tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-39431675236837869272024-03-13T04:09:01.642-07:00stories from the graveI am dead....please dont disturb my peace or I'll disturb yours !!!dgoswami1979http://www.blogger.com/profile/06497337806216907980noreply@blogger.comBlogger17125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3943167523683786927.post-54863976288870811542010-05-30T04:04:00.001-07:002010-05-30T04:07:59.044-07:00Trust<div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"><meta equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"><meta name="ProgId" content="Word.Document"><meta name="Generator" content="Microsoft Word 12"><meta name="Originator" content="Microsoft Word 12"><link rel="File-List" href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5CUser%5CLOCALS%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml"><link rel="themeData" href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5CUser%5CLOCALS%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_themedata.thmx"><link rel="colorSchemeMapping" 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<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">It was going to be another hot and humid day at the office. The place hummed with the static electricity of nearly a thousand employees going about their everyday work. The sun was shining and the skies were blue, despite predictions of summer showers later in the day. But for now, the air-conditioners were working overtime as were the computer screens. In short, everything that was about to come crumbling down was at peace.
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<br /></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">“New Cabinet Minister Oversees Clean-up Personally”, screamed the local news headlines – recurrent theme over the past few months. Not a single side story complaining against the damned man. And he had a charming smile too, quite photogenic and yet not – that man LOOKED like a real champion, not quite ugly and neither too handsome. He was believable and almost impregnable in his spotless reputation. God knows he had tried to dig up dirt on the Minister, man and boy, but that damned Boy Scout came up squeaky clean. No one noticed him coming into the town armed with his foreign degrees and anglicized and accented vernacular. Nobody could predict that he would create a new way of entering politics through a suspiciously technologically forward marketing model and yet he did, despite much opposition. His established pedigree worked to his advantage and worse, the people liked his sly, earthy humour, never mind that vote-earning smile which projected honesty and dripped sincerity. </span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">
<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">“Your coffee, sir”</span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">
<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">The coffee was a special Malabar blend that he especially got from an old college friend who owned a coffee plantation. But, today even that enticing aroma could not distract his attention from the various newspapers which were confirming his worst fears and reports. The new sheriff in town seemed hell bent on an early elevation – either to the funeral pyre or the Chief Ministers chair. And considering that the man travelled without any guards or security was an openly thrown gauntlet, a welcome mat to assasins. And therein lay the problem – killing such a man would not only ruin the game, but upset the whole damn board!!!</span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">
<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">The computer screen beeped, demanding instant appraisal. As he looked up into the flashing flatscreen, he noticed that his secretary was buzzing him on the intranet com-system.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><i style=""><o:p> </o:p></i></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><i style="">
<br /></i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><i style="">Suravi:<span style=""> </span>Your 10.30 am is here. Alone.<o:p></o:p></i></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">
<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">He typed back,</span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><i style=""><o:p> </o:p></i></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><i style="">
<br /></i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><i style="">Send him in<o:p></o:p></i></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">
<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">Everything has its run and it was foolish to try to outrun destiny, he muttered as he got up to welcome his visitor. </span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">
<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">Up close, the shaven head, the trimmed French beard….even the corpulence suggested the solidity that was evident in the newspapers and TV interviews. But they did not quite capture the Minister’s palpable hyper-active aura and avuncular affability or his youthful vigour. They just high-lighted his charm and presence, he noted with growing disquiet. They were meeting by appointment, very properly requested by the Ministers office to his aides and granted with alacrity. What was quite against accepted protocol was that the Minister had come alone, carrying a leather satchel slung like another executive across his shoulders. But that again, like his trademark Fabindia Kurta’s, Jeans and clunky sneakers image, another part of his unique <i style="">man of the people</i> thing. </span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">
<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">He could hardly offer to meet the Minister on less equal terms, as he welcomed the man in and motioned towards the corner sofa suite which was reserved for dignitaries. </span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">
<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">“Can we sit at your table? I find sofa’s a bit hard to sit in, with my bulk”, asked the Minister as he headed towards one of the chairs. He smiled back in return and went to his side across the table, preparing mentally for battle royal. </span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">
<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">“Could I offer you some coffee? Its my especial brand…”, he gestured towards the porcelain service on the table. </span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">
<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">“…from Malabar. Not really, but thanks”, finished the enigmatic young Minister. </span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">
<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">“I am really here to create a disturbance for you, I’m afraid”, the Minister continued, “You see, you really cannot carry on like this and after following up all the leads in my 8 month campaign against mis-utilization of state and central funds, we have finally been led to your organization as being the source of all evil!!”</span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">
<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">The man behind the desk could hardly stifle the smile that came out in answer to the Minister’s sunny visage which belied the words. Truly, this man had the charm to actually walk into the CM’s chair and more importantly stay there. </span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">
<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">“Evil is a very strong word to use in an accusation, sir” he countered.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">
<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">“Misappropriation of public funds, intended for social work and community development with a mile long trail of confusing paperwork, siphoning of monies meant for disaster relief, widows and child welfare, non-compliance with government directives, to mention a few of your present activities allows me the freedom to use that word” stated the Minister, lounging easily in his chair, satchel on his lap.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">
<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">“We have been accused before, if I may remind you….unfruitfully and at great legal cost. We are merely a social organization which works as an interface for grass-root level programmes and projects. In fact, as our history in the past two decades shows, following liberalization we have aided and helped over a million people within the region and state” he replied calmly.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">
<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">“Indeed, you did and made many more millions through your vast network of NGO’s and CSO’s, not to mention the unimaginable amounts you and your organization have made out of political lobbying and leveraging. No, you have made social development into an art form of money laundering and politicking. And this stops now” rumbled the Minister, lapsing into the clipped British accents which came up whenever he was interviewed on an important issue, on air. </span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">
<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">“Minister, you are making rather strenuous accusations. I do hope you can substantiate those claims before you try to prosecute on any of them. In fact, this is my cue to ask you if you would like our lawyers to be present at this juncture?” he asked, holding onto all his reserves of calm composure. </span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">He would be <i style="">damned</i> if this over-educated ass would rob him of his calm and longed for the hoodlum politicians of olden days. </span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">
<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">“To do so, we would require access to your private documentation and records. Something that is not available on your public domain and the pack of wolves which serve as your legal counsel would never allow me or my team to argue for any warrants from any court in the land” said the Ministers, now leaning forward and placing his beefy and hairy forearms on the pristine glass tabletop. There would be smudging to be cleaned after this meeting, his anal retentive brain recorded for future reference. </span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">
<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">Taking a minute to consider the dancing black eyes staring at him with frank animosity, he considered his options. Finally picking up the heavy black and steel sheffer pen on his leather blotpad, he replied,</span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">
<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">“When you are aware of the pitfalls in that course of action, why would you come here?”</span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">
<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">This time, he noted with interest, those glinting eyes had locked on to his own as the words came out, measured and slow;</span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">
<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">“I was hoping that you would listen to reason before I move irrevocably against you and your people”</span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><i style=""><o:p> </o:p></i></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><i style="">
<br /></i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><i style="">Irrevocably. </i>He wondered if the man in front of him understood the term and its connotation. It was such a final word and in his work, there was no such thing as a final solution or termination. Everything moved on a cyclic wheel and everything would come back or go away. </span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">
<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">“And if I were to say, thank you for the kind offer, but sorry?” he asked quietly</span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">
<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">The Minister opened his satchel for the first time and took out a document. Quite a fat document with embossed seals and stamp papers in it, he could see through the plastic file folder covering. </span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">
<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">“An offer to your firm by the State to buy out your firm and develop it into a Public-Private Partnership wherein the State would run this organization like an extension of the government. A public sector undertaking type, if you will. The settlement is quite generous and we promise not to press charges as long as you agree never to try forming another organization of this sort in the State or engaging in similar activities” offered the Minister.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">
<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">He could not restrain a small smile at this. The utter gall of the man to offer <i style="">Money </i>to <i style="">HIM?!! </i>It was just too funny for words, considering the amounts he had disbursed within and outside the State. He bought and sold people, structures and ideals for a living. </span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">
<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">The smile was answer enough for the Minister who left the document on the table and fished out an official looking walky-talky next and placed it on the table.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">
<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">“I also have a 200-strong Rapid Action Force awaiting orders, to set <i style="">supposed</i> fire to your outer walls. Declaring a state of emergency within the premise, the police and fire-chief’s are within their jurisdiction to seal off the building and all its floors till the fire is contained and the building is declared safe for <i style="">civilians</i>. Quite a different window of time there, I would imagine” chopped out the next strategy. </span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">
<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">As he considered the man before him, he blessed his stars in investing so much for having a paper-less office with a main-link having a self-destruct code set into the operating system itself. Everyday’s work was transcribed into the mains and copies transferred outside of the State and even the country. The infrastructure cost was just going to justify itself, he thought with obvious pleasure.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">
<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">“Interesting, but not really. Sorry” he countered with a suitably grave face. </span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">
<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">The Minister was clearly not expecting this answer as he felt those steady eyes measuring his resolve and they again took a minute to fully accept the answer just delivered. </span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">
<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">Finally, the Minister fished inside his satchel and came up with a snub nosed revolver which he handled with disturbing ease. It was a blued steel and wood affair, clearly a police issue side arm and it was cocked and pointed languidly in his direction.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">
<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">“Then, I must advise you to call for your immediate subordinate within your structure as I am taking you hostage and demanding release of said documentation. This is not legal, I realize, but you can prosecute me once my people have finished their work”, enunciated out slowly and clearly, impressing upon him the need for no sudden moves. </span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">
<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">He observed with detachment and the final shreds of his legendary calm the cannon like mouth of the service issue revolver held rock steady with the forearms still resting on his table, smudging the polished sheen of the reflective glass top. Slowly, without even the slightest tremor, he willed his hand towards the desk intercom set and clicked the first button.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">
<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">“Suravi”</span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">
<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">“Yes Sir”, he could barely make out the tremor in her voice. Good girl, she had been listening in on his conversation with the Ministers. He was betting half the office was glued to their sets, which made his task easier.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">
<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">“Could you ask my brother to step into the office, please?” he intoned gravely</span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">
<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">His brother walked into the office barely a minute later as his office was parallel to his and most likely aware of the proceedings, and came to a stop slightly beside his chair as the revolver still covered him.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">
<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">“Minister, I do believe you might know my brother – M?” he courteously offered, as if they were all in a party and not under a gun with the exposed brass shells glinting off the morning light coming in from the bay windows. </span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">
<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">“The pleasure is entirely mine, sir” his brother fell into perfect step with his cadence and poise. Good.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">The gun remained steady on his shirt pocket.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">
<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">“I am taking over your organization as of this moment and my people will come inside at my command and you will assist them in a comprehensive handover of ALL your documentation. You will stand your people down or else I will put a bullet into your brother’s heart and take my chances with the judicial processes” delivered the Minister crisply, confident of holding all the aces.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">
<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">“I am very sorry to hear that sir, but I am afraid I really cannot allow that to happen. Your intentions are in direct contravention of our protocols of security and client confidentiality. And that we will not allow, under any circumstances” said his brother, matching the Minister’s crisp delivery.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">
<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">The gun finally moved from him to his brother. Slowly.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">
<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">“Fine, call your secretary. You brothers might not listen to reason, but I am sure your staff will respond correctly”, the Minister ordered.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">
<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">Suravi came in, all 45 kilos of her. Not as poised as his brother but definitely in control.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">
<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">The Minister repeated his demand, now covering both brothers with the gun and told her to get on with it. She refused. He offered her official security and protection. She smiled at him and asked him if she could get him some good Darjeeling tea.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">
<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">Finally, the Minister put down his gun on the table and leaned back in his chair and asked,</span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">
<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">“Impressive. So tell me, how do I go about becoming your client?”</span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">
<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">The man behind the desk simply asked, “How about some coffee? This Malabar blend is especially good…”</span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">***</span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> dgoswami1979http://www.blogger.com/profile/06497337806216907980noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3943167523683786927.post-70156175094765543022010-05-17T00:48:00.000-07:002010-05-17T00:52:39.578-07:00Conquest<div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"><meta equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"><meta name="ProgId" content="Word.Document"><meta name="Generator" content="Microsoft Word 11"><meta name="Originator" content="Microsoft Word 11"><link rel="File-List" href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5CUser%5CLOCALS%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtml1%5C04%5Cclip_filelist.xml"><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:smarttagtype namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" name="City"></o:smarttagtype><o:smarttagtype namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" name="place"></o:smarttagtype>
<br />
<br /></span><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:snaptogridincell/> <w:wraptextwithpunct/> <w:useasianbreakrules/> <w:dontgrowautofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:browserlevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if !mso]><object classid="clsid:38481807-CA0E-42D2-BF39-B33AF135CC4D" id="ieooui"></object> <style> st1\:*{behavior:url(#ieooui) } </style> <![endif]--><style> <!-- /* Font Definitions */ @font-face {font-family:Calibri; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:swiss; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-520092929 1073786111 9 0 415 0;} /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-parent:""; margin-top:0in; margin-right:0in; margin-bottom:10.0pt; margin-left:0in; line-height:115%; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:11.0pt; font-family:Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";} @page Section1 {size:595.35pt 841.95pt; margin:1.0in 1.0in 1.0in 1.0in; mso-header-margin:.5in; mso-footer-margin:.5in; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} --> </style><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:#0400; mso-fareast-language:#0400; mso-bidi-language:#0400;} </style> <![endif]--></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;">It had been a long war. The stench of the dead, the cries of the carrion birds and the earth reddened with blood was commonplace now. There was no more wailing from the tents for those bereaved and death was a factor to be efficiently managed. Even the skies have been awed and struck dumb by the carnage unfolded on this field now known in infamy as Kurushetra – “the killing ground of the Kuru’s”. <o:p></o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;">
<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;">The chariot was a simple affair of two fast horses moving in tandem, yoked to board and three rope bound poles on the running board for the riders to hold on to. Later poets and ministrels would wax eloquent of the dazzling array of THE CHARIOT which broke the ranks of the kaurava’s wherever its wheels turned. They would sing of golden harnesses and silver caparisoned might, arrayed for children and for adults with children’s dreams for victory and glory. They would sing of its god-like charioteer and mighty warrior bestriding behind ravaging whoever was arrayed against them, regardless whether human, demon or god. <o:p></o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;">
