handling the work front, indulging in hobbies socializing… the list is endless. I never really missed not voting. What could any government do that would change my life? The corruption would continue, so would the fleecing of the common people and violence and murder would be meted out to any protestor who dared to question the atrocities! I wanted to be safe , I wanted my family to be safe, so I stayed as far away as possible from any kind of politics.

Maybe it was a biological or chemical change within me- as I approached mid life- I sat up and took stock of myself. From a very jaundiced outlook (I was at the same time diagnosed with a liver disorder!) I grew up to a pacifist frame of mind. I am a fatalist by nature, but I started questioning my beliefs and faith. From a “Know all” I progressed to “All I know”. With the internet boom I realised the limitations of my knowledge. I had always been a voracious reader, the internet made me learn so many new things; you would think I had become wiser than ever before! Yes, I was older, but was I wiser? was a question I would rather avoid answering.

But the General Elections were looming large. I decided I would ink my fingers for the first time in my life. The newspaper and all media sources were filled with easy ways of enrolling yourself as a voter. I had the time and inclination; there was still three months to go before the Elections. I went online, uploaded my photograph and my husband's too. It took me a whole day to upload all the documents that were needed, onto the website. I felt satisfied and happy that I had done my bit. Now was the waiting period, when they would be verified. I knew it would take time, so I forgot about it for a month (I am a time freak! So you must understand how hard this was for me!)

After a month I checked  the website– the bubble now moved from “documents accepted” to “awaiting verification”. The status remained the same for the next month or so. When April began (the cruellest month according to T.S.Eliot!) I checked again. My status was status quo, but my husband’s status had changed to “rejected”! When I checked further it said that the problem was with his photograph, they also said that they had tried to contact him but had not been able to! I am at home every day, when did anyone come to check anything is the question! And what about me? Why is my status still “Pending Verification”?

The elections have begun, I have no hope that I shall ink my fingers in this one either. For the first time in my life I was trying to be proactive- to bring about a change but whether it was fate or the manipulative government (people say that all our chats and internet data are spied upon!)that has effectively barred me from exercising my right. But I hope my right to speech is not infringed upon and I shall continue to protest through my missiles (after all the pen can be mightier than the sword!)

The dance of Democracy continues to be performed by a bunch of monkeys and donkeys and the so called “intellectuals” sit back and watch the antics!

Autos, shopping and birthday discounts!

I decided not to take the car- it’s a pain when you are stuck in a traffic jam with San Francisco type of steep roads! I did not take the Uber either as it is double the price of the ever present Auto on Mumbai roads. I mean you just walk out of your apartment and there is someone to take you wherever you want to, as against booking an Uber on your App, then waiting for the driver to come and then paying for your last trip (I invariably forget to pay it immediately!).

 

So here I was sitting in the yellow and black tuk-tuk waiting for the traffic to move. I thanked God for not having taken the car! Only a Mumbaikar can understand what it is to be stuck in a traffic jam on a narrow steep road! The sun was beating down mercilessly on me, so I shifted to the middle of my seat. The school bus and the BEST bus were both trying to inch their way to the left of the road and the trail of Autos were snaking in and out like a rat amongst an Elephant herd- irritating but unavoidable!

After a minor surgery which had made me home-bound for two weeks, I was going out on a solo window shopping “shall pick up if I like something” kind of trip. The big boss was out on a conference and the children were living their own lives. I got a lot of “Have Fun” stickers from all three when I woke up in the morning! I knew I was going to beat my goal of ten thousand steps that day, so I dutifully did my stretching exercise before I started out on my adventure.

There is a lot of construction going on for the metro so after braving the elements on the very steep road, we were stuck again at another traffic jam.

 I admire the  new age Auto drivers! Most of them have their cell phones fixed on the steering wheel a la Uber drivers and they have earphones through which they are either listening to music or watching something on their phones. Most of them are not overweight (as were their erstwhile predecessors) and many, if not all, have some kind of uniform (Totally white or totally Khaki). But like their predecessors they have one leg tucked under them and the other foot is also bare; their sandals kept neatly by their side.