<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;">The real chariot which turned armies into jelly, warriors into corpses by its mere presence had never existed. It had been merely another fiction of the charioteer’s agile mind which had honed war craft and strategy into something almost akin to supernatural power. Such a chariot would never have been able to breach the cordons to Jayadrath’s inner circle or fight great Drona into a standstill, much less dodge mighty Karna’s arrow showers. Such a gaudy chariot would never ensure surprise, that most important element of victory. <o:p></o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;">
<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Such a chariot is fit only in dreams and stories, not in battle, thought the dark-skinned charioteer as he clicked his tongue to the high strung horses trotting amongst corpses and battle debris dotting the fields for miles in every direction. The clicking tongue, equally effective with restive cattle in the far reaches of Vrindavan, calmed the horses on the killing grounds as they slowed down towards a broken barricade.<o:p></o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;">
<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;">The moon was full and no insects cried or birdsong broke the eerie calm of the night as the horses swung by the barricade and the charioteer leant out and touched them.<o:p></o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;">
<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“Sleep well, invincible one, your son will rule as I promised you and I will have my revenge” the charioteer intoned silently, as he touched the broken wooden barricades still stained brown with the blood of his only nephew, his dearest sisters son. <o:p></o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;">
<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;">A boy he had loved more than his own lost son and trained under his own hand, killed by eight warriors. A mere boy, defying them to the last and leaving his mark on each of the great ones before spilling his heart blood on the wooden barricades of Drona’s <i style="">Chakravyuhu</i>. A true hero, of great Karna’s ilk, equally cursed by blood and fortune, to be remembered only for his mad dog glory. <o:p></o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;">
<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;">One of the only deaths he had grudged in this war and beyond. It was needed and he had fulfilled his duty and more when he led his friend, the father, away, knowing that the cowardly advisors he had planted would ensure that his eldest paternal uncle would gamble, as always and lose, as usual. But it suited his needs and so he had made his peace and sworn his vow to his dead nephew’s bloodline. <o:p></o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;">
<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;">The charioteer was lost in his thoughts when another voice broke the silence from beyond the broken hulks, <o:p></o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;">
<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“The moon holds sway in the night….”<o:p></o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;">
<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;">The voice was instantly recognizable for its earthy nasal twang of Mathura’s dialect and resonance instead of the high speech of Sanskrit, but years of training and living a double life could not be set aside easily,<o:p></o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;">
<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“…..only when the sun has set and the dark is nigh.” <o:p></o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;">
<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Completing the first line of the code exchange, the charioteer swung down from the running board. As he swung down, he adjusted his plain dhoti and palmed the first of his throwing knives smoothly as he turned towards the speaker who had arisen behind the barricades.<o:p></o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;">
<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“The years with the high-born’s have not robbed you of your gokul training, cousin” said the man arising from his defensive crouch, his sword also openly bared but hanging loosely at his side.<o:p></o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;">
<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;">The charioteer relaxed slightly as the second coded exchange went smoothly, but his nape still tingled and he did not cache away his knife and scanned the surrounding environs silently till his eyes found a bump on the ground that did not meld with the usual churned up earth of the killing fields. And then he waited looking around for more discrepancies till the first man coughed and the hump moved to show an armed wiry man flattened on the ground underneath a dust-coloured cloth liberally smeared with the red earth. Bowing to both men, the wiry man crept off into the dark. <o:p></o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;">
<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“You couldn’t really expect me to come alone into THE killing grounds where the only thing constant is Yamraj on the sidelines reaping souls like its harvesting season, cousin”, stated the first man, still holding on to the sword lazily like it was an extension of his body, “especially after you hacked off Sishupala’s head with that accursed discus of yours to show solidarity with those damned five, earlier” <o:p></o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;">
<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“We needed to provoke Jarasandh and take him out of the equation or this war would have been for naught – I have explained this to you <i style="">cousin</i>, earlier” stated the charioteer easily, still scanning the landscape for anything that did not fit in, anything that tingled his senses. <o:p></o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;">
<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“so you have, so you have…..in fact, I was one of the last to accept that the great deception started so many years ago is finally coming to fruition and you have managed to deliver each and every one of your targets as promised to King Ugrasen as payment for killing Kansa the Just. In fact, people believe that you killed an evil monster now, less than 30 years later – I have trouble accepting that you ensured even regicide would be forgotten – that too regicide of a popular and good king.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;">
<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“Gokul was a good training ground, cousin and Kansa WAS a monster to my mother, regardless of how good he was as a king to the populace. My father was promised the throne and Kansa had no right on it. The Kuru’s are merely a continuation of my revenge since they aided him then. My promise to King Ugrasen was nothing that I did not wish to achieve myself.” said the charioteer, pacing around the chariot now, looking for something that still tingled his scalp and screamed danger in seven dialects. <o:p></o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;">
<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“So Vasudeva, are you satisfied now? Has your blood thirst been appeased with the vermillion & blood of so many including that of your only nephew being part of the red rivers you have caused to run on these killing grounds?” asked the first man, squatting on his haunches, sword held protectively before him nonchalantly. <o:p></o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;">
<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;">The charioteer noted the sword position and smiled inwardly at the respect given to a seemingly unarmed and single man. True respect that was tinged with awe at the enormity of the battlefield, all caused directly or indirectly by him alone. He was surrounded by corpses of men now dead due to him and the very earth owed its colour and name to his efforts. <o:p></o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;">
<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;">He continued checking the chariot and then the horses, softly singing to them, always more comfortable with animals than with humans. Even that sea serpent that mistakenly came up the Yamuna on a tidal wave had been easy enough to befriend and control with fish and offal. Something that added to his legend, but its death too was necessary like his nephew’s and he had dried his tears inwardly at both times. <o:p></o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;">
<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;">So much death caused, so few regretted or even considered, how else could, people not consider him alien and at times god-like for the ability to twist events to his purposes. He had been <i style="">requested</i> to stay away from Yadav lands after King Ugrasen had ascended the throne and the court advisors had seen to it that he did not return for any significant amount of time. <o:p></o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;">
<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;">He had been dispatched to build island fortresses, to overthrow challengers to the yadav clans, to win away foolish princesses whose alliances could be dangerous and more and finally to the culmination of his great efforts into this battlefield of bones, picked clean by carrion. <o:p></o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;">
<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Was he bloodthirsty or satisfied? <o:p></o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;">
<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;">The charioteer stopped grooming the off-side horse and looked at the man on the ground directly for the first time. They had studied together, played together and they had worked together for many years – but now, the man on the ground was in awe of him and his actions. <o:p></o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify; font-style: italic;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;">
<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">“I, Krishna Vasudev, born to the moon dynasty, sworn to action and deed, thought and belief to the night that succors us. Sworn by birth to the wishes of the Yadav clan wishes, for which I exist and for nothing else.”</span> He softly intoned in the sacred oath of the clan. Nothing could be more profane or sacred on the killing grounds. <o:p></o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;">
<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;">The first man who had swung up at the first syllable of the clan oath, grounded his sword and bowed on bended knee and said,<o:p></o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;">
<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“I see and bow to you, great divider, narrator of war, greatest of friends, most bitter of enemies who has urged the dogs of war to the very brink of destruction and beyond. Order me, my lord, what else is left for us to do”<o:p></o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;">
<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;">The charioteer looked at his old playmate, who was bowing to him and replied softly, <o:p></o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;">
<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“The house of Kuru is extinct and the only heir is my grandnephew who is of our bloodline and therefore sacrosanct. We have created strife where none existed, brought about intercine rivalry of the worst kind. Brought to throne illegitimate offspring who have no claim, set against each other the famed chariot wheels of the clan kuru which had drank of the blood of every house and clan which have opposed them.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;">
<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Aye, we Yadavs, have broken the armour of invincible might of the scions of the sun dynasty and brought about the great schism between warring cousins leading to this great war which decimated the great house of Kuru, Paurava’s, Shantanu, thought the dark-skinned charioteer. <o:p></o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;">
<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“We are done here, old friend. Its time for us to go home.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;">
<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Still on bended knee, his old playmate remained silent, only a slight tremble and flutter of the fine <st1:place st="on">Kamchatka</st1:place> steel grounded on the earth giving answer. The Yadu clans would not have him back even when he had removed the only obstacle to their being the foremost clan and the greatest in the land without spilling a drop of precious yadav blood. He was still the regicide who could not be allowed peace and settlement in his own lands and amongst his own people. <o:p></o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;">
<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;">At best, he was the ultimate weapon for them. <o:p></o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;">
<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;">At best he could retire to his island fortress and endure the termagant Rukmini<o:p></o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;">
<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Never return to his childhood lands of Gokul, <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Mathura</st1:place></st1:city>, Vrindavan. <o:p></o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;">
<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Never marry his beloved Radha as it was incestuous to marry his aunt. <o:p></o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;">
<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Never to belong, only to be feared, famed and called upon in their hour of need. <o:p></o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;">
<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;">The clan Kuru, famed and feared as the invincible clan of warriors who had dominated Bharat for ages tied by blood and forged through the chain mail of their allies was no more but there was no exultation, no happiness at the completion of the task – only a barren mind and heart. He had repaid friendship and warmth in blood. No wonder his elder brother had warned him of this and refused to take part of any of this, despite being ordered by the Yadu clans. But he had hoped to win his way back by gifting them that which they wanted most.<o:p></o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;">
<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;">He had given his all to this end but as he looked upon his cousin, his kinsman, his earliest playmate, before him on bended knee sword grounded, the charioteer stood considering the bitter truth of his exile. He now understood the danger signs – his senses were warning him of this itself, not of temporal danger. He advanced upon his oldest playmate who had stood by him all these years, been his conduit to the yadu clans and embraced him. <o:p></o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;">
<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“Go with God, Sudama. I will walk into Hell… alone” said the charioteer as he slammed the hidden knife into his playmate’s neck and ripped on, stepping aside only when the blood fountained out. <o:p></o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;">
<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;">The yadu spies later reported the single chariot leaving and the decapitated body to the clan chiefs and received word which read as follows.<o:p></o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><i style=""><span style="">
<br /></span></i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><i style=""><span style=""><span style="font-weight: bold;">No man is greater than the clan. Send for the poisoned archers and await your chance. </span><o:p></o:p></span></i></span></p><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><i style=""><span style=""><o:p> </o:p></span></i></span></p> dgoswami1979http://www.blogger.com/profile/06497337806216907980noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3943167523683786927.post-44770508563160781582009-02-18T06:01:00.000-08:002012-09-22T21:22:52.436-07:00Dining Table Romance <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-size: 100%; line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 100%; line-height: 115%;">“This is way too salty. You cannot possibly expect me to eat this. Seriously now, MA” I snapped, prior to rising up from the breakfast table. There was NO way I was eating this and hoping for a flat tummy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 100%; line-height: 115%;">Our chef, Jiten almost threw a hissy fit in the kitchen. It was 70% drama and 30% outrage, knowing him from childhood as I did. Ma was still reeling from the shock of the allegation. Pa was still enveloped within the folds of his beloved Assam Tribune and above all petty squabbles at the dining table and bro was stolidly chewing his way through his portion of scrambled eggs and toast. The dogs wagged their tails under the tables and hit the assorted human and wooden legs. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 100%; line-height: 115%;"> “SIT DOWN. You need direction in your life” stated Ma as if laying down the law. She ALWAYS ambushed me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 100%; line-height: 115%;">I sat down and concentrated on my porridge. I didn’t get much cooked AND edible stuff back in good ole Glasgow. I also didn’t get Ma’s breakfast specials, but hell, the porridge was worth it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 100%; line-height: 115%;">“You need direction, you hear me? Will you please tell him that he requires direction?” repeated Ma, with a special glance at Pa who was equally engrossed in his breakfast and newspaper and looked up rather guiltily.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 100%; line-height: 115%;">Pa was just great. He was never much good at discipline but brilliant at solving homework, bedtime stories, wonders in the kitchen and general all around nonsense. Though usually quite a charmer, he was this abject sheep in Ma’s presence and it was a sight to see them both. The giant ox of a man being heckled to death by a bantam rooster of a woman; our votes were comprehensively on Pa’s side with Ma having the veto in the house. Theirs was a love I envied and admired for its absurdity and sincerity. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 100%; line-height: 115%;">“Umm. Yes. You lack direction. Especially now that education has been exhausted on you.” offered Pa before diving back to his paper.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 100%; line-height: 115%;">“I am not getting any younger and this huge house is getting on my nerves. I have been taking care of this shambles and the number of boys and dogs that comprise of this entire mad zoo” ranted on Ma as bro kept on stolidly chomping on his eggs. I fed some of my eggs to Tiger who was sitting under my chair for this very reason.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 100%; line-height: 115%;">Bro quietly made the hand sign for “same speech?” and I replied in the affirmative waggle under the table. Pa had taught us hand sign from his times as a motorcycle bum across India and the three of us, over the years developed it into an art form. Especially useful in really boring marriages, funerals, ma’s interminable specials and so forth. Pa caught the hand sign and signaled “shut up and eat fast”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 100%; line-height: 115%;">“……We need a girl around the place, that’s what we need” ended Ma on a triumphant note.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 100%; line-height: 115%;">Two faces goggled at her and the third, at the head of the table, dived well below newsprint with prior knowledge of incoming inclement weather.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 100%; line-height: 115%;">Ma looked positively taken aback at the very idea of having such an attentive audience. I was at a loss for words and nudged bro with my knee. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 100%; line-height: 115%;">“Fantastic idea, I completely agree with you. Couldn’t be happier. My blessings for it and all that” gabbled out bro as he pushed back his chair. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 100%; line-height: 115%;">I looked up flummoxed and looked up to see a quicksilver wink on his slanted devil’s eyebrows.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 100%; line-height: 115%;">“Of course, I can understand that you guys are now bored with Dada and me out of your hair and busy with our lives and work. So, YES, we’d LOVE to have a little sister!!! As long as Pa is willing and you’re able, I don’t really see what the pro…AAAHHHH!!!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 100%; line-height: 115%;">Did I forget to add that after 25 years of throwing stuff at her errant sons and their dogs, Ma had developed a rather fearsome reputation for her pitching arm? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 100%; line-height: 115%;">Bro staggered back from the clutch of napkins thrown point blank at his cherubic face and beat a hasty retreat, leaving me to my predicament and half-finished breakfast.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 100%; line-height: 115%;">Pa had got a meaningful nudge in the meantime and put down his newspaper with a gusty sigh and cleared his throat. This was part of hand sign for “sorry dude, this is your mom’s doing”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 100%; line-height: 115%;">“What your mother means to say is that, we need a woman around the place. More your age and suitable for our family kind of thing. This place needs another woman” This said, he fixed me with a stare and promptly went back to his newspaper.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 100%; line-height: 115%;">Wiping my lips with the napkins and after a careful reconnaissance of objects within Ma’s reach, I rose out of my chair and said;<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 100%; line-height: 115%;">“Well of course, I do understand Pa. It happens to all of us one way or the other. But I feel I must warn you beforehand that if you persist in marrying someone younger, I’ll fight on Ma’s side for the divorce proceedings”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 100%; line-height: 115%;">Surprise and speed is the essence of success in attack, said Sun T’zu in the Art of War<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 100%; line-height: 115%;">I had the surprise and now I ran for it. I could hear the tea dolly slamming into the wall behind me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 100%; line-height: 115%;">It’s something else to have the thrum of a steady pulsing 500cc engine under your seat and the sun in your face. It’s also another great thing that helmets are not compulsory in the small towns and cities like Guwahati. Though, it would be wrong to call Guwahati small; bloody place was getting more and more congested and there were far too many cars on the roads now. Also better roads now if credit is to be given. I was back from 3 years of slogging and freezing my silly ass out in the UK and the warm winter sun felt great on my back. In fact, I felt great, no two ways about it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 100%; line-height: 115%;">I had just quit my job as corporate development manager for HBOS in Glasgow and was due a long break. For an Indian kid, the only thing to make any difference is education and security and after years of slogging through law school and finally a scholarship in Glasgow Strathclyde MBA programme was something considered to be heaven. The work permit visa stamp confirming multiple-entry to the UK was seen as the pinnacle of success and I had just quit my dreary cubicle and views of never ending grey skies. I wanted blue skies and sun and maybe something more than just corporate life.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 100%; line-height: 115%;">The dighalipukhuri Café Coffee Day was just inaugurated when I was about to leave for the UK. Back the night before and seriously in need of actual caffeine and not powder instant coffee, I headed there straight. My beloved cruiser, gathering dust the last 3 years in Pa’s garage started on the second kick. I also had my lucky leather jacket on despite the sun. I mean, hello, I WAS on holiday.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 100%; line-height: 115%;">The deep thrum of the bike and the tad pretentious leather jack with its fringes drew a few eyes, mostly male from the high pavilion of the seats where they overlooked the lake. I clumped up in my beat up boots, happy to finally wear a skin tight white tee and jeans. I believe there was a slight roll of swagger involved as well, though I absolve myself of vanity or foreknowledge of the same.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 100%; line-height: 115%;">That was the last peaceful breakfast and bike ride for some time to come.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 100%; line-height: 115%;">That very evening, I was ambushed by Jiten in collusion with Ma and trussed up into a silly suit. It was in vain that I tried to explain to him that I couldn’t possibly eat his gargantuan meals and still maintain the hard won flat tummy and clean cut jaw-line. He couldn’t be bothered with my arguments and sided with Ma, the ingrate. I was being taken along for a “social visit” to some ancient relatives, as part of “our social obligations”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 100%; line-height: 115%;">A word about my paternal family; we are a little over-crowded. My ancestors had never heard of family planning and didn’t hold with that sort of thing anyway. Till my dad’s generation, the basic consideration for a home was that it should be over-run with boys and puppies. Needless to say, my pa’s family ran long on boys, big, tall, boisterous boys who married nice girls and got more boys. At the last count, during some festival or the other, I calculated that I had enough cousins within three degrees to run soccer premier league tournaments, though the chances were that it would soon develop into a free-for-all rugby session really. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 100%; line-height: 115%;">My paternal family is brilliant; they are funny and crazy and very warm hearted. They visit often and expect visits and so on and so forth. I’ll explain about Ma’s side of the family later.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 100%; line-height: 115%;">Anyway, there I was stuck along with bro, who was grumbling as well, on our way to pay our respects and meet people. By the time, we reached the destination and said hello, I realized that I was the only one who was supposed to do all the meeting. With proper eligible girls from our community, caste, status etc. My Ma had well and truly ambushed me…again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 100%; line-height: 115%;">I met them all; fat chubby girls, slim slender girls, tall girls, short girls. I met all types; the giggly ones, the strong silent types, the firebrands, and the mousie ones….in fact I am sure I met even a lesbian and possibly one fairy. I did get along quite well with the fairy, brother to one of the girls I think, much to my Ma’s consternation. That boy was a walking encyclopedia on females in the town and was invaluable and just to spite Ma, I would drag him along to all the meetings.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 100%; line-height: 115%;">And the food. Oh the food….<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 100%; line-height: 115%;">I was fed from house to house as if I had returned from Somalia. Full nine course meals, different cuisines and loads and loads of sweets and puddings. My tummy shrieked and clamoured and no matter how much I worked out and ran, my jeans were getting tighter. I soon learnt to be very picky with food no matter where I went. Mother’s detested my sneers and untouched plates, daughters just detested me, the aunts I wooed over with flattery and lies. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 100%; line-height: 115%;">The funny thing was that wherever I went, assurances greeted me that the girl I was meeting had prepared the nine-course dinner. I mean, some of the stuff required serious marinating and hours of preparation. But the girl would be fresh faced as a daisy and shyly, demurely accept my parents commendations and my grimaces. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 100%; line-height: 115%;">I was getting tired of it all and was ready to run back to the UK, when I was rescued by my beloved granny (maternal) and was requested to pay her a visit up in Jorhat. I packed my rucksack in a jiffy, kicked awake bro and we both got on the road on ole faithful before Ma could wake up to stop us.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 100%; line-height: 115%;">The road to Jorhat twirls and meanders its way across all of Assam. Guwahati is in what is referred to as being in Lower Assam and Jorhat is the bastion of Upper Assam. The National Highway 32 wanders through picturesque villages like Sonapur, PuroniGudam, Roha and small towns like Nagaon. The roads are dotted with trees all along the route and the mighty Brahmaputra is never too far away and you are always in view of one or the other of its tributaries. We passed through Kaziranga Wildlife Sanctuary and watched the herons and the deer in the off-season grasslands on either side of the road. With frequent stops for cha and smokes and photographs, it wasn’t till late that we rolled up to the old bus terminus and hung a sharp left up solicitor’s road to my granny’s residence in Jorhat.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 100%; line-height: 115%;">My maternal side of the family is the exact opposite of Pa’s family. They are quiet, nice and very sensible people. Not to say that they are not warm enough or fun to be with. They’re fun in their own ways, just that they were not very loud and rambunctious people. My granny is this small thin little bird of a woman who is so fair and so old that her skin is like translucent rice paper. She has these bright eyes and a wicked sense of humour and who would scratch my scalp and hair till I fell asleep in her lap. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 100%; line-height: 115%;">After a day or two in the relaxing environs of Jorhat, granny asked us to take her to visit her old friends. Happy to oblige her, we drove her out to her friends place around eleven in the morning. Finding the place turned out to be a tad difficult as it was in the middle of a tea-estate about an hour’s drive from the town. By the time we reached the house, it was past noon. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 100%; line-height: 115%;">It was an old colonial estate house, all wooden rafters and wire netting on the patio and the whole house reeked of burnt food. Granny’s friend welcomed us effusively enough and did the usual oh-my-goodness-me-how-the-boys-have-grown routine. The adults appeared to be granny’s friend, her son and daughter-in-law and a floppy haired dog. Being naturally good with dogs and conversation, I was soon reclining with the dog in my lap and making my hosts as comfortable as possible, when it walked in.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 100%; line-height: 115%;">I say IT, because my first thought was “oh dear god, we need an ambulance!!!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 100%; line-height: 115%;">The apparition was in an apron, bandages and a chef’s hat. It also seemed that half the contents of the spice basket and possibly half the contents of the garbage pail were involved with the apron, the bandages and the hat.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 100%; line-height: 115%;">“Lunch is ready” it barked in a rather sharp tenor, which is when I realized that IT was a girl under all that guck.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 100%; line-height: 115%;">Granny’s friend and her daughter paled at the sight of their blood descendant while the father briskly turned to me and asked if I fancied a quick stiff whisky. I was too busy goggling at the apparition who glared at me and stomped off towards the inside of the house. The ladies followed in quick succession. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 100%; line-height: 115%;">Bro touched his nose, hand sign for “wanna run away?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 100%; line-height: 115%;">I was too intrigued with the apparition and wanted to know what followed, so I damned the consequences, refused the whisky and awaited proceedings. The man of house invited us in to have lunch and we took our places at the long dining table.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 100%; line-height: 115%;">The table was impeccably set with Waterford crockery and silver cutlery, possibly handed down generation after generation. The food in their beautiful white and blue porcelain was possibly handed down from an army mess or worse. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 100%; line-height: 115%;">After a few minutes, the apparition appeared looking like a UNDP effort at salvage and disaster management. She was above average height with long curly tresses which looked slightly burnt, a heart shaped face scrubbed to an inch with a fiery glow in her cheeks and really BIG eyes which glowered at me as she served the food out. There was soggy overdone rice which went splat on the plate, watery dal which dribbled over and fried potatoes which had been seared black. She sat back and glowered at me, going pink around the ears.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 100%; line-height: 115%;">I was entranced. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 100%; line-height: 115%;">When I was a kid, I loved food and Pa was a great cook, not to mention the rest of the uncles. It was a fact of our clan that the men cooked better than the women. My Ma was no mean cook herself and my uncles on the distaff side ran a chain of very successful restaurants and hotels famed for their food. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 100%; line-height: 115%;">Bro took one mouthful of food, manfully swallowed it down with a great gulp of water and then contented himself on pushing the food around his plate. Granny more or less did the same as did the rest of the family. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 100%; line-height: 115%;">I ate like there was no tomorrow. It reminded me of my first efforts at cooking and the more I ate, the more she glowered at me. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 100%; line-height: 115%;">I asked for seconds, when the glow in her eyes kindled again<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 100%; line-height: 115%;">“There’s some chicken curry and pulao. Would you care for some?” she sneered at me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 100%; line-height: 115%;">I merely nodded. Something faintly yellow-ish brown was slopped onto my plate followed by something else which was brown and mostly black. The chicken was just about boiled, the curry was without salt and the pulao burnt beyond recognition of colour or taste. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 100%; line-height: 115%;">I kept my eyes on the plate and gobbled it all down.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 100%; line-height: 115%;">Bro and granny and the rest of the family had long since given up any pretence at eating and were watching me like a Guinness Book of Records event. I concentrated on swallowing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 100%; line-height: 115%;">“Would you like some water?” she asked. Ah, the tonal variation had changed. I shook my head and continued mastication and requested seconds.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 100%; line-height: 115%;">After I managed to put away about two plates of pulao, I finally signaled that I had enough and went to wash my hands. I could hear, from the washroom, Granny order bro;<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 100%; line-height: 115%;">“You, try some of the chicken. NOW”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 100%; line-height: 115%;">“Not a chance, granny, as much as I love you” replied bro<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 100%; line-height: 115%;">There was a silence which was punctuated the lift of a ladle and something went splat on a plate. An agonized moment later, I could clearly hear her;<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 100%; line-height: 115%;">“My god, Shakuntala, I cannot believe he ate TWO helpings of this curry, much less cleaned the meat off the bones”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 100%; line-height: 115%;">It was time to get back to the dining room. I smiled at everyone and offered my compliments to the chef. I even discretely burped behind my hand and sat myself down in my chair.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 100%; line-height: 115%;">“Would you care for a sweet dish?” there was a note of anxiety in the voice now. I looked up and grinned at the worried looking face. She WAS cute. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 100%; line-height: 115%;">Ah….<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 100%; line-height: 115%;">I happily nodded yes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 100%; line-height: 115%;">Bro was making frantic hand sign “Are you okay?” “Are you okay?”.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 100%; line-height: 115%;">I ignored him and continued talking to the man of the house who was past the storming waters of imminent and ongoing disaster and now peacefully paddling through the debris of the storm past.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 100%; line-height: 115%;">A bowl of rice pudding was tentatively offered and graciously accepted. It was salty. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 100%; line-height: 115%;">I dug in and polished it off and resisted a second helping, patting my belly and looked her in the eye.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 100%; line-height: 115%;">I grinned again and finally she smiled too. She WAS pretty….<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 100%; line-height: 115%;">“And that’s how I married my beautiful, dutiful, handful of a wife” I wound up my speech on my tenth wedding anniversary at our 4rth restaurant opening, “Any other girl could present food that was cooked by someone else, but it took guts to be honest and show who she was. I could always cook proper food whenever I wanted, but she ensured that I remained fit. How could I do ANYTHING other than marry her?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 100%; line-height: 115%;">She still glowers at me and I know I am getting burnt rice for the next week. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: 100%; line-height: 115%;">***<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
dgoswami1979http://www.blogger.com/profile/06497337806216907980noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3943167523683786927.post-8823748595351718042009-02-16T04:07:00.000-08:002012-09-22T21:23:49.818-07:00The off-key waltz… <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
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<span style="font-size: 85%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 85%;">R never could dance. It was just one of those things. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 85%;">He could do a lot of other things all right, some even exceptionally well. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 85%;">But dancing was not one of those things which he could do. And the tragedy of the thing was that here was a man who longed, positively burnt to dance. He had first seen Fred Astaire as a boarding school boy, the middle of the twentieth century movies being considered by the Irish brothers of the missionary school as being “clean” enough for growing young boys to witness. Vaudeville dancing and once in a while, a western cowboy movie being considered enough cultural variety for the growing minds of R’s school.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 85%;">And in R’s case, Yul Bryner’s quick draw coming a very close to twinkle toed Astaire tap dancing to the exciting beats of the jazz strains. But, tap dancing and twirls were not something you practiced in an all boy’s boarding school or even in an all boy’s college hostel. Not if you were fat and wished to remain without comprehensive isolation. So, for R, things remained right there, up until now.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 85%;"><b>Madame Tea<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 85%;"><b>Dancing classes (waltz, jazz and contemporary)<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 85%;"><b>Community Centre, Defence Colony<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 85%;"><b>South Delhi<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 85%;"><b>Tel: xxxxxxxxx<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 85%;"><b>(Flexible hours)<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 85%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 85%;">The card was slightly gaudy. Not the sort his office got for him. In fact, it was quite eye-catching with its bold playground colours. The telephone number was in larger fonts. R had no idea he had got the card. He was fiddling for his bills in his wallet, from restaurants for his monthly expense sheet when he came across the card. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 85%;">R looked at the card once again and remembered Astaire’s twinkle toes and consigned the card to his waste bin.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 85%;">The place was like nothing he had imagined. For starters, it smelt. Smelt of sweat and old socks and something else that he couldn’t quite place. R couldn’t believe that he was here. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 85%;">The phone number was easy enough to memorize and he was blown out of his mind. It was his post-prandial joint which was not an addiction, he would tell himself. He could give it up anytime he liked. R started smoking joints when his doctor told him that his liver was sending out distress signals and would be on its way to collapse if he continued drinking the way he did. He promptly quit drinking and went cold sober for 12 days before he needed to simply empty his brain of its debris. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 85%;">The college boys across the corridor got the grass for him. There were benefits of being a soft touch for loans towards the end of the month for them. He was quite surprised at the quantity available for the price of a decent drink. The making of the joint came easily back to his fingers as he chopped up and crumbled the dried leaves of marijuana. Once cleaned of the dried kernels and stem pieces, he crushed the grass between his palms and finally taking a few drops of water, he rubbed the sticky mixture between his palms. Once he had the right consistency he crumbled and rubbed off the grass onto a newspaper and finally added some tobacco to the whole and mixed it up with his fingers and finally rolled a slim joint with a filter fashioned out of a small roll of cardboard. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 85%;">The taste of the joint was still not to his liking. He was a whisky boy and would always be one till the end, but if he wanted to taste whisky for a few more years, the joints would have to be accepted for the next few months or the year. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 85%;">He hated grass because he didn’t know how to control the high. R never knew when he crossed the line between awaiting intoxication and becoming so. It was simply not a gradual process – one minute he would be a little woozy and slow and the next minute he would simply blur and the blurs were never remembered. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 85%;">He had apparently called the dance school and arranged for lessons. It was in his cell phone message inbox the next morning, updating directions to the address and time for his first lesson.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 85%;">“Good evening”. It came out more like “goooood avennning”.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 85%;">Short, slim and middle-aged female were the first observations. Possibly an anglo or even a resident foreigner, possibly Mediterranean even Spanish. God knew he had enough experience dealing with foreigners in his line of work. The lady was speaking before R realized that he was still categorizing her and not listening.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 85%;">“Sorry, what?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 85%;">“I asked if you are Mr. R and if you are, where is your partner?” came the voice. It was definitely a foreigner; the anglo’s rounded their vowels and elongated verbs in a typical Indian manner.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 85%;">“Um...Sorry. I don’t quite remember the terms and conditions of the deal”, replied R, still in consultant mode. He was still dressed in his suit since the appointment was right after work. He tried again;<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 85%;">“I mean, I do realize I have signed up for lessons etc, but could you explain exactly what I am supposed to do?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 85%;">“You DANCE. That’s what you do. That’s ALL you do.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 85%;">R stood in his 130 kilo frame, nearly 6 ft in his shoes, goggled down at the lady in front of him. He was partly lost in admiration for the slightly melodramatic tinge and partly stymied by how similar the voice was to that of his childhood nannies. That voice had harmonics that went down the spinal column; tap dancing over the levers till it came to the one marked “obedience” and rammed down it with a wooden 12” ruler.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 85%;">“Yes ma’am” crackled out of R, before he could stop it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 85%;">It stopped the hawk nose that peered up at him. It was a small round face with a large nose and masses of curly hair popping out it. The face stopped at the meekness of the voice and softened a bit.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 85%;">“Good”. It again came out as “goooooot”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 85%;">“Now, you have signed up for waltz and jazz classes for your marriage, for sure. Three classes per week and that’s the basic 2 month course. Fees to be paid in cash or cheque for the whole two months, it is.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 85%;">She had tiny brown button eyes and looked like a loony pixy but marriage? He signed up for dance classes for his impending, fuckin’, nuptials???!!!! How blown WAS he last night?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 85%;">“Erm….the thing is….marriage, not really….I mean..” stumbled out R<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 85%;">“Ah. I seeee. Isss not a probleeem. You wish to charm the girllll. Very goooot, very gooot. Charming boy, well done, I hellllp youuuu. Isss not a probleeeeem” sang out the loony pixy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 85%;">R started to speak, and then gave up. It hardly mattered. He morosely nodded and shuffled along to the bench to change his shoes and hang up his coat in the changing rooms. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 85%;">The damn place was covered with mirrors and far too many high wattage bulbs. He could see himself and the not too flattering contours of his saggy upper torso were visible from way too many directions. This was not a good idea, not even a gooooot idea.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 85%;">Now he understood where the sweaty smell came from. Joints were sending distress signals and his body was cashing cheques with no balance in the stamina bank. His shirt was wet and his face positively dripped and they had just finished with the damn warm-up exercises.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 85%;">They say in dancing, the strongest muscles are the abdominal ones. You develop a low centre of gravity and create that insufferable grace and style of movement. Pity it looks so natural on screen that the harsh reality of its actual development left him gasping for breath. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 85%;">“YOU weeeel nowww chooooosh paaartners” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 85%;">The class was comprised of pretty young things both male and female. R felt like he had wandered into a film set and wasn’t surprised when several of the youngsters asserted their aspirations for celluloid. R’s childhood feelings of inadequacy and insecurity created a dichotomy of both wishing to be like the celluloid stars and at the same time, depreciating both his body and personality under the arc lights to ever consider such a profession. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 85%;">In fact, on one level, R understood that it was quite common, and on another wished he was not so anal retentive to actually read and understand such nuances of behavior and psychology. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 85%;">He turned to his right and saw a tangle of hair in an electric blue fluffy rubber-band thingie and a subtle hint of something that was NOT street deodorant. Dancing might not be natural to him, but there were a few things he could do.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 85%;">“Do you like the sea?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 85%;">“Huh?!!” said deep brown eyes and a pert upturned nose. He would learn her name later on and forget it promptly. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 85%;">“I asked, if you liked the sea?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 85%;">“Sure, maybe. Why?” replied pert nose.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 85%;">“Fancy trying to dance with a whale?” delivered straight-faced with the appropriate twinkle in the eye. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 85%;">The giggle confirmed the age old balance was intact. The creator had a damn good sense of balance as per R and what he lacked in visibility, he made up in the intangibles as he called them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 85%;">After a while, you kind of don’t smell the sweat and the funny smells of the audi or auditorium as the damn place was called. It was just a large empty room with stained wooden flooring, lots of light bulbs, a big music system and speakers and roll bars and hooks for towels & clothes. It was his fifth class but he wasn’t sure. He had stopped counting. The suit went into the gym bag and sweat pants, sneakers and a t-shirt went on. Headband, wrist bands and ankle supports went on as well. It was becoming a form of Zen for him to have somewhere to head off instead of trying to find the bottom of a whisky bottle in his empty flat. Or worse have his friends sponging off his expense account for a few hours of hard earned conversation which was not related to work. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 85%;">So, the smell of sweat disappeared and the funny smell was just the air-freshener sprayed by Madame Tea to disguise the whole edifice. Madame Tea was Russian, originally from the time of the iron curtain, a ballet dancer who had managed to be not counted in the departure lounge when her troupe came to perform in Delhi. The years had been kind to her, though the language was still giving her trouble. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 85%;">“Gooooot, gooot. NOW chooooosh paaartners”, came the strident call. Funny how such a tiny woman could produce such a loud voice.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 85%;">The girls now knew better. They were happy to talk to him before and after rounds or reels as Tea called them, but not during. Most of them had stopped limping though one or two still carried semblances of his pedestrian foxtrot and the trampling power under each heel. He recalled reading somewhere that pumping iron was Zen for violent men and wondered where that would leave him stranded. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 85%;">It was not so much that he lacked rhythm as that his body and ear were separate appendages. By the time, the ear issued instructions and the orders got relayed and acted upon, the beat had moved on. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 85%;">R was not quite concerned about finding a partner. In worse case scenario’s, Madame Tea would float over and dance with him. She reminded him even more of being a pixy whose feet barely touched the ground and her feet didn’t get the special R treatment. So, he just concentrated on rubbing away the twinges in his calves and stretching his muscles as best as he could. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 85%;">“It’s not easy, is it?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 85%;">R was in the middle of touching his toes or at least making vain attempts to even reach them. The voice was not familiar, but then hardly any voice here was. All he could see were sensible flat heels and old-fashioned girl’s socks. R rose up slowly, he had learned that if moved too fast doing stretches, something would catch and twinge or worse, he’d get a head rush.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 85%;">The face was heart-shaped and the mouth reminded him of a mouse. Pudgy and well-fed hamster more like with lank hair cut short around the neck. The eyes however had a glint in them not usually associated with the rest of the typical bored housewife image. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 85%;">“Nope.” It was usually best not to venture much when accosted unless he was doing the accosting. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 85%;">She was tall and not the usual PYT or even bored housewife. So he waited for an explanation or whatever else came his way. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 85%;">“Care to dance?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 85%;">R was heard the silences around him begin and saw that the glint in the eyes become even more hooded.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 85%;">“Sure, as long as you have foot injury insurance” he attempted and received no encouragement from the other side.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 85%;">The lesson for that day was a simple four-by-four waltz, a Strauss. Sounded simple till you actually had to count and move in progression. Not very heartening to someone who missed a beat on every beat. The pairs stood in a designated chalk circle drawn on the floor and were to keep their distressing efforts within the sacred circle. It brought back wayward memories of boarding school gym classes and the beginning of inadequacies. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 85%;">They started to dance, the cadence eloquent and statuesque, sweaty patches forming and being ignored all over the floor. Madame Tea stood on the wings, a bit reminiscent of Tyler Durden, and called out instructions. R never even heard her since he was too busy trying to keep to the beat and his moves.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 85%;">It was going well, funnily well and R started having hopes of actually being able to finally dance. He was what you would call the typical forward planner in today’s corporate jargon. As they dipped and twirled and he didn’t once make contact with yielding female toes or insteps, he started enjoying himself.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 85%;">The bulbs on the ceiling were finally just a blur as the music spun and swung around them. The violins seemed to sing especially to move his feet along, the beat never once troubling him. His partner was content to be led along and simply flowed within the circle. It was like he was tap-dancing on the non-linear catastrophe curve and the curve would flatten out for him without any worries.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 85%;">This was wrong!!!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 85%;">This cant be happening!!!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 85%;">I am dancing ….. and I KNOW I cant dance!!!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 85%;">Okay….what’s the problem here?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 85%;">R’s brain was shooting out computations and forking out trajectories of contingencies before his eyes had even slammed open. He continued to move while scanning the crowd and realized that they were moving on a different step than the rest of the class. He looked at his partner, but the eyes were closed and the hair waving softly with their movements. It was kind of pretty, he analyzed later on, but filed this away as not important NOW.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 85%;"> He tried to look down despite his imposing belly and noticed nothing wrong with his feet, what he could see of them. He was breathing deeply but that was normal for any physical activity undertaken. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 85%;">The music stopped and like cut puppets, the pairs stopped as well. The spell was broken, the magic gone with the lingering chords still hanging in the air like sequin shimmer.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 85%;">The lady smiled at him, an honest smile of appreciation. R stepped back and gave a short bow, neck down. It only seemed appropriate.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 85%;">*<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 85%;">“You guys slowed down and hence moved on a slower beat allowing you to catch it without a mistake” conjectured D. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 85%;">D always had a habit of trying to sort out everything. He had a question and then a thesis for every issue. R quite liked him and didn’t mind the constant problem-solving approach. After all they were in the business of solving problems for the world and it was also something he did privately in his own mind. D was a lanky loose limbed fellow with a shock of hair that constantly fell across his brow and women loved to brush away. He was also one of those lucky fellows’s with a lithe body and a much envied manner of carrying himself. R was honestly and quite openly jealous of the way D would carry off any clothes he wore with such <i>élan</i> while R struggled to merely fit into his old suits. They were a good team anyhow.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 85%;">“Basically, considering a 4 by 4 beat, you would still be able to dance a waltz on a 2 by 4 beat, which is what must have happened. Did you enjoy yourself?” queried D.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 85%;">R sighed and nodded. He was accustomed to the last question as most of his friends considered him to be a depression case. He was a fat workaholic who used to drink too much and doesn’t go about much. As old one friend particularly noted, he was inexplicably nice and extremely lonely. Most people took advantage of that fact that he gave far too much value to small kindnesses. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 85%;">D would regularly caution him on his generous nature and thick skin to snide comments. But in its own way, it was all true. R was a hothead with serious anger management issues in his younger years, but the years had ground down his senses and feelings or even desires. The choices one made between fighting and forgiving often becomes the story of their lives. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 85%;">R turned back to his report and awaited the hands of the clock make their slow and steady crawl to freedom.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 85%;">*<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 85%;">The feet were doing fine. He was making the same moves as everyone else. He was even following the beat. It was like the first time he had found his way to the debate team selections in school. Here was finally something that he COULD do. Something that did not require him to even think or analyze, just something that came naturally. He could negotiate his way through a corkscrew in a middle of a tornado without touching the sides, instinctively. This was feeling like the same way. Of course, his calves still gave twinges after a hard warm up but this drifting on the swirling, twirling chords of a waltz was something else.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 85%;">“okaayyyy, waltz is goooot, fer shure. Now, we do der ……. POLKA”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 85%;">Polka, whatever in the world was that?!! R was looking at his partner with a sudden sense of unease and saw the same mirrored in her hooded eyes. He had yet to ask her name. For the past few lessons, it was becoming habit to merely stand in his circle and await her entry and then, finally the music which lent wings to his heart, synapses and feet. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 85%;">As they stood awkwardly, listening to Madame Tea give out instructions, R took his first long look at his partner. She was tall and buxom, if that term was still in usage. Typical Indian wheatish complexion with a stubby nose and slim lips. She was dressed like him in a t-shirt and track lowers with sneakers instead of the first day sensible shoes. There was a beading of sweat on her upper lip and patches of sweat in her armpits of her tee. Not really the type of female company that he used to date in the ancient past. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 85%;">Someone had categorized his taste in those days as being slim, fiery, short and preferably drunk. Not a very flattering description, but true of those days. He had a thing against women who were even slightly chubby; in retrospect just another projection of his own insecurity about his obesity. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 85%;">With a start, R realized that the woman was checking him out as well and he found the idea a little scary. Would it sound ridiculous to ask her name now? No, bad idea. He was always good at conversation with even virtual strangers and never needed to know their names till they handed him visiting cards and asked for an appointment. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 85%;">“You don’t even know my name, do you?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 85%;">“No, but I am sure with your eyes, most men would forget their own names”, the glib tongue of the born liar and the steady gaze perfected over the years held him intact.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 85%;">She had a throaty chuckle, a womanish giggle with deliciously husky overtones. VERY appealing, calculated R’s chronic computational mind and increased stock points.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 85%;">“YOOOUUUU weeeel nowww DANCSH”, roared out the loony pixy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 85%;">It was similar to the waltz, only you had to move to a different beat and worse, change partners.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: 85%;">*<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 85%;">“Exactly HOW did you manage to mash her three toes and instep enough to cause cartilage damage?” asked D, once he was done spluttering over the hospital bill came to the office accountant. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 85%;">“I’ll pay it. Just asked for it to be sent to the office as they didn’t accept cards and I didn’t have enough cash on me” shot back R from his office in the other room.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 85%;">“Brother, I will pay the damn bill, if you would kindly tell me how you managed to smash the lady’s toes. Thought you guys were the next thing after Rita Hayworth and Gene Kelly”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 85%;">R groaned. D had gone to the same kind of schools as R had and remembered all the names. R never quite liked Gene Kelly, who was somewhat of a ham in comparison to the great Astaire and resented the slur.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 85%;">“muttermutternotsamepartnermuttermuttermutter”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 85%;">“And you will NOT mutter at me, brother. So, what’s this about?” challenged D.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 85%;">“Not my fault. That old witch made us dance the polka where you have to change partners. Bloody skinny bones got her foot under me just as I was completing the turn” replied R with fervor accompanied with a steady hammering on his laptop keyboard.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 85%;">“Ah….SO…..Ah, ha!!!” smirked D. D was the sort who would rather say I-told-you-so than eat chocolates.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 85%;">“Ah, my foot. It was just bad timing. And I was not accustomed to the damn dance. It took me a while to get the damn beat in the waltz. That’s what happened” grumbled back R.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: 85%;">*<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 85%;">It was NOT the damn beat or even the dance. He managed to mash two other toes and came perilously near to getting Madame Tea. Dancing queen was absent in the next two classes. R missed her. It was no more fun to keep counting beats and constantly look out before putting a foot down. He was back to doing joints after dinner though he still detested the taste and the cobwebs in his brains the next morning.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 85%;">Dancing queen appeared in the next class and gave a perfunctory nod before beginning the reel. It was perfect and the music flowed through R’s soul again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 85%;">“Where were you?” R asked, in the middle of the reel<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 85%;">“Ssshhh. Dance.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 85%;">“What do you do?” he persisted<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 85%;">“Dance”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 85%;">“Not funny” R growled as they moved into a slow spiral and twirl<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 85%;">“You’re supposed to be the funny man around here, right?” hooded eyes snapped back at him<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 85%;">They danced in silence through minutes and parvonnes and finally reached the foxtrot through the next 4 classes, before the silence was broken.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 85%;">R was humming along with the popular jazz tune as they moved through their circle. It was one of the tunes he remembered from shards of his childhood. He had an elephant’s memory for trivia and lyrics, though mostly his memory was an elephant’s graveyard.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 85%;">“Sing it”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 85%;">R was wrapped in the lyrical strains that he didn’t hear the soft whisper coming from his left shoulder. He heard it the next time when it was accompanied with a squeeze on his leading arm (it was the hand in which the lady’s hand was, as per Mme. Tea)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 85%;">“Sing what?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 85%;">“The song you are humming to yourself. Sing the lyrics, you know them”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 85%;">It was such a strange request. He had no singing voice and how did she know that he knew the lyrics? But there was a strange nameless woman in his arms and the wondrous music around. R hitched the equivalent of a mental shrug and softly started singing the chorus. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 85%;">It was suddenly the difference between a bland condom and the animalistic heated pull of turgid flesh and friction.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 85%;">The woman melted into him and the dance became something else. Woody Allen or someone equally funny had remarked that dancing was the vertical equivalent of horizontal desire. Damn right and in doubles that too, thought R.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 85%;">When the music stopped, they were still, but no longer awkwardly. It was like they were sharing something secret and valuable. A bit shaken and still breaking away from the spell, R stepped back and gave her a full bow, from the waist down. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 85%;">The woman stayed where she was and curtsied. An honest to goodness curtsey, right out of the Count of Monte Cristo with Errol Flynn. Damn if he didn’t feel a touch of old Errol about him as they moved back to their belongings and the changing rooms. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 85%;">It was the last time R saw her.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: 85%;">*<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 85%;">“She comes and goes. No telling when she will be back next. My advice is to concentrate on your dancing. You are moving quite well and losing weight as well” offered Mme. Tea. The language barrier was as if removed overnight. It was all a matter of adjusting.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 85%;">“But I can’t dance with anyone else. I make blunders and can never keep the beat” snapped back R.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 85%;">“Yes you can. You can dance very well, only you dance off-key”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 85%;">“Off-key?” queried R, not feeling very interested in dancing theory presently.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 85%;">“Yes, yes, you dance off-key. You dance well, but you dance off-key, because of your weight, one bar behind time. She dance like that too, one bar behind beat. But it is something you can work on and overcome” explained Mme. Tea.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 85%;">R walked out of the studio. He didn’t want to dance in key.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 85%;">It was no longer summertime as it was when he had joined the classes. He shivered in his thin t-short and tracks as he stumped over to his Indica. He dumped his gym bag in the back and sat in the driver’s seat. The road was dark and deserted and the opulent mansions on either side of the road were glimmering with lights and people.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