Making a living out of the noisy polluted life lines of the city without losing their cool is admirable! They have the patience to inch their way into gaps; they have the courage to go “where no man has gone before” and the talent to pass by huge buses within millimetres of getting crushed between two big ones! Very few lose their cool and they have a good word as they pass by their colleagues on the road. But they judge their passengers too. I have seen them take out two rupees and give it the poorer people, but they are always without change when they need to return anything to me! Its ok, they charge me half the price of an Uber so two rupees is okay.

I spent four hours at the Mall. The air conditioned precinct was a pleasure after being on the road for an hour, that too for a distance of less than four kilometres. I would have reached faster had I walked!

I had fun; trying out outlandish clothes; browsing all kinds of accessories; looking longingly at the slim mannequins with their bizarre but stylish dresses. I had the money but not the figure to carry them off! I thought I was being clever- buying only what I would wear (I almost picked up inappropriate clothes, but good sense prevailed, and I left them at the billing counter!) After doing the rounds of the designer clothing stores (I picked up quite a few bargains!), I decided to break for lunch (already seven thousand steps done!).

Guilty indulgence of coffee with burger and fries (Had decided to skip dinner anyway- so forgivable!) I tightened my girdle and started on the last leg of my adventure. Till now I had avoided the pitfall of being seduced at the offer of twenty percent off because its my birthday month!( Every store offers you a loyalty card and as this is my favourite hunting ground, everyone knows my birthday month!) With a full stomach, and no time or budget limit I entered the last of my arena. I did get a couple of things, but it added up to a measly two thousand rupees so not much of a discount. I decide I would not claim it but then I realised that to claim it I would have to shop again within that month, so catch twenty two situation. 

While I was dithering, I had come to the top of the line and the billing chap immediately said,“Ma’am this is your birthday month, why don’t you pick up something else? You will get flat twenty percent off.”

I confess to the whole wide world that at that moment my defences were down. I have another secret guilty pleasure- I love buying bed sheets and the store has a great collection (two of my cupboards are filled with bedsheets in the house!) the pleasure of sleeping on a crisp and clean bed linen is to die for (if I had the energy, I would change my sheets every day)

About turn and I spent a pleasurable fifteen minutes amongst the bedsheets and got my birthday discount.

I made three people happy- myself, the billing guy and much later the auto guy whom I tipped seven rupees as he did not have change and I was laden with the spoils of  the battle.

   

  

The Moving Bug

My heart was palpitating; sweat was pouring down my forehead; nausea enveloped me from all sides; if there hadn’t been so many people on the road, I swear I would have fainted, I was feeling so dizzy.

I know what you are thinking, but I assure you all, you are wrong. I wasn’t being attacked by menopausal hot flushes!

This was happening frequently enough for all of you to assume the worst. But I have my own explanation, do bear with me as I meander into my past and give you a scientific hypothesis why this was happening.

I think (I must have told you before), I have nomadic genes. From the time I was born I have moved on an average of every three years. In fact in one place that I lived for four years, I moved three houses! There have been exceptions but mostly my fate has made me move. Do not pity me! I am very proud of this fact.

I just adore moving. The whole process of packing is a pleasure to me. I love sorting things through; throwing out whatever I haven’t used in the three years we have been in that particular house; lovingly dusting and packing my books of over thirty years (which I haven’t read in the last twenty years!) and the many artefacts that I have collected from the world over (they might be cracked and faded but I never have the heart to throw them off!) I do love to throw away my old clothes though (My maids love me for that!)

Many of my friends feel sorry for me. The first question they ask me, when we speak after a gap, “Where are you these days?”. Of course Facebook has been good to let them know where I am at that point in time. But now a days Facebook is out of fashion; all the young people have migrated to Instagram for their socialising and the older generation (I mean the seventy plus) have taken over Facebook! My generation is somewhere in-between- totally confused about what to do. We are sort of undecided, with one foot in each arena! If the boats stop moving in unison, we are going to fall into the water! I have three sets of friends- the one that starts from seventeen to thirty, then the thirty to sixty and the third set is the sixty plus!, So I try to keep track of all of them through various  Social Apps.

Getting back to my ‘moving times’- well! as I was saying, I love it! I love the pre-moving exercise(sorting and packing), the ongoing moving exercise (staying in a hotel after the hard work and just chilling) and the post- moving exercise (Unpacking and finding new places for my old stuff!)

I never did feel sorry for myself, in fact, I feel sorry for the people who stay in one place throughout their lives! I feel they are missing out. They argue that they learn from their vacation travels, but I argue that visiting and moving are totally different things. Depending on whether you are the nomads or the settlers, you can pat me on  my back or throw rotten tomatoes at me!

Back to my ailment, I seriously started to find some common denominator for all the episodes of my ailments. I was normally always outside, mostly when I was going to the garden for my walk; there were always plenty of people and traffic around me at that time; my irritation at the stray dogs being fed on the roadside was also there; I kept on collecting my data from these episodes. One more common thing was, I was always feeling healthy and fit before these attacks!

Nobody, least of all myself, gave much importance to this new development in my life. Like a wood splinter under the skin, it started poking me very frequently. As I am a self medicator, I did not even think of taking professional help.

Maybe it was hot flushes, I admitted to myself. But what about my data collection, my parameters and a burgeoning hypothesis? So again the Hot flush theory was flushed down and I waited for a new episode to add to my data.

“Didi”, my maid had just come in, “The front door neighbours are moving”.

I wasn’t really surprised. The Lady of the house had told me before that they are looking for a new house. I did wonder why she hadn’t told me that they were moving so soon. To cut a long story short, out of neighbourly concern I went over to their house.

The men were packing and talking amongst themselves. The house was a mess, everything was laid out and the packers were doing their job.

It started, my heart beat faster; the sweat poured out and I felt so dizzy that I held on to the door. The disease was in full form.

“Are you okay?”, our neighbour asked.

“I think so”, I said smiling weakly.

“Can I get you a glass of water?”, he asked.

“Thank you, but I am okay”, I said steadying myself, “Do let me know if I can help you in any way”.

How could I tell him that the smell of the packing boxes, the rustle of the bubble wrap and the mess, all made me feel so jealous that I was nauseous!

As I entered the latest data into my journal, I realised one more common factor during these episodes was the presence of a Movers and Packers truck on the road! In fact this has happened when I gaze down idly from my twenty sixth floor and see the Writers  (A favourite Movers and Packers of mine!)yellow and black truck moving or taking things from the Apartment opposite us.

We had recently completed four years in this location( way above my average of three years!) and all these signs were like a knife twisting in my nomadic heart. The intense desire; the painful jealousy; the restlessness within me were all signals telling me it’s time to move!

My hypothesis was proven beyond doubt!

Committed versus the Non-Committal

“No!”

I looked up from my Idly-Vada plate at the couple seated at the table next to the entrance. I had noticed them when they had entered. They were a  very young couple, maybe in their late twenties. She was dressed in a sheath frock (Very common with that generation now!) and he was scruffy, overweight and wearing a crumpled tee shirt and the loose shorts, the young prefer now a days. 

I am at a very curious phase in life. I have got into the habit of observing the behavioural quaintness of human beings. I then use these threads to weave my own stories. Sometimes it is just to amuse myself, sometimes I share my conjectures with the lord of our house or our offsprings.

We had done something out of the ordinary that day. Instead of getting the Idly-Vada breakfast home, the lord and master suggested we go to a newly opened South Indian restaurant in our neighbourhood. We have left Hyderabad some thirteen years back and every year we experiment with new South Indian restaurants to find that perfect place. We have gone to South Mumbai; we have gone to Matunga, of course Bandra and Powai are home turf so every restaurant in the vicinity has been tried! So here we were trying out the fare. (Nothing, I repeat nothing can beat either Mysore or Hyderabad!)