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<span style="font-size: 85%;">R fished in his glove compartment and found the cigarette pack containing his joints. He licked the sides of the rice paper and lit the reefer. Sitting silently with the mosquitoes buzzing and humming in his ears, R finished the joint and tossed it out of the window. He felt for the CD case on the dashboard and slipped it into the player. As the strains of the jazz foxtrot started, he started the car and shifted into gear and slowly let out the clutch.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 85%;">The roads of Delhi are fragrant with gas fumes, bull droppings, dust, frying oil and the ever present of a million people present in the near vicinity. To someone who has recently smoked a joint, the smells are sharper and denser, maybe because the narcotic slows down the synapses.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 85%;">Most people don’t even have a song for their own to remember and cherish, thought R as the truck headlights came barreling down the road. At least, I had an off-key waltz, he hummed to himself.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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dgoswami1979http://www.blogger.com/profile/06497337806216907980noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3943167523683786927.post-92139751681345236352007-10-04T13:19:00.000-07:002007-10-04T14:21:19.916-07:00Leaving Guwahati<div style="text-align: justify;"><br /><br />I am leaving Guwahati, for some time, perhaps for longer than I know and I am not sure when I will be back. When I first came to Guwahati nearly four years to the exact day, the city I had observed is not the city that I see today. And as I begin to pack my bags and start saying my goodbyes, the city and its newly changing face come back to me in every corner and turn of the road that I take and urge’s me not to leave.<br /><br />The city that we grow up in is not always the city that we remember and I am sure better people than me, and better pens than mine have rendered the same words and the same judgment in far more eloquent prose and poetry. Yet the city that leaves its mark on you is more often the one you remember than the one you don’t.<br /><br />I was lucky to grow up in city, which I also remembered again by the fact of working in it. I had finished my studies upto class 12 in Guwahati itself, but then you cannot really know a city as a child and worse, a school going child ensconced with the kindly but firm familial embrace that did not believe in street education’s importance to a child. The first city I perhaps knew was Pune, where I went to college. Though most people today believe it to be the only city that actually started out decadent, it was quite a change from the bucolic existence of mine.<br /><br />Cities change and so do people, and I had come back after completing my studies and various internships in various metropolises in India and had found to no great surprise that home was the same as it had been the 5 years before I had left it.<br /><br />Guwahati to me, 4 years ago didn’t look like the Forbidden City, perhaps that’s only because it was not called the Forbidden City. It didn't look inviting. It didn't look as though it sold postcards, though we do get them now. The only souvenir you were likely to get would be, perhaps, your teeth. In a bag. Certain areas were described, in various travelogues and brochures, as being “quaint” and “folkloric” which was a nice euphemism for “you’ve been warned”. There were certain ancient parts of the city, whose inhabitants were largely nocturnal and never enquired about one another's business because curiosity not only killed the cat but threw it in the river with weights tied to its feet.<br /><br />And then we had the smaller towns like Jorhat and Dibrugarh where people think us to be weird and crazy and always worried about the future and think that it comes from eating unnatural foods. Guwahati was supposed to be a wet rainforest jungle till a few hundred years ago, and it has not changed much except that it has got drier and had more carnivores now.<br /><br />I started working in the city of my birth and growth and found so many things that belied description that even putting the same down in words, on paper is unreal.<br />Today the youngsters hang out in the trendy new chain coffee stores and drink cappuccinos, when we used to drink “laal saah” by our addas. The new watering holes have names evocative of magic and temptation, our holes were pits like Indraloy Bar where managing three drinks before a fight broke out was magic in itself.<br /><br />Finding a cyber café was an achievement, though mostly the cafes would be nothing more than an enterprising young fellow with a computer at his home with a tortoise-slow dial-up connection, but we thanked god for small mercies and mailed our pals in Mumbai and Delhi and cribbed and complained about the state of Assam, pun fully intended.<br /><br />Today, its hard to walk 50 feet in any direction within the city and 100 feet outside the city before seeing the ubiquitous Sify sign board, winking red temptation and speedy DSL cable connections. Guwahati has always been a city which believes in fads, and when we first saw public call offices, or trekkers, or minibuses (canters) or wine shops, it would just take a few weeks before the phenomenon would spawn crazily all over the city and everyone would jump on the bandwagon of the day. In a way, this is truly the ethos of this enchanting and infuriating place.<br /><br />People who were not indigenous to the region started most of these new businesses and as with most cultures, it’s the exiles, the men and women, tough and strong enough to leave their pasts who can create something new. It is the exiles who own the earth; because they are tough enough to walk without shoes, eat stale crusts and even mate with strange women. For they will survive. Walk any road in the world, they say, and you will find a foreigner making money out of the locals. Look up in the sky and see the wild geese flying across the moon. And, while it was true that a lot of people came to Guwahati because it was a city of opportunity, sometimes it was the opportunity not to be beaten up, hung or dismantled for whatever crimes they had left behind in the villages and in the hills.<br /><br />A lot of people came to the city in the past years, some for work and some for creating work for others. The latter community was swinging to boom time now, for it was a community all right. A community of students who would come in the search of specific subjects, freedom, better opportunities and the dream of bohemia.<br /><br />The last few years, students have been accumulating and streaming into the city every year and like most places, they have brought the winds of change and zephyrs of fresh, new ideas and ways. Some good, some interesting, but definitely blowing the winds of change. You can find couples dating and walking about in trendy outfits and in trendier locations. Call me jealous, but I truly hate God at such times, that I was born a few years too early!!<br /><br />In my salad years of a schoolboy, back in the days of yore, the sight of a girl talking to us boys would be stared at by the rest of us, in the manner of those who have heard of the species 'female' but have never expected to get this close to one. Today, you are more likely to find kids from class 10 and 12 inhabiting the city’s discos, pub’s and coffeehouses. They are young, brash and have hard cash, which is a change all right.<br /><br />There is an ancient Chinese curse, it goes "May you live in interesting times"... I guess, we must have got on the bad side of some of the Chinese generals during the Indo-Chinese war and the curse was a delayed-reaction one. I am definitely living in interesting times.<br /><br />The new generation has perhaps its own defence and its own bohemian ideals that they espouse. I remember the trouble I had explaining to my parents and Assorted Aunts Inc. the possibility of girls who can just be platonic friends with me, much to my secret disgust, and not mean any harm. So, I guess, its just another change, another day…<br /><br />Poets have tried to describe Guwahati. They have failed. Perhaps it's the sheer zestful vitality of the place, or maybe it's just that a city with a million inhabitants and no working sewers during the monsoons is rather robust for poets, who prefer daffodils and no wonder.<br /><br />There was a certain something about the air in the city. ... You couldn't help noting with each breath that thousands of other people were very close to you and nearly all of them had armpits. This part of Guwahati was known as Paltan Bazaar and Phasi Bazaar, an inner-city area sorely in need either of governmental help or, for preference, a flamethrower. It couldn't be called squalid because that would be stretching the word to breaking point. But with the advent of the new brand stores, I am wondering how long will these bastions of consumer durables last out.<br />In the past, I would remember myself being dragged to these areas, by my mom and my Assorted Aunts Inc. (Its easier to term them thus, they are not countable and I would get lost even trying) These fearless women would go out in droves to sack, pillage, plunder with others of their kind and never was such an invasion by an assortment of valkyrie’s welcomed with such heartfelt joy perhaps. The narrow streets and the stifling shops smelling of new clothes and the invisible assistants up in the attics, who were shouted weird incomprehensible codes and lo, behold, the exact colour, size and shape would appear in the product demanded. It was a weird and incomprehensible world and fun to get lost in, especially with the advantages of being inundated with cold drinks everywhere we went.<br /><br />Today, when my sisters and their friends, the new generation of Assorted Aunts Inc. perhaps, drag me to cool, air-conditioned swanky malls, I still get lost in the smell of new clothes, only there is no mystique and its all very quiet and organized and no fun. People would browse in silence and there is no uproar of weird meaningless phrases and the sales assistants are behind the counters. There are also no free cold drinks, sadly.<br /><br />The only thing that is still constant is that I am still being dragged, will-nilly, against my will to be shopped for, to shop, or basically just to stand as porter cum driver cum sounding board for Assorted Sisters and Aunts Inc.<br /><br />Something’s never change, such as the merchants of Fancy Bazaar. The shopkeepers of Fancy Bazaar knew about old money, which was somehow hallowed by the fact that people had hung on to it for years, and they knew about new money, which seemed to be being made by all these upstarts that were flooding into the city these days. But under their powdered armpits they were of business families, and knew that the best kind of money was the sort that was in their hands and not someone else's. The best kind of money was mine, not yours, as always.<br /><br />As I write this, I am informed that yet another one of us has got his visa and is leaving in a day or two. I am waiting for mine and to pass the time, my remaining friends, rather their wives, which is somehow worse, are going to take me out to watch the latest release.<br /><br />The movie halls are yet to be changed, but I hear underground swells about multiplexes and such. I love the old movie halls in Guwahati like Apsara, Anuradha or Vandana. They were halls of character and fading, grubby and grimy of interiors or exteriors. And we sure never noticed them as generations of school boys playing hooky and couples lost to all else but each other found comfort and security and sanctity within the dark pavilions of big screen dreams. When I had come back four years ago, the tickets cost the same as they did when I had left, a nice twelve rupees fifty paise, to my great happiness. The blacker would sell scalped balcony tickets at twenty rupees, when the same tickets in Delhi or Mumbai would cost a hundred and fifty rupees at regular prices. The tickets grew costlier, but the upholstery didn’t get cleaner or the air-conditioners start working. The floor was still slimy and slippery with the debris of previous shows, but people still remember and still come to form huge queues for new releases. I wonder, if any of these will be around when I next see this city?<br /><br />There is so much else to say, but so little time or space to say it in. A lot of us are leaving the shores of the home country, some with secret hopes of never returning, others with hopes of returning which might not get realised. Most of us are leaving, chasing dreams and grabbing reality, materialism and, of course, success. And as we all pack our bags, apply to foreign universities and rave and rant about visa problems, I wonder how many of us are thinking about this city of ours which has nurtured us and which perhaps has need of us in these changing times.<br /><br />Perhaps, we need to think of our returns as much as we think of our departures, from this city of ours, Guwahati.</div>dgoswami1979http://www.blogger.com/profile/06497337806216907980noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3943167523683786927.post-41430741719014740312007-10-04T13:12:00.000-07:002007-10-04T13:18:16.064-07:00The non-profit solution to legal aidI have a solution to the legal aid crisis. The problem is simple. Lawyers for years have been accepting cases for one reason and one only: they want to get paid.<br /><br />Now I submit that this philosophy of working in order to get paid is perverse and runs against the moral fibre of our society, as far as lawyers are concerned.<br /><br />Lawyers should be taking on briefs for one reason and one reason only, and that is to see justice done.<br /><br />The answer therefore is to ensure that only those candidates who go to law school for the right reasons get accepted.<br /><br />And how can we determine who these noble people would be? Why not discreetly slip in several choice questions into those merciless entrance exams of law schools, which would help us weed out the mercenaries?<br /><br />Following are a sample of possible questions, which should help us eliminate the avaricious money-grubbers:<br /><br />As a lawyer your hero would be:<br /><br />Charles Sobhraj;<br />Byomkesh Bakshi;<br />Mother Teresa;<br /><br />A gentleman calls you from a police station on a second Saturday at 5:30 p.m. asking that you come over to advise on his arrest. He says he has no money and there is no one to defend him as he has no money. You:<br /><br />Tell him you really would like to get paid;<br />Tell him your family is expecting you for dinner;<br />Tell him until this moment your day has been unfulfilled but now his call has revitalized you and you're on your way.<br /><br />A woman comes to your office indicating her husband of 20 years has thrown her and their two young children out of the house. The husband, a builder and contractor, tells the wife he needs the house to entertain his secretary and she's in his way. He also threatens to hide his assets and tells her she'll never see a single rupee. She is broke and she needs a stay, a maintenance petition and a criminal case for cruelty against her husband. What is your response?<br /><br />You clear your throat and tell her you're about to go on a lengthy holiday;<br />You ask if she can borrow any money against her jewellery to at least cover your expenses;<br />You say: "You've come to the right place. Excuse me while I empty my bank account, mortgage my chambers and car and auction off my wife and kids!”<br /><br />Girish Letipeti has been dismissed from his job of 15 years as an office clerk at a powerful city corporation. His manager just came over to him out of the blue and said: "You're fired. If you don't like it, go cry." Girish is penniless and he asks you to fight for justice. It's your move.<br /><br />a) You refer him to another lawyer saying this area is foreign to you;<br />b) You tell him you'd like to help him but you really would prefer some assurance of payment as your rent is due next week;<br />c) You say: "No problem. After all I run a non-profit organization. Let's sue the bastards."<br /><br />Falu Faizal wakes up after a tonsillectomy only to find out that his entire right side is paralyzed. Chances are somebody goofed. It would cost several thousand rupees in expenses for experts to determine if there's any medical malpractice. Faisal, who is now without any income, pleads to you to take on the case. You respond by:<br /><br />a) Offering to get Faisal some ice cream;<br />b) Telling him malpractice suits are risky, and usually vigorously fought by the insurance company;<br />c) Liquidating your kid's college fund, as you know he would have wanted it that way.<br /><br />If any of the candidates answer (c) to all of the above questions, they would get accepted into law school. Now wouldn't we all want to be represented by lawyers like that! Perhaps in this day and age, we need such lawyers to bring back some faith and hope…dgoswami1979http://www.blogger.com/profile/06497337806216907980noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3943167523683786927.post-68510016902492003772007-10-04T13:11:00.000-07:002009-05-14T07:35:18.690-07:00Pre-Marital Woes<div style="text-align: justify;">Why did you get married?<br /><br />I have asked this question more times that I know or can remember. Its usually a nice way of getting two partners fighting, which of course enlivens the general atmosphere and its also a nicer way of getting boring people in sad parties to smile awkwardly and cough or giggle and move on.<br /><br />Some decide to answer the question and the best reasons I have got could be listed as follows;<br /><br />“I was in love” –the most famous though funnily it is not the most repeated;<br />“My parents thought it was time I was settled” is quite popular,<br />“I was bored”, this also has its followers.<br /><br />However, hats off to the best of them all – “I don’t know”, the most repeated and most quoted.<br /><br />Hello folks, it is 2006 and the most popular and most often repeated answer to a question, which poses one of our life’s turning points, is that most of us do not know what or why we took such a step. One of the greatest queries of our lives, the turning rudder that will in fact decide the rest of our meaningful or meaningless lives, is answered in blankness and lack of knowledge.<br /><br />Is it me or is it wrong that I should be outraged at such, today?<br /><br />Spare me the sentimental drivel and the petty rationalizations of the human mind; I have heard them all and they are all drivel. We are humans, the difference between apes and us is not the fact of a spinal column being erect, but of the gray matter on top of that same spinal column which defines us.<br /><br />So why do we not utilize the stuff referred to as the brain and think as to the reasons for which we should marry or did marry?<br /><br />Parents and family can be quite a deterrent in this aspect of introspection. I suspect that this is mainly because they were not allowed to delve into the same query themselves before commitment and now they are out for revenge!!!<br /><br />Being in love is basically a trick question of make-up and entrapment and girls know this fact,a bit too well despite people taking pains to tell them that beauty was only skin-deep. <span style="font-style: italic;">As if a man ever fell for an attractive pair of kidneys or a classic large intestine!!!</span><br /><br />And, then the boys should also know that girls are pretty, they have style, beauty, grace and that’s what matters. If cats looked like frogs we would all realize what nasty, cruel little creatures they are.<br /><br />But then, when was the last time the dogs stopped chasing cats?<br /><br />Some things are just not meant to be....<br /><br />In any case, it’s the 21st century, the second millennia since Jesus was six years old and most of the young people of today think that marriage is a very serious step that ought to be done properly, so they practice for it quite a lot.<br /><br />That however does not answer my query; why do people get married? Or even want to do so? It cannot be that in today’s world, two people can be so idiotic as to get married only for the fun of being prepared to swear that only the other one snores.<br /><br />If we are to look at Hinduism and its teachings, we find that Hinduism encouraged early marriage as a preventive against Sin, although any activity involving any part of the human anatomy between neck and knees was more or less sinful in any case.<br /><br />It strikes me that whatever the young kids today are practicing, they do have some wonderful precedents in our gods and our ancestors if all that mythology being shown on TV was to be believed. I might be blasphemous, but if that stops those weird ham actors and those fat kinky babes in sagging brasseries and their equally mad directors from demonizing my gods, I would happily hold forth a blasphemous rant .........<br /><br />I got some amazing stories from the sub-registrars of the family courts and the marriage offices about the reasons for marriage. Some have to do with usually a grim brother and father pair and a submissive husband and a rather large bride. Other stories deal with kids who think they are in a Bollywood presentation and are more in love with themselves than each other. More often than not, some classic gems do come up for top reasons of <span style="font-weight: bold;">being bound in the locks, pun not intended, of holy matrimony</span><br /><br />A civil marriage is usually a mere signing formality, performed by the registrar but there was once enterprising fellow who had carefully made a ceremony up. This was because there is no official civil marriage service in India, other than something approximating to "Oh, all right then, if you really must!!!"<br /><br />Last I had heard of him, the fellow was doing brisk business for eloping couples. He even gave them references for divorce lawyers if unhappy with the product he was offering.<br /><br />And then there are the night guards around my office who are better still at the query. They quote the case of a senior friend of theirs who owed thirty years of happy marriage to the fact that the Mrs. worked all day and her husband worked all night. They communicated by means of notes. He got her dinner ready before he left at night; she left his breakfast nice and hot on the stove in the mornings.<br /><br />They have three grown-up children, all born, I can only assume, as a result of extremely persuasive handwriting.<br /><br />In any case, most guys I know, would usually accept the fact after a few drinks, that they married so that they could at least look at a pretty face in the morning instead of their ugly mugs in the shaving mirror, which might not be very sentimental, romantic or nice, but is definitely true of guys, in most cases. <span style="font-style: italic;">Which is why, most husbands say this only after a few drinks and never in hearing of their wives.</span><br /><br />Men generally don’t have much in the way of extra sensory perception of sixth senses, but upon marriage they suddenly get a whole lot of extra senses bolted into their brain, and the first reaction of the new extra senses is to tell a man that he's suddenly neck deep in real trouble. Most men rue this fact and wish that the senses got bolted on before the marriage.<br /><br />There is of course the other reason, which is experienced by those people who are frequent fliers. Amongst them, it is felt that beauty was even more likely to be in the eye of the beholder if the feet of the beholder were not on something solid. At ten thousand feet up, the eye of the beholder tends to water and anyone on the ground looks good. Most of my frequent flier pals are married, it can be understood.<br /><br />Being in love and worse, being married is a slight but subtle difference from being alive. It's like the difference between seeing a beautiful new star in the winter sky and actually being close to the supernova. It's the difference between the beauty of morning dew on a cobweb and actually being a fly. It’s a whole new world and we suddenly need a map and a compass.<br /><br />In any case, I lost track of what I was asking and time. Talking of time, I need to fly, my parents want me to meet a girl, you see.<br /><br />Do you pity her or me?<br /><br /></div>dgoswami1979http://www.blogger.com/profile/06497337806216907980noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3943167523683786927.post-84942579738840027122007-10-04T13:07:00.000-07:002007-10-04T13:11:04.493-07:00Mahisashuri Vs. IOIOI Moon Life, Insurance and Prudential Corp.<div style="text-align: justify;"><br />Author’s Note:<br /><br /> [I saw a Durga Puja pandal some time back depicting Mahishashura being poked with a trident by the goddess Durga in rage for his apparent invasion over the disorganized three worlds for clarity in administration knowing fully well that this was a no-no.