I was in fact giving a running commentary about this couple to the ‘Lord’. He had his back to them.

“They are fighting about something”

“The girl is very angry, she is not even making eye contact with him!"

“He is obviously sorry and looking at her with soulful eyes and talking softly all the while”

Then the “No” shot out and everyone (there were only three couples including us and one lone bachelor who was eating with his phone!) in the restaurant, looked at her. This gave the ‘Lord a chance to turn back and look; this was good as he could fire his imagination with a concrete figure.

The girl had started crying now and talking loudly.

“What language?”, asked my worse half.

.

I strained my ears, “Can’t make out, maybe Tamil”.

Then she became a little louder.

“It’s Hindi!”, I said triumphantly.

But as I could not hear exactly what she was saying between sobs, I just let my imagination soar and made up stories in my mind.

The bill was paid, and we got up to leave. I noticed the other couple who were sitting right in front of me. They were older; around late thirties or early forties. They looked happy and were laughing and enjoying their breakfast. I thought ‘it takes all sorts to make this world!’

We walked out thanking the young waiter for the very perfect service. Climbed down the steps and sat in the car which was parked right in front of the entrance of the restaurant. The Man of the house buckled up and waited.

“Why are we waiting?”, I saw him looking at the Paan Cigarette shop in front.

“You have been a good boy so far; so no cigarettes today”, I said firmly.

“After that lovely breakfast and filter coffee what can make this moment better than perfect?”, he asked.

“Not Cigarettes!”, I exclaimed, “Let us go”.

I noticed the older couple coming down the steps. Both of them were in their running gear. I noticed both were extremely smart and healthy with well-toned bodies. Being a normal female (albeit old!) I noticed the man. He was in is running shorts, sporting a pair of well-muscled legs, a flat stomach (maybe he hid a six pack under the Nike Tee shirt!) and was handsome too. I gave a cursory glance at the woman too (I was sure my significant other was giving her a very detailed look over!) She was also a pretty person with slim hips and long legs. They were still laughing and talking in front of the steps. Then they went off.

“Did you notice those two”, Husband asked.

“What else would I be doing sitting here?”, I said smiling, “By the way, if you have finished wrestling with your conscience, could we go home? The maid will run away when she finds we are not there!”.

“No comments on these two?”, he asked reversing the car.

“Very handsome couple, specially the Man!”, I said enthusiastically.

“Yes, the lady was really sexy!”, he said smoothly.

“You would notice that wouldn’t you?”, I snapped.

“I noticed something, which you did not”, he said impishly.

“About the woman? I wasn’t really looking at her!”, I retorted.

“No”, he interjected.

“Then?”, I queried.

“They both went in opposite directions!”, the man was really enjoying my discomfiture!

Although I had not consciously noticed that, my peripheral vision had taken cognizance of the fact!

So we had this newly married couple (at least a committed one) who were unhappy versus this obviously non- committed couple who were very happy (the excitement in the relationship was to be seen to be believed!)

I wonder now which is better? We were the oldest couple there. I remember going through instances  that the young couple were going through. But now we were comfortable with each other, we have developed a mutual respect and admiration of each other. We have millions of shared memories; we have had our experiences and instances.

But what about the excitement that the second couple had? Was that missing from our lives?

The surprise Roses and Lilies which I get once in a while; the special dinners and the glass of wine; the  springing of travel plans for my birthday  add to my excitement in this committed relationship that I have.

 I have understood that tears and smiles are a part of life. I have understood that I may no longer be sexy, but I have a quiet elegance. I may not have a six pack husband, but I have someone who cares enough for me not to let me walk away after a date!

Its up to you to choose what you want from your relationship. My advice for what it is worth: go for a partner who you would love to grow old with, go for a person who cares enough to go back  to you even when you are at your Nadir , the  permanent excitement will kick in then. Transient excitement- I get it when I eat popcorn at a movie theatre!