<br /><br />I subsequently watched, quite recently, the movie version of this scene and there was some rather plump babe poking the merry hell out of some poor southie actor and the subtitles ran something on the lines like thus, “If you will not live and let live in chaos of the Devas babudom, then you will die under the shakti of my filing system or trident” or some words to that effect<br /><br />The poor pumped up southie actor is then poked at again and all hell breaks loose and the earth swallows up all the offending rebels, including the poor southie and a host of extras<br /><br />Now being a lawyer who spends some time handling death and disability claims cases I inevitably found myself viewing these depictions from a different perspective.<br /><br />It occurred to me that Mahishashura was quite a ripe specimen of manhood or rather ashura-hood and that trident did look a trifle unwieldy for the purpose of poking, leaving aside all references of symbology and rather heavy tridents in the hands of kinky babes with a death fetish<br /><br />By comparison I was remembering attempting to hit my errant brother with a bamboo stave about the same length for a similar misdemeanor and I had difficulty even touching him, much less poking him hard enough, that dratted boy. And it's not like I was practicing everyday with it unlike Jet Li, planning for just an eventuality of my bro deleting a weeks worth of drafts and petitions from my computer.<br /><br />I therefore concluded that Mahishashura at his age and level of fitness was being the subject of an injury or worse the victim of some sort of fraud and coercion resulting in his unfortunate demise.<br /><br />I decided to research this enigma and with the assistance of legal mythology Professor Angshamun Rabo of the University of Patal Lok, I came across little before known information about Mahishashura. In fact the professor actually discovered a legal judgment wherein Mahishashura’s wife sued for accident benefits arising out of this very incident. The Honourable Justice Gojo, of the Swarglok High Court rendered this judgment]:<br /><br />Gojo J.:<br /><br />The plaintiff Mahisasuri brings this action against IOIOI Moon Life Insurance and Prudential for accident benefits. A brief summary of the salient facts is in order.<br /><br />The plaintiff, the wife of the victim, claims that the victim was 46 years old and a a liberator by occupation. He was not always into this work but one day while he was being psychiatrically counseled for the unfortunate demise of his kith and kin by the accursed Devas, he manage to channel his energies into the plight of the three worlds and the apparent mismanagement of the same and undertook a mission for seeking a solution to the same.<br /><br />That, the said victim did register his organisation in Brahma’s Court and that upon receiving the necessary jurisdiction and powers for the proposed upliftment and clarification of the state of affairs of the three worlds, the victim did so undertake the said project with utmost vigour and dedication<br /><br />The Devas resisted initially but after a bit of gentle coaxing from Mahishashura, which included the doling out of various writs and PIL’s leading to forfeiture of privileges and barring enjoyment of the apsara’s. Upon such, the Devas mellowed and agreed with and allowed the victim to proceed with his intentions for decentralization of authority and delegation of leadership for greater transparency and optimum efficiency in management of the three worlds.<br /><br />Unfortunately the Devas soon reneged and approached the tripartite appellate court of Brahma, Vishnu and Shiva. That the said bench did so advise the appellants to consider creation of a new post, namely the Deva Aid Group, bearing in mind the recently adopted anti-gender discriminatory practices and policies as well as the tendencies of the feminine gender towards organisation and clarity, and thereby appointment of a female bureaucrat, fulfilling the quotas so adopted, for dealing with the issue of Mahishashura and his planned upgradation of administrative practices.<br /><br />The same was so seconded, nominated and ratified and set into motion.<br /><br />Various departments contributed to this new approach of solution of the problem of “operation clean up”, the name of Mahishashura management project and assigned various committees and sub-liaisons for the effectiveness of the new post, including the Bench’s prized and feared filing system, the deadly trident of misplaced, misnamed and simply lost sections.<br /><br />So, armed, the said bureaucrat did go to war against Mahishashura and his proposed reformation, relocation and responsible management team.<br /><br />Just as things looked hopeless Mahishashura still stood at the helm of his works and defended his stand most magnificently. It is of significance that Mahishashura stood to his principles and defended them at all times and I shall deal with that issue shortly.<br /><br />When the plaintiff’s husband, the aforementioned victim did so see the havoc caused amongst his team members and project leaders, he was appalled at the breach of trust by the Devas and their reneging upon the agreed upon change in management. The Devas offered a secret cut out deal to the victim, which were actually a compendium of "Thou shalts" and "Thou shalt nots", which was roundly refused, though the new post and the holder were much appreciated for the forward thinking shown by the Devas.<br /><br />No one is sure exactly what Mahishashura said but his second in command one, Ghatashura did hear a soft "AiiiiiYo".<br /><br />Mahishashura was then provoked and a sting operation launched against him, in the form of the deadly filing system of the famed and trident, due to arrival of which, the victim was substantially disabled. Though taking recourse to various forms of escape and administrative bottlenecks, he finally met with his unfortunate demise at the hands of the newly appointed head of the Deva Aid Group<br /><br />By chance the victim had taken out death and disability insurance and so the present plaintiff applied for benefits. The defendant however sent back this letter to his wife (exhibit 6):<br /><br />"Dear Mahisashuri,<br />After carefully reviewing your application we must decline benefits. We thank you for choosing IOIOI Moon Life, Insurance and Prudential Corp. and we hope to be of service again. Remember, with IOIOI Moon Life, Insurance and Prudential Corp. you are in our hands."<br /><br />The plaintiff subsequently launched this action.<br /><br />The defendant denies the claim on a couple of grounds. Firstly it claims that Mahishashura when applying for insurance did not disclose certain material information.<br /><br />The application form (exhibit 12) asks at question 41," Do you ever engage in any of the following:<br /><br />Mortal Combat games;<br />Mount Meru climbing;<br />Bungee jumping;...<br />Sorcery."<br /><br />It is noted that the plaintiff ticked off "No" to all of the items. The defendant claims that Mahishashura in fact engaged in sorcery in that he had performed a number of tricks, including turning himself into various forms and committees during his final desperate encounters with the newly appointed head of the Deva Aid Group. Had it known this IOIOI Moon Insurance and Prudential claims it would have declined coverage, as this was a material misrepresentation of facts.<br /><br />I disagree. This act was not sorcery. Counsel for the plaintiff referred the Court to the authoritative definition in White’s Law Dictionary. White defines "sorcery" as an act of magic performed by a "sorcerer", which is in turn defined as a man wearing a conical hat with stars and moons on it and performing feats of magic."<br /><br />There is no evidence before me that Mahishashura in performing the said trick ever wore a conical hat with stars and moons on it. The only evidence of any hat at all worn by the plaintiff’s deceased husband is that of a large crown bearing a large letter "M", besides a lot of jewellery.<br /><br />The plaintiff’s husband, the victim in the instant case accordingly does not fall into the sorcerer category.<br /><br />The defendant then argues that the insurance is for injury caused by an "accident" and not a pre existing ailment. It claims that Mahishashura was not really killed by the trident filing system but rather he suffered from mortality, as is the cause with all creatures, before even consideration of his project, which led to his unfortunate demise as in the normal course of events.<br /><br />There was evidence given by an investigator, one Chugalshura son of Nakashura, who testified that while at the initial meeting with the new head of the Deva Aid Group, that Mahishashura said, "Oooh Boy, I am but a man." <br /><br />Even if Mahishashura did have some issues with mortality, does this change the nature of the occurrence? The evidence is clear that Mahishashura was able to perform all of his duties before that faithful evening. It is obvious that the trident filing system did cause his death<br /><br />Nor do I buy the argument that coverage should be denied as Mahishashura was the author of his own misfortune by willfully undertaking the project of reformation of the Devas babudom and initiating reforms for clarity in management with greater emphasis on change in administration teams and therefore the incident was no accident, emanating rather from his deliberate act.<br /><br />As counsel for the plaintiff has demonstrated, Mahishashura in getting angry and throwing the Devas out of administrative duties within his job description as a liberator and manager. Clause 18 of the job description (exhibit 43) in fact reads as follows: "In addition to the foregoing the employee may occasionally have his wrath wax hot and he may discipline the people using any reasonable means as may be necessary."<br /><br />I find that the action of the plaintiff’s husband, the deceased in the instant case, came within the ambit of his duties. He did not in my view over wax.<br /><br />This leads me to the final question, namely, is the plaintiff disabled from substantially performing the essential duties of his occupation?<br /><br />His duties are wide, ranging from judging the people to trouble shooting to creation of new projects for the greater benefit of his people. The victim was frequently asked to appear in the presence of his people and lead them by example. In doing this he finds that the things go better for his people. The minute he is not around, the ashuras start taking a beating, as happened when his upon his demise, the babudom of the Devas is back in full swing and there is corruption, inefficiency and irresponsibility to the prayers of the common man for averting the chaos of the three worlds.<br /><br />It is obvious from all the evidence that Mahishashura is disabled by being death as defined by the policy and that his wife is entitled to benefits. The plaintiff will have her judgment as claimed plus interest plus 50,000 gold coins (swarna mudra’s) punitive damages as the insurer acted insensitively by suggesting throughout that Mahisashuri was playing games. If the monies are not paid within seven days Mahisashuri is free to use any means she chooses to recover. And if I were the claims' manager of IOIOI Moon Life Insurance and Prudential Corp., I would not give Mahishashuri another chance at reviving her husband’s NGO for reformation and projects for clarity in administration.<br /><br /> - - Judgment accordingly<br /><br /></div>dgoswami1979http://www.blogger.com/profile/06497337806216907980noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3943167523683786927.post-39200923616208654912007-10-04T13:05:00.000-07:002007-10-04T13:06:54.837-07:00Show me the money?<div style="text-align: justify;"><br />In my law practice it happens that occasionally I sue people. Usually, people owing my clients money, one-way or the other. And it happens as well that at least just as occasionally the debtors try to discourage my pursuit by dropping subtle hints that they are broke. They all suggest that if we ever get a judgment against them we could paper the wall with the order, decree or judgment, as it would be unenforceable. Some debtors are not as subtle in suggesting where we could put that judgment. I have concluded that there are no limits to the imagination these people employ to try to convey to me that they are financial deadbeats.<br /><br />I recently wrote a letter on behalf of a client to a gentleman who simply refused to pay for some furniture sold to him. The man called me back. I expected him to say something like, “No problem, your letter has driven the fear of the Lord into me. I shall send you a cheque the minute I get off the phone”. Instead he bellowed, “I have no money. If your client sues me, it will be futile...after all you can’t squeeze blood from a stone.”<br /><br />We ended the conversation with an equally bold comment by myself wherein I said, “watch me”.<br /><br />After I got off the phone I conceded to myself that perhaps my comment was a bit cavalier as my surname was Goswami, not Sorcar.<br /><br />His comment did however make me think. Certainly it would be quite a scientific achievement if we were able to get blood out of a stone. I can just see some patient in surgery who needs a transfusion and the doctor says, “Mr. Sarma needs a unit of A positive. Nurse Rita, please squeeze that red stone twice.”<br /><br />A few days later I sent off a missive to another character asking for money. This guy did not call me back but he wrote a curt note concluding with the words: “Tell your client I don’t have two pennies to rub together.”<br /><br />I wondered what that inane English expression was supposed to mean. I am over a quarter-century-old and I have never witnessed anybody with money rubbing two pennies together. I almost felt like delivering two new rupee coins to him and see what he does with them.<br /><br />Both these expression evoked some magical quality. You squeeze a stone and presto, out comes a liter of blood. Or you rub two pennies together and Bingo, out pops a piggy bank.<br /><br />The third character I tried to educe money from was not as discretionary in his choice of expressions of impecuniosity’s. He called me back and said, “Tell your client I don’t have a house to live in or even a toilet to piss in.”<br /><br />I thought that at least he had his priorities in life straight. I can just see him winning a lottery and then after he picks up his cheque his first stop is to the contractor’s to get himself a flat with a toilet<br /><br />Then there was the character who tried to put a guilt trip on me when I pushed him for money. He said, “I know I owe your client the money. To get it however, I would have to steal from A to pay B.”<br /><br />Being a totally ethical advocate I simply could not allow that. There was no way I wanted A to one day and come after me for inciting a felony. I suggested B would wait a bit for the funds. I am still waiting for B to pay my bill.<br /><br />I also sympathize with the deadbeat who appeals to my nature-conscious heartstrings. He will say something like, “I would gladly pay your client but I am as poor as a mouse.”<br /><br />So far whenever I hear that one I always ask my clients to be indulgent. I am however considering investigating the financial status of mice, as you never know. Just maybe the Pied Piper shares some of its fabled opulence with its mice. Who knows?<br /><br />Some deadbeats try to argue their case with me by using contrasts. For example I had a smug debtor once tell me, “Your client wants to get paid? Who does he think I am, King Midas?”<br /><br />Along the same lines, some of these guys suggest that my clients don’t need to collect this debt and that they should waive it. One guy told me, “J. Kalita doesn’t need my Rs. 40,000. He has money to burn.”<br /><br />I have yet to meet someone who practices this luxurious habit. When I imagine someone doing it I also visualize that character without the toilet putting the fire out.<br /><br />Then occasionally you get the philosopher. He agrees with everything you say and he concludes with, “Tell your client money isn’t everything”.<br /><br />I once relayed that massage to my client and I regretted having done so. He then turned around and refused to pay my bill.<br /><br />Another expression falling into the philosophical was the one used by a client’s ex husband whom I was pursing for arrears in support and maintenance to his wife. He casually told me, “Chase me if you wish but remember, you can’t get the shirt off a naked man.” He left me in no doubt that after marriage; public nudity was not an issue at all.<br /><br />What I do not like is the cocky debtor who rubs my face in it. He says, “If your client wants to sue me, he’ll have to stand in line.” When I hear a comment like that, I say to my client, “Go for it. Take a number.”<br /><br />One thing about the approach of all of these clowns is that they are consistent in their pleas. They claim they are broke, insolvent, belly up. They plead that they are down on their luck (although I still wonder about the plight of the mouse).<br /><br />The individual I most detest is the dishonest one. We all know this guy. He says, “No problem, will give you the cheque by next week.”<br /><br />When is the last time you ever saw delivery of this coveted cheque? And if it should ever arrive are you over the hurdle? What happens when it does not clear? You hear an array of excuses for this unfortunate but not totally unexpected event:<br /><br />What? It bounced? Those guys at the Bank of India are incompetent.<br /><br />My cheques are as good as gold. (Makes you wonder why anybody would ever want to hoard the yellow stuff when you can get this man’s cheques.)<br />What, my Rs. 5000 cheque to you bounced? You must be kidding. Just the other day I transferred Rs. 50,000 from my account in HSBC, Singapore which would more than cover this piddly sum.<br />What do you mean my cheque is no good! Are you accusing me of giving you a bum cheque? Do you know my reputation in the business community?<br /><br />At least this last guy probably isn’t telling you lies.<br /><br />Sometimes it all makes you want to bring back the days of Dickens when debtors were often put into prison. These days if they go there at least they could probably derive some benefit and learn about financial planning when they run into the likes of executives from Enron or maybe ex-MLA’s or even Mr. Telgi.</div>dgoswami1979http://www.blogger.com/profile/06497337806216907980noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3943167523683786927.post-83254200038029927852007-10-04T13:02:00.000-07:002007-10-04T13:05:00.399-07:00Caveat Pizza Emptor<span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><br />There is a pizza outfit in town that boasts that if you order a pizza and it does not arrive within 30 minutes, it's yours free. Caveat pizza emptor!<br /><br />I was curious to see how anybody could possibly bake and deliver a pizza within 30 minutes. My usual pizza man, when asked how fast it'll take, retorts, "Twenty minutes". Subsequently it hits my doorstep piping cold about an hour later. I always get the feeling the driver is instructed to deliver everyone else's pizza firstly, and that the boss, in referring to my pizza says to the driver, "He likes his cold; why don't you go to his house via Siliguri."<br /><br />And so I recently decided to go for it. Hey, it was guaranteed to arrive quickly and hot. I placed my order and when I queried, the gentleman, one Chintu, assured me that I would have my order delivered within 30 minutes from the time he said goodbye or it was mine free.<br /><br />My kitchen clock read 10:33 P.M. If all went well I would be enjoying either a hot pizza while watching the news or alternatively a free pizza while watching the latest movie Bluffmaster on DVD. Then again if all went well the wolf should have been able to enjoy that third little pig.<br />I started waiting in anticipation. I had visions of a large assembly line with baker’s frantically working, almost like in E.R. trying to save the order. "Jatin, pass the mushrooms, STAT".<br /><br />Suddenly at 10:47 my doorbell rang. It couldn't be. It wasn't. It was only the newspaper delivery boy asking for payment.<br /><br />Tension continued to mount. It was now 10:57. I saw no cars on my street. I started to feel like part of an Alfred Hitchcock movie. I recalled the thriller, "North by Northwest" in which Cary Grant nervously waits on an isolated highway for a mysterious character to pull up in a car and suddenly to his shock he is attacked from the sky by an assassin piloting a small airplane. I cautiously ventured to gaze into the sky.<br /><br />It was now 11:02 and the news was on. There was some mention about Brazil not paying its debts. I thought to myself that I wasn't gong to be paying for this pizza. I empathized with Brazil.<br /><br />At 11:16 there was a knock at my front door. It was the pizza. (Actually the pizza deliveryman did the knocking). "That'll be Rs. 136", he said as he handed me the box and two cans of Pepsi.<br /><br />I told him he was late and that I was relying upon the provisions of the contract. I advised him that the pizza was forfeited by him to me, free.<br /><br />He protested, denying liability saying it was my fault.<br /><br />When I ask for an explanation of this ludicrous suggestion, he noted that I lived on a street called Bashista Road. He said that the computer instructed him to go to a street called Vishwamitra Road, which street did not exist. He told me that I must have misled the order and accordingly I could not rely upon my own wrongdoing in order to procure a free pizza. He added, "You must eat a free pizza with clean hands."<br /><br />I promptly denied telling anyone that I lived on Vishwamitra Road and I told him that I didn't give a hoot that he was a few minutes late even if he was trying to serve the pizza on the Father of Creation, Brahma himself. I insisted the pizza was mine free and clear of all claims. I also showed him my hands.<br /><br />He then told me that in any event time was not of the essence. He said that he was only about 15 minutes late and that it was implicit in the contract that the purchaser would allow the vendor a reasonable extension for the delivery should same be requested.<br /><br />I reminded him of my discussions with Chintu wherein I was assured that it was 30 minutes or mine free, gratis, no charge. He queried, "Who's Chintu?" He insisted that either I pay up or he would call the police.<br /><br />I invited him into my house (the one on Bashista Road) to use my phone to call the law enforcement forces if he so chose. As we walked by my TV there was now a commentary on about third-world countries not paying their debts. He looked at me as Shylock would have looked at Antonius. I turned off the set. My case was clearly distinguishable.<br /><br />He called the police. I listened in on the other extension. The official asked what the nature of the emergency was, indicating that police resources were strained as it was due to a rash of accidents, robberies and assaults. When he told her what the problem was he said he'd have some people sent over promptly. After he gave the official my address, he asked, "Where is Vishwamitra Road?"<br /><br />I figured the police would arrive in 3 hours. Had the pizza arrived as fast as the police, I would have been eating a sizzling and paid for pizza.<br /><br />The cops weren't taking chances." Bring out the pizza, " bellowed an Inspector through my windows, nearly shattering the glass.<br /><br />After a couple of minutes the officer waved away the back up police van full of havaldaar’s, armed and ready for action. The other two Sub-inspectors promptly took off their bulletproof vests. I wondered where they’d got them.<br /><br />The lead officer took out his black book and pencil in hand he asked eloquently, "OK, what's up eh?"<br /><br />I started to unload but he indicated he wanted to hear submissions firstly from the pizza man, who identified himself as one Faridi.