Lost and found Mitochondria

Rapid pinging on the Hike messenger made me wash my hands and take a break from my cooking. 

I opened the family “Home Talkies”

“Mama! Don’t freak out!”

I messaged back, “?????”

“I think I have lost my watch!”

The very responsible Doctor of the family was at Prayagraj Kumbh Mela. She was there on duty. She and her team had been put up at the eye camp. She shared her “room” with three other people. We all had been apprehensive about her going and roughing it out at the eye camp there. But she had been very pleased with all the arrangements made by the Organisers. Lovely warm tents; great attached bathrooms and the most important thing four square meals a day with lots of snacks, tea and coffee thrown in. True they had to work hard, but they had fixed timings, so it was a kind of break from the slavery that they had to face at college!

I sighed and thought, “Why did she have to get my bad genes?”. But like me I knew she would find it. I was the famous “lost and found” specialist of the family!

I messaged back, “You will find it!”

Father noticed the conversation sometime later and said, “No you won’t”

“Tell me when you last saw it”, I asked

“Well! I think I left it on the bed before I went for my bath.”

“It will be there, amongst the bedclothes”, I insisted

“Have searched!”, came the terse reply

“Maybe it’s time for a new watch!”, came another rejoinder

“You will find it”, I signed off.

There was discussion in the house about whether or not it would be found. Well all my life, I had lost things (Specially keys and money!); given up hope of ever finding them; found them definitely. This time around I was sure my mitochondria would find it!

After three days an abashed message, “Found my watch!”

“Where was it?”, three people messaged back simultaneously

“It was with my undies in the undies bag”

I never said, “I told you so!”

The next day I overslept as I hadn’t been keeping too well. I woke up to hear the face time app ringing.

I clicked on it to see the teary-eyed baby of the family, six thousand kilometres away in Chicago.

Of course, I panicked! But I am the parent, cannot show it!

“Mama! I have lost all my immigration papers!”

“No, you cannot have, I am sure you will find it”, I said reassuringly not feeling reassuring at all!

Lord and master took the I pad from me (he could see I was panicking)

“Where did you last see it?”, he asked

She had just returned from a business trip.

“Did you take it with you to Ohio?”, I asked

“No, I did not”, came the tearful rebuttal

“Where did you last see it?” repeated Dad

“Well, I kept very carefully. They are in a thick folder. When I came back from India, I first kept it on my bedside table, then I use to sleep with it every day…”

“Then?”, prompted Dad.

All this while my mind was going haywire thinking of where she could have kept it.

“Then once my bed got all dirty, so I kept it on the floor… for safe keeping you know”

I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

“Was that the last you saw it?” Dad said, a little frustration creeping into his voice.

“What about your passport?”

“Passport is fine I always keep it in this bag”, the bag was displayed to us.

I sighed, “You can get all the other papers from the university, right?”

“I suppose so, but it will take time and I need to submit the documents tomorrow!”, wailed my baby

I doubted my mitochondria for a second! I never left things for the last moment. That must be from her father, I comforted myself.

“Take me around the places you could have kept it. What about the suitcase?”, I asked tentatively, sure I would get an impatient answer in response.

“That was the first place I looked for!”, was the snappy reply

“Do it again, just to please me”, I wheedled

The suitcase was got out, I saw her hands going all over it.

“No, its not there!”, she wailed

I got up to leave the I pad. My mitochondria had failed! I was mutely looking at my better half for some reassurance.

“Hell!” the young one exclaimed

“I think its here! But I don’t know how to get it out!”

I was frozen!

Lots of noise from the iPad, I did not dare look into it.

“Got it!”, said the triumphant voice

There she was, with  the teary-eyed smile (Which by the way her father loves), the absconding folder in her hand!

I could have given her a whack and hug at the same time.

Well don’t need DNA testing for these two, they definitely have my mitochondria!