<br /><br />Faridi insisted that I was trying to retain his pizza without a colour of right. He then rambled on about me misleading the computer by advising Chintu, who he said did not even exist, that I lived on Narada Road, which also did not exist.<br /><br />I started to protest and the officer asked to see the pizza. I handed the pizza (now cold, the way they usually deliver it) to the policeman. He carefully inspected it and marked his initials on the box and assigned it to be sent to the malkhana.<br /><br />I asked him to return my pizza, advising him of the vendor's representation that the pizza would reach my house within 30 minutes or it's free. He had a short conference with Faridi and turned to me and said, "That was a mere advertising gimmick".<br /><br />I protested arguing that it was a condition going to the root of the contract. I insisted I would never have ordered the pizza on the strength of a mere gimmick.<br /><br />The officer and Faridi had another conference and the officer replied, "This case is distinguishable from the Carbolic Smoke ball case".<br /><br />I told them they could keep the pizza.<br /><br />After these asura’s left my house, I realized they had forgotten about the Pepsis. I pondered the situation. I considered calling up chintu or his alias and having the outfit pick up the 2 cans. Then again I didn't want them to come by at midnight and wake up some poor guy on Agastya Street.<br />On the other hand I considered drinking them. Forget it. I took the 2 cans and dumped them into the trash. The way things were going that evening I had a sneaking suspicion that one of the cans was probably inhabited by a snail.dgoswami1979http://www.blogger.com/profile/06497337806216907980noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3943167523683786927.post-78881945523385275302007-10-04T12:59:00.000-07:002007-10-04T13:01:57.662-07:00The Counsellor, the Lawyer and the Fish<div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div>It has definitely not been one of my regrets that lawyers in India are not addressed by formal titles as Doctors are. I do not mind being called, “Sir”, "Mister" and worse.<br /><br />And I am not envious of the fact that our brethren on the bench, the judiciary, are distinguishable from the laymen as they are referred to as "Judge" or “Justice”. Their names are preceded by the abbreviation "J." Nor am I upset that lawyers in many parts of the world are addressed as "Counsellor". There is not one ounce of vanity in me. Humility is still my name. <br /><br />Now for the fish story;<br /><br />I recently went to lunch with my colleague Tublu. Rather than go to the usual momo shop I followed his suggestion and we sprung for a recently opened fish restaurant near by the courthouse. He said lots of lawyers eat there. The place was called, "Simply Pisces”<br /><br />I had my misgivings about the restaurant right off the bat. Firstly as we entered, there was a long line of patrons waiting to be seated. Secondly, the menu’s boasted luncheon specials, which were rather pricey. Worst of all, the place smelled fishy. The scent knocked you off your feet.<br /><br />"Why is this place so packed?" I asked Tublu. My learned friend suggested that it must be the ambiance.<br /><br />"And they don’t even have a non-smoking section here Tublu", I further complained, self being an incorrigible smoker. "Let's leave".<br /><br />Tublu contemplated my suggestion as the manager, very snappily dressed, buzzed around the front of the line busily endeavoring to seat the hungry mob. I added, "And I also don't like pretentious restaurant managers who dress well in snazzy uniforms."<br /><br />He came near the front of the line and in a Westernized accent he said to two colleagues of ours, "Follow me please counselors."<br /><br />As Tublu mumbled to me something about having that plate of pork momo’s again today I said, "Good idea, but just a minute."<br /><br />The manager returned to the queue and approached three more lawyers in front of us. One said, "Table for 3 Swapon".<br /><br />Swapon replied, "Certainly Adv. Choudhury. This way Counselors."<br /><br />"It's starting to get a bit late," Tublu said.<br /><br />"Hold on Tublu, Swapon is coming right back, "I insisted.<br /><br />As Tublu was buttoning up his coat, Swapon said to him, "Welcome back counselor."<br /><br />I tapped Tublu on the shoulder and cleared my throat loudly. Tublu introduced me as his colleague and eminent litigation counsel.<br /><br />Swapon greeted me with a broad smile, "Welcome Adv. Goswami. We have an excellent selection of fish today."<br /><br />I replied, "I'm sure you do, Swapon. The magnificent maritime smell is simply enchanting."<br /><br />I started to look forward to a good fish lunch. But there was one hitch. We were seated right next to the chain-smoking public section. On this there was no compromise. I am not paranoiac about cigarette smoke but there is of course a limit to the amount of second-hand smoke in the vicinity. The place looked great but I was in no hurry to meet The Great Whale Above personally. <br /><br />Tublu summoned Swapon. He told him about our predicament.<br /><br />Swapon said, apologetically, "We are full today, there is nothing we can do gentlemen."<br />With that I stood up making a side comment to Tublu about the menu being too pricey in any event.<br /><br />Swapon then smiled and said to me, "I can perhaps set up another table for you near the kitchen entrance, counselor."<br /><br />I sat down again. After all I am always ready to listen to reason. And Swapon looked very convincing and professional standing there in his rather well fitting uniform.<br /><br />Tublu replied, "We won't like it in front of the kitchen. Too much waiter traffic next to the swinging doors."<br /><br />"Relax Tublu, " I retorted. "It's part of the ambiance."<br /><br />Swapon called out directions to the waiters, "Set up a table there immediately for the two Counselors. They have no time to loose."<br /><br />My colleague was ready to leave and once again go for the momo’s when I riveted him to his seat. "Chill out, Tublu. What's this momo’s business? This place is great. Where else can you get fish and rice for Rs. 180?"<br /><br />Swapon nodding his approval added, "That's correct counselor."<br /><br />Tublu was adamant about not eating in the face of the swinging doors. As it was getting a bit late we reached a compromise. I agreed to remain near the chain-smoking section. So what's a bit of smoke? After all don't we eat smoked fish in fancy restaurants?<br /><br />The meal was most enjoyable. And in appreciation to my colleague I sprang for the tab. It set me back a few bucks but what the heck I could afford it. After all I am a counselor.dgoswami1979http://www.blogger.com/profile/06497337806216907980noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3943167523683786927.post-87695278784818140072007-10-04T12:50:00.000-07:002007-10-04T13:18:41.709-07:00Tea on the rocksA few days back, some friends and I decided to go for a ride in the country, out of the city, gas fumes and general stink, which we also contribute to. We visited a nearby quaint old village just outside of Guwahati, recently on a sunny afternoon. Around teatime we came across a little tea garden that attracted our attention by the size of the crowd that was gathering to enjoy light refreshments under the huge magnificent banyan trees.<br /><br />But this was a restaurant with a difference. It was buffet style, but with no cashier in sight. You just put what you wanted on the tray and enjoyed it in the garden. On your way out you were expected to take a detour through the neighbouring gift shop, see the cashier there and declare to her what you had to drink or nibble.<br /><br />The place's income depended entirely on the trust system.<br /><br />I thought to myself that times being what they were the people running the place could no doubt get short changed. After all there is a reasonable possibility for some ravenous but perfectly honest individual to finish his food, take a few deep breaths of fresh country air and forget just how ravenous he actually was.<br /><br />He or she might just miss that obscure detour to the gift shop while in this state of euphoria. Alternatively when asked by the good cashier, he might simply say, "Oh yeah, I did have some tea, I think."<br /><br />But a strange thing happened. I noticed that the patrons bent over backwards to be honest. Actually they more than bent over backwards.<br /><br />Firstly I observed a distinguished elderly gentleman who walked over to the cashier after consuming only a beverage. The cashier asked him what he had purchased and he declared a cup of tea. When asked if he had anything to eat, he said, “I’m not sure. But those pithas looked delicious. Why don't I pay you for a pitha too."<br /><br />The gentleman paid for the phantom pitha and left appearing very content.<br /><br />A couple of minutes later a young couple sauntered over to the cash. Neela and Mriganka as they apparently called one another, each had bought a cold drink and a pastry. I am certain that's all they bought because they had stood in line in front of us and they scooped up the last two fluffy home made pastries depriving me of the pleasure. And I remembered being annoyed at them for hoarding the pastries as I had a sweet tooth, or rather sweet teeth to be more honest.<br /><br />They too were suddenly hit by an overdose of honesty. Without even being asked by the cashier, Mriganka said, "We had two cold drinks and four pastries. The pastries were superb, out of this world."<br /><br />Like I said the guy was an obvious glutton.<br /><br />The cashier rang up the tab for four pastries which no doubt included the two I would have bought had they been in existence. I thought to myself that on the other hand at least this guy was treating. A gentleman indeed.<br /><br />As they left, the man said to me, "Have you tried the pastries?"<br /><br />I noticed that the honour system was working overtime as by now massive and inexplicable integrity was becoming contagious, affecting even non-customers.<br /><br />One man came right off the street, walked over to the gift shop, selected a couple of post cards and paid for them. As he was about to leave I said to him, "The tea here is excellent."<br /><br />"Really?" He remarked. With that comment he took a tenner out of his pocket and handed it to the cashier. "That's for the great tea," he said.<br /><br />Our turn to pay came up. I did not know what had overcome the other patrons but I was determined to just pay for what we had ordered and to make our escape. After all we hadn't eaten any magic lotus seeds, which might bring on a sudden surge of generosity.<br /><br />The cashier, an old yet spry lady, gave us a radiant smile. Her face was saying something like, "This place is run by an orphanage. It is here for your benefit so that you can enjoy a refreshing respite in the country. Be our guest. Payment for the refreshments is secondary really."<br /><br />I told her we had had two teas. But suddenly I was overwhelmed with a sudden burst of guilt. I said, "I'm really sorry that's all I had. I would have had the pastries but Mriganka ate them all.<br />She nodded understandably.<br /><br />I added, "I will however buy that five foot Japi from your gift shop. And give me a dozen bamboo decorations as well. You pick them. Is that alright?"<br /><br />She indicated that it wasn't really necessary but that my patronage was appreciated.<br /><br />After we left I had a thought. As we are all probably honest at heart, wouldn't it be interesting if the spirit of that tea garden would infect all witnesses taking the stand in our courtrooms? It would certainly make the job of lawyers easier. We'd never have to cross-examine. The presiding judge would always comment, "I find that both sides were credible."<br /><br />Pastry anyone?<br /><br />***dgoswami1979http://www.blogger.com/profile/06497337806216907980noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3943167523683786927.post-44746083013879812392007-10-04T12:46:00.000-07:002007-10-04T12:50:45.947-07:00To Party or Not to Party?<div style="text-align: justify;"><br /><br />A few days past, I was privileged to overhear, a polite way of saying that I was eavesdropping, a rather interesting conversation at a social function, namely at a marriage. The participants were both of the elderly feminine gender and the tone was rather hushed, a combination not to be sneezed at, especially when one is bored out of his wits. Now, placed as I was strategically, close enough for hearing and far enough not to be suspected, with keen anticipation, ears assumed supreme importance.<br /><br />The subject of the conversation was a certain pair of younger ladies being dissected for the purposes of nuptials with some unfortunate of mine gender. Apparently, one was a rather docile and amenable young lady of no specific attributes or qualifications, except that she was of “good” character. The other lady being so scrutinized was wonderful in every possible manner, being a good academician and excellently trained domestically as well as taking care of her parents and working in a well-known company in the city, however the rumour was that she was not of “good” character as she went to, (in scandalized whispers) Parties!!!<br /><br />My well-meaning though autocratic parents pulled me away before I could take in more escapades of this enthralling adventuress and though I could not hear the end of the story, I am sure that the two, shall we call them well-wishers, must have definitely pressed the cause of the girl who was docile and of ‘good’ character for the impending nuptials of the poor unfortunate.<br /><br />Is it thus that the generation gap of today could be best expressed? To party or not to Party, with a capital P?<br /><br />Our parents have brought us up with much love, care and attention to details and without them we would have surely faltered. I know that I would have. However, as much as I love my parents, there is definitely a rift in the manner of understanding, or maybe, today there is too much scrutiny of unnecessary detail.<br /><br />This is nothing new, nothing original or fresh as one would say, it’s called the generation gap, only I call it the Party Crack.<br /><br />Our parents, the folks, the old guys, call them what you will, have had the same issues with their parents, their folks, their old guys, whatever. The issue that I am wondering at is not how to bridge the generation gap, but why it evolves and what it signifies.<br /><br />Today’s generation leads a far more frantic pace of life than the one a generation ago had lived; this is not what we say, but also what our parents had also stated in very loud tones to their parents. We just say it, but apparently THEY sang about it and led a revolution about it!!!<br /><br />The killing pace of schooling and grad college life is merely the start of the race, for it’s now that the Darwinian theories of survival of the fittest are becoming applicable into human existence. With the frenetic velocity of our lives equaling an F1 racing car, the pit stops, the relaxation periods have also become more demanding.<br /><br />So also, with spending power, a cup of chai has evolved into a cappuccino and an evening out has evolved into a party. This is the new twist in the tail, as Gen Y would say to Gen X, whose tail is already in enough knots as it is what with the Generations A to W preceding.<br /><br />This is not an excuse or an apology for our lifestyle today, merely a perspective on the evolving lifestyles that have been occurring since the industrial revolution. More spending power than the previous generation, influx of western ideas and social idiosyncrasies over the generations preceding has created an interesting hybrid of concepts of traditional values and a mélange of viewpoints.<br /><br />Most people would say that it’s the advent of responsibilities that creates the GAP, maybe that’s how the company was formed, pun not intended, but that’s not the reason to condemn and castigate or even discriminate.<br /><br />Its not the fate of the enticing adventuress who goes to (in shocked and scandalized whispers) Parties, that I am affected about, but about the discrimination on the basis of merit, and for the first time, discrimination DUE to merit. Do we have to discriminate about anyone who wishes to live life upon his or her own terms?<br /><br />Do grades make or break a child? Similarly, does a social life beyond parents and the workplace today define a person as to discriminate or even to be praised or condemned?<br /><br />A parallel story also evolved which further alienated my views on this existing structure. At another social event, plans were being made for an outing, ostensibly for a movie with dinner afterwards, when a name was proposed which was roundly disapproved. Seemingly, the very attributes, which endeared the previous person at the earlier, i.e. “good” character were a bore and definitely not appreciated as the discipline and lack of fun loving characteristics would create “issues” and spoil the “mood”. Were values such a burden or care and respect such onerous responsibilities as to infringe upon our lives and our entertainment, I wondered then.<br /><br />Was the very definition wrong or is it merely the crack getting cracked?<br /><br />The answer is not out there, but nor is it here. In the changing milieu of the social animal, what is the outcome? What is acceptable and what is not? Do we make our beds on an uneasy truce of surface acceptance or do we need to explore this imbalance of identity and image in the ever-changing face of the social order of civilized living?</div>dgoswami1979http://www.blogger.com/profile/06497337806216907980noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3943167523683786927.post-64913950447364341742007-10-04T12:45:00.000-07:002007-10-04T12:46:35.183-07:00Possibilities<div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><br /><br /><br />His head was buzzing very familiarly and he woke up with a great thirst. His tongue felt all furry and twisted up in his tonsils and larynx. Opening his eyes was a disaster, which had to be managed. The usual bottle of water was not where it usually was, so getting to the bathroom was a necessity. The dark bathroom was a relief to the eyes he thought as he groped for the faucet on the sink and cupped his hands beneath the steady rush of water that emanated from it.<br /><br />Fresh and cold water in his belly was like a reviving agent. He blearily brushed his teeth, taking his time over it, a habit from his childhood encouraged by a healthy fear of dentists. The eyes were bloodshot, though the cheeks looked cheerfully hollow and the jaw line was definite, took a long time to get all that puppy fat off it he thought with satisfaction. He ran a hand over his shaven head and scratched his stubbly French beard. He decided to skip shaving as it was a Sunday and emerging from his bathroom, he headed straight for his gym downstairs. Nothing like working out a drinking binge and sweating out the alcohol in his system.<br /><br />Working on his free weights and later while running on the treadmill, he thought he heard noises but then the music system was on high as always during his workout. As he wound up his exercises, he heard the clatter of crockery, very definitely this time. He coolly wiped off his sweat as he alerted his security and went in search of the noise and the noisemakers. After all, his penthouse was on the top floor of the fifth floor and his security people were trained to deal with emergencies in any case. Maybe, it was just his imagination, as the place was empty.<br /><br />There was definitely a smell of burning in the air as more sounds came, as far as he could make out, from the kitchen. As he went in through the main hall, he could identify the smell as well….it was coffee. Badly burnt, as smells go. Not something his brother would do, if he was back, he thought but then his brother was in the states on a vacation with his family.<br /><br />On reaching the kitchen, he could also make out someone singing under his or her breath and turning through the door warily, he was surprised to see the back of a slight creature, with shoulder length black hair, wearing one of his dressing gowns. There was a saucepan full of coffee burning up on the gas burner but the person was seemingly unaware of it as he or she rummaged in the wall fitted fridge.<br /><br />He quietly switched off the burner and asked, “Need anything?”<br /><br />The person did not react or even look around, “Don’t you have anything besides fruit juice and coffee and carrot and celery sticks?”<br /><br />He was amused and replied, “No, not really, I usually diet.”<br /><br />This time, the person turned around and looked at him with a rather large grin. It was a girl, woman, he corrected himself. High cheekbones and a grin larger than her face, his first thought was that she needed feeding up.<br /><br />“Good, then get some eggs, milk and bread, I need breakfast.” The grin was infectious.<br /><br />“I don’t eat bread or drink milk.” He replied<br /><br />“I do and if you cannot cook, don’t worry, I can.” There was a definite challenge in her eyes, but the grin was still on the face and it seemed sincere. The dressing gown was a present from his brother but he never wore it. As he assessed the woman wearing it, it looked good on her and by the look of it, she was not carrying anything concealed under it. He went to the wall phone and reached security and told them to ignore the alert and get some bread, eggs and milk and then turned back.<br /><br />“Ever tried making coffee?”<br /><br />“I made some, but its not smelling like it should.”<br /><br />“That’s because it is not instant coffee, not something to be boiled and burnt.” This time, he grinned back at the girl/woman. The poor creature looked mortified and the blush was rather fetching. He picked up the saucepan full of the evil smelling concoction and emptied into the sink, took out the coffee jar and measured three heaped spoonfuls into the percolator in the corner of the brunch bar in the kitchen and added water. He also poured out two glasses of orange juice and handed one to the girl/woman. She had hopped onto one of the stools lining the brunch bar and was watching him with rather large eyes and faint grin as she sipped from the glass.<br /><br />“Thanks.”<br /><br />“No problem.”<br /><br />They both sipped the juice in companionable silence till the percolator chimed to say that it was ready to pour. The waft of the coffee was like a smell of heaven as compared to the smell preceding it. He gestured for her to keep on sitting as he rose to get two coffee mugs and poured coffee into them.<br /><br />“Sugar?”<br /><br />“Yes please, two spoons.” Her voice had the faint singsong catch of the convent school educated girls of his childhood.<br /><br />“Sorry, the milk is on its way, you’ll have to have it black now.”<br /><br />“No problem.” The grin was back as she mimicked his manner of speaking.<br /><br />The coffee felt good going down as the sweat had dried and chilled his body. Time for some questions, he thought.<br /><br />“So, what are you doing here? Who are you?”<br /><br />The girl took her time answering as she sipped her coffee and looked at him. The stare was unaffected but it was sort of questioning and he was a bit uncomfortable with it. He knew he had shed the fat that had clung to him all his life and though he was no body builder material, he knew that he was in good shape for a guy in his thirties. However, the feeling of being obese and silly looking had still not left him and this steady gaze was a bit uncomfortable, as if she was seeing him when he was fat. Silly and idiotic, he knew, but it was there.<br /><br />“Hmmm, feel like answering anytime soon?” he gently asked her as the doorbell rang simultaneously.<br /><br />It was his security guy looking a bit silly as he tried to waggle his eyebrows in a very significant looking way. He had his right hand inside his tracksuit jacket, clearly holding on to his gun and the other hand was gripping the groceries in a brown paper bag. Taking the groceries, he grinned at the guy and winked. The security guy visibly relaxed and smiled back.<br /><br />Back in the kitchen, he started taking out the groceries and again gestured to her to keep on sitting. Quietly and efficiently he made four poached eggs and toasted the bread on an old toaster of his mom, god bless her departed soul and her huge store of kitchen appliances, cutlery and crockery. Half his house was stuffed with kitchen appliances, cooking utensils and similar accessories.<br /><br />He set out the eggs and toast on some plates, which he rinsed first, boiled the milk and made some fresh coffee. Setting the food on the table, he helped himself to two eggs and a fresh mug of coffee,<br /><br />“Dig in. Sorry, I don’t have any butter. Fat free house, you see.”<br /><br />“My name is Radha.”<br /><br />“Okay, rads, dig in.”<br /><br />Radha grinned at this mutilation of her name and started eating. She ate like a hungry sparrow, daintily and with relish.<br /><br />“Why do you call me rads?”<br /><br />“Old habit, got it in college, shortened everyone’s names. Sorry, did not mean to offend.” he replied indistinctly, with his mouth full.<br /><br />“I am not offended. I like it. Nice habit.” She grinned back again, with a mouth full of food also.<br /><br />That grin was really infectious. Anyway, his mind churned with possibilities. Entrapment or sexual molestation was out of the question if she was a plant. He was a lawyer in another life, still kept up with his old friends in the Bar, so rape was also out of the question, as she would have screamed it much before. His work was political and social but this was India and not the west and his private life was more or less clean. The only thing that could trouble him was if this girl, woman he reminded himself was a runaway from her family.<br /><br />“So, how old are you? What are you studying?” he asked<br /><br />She grinned again and replied, “Thanks for the compliment, but I finished my studies quite some time ago. I am actually a doctor.”<br /><br />He mentally gave a sigh and smiled back weakly as he fished for his cigarettes in his tracksuit pockets. He lit one, his first of the day.<br /><br />“You can call me dabz, I guess.” He tried tentatively<br /><br />She finished eating and took the plates to the sink and picked up his pack of cigarettes and lit one.<br /><br />“Yeah, I know who you are. You were in Illusions last night and got into a fight because someone was troubling me. I tried to break it up, you stormed out and I was almost dragged along. You assumed I was with you and you drove back home at such speed, I was almost stuck dumb. When we got here, you passed out on your bed and I slept in one of the other bedrooms. You have a nice place here.”<br /><br />The speech came out flatly and as if rehearsed and he was too good a lawyer not to spot a fabricated piece of explanation but he kept a poker face as he remembered nothing much of last night.<br /><br />“Sorry about whatever happened. I should have been more responsible and hospitable.” He said.<br /><br />“Nothing to be sorry about, you were being very chivalrous and old fashioned. I should be the one saying thanks.”<br /><br />It was his turn to blush and grin.<br /><br />“Where do you work? Any specialization?”<br /><br />“Thinking of running a background check on me, just in case? I work in Dispur Polyclinic, as a pediatrician, that’s child specialization to you.” This time the grin was a bit forced and the eyes glinted a bit. They really were rather big eyes, nice eyelashes too.<br /><br />He grinned back at her and the eyes softened a bit.<br /><br />“Can I borrow some clothes, I don’t think an evening dress is fit to go home in. A tracksuit or sweat shirts and shirts would be fine. I can return them back here at the gate later.”<br /><br />“I hope you can float? Because you are going to swim in my clothes.” He grinned and asked as he went to the sink to wash the plates.<br /><br />“Okay, pass on a belt as well then. I am going for a shower.” She called out as she walked out of the kitchen<br /><br />***<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Possibility A<br /><br />She looked liked a fresh young student in his oversized college sweatshirt and his spare tracksuit lowers with the cuffs rolled up and as he drove her back to her apartment, she folded her legs in that peculiar double jointed fashion that only the female sex could seem to be able to do. The entire picture was so breathtaking and attractive that it was all he could do to keep his eyes on the road and not on her softly curling black hair that fell around her face and framing those huge eyes.<br /><br />As he dropped her off her apartment, on a sudden impulse he asked, “Any chance of you returning the favour with my clothes?”<br /><br />He got an uplifted eyebrow, which seemed encouraging, so he went for broke, “I mean I cooked breakfast, any chance of getting a dinner. I am about done with the hotels in the town.”<br /><br />He got a grin and a searching look, “Flat No. 302, Eight p.m. okay? I have to be on morning shift tomorrow.”<br /><br />She looked around at the children hanging on her words and caught sight of her husband leaning on the edge of the doorway looking at her with a familiar fond expression. The grandchildren were arraigned around the kitchen and the twins were sitting on brunch bar. The softly curling black hair had turned white but the eyes were still full of laughter and glints as she looked back at him with that old look that she had given him when he had asked for his return favour and said,<br /><br />“And he has since then been cribbing that his breakfast was better than my dinner. So you lot can now judge who was the better cook, right?”<br /><br />***<br /><br />Possibility B<br /><br />As he washed the dishes in the sink, he started whistling. It had been a long time since he felt as happy as this. He was almost done with the plates and mugs as he set them on the steel rack above the sink to dry off when he heard a soft whisper behind him. He turned and barely registered the ice-cold shock of the viciously swung knife reaching his heart in an expert and much rehearsed move.<br /><br />He looked down at the hilt of his kitchen knife as it protruded from beneath his ribs and looked at the now still and cold eyes and the face which did not sport any grins now as suddenly the darkness loomed and he could not see any more<br /><br />She removed all traces of her presence in the apartment and wiped down all the surfaces that she might have touched. Finally when she was satisfied, she took a shower and dressed in a pair of his old tracksuit lowers with the cuffs rolled up and one of his old college sweatshirts. She opened the bathroom windows and climbed down the drainpipe from the back of the penthouse, the same way as she had come up.<br /><br />As she climbed into her car, she switched on the music system and mused that the guy had been quite a nice sort. She might have almost been interested in him and things might have proceeded quite far. After all, he did cook a good breakfast, but then it had been a job and opportunities were scarce. The woman started the car and drove off.<br /><br />***<br /><br /></div>dgoswami1979http://www.blogger.com/profile/06497337806216907980noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3943167523683786927.post-75811696982056223192007-10-04T12:44:00.000-07:002007-10-04T12:45:35.525-07:00The Promise<div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><br />The woman looked in the mirror. Golden, predatory eyes, flecked with edges of brown stared back, hard and calculating, examining a visage with ruthless scrutiny. The eyes noted the long flowing hair, poker straight and dense, the long aquiline face, the full lips, the long nose and the unlined forehead. The years had not been easy and maintaining the façade had taken its toll within her. The burned out husk within did not betray its bitter acrimony with itself on the still beautiful face.<br /><br />She remembered a time when her eyes were not hard, were not gauging, had been soft and warm and had looked at wonder on the world. Had also looked with something else at someone else, but that had been many years ago, many birthdays past.<br /><br />It was her birthday today, she was thirty today. Thirty years, three decades old, the start of the end, and there was nothing to look forward to. The still beautiful face made a wry grimace at the memories and banished them from her mind. She had no regrets, she had made the right choice, and she had done well. An astrologer had once told her that she was as obstinate as a mule, stubborn to a fault. Well, that seemed to have worked for her. Anyway, enough dreaming, there was work to be done.<br /><br />The hot May afternoon sun slanted its rays on her desk at her high-rise office in a prestigious international law firm in Mumbai, highlighting the masses of paper and the humming laptop. A secretary entered with a memo and moved quickly to her desk, laid the paper down and practically ran out of the room. A grim smile played across her features, she ran a tight ship in her domain. Her gaze fell upon the memo, it requested her to attend a high level meeting with their foreign counterparts and as was usual with such meetings, they took place after midnight so as to allow for the time differences. The woman sighed, rubbed her temples. Once such transactions used to be fun, she lived for the adrenaline pumping excitement of such meetings, of swinging deals, of hostile takeovers, or mergers; she was in awe then of the numbers involved, numbers of amounts of monies that were unimaginable in their presence of her mind and her decisions as to their applicability. Once upon a time, this was her life, but she was getting old for these games now, they were no longer fun.<br /><br />The night air was cool on her face as she left the building. It was way past midnight and the meeting had left her drained and exhausted. All she could think about was just climbing into her car and then later, into her bed in her immaculate apartment on Cuffe Parade. She thought longingly of a drink, but knew that she could not afford to, it was a working day tomorrow.<br /><br />“Madame” hesitantly, her driver, his voice inflection indicating trouble<br /><br />“Yes” a little harshly, she was exhausted<br /><br />“Car trouble Madame, will take some time” a little defiantly, a problem not caused by him<br /><br />Cars were often like men; they developed trouble the minute you started expecting something from them. She had a dream of getting her own car when she had come to the city, something small and comfy, but with the pressures of work and later her success, another dream was left by the road, like so many else. The company provided her with a car and a chauffeur to boot, just like her immaculate apartment on Cuffe Parade, spotless and furnished with all the amenities of modern day living and without a soul.<br /><br />She sighed, it was just not her day or night.<br /><br />“Fix the car, call a taxi, I’ll wait here”<br /><br />The city of Mumbai had about a million taxis, even at night, plying their trade with utter conviction that the city would not function without them. They were ubiquitous, except when you needed them. The briefcase in her hands was killing her, stuffed with papers and her laptop; she could not leave it behind, but now wished that she had.<br /><br />A distant thrumming suddenly broke her line of thoughts and turning her head she could espy a high-powered beam coming towards her. A bike, her mind told her, flipping cards of memory from her college days. She moved back on the footpath cautiously and looked around. It was always better to be cautious in the city and especially when the roads were deserted and her damned driver nowhere to be seen.<br /><br />The thrumming grew in volume till she could identify it cruising along her side of the road. The bike, some sort of modified bike with outsized handles and an extended rear, which made it, look monstrous in the orange streetlights and the long shadows cast. The bike slowed down and stopped near her in the shadows; she shrank back even more and looked around desperately. There was no one on the street, no sound either, the bike’s deep throated thrumming seemed to fill the silence as the man sat on his bike which was still purring and thrumming beneath him, and regarded the woman. His helmet hid his features, but his eyes were visible in the front aperture. He seemed to be wearing glasses.<br /><br />“Need a lift?” a slight tonal quality which registered on her ears despite the bikes thrumming and her own fear making her own heartbeat audible to her ears.<br /><br />“N-no, my driver went for a taxi, my car broke down…. and I am waiting for my friends to join me from the office” Nervous, nervous, worst case of lying ever the woman berated herself.<br /><br />The biker’s eyes went to the unlit building, the closed office doors and came back to her with something like amusement in them.<br /><br />“Okay, I’ll give you company till they get back” coolly replied the man on the bike<br /><br />The man switched off the bike, swung his leg off on the other side, turned his back on the woman and took off his helmet. He seemed to fumble for something in his pockets, she could not make out what it was, heard the rasp of a lighter and a moment later saw the drift of smoke from the other side.<br /><br />The woman stood almost on the edge of the footpath near her office doors, clutching her briefcase in her aching hands and the biker half sat on his bike, smoking with his back turned to her.<br /><br />The minutes dragged on. The woman was looking around desperately for her driver and suddenly remembered her cell phone. Taking it out, she started dialing her driver’s number furiously; all she got was a network busy signal. She tried to remember the name of any taxi company or rental, but soon realised that for the past few years, she had been ensconced within a protective cocoon of services provided by the company, her secretary and aides.<br /><br />“You better call some friend of yours who can give you a lift. It’s getting late” said the man<br /><br />The woman started at the sound of his voice in the silence of the street. The street was suddenly, achingly silent in the absence of the bike’s noise. The man’s voice was ringing a bell, but there were alarm bells in her mind, which subdued the familiar ring with their clamour.<br /><br />The women remembered her mother always telling her about situations like this and to not get into such; her darling mother who always stood by her and gave her more advice than was necessary. Well, she was in such a situation, debating to call the police. But then, she asked herself what she would tell them…. that she was stranded in front of her office and she suspected a Samaritan who offered to stay with her till she could call her. For all she knew, the man could be a police official himself.<br /><br />“I am trying to call, its just that it’s a bit late” belatedly replied the woman.<br /><br />It was true, it was nearly 2:30 am and none of her few married friends would appreciate their husbands to be woken up to drive her back home and the same held true of her employees. She decided to wait a few minutes more for her driver to turn up. The smoke drifting lazily around the man’s back was driving her nuts. She had a secret addiction, but kept it in control, but this was an exceptional case she deemed.<br /><br />“Could I have a cigarette?”<br /><br />A leather jacketed hand fumbled and then held out a packet of cigarettes and a lighter, keeping his back still turned to her. The woman leaned forward, placed her briefcase on the pavement and took the proffered cigarettes. She hastily drew a cigarette, lit it and dragged the smoke deep into her lungs. Instant coughing at the harsh taste, eyes swimming, the woman peered at the package of cigarettes. It was a cheap brand, yet the brand was familiar to her. Someone she knew used to smoke the same brand many years ago. She took a slower drag this time, slowly inhaled the smoke and let the rest dribble out. The woman took a step forward and placed the cigarettes and the lighter on the seat of the bike. The man did not seem to notice, his face was in the shadows and the light of his cigarette was a dim glow in the shadows. The woman stepped back into the light of the streetlights and thoughtfully regarded the man’s back.<br /><br />“Thanks, I really needed that.”<br /><br />“Yeah, I know”<br /><br />Some more time passed, the man threw his cigarette on the road and ground it out. The woman continued smoking.<br /><br />“Are you just waiting for me or someone or….” The question hung in the air<br /><br />The man seemed to consider the question, all she could see was his back, he was wearing some sort of a fringed leather jacket, and the smoke curling around him once again.<br /><br />“Yeah, you could say that.” Said the man, slowly<br /><br />“Here?” asked the woman<br /><br />“Not really, but it is as good a place as any, I guess.” stated the man calmly<br /><br />“You are waiting for someone or something and this is the location?” asked the woman, fear returning to her voice again.<br /><br />What if this guy was some kind of serial killer, she had not yet seen his face and though he had kept his distance, she had enough stories of the mysterious deaths of lonely women in the city to get alarmed all over again.<br /><br />“Maybe, maybe not. It depends.” said the man<br /><br />“Are you going to harm me?” fearfully, the briefcase now clutched at her upper torso.<br /><br />There was a low chuckle, deep and rumbling, not so much sinister sounding as amused and truly funny from the man on the bike. It was a more comforting than terrifying.<br /><br />“Maybe, maybe not. It depends.” said the man coolly<br /><br />Her courage unknowingly buoyed by the slightly humorous twist made her give a slight giggle. It was a long time since she had giggled, laughed yes, frowned and screamed more often, but a long time since she had giggled. Someone used to make her giggle a longtime ago, she thought with a sudden jerk and forcibly closed the errant doors of memory.<br /><br />The wind from the sea face was blowing cool and fine now and on it she could hear a distant ringing of a cycle bell. The nighttime coffee and tea sellers were about their business and one turned the corner and came towards them, ringing his bell as if to dispel the ghosties and the gloomies of the night.<br /><br />“Care for a cup of coffee?’ the woman asked<br /><br />The man shrugged and nodded, and lit another of his cigarettes but kept the packet on the seat of his bike. The woman waved over to the coffee seller and as the boy came over, ordered and paid for two cups of coffee, took one and directed the boy to give the other to the man. The coffee felt good going down, it was weak stuff, not the kind she was usually accustomed to, but it was still good all the same.<br /><br />“So, where are you going?” a need for speech, a voice, anything.<br /><br />“A new life, I don’t know, to be honest” replied the man<br /><br />“How can you not know? You started out and now you are riding, right?” incredulously asked the woman whose whole life had been target oriented and focused.<br /><br />“I don’t know, I am riding, I started all right, but sometimes you need to just ride and let the winds take you wherever they please. Ever tried that?” The voice was calm and yet she could feel the tremors in it.<br /><br />“Sometimes you just need to let go, to go with the wind, sometimes you need to flow, savvy?”<br /><br />Oh yes, she knew what he was talking about, another had talked like that and she went along and she was wild and free and in love, but it had ended badly, very badly and it was in the past. She would, could now no longer fly.<br /><br />“Yes, I savvy”<br /><br />They stood waiting, for what, neither could say, but they stood there under the streetlights, listening to the sea break on the surf a short distance away, listening to each others thoughts.<br /><br />Footsteps in the distance, a white uniform, her driver approaching them.<br /><br />“Madame, the car is fixed.”<br /><br />“Yes, you go on, I am coming” said the woman handing the driver her briefcase<br /><br />The woman turned to the man who still had his back turned to her and spoke softly<br /><br />“You came back, after so many years.”<br /><br />“I had to, I made a promise to you that I would. I have paid for my mistakes, repented and finished all my work” the man spoke softly too.<br /><br />“But its too late, you should have come then, its far too late now.” Sadly, softly.<br /><br />“It is never too late, you know that.” murmured the man<br /><br />“Yes… and no” the woman looked away at the sea<br /><br />They both looked at the sea, the waves were black and the foam silver in the far off moonlight.<br /><br />“You know I will be waiting…wherever, kanz.” said the man, finally<br /><br />“Yeah, I know. You take care of yourself, D-boy” the woman whispered.<br /><br />The man swung astride his bike, put on his helmet and started his bike. The woman’s car came and stopped near them and the woman got into the back seat.<br /><br />Without another look, both went their own ways.<br /></div>dgoswami1979http://www.blogger.com/profile/06497337806216907980noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3943167523683786927.post-66466008929622848102007-10-04T12:37:00.000-07:002012-09-22T21:24:55.639-07:00The Fee<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: arial;">The wind did not blow and the sheet of water that was the mighty Brahmaputra was lying as flat as glass. The azure heavens seemed to have been scorched by the brilliant noonday sun and the dry brown earth of the embankments near the riverside restaurant seemed to crumble before eyes of the single customer sheltering from the heat. The nearby CJM and DC courthouses seem deserted and empty.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: arial;">The black coat, none too clean, denoted the profession of the man nursing his tea but his ancient bespectacled eyes were far on the distance, measuring the hours perhaps till he could nurse his evening drink.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: arial;">A harried young man walked in to the restaurant, asked for tea and sat down heavily in one of the rickety plastic chairs. Ancient Eyes on the distance snapped to attention though the body remained still, and the thoughts ran behind the grimy glasses covering were quicksilver.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: arial;">“In trouble?” ancient eyes still on the distance, asking the glass of cold tea.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: arial;">The young man started, moved and saw the coat, the man inside looking at the distance, but he saw the coat.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: arial;">“Yeah, yes, I am” slowly, dragged out.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: arial;">“Girl trouble” questioning yet sure.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: arial;">A pause, a slow blush suffusing the handsome though heavy features.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: arial;">“Yes, I need some help” stated defiantly.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: arial;">“ No doubt, no doubt” the eyes moved from the cold tea to the young man, measuring, weighing, and calculating.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: arial;">The young man squirms in his chair, finally gets up and draws his chair closer to the lawyer.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: arial;">“Yeah, I could use some help. You see, me and my girlfriend live in Bangalore though we belong to different castes and we want to get married. Fact is, our parents arrived in Bangalore to stop the marriage, so we came back to Guwahati and now we need to get married at once. Can you help us?”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: arial;">The rush of words apparently left the young man winded and he sat hunched over in his chair looking like a child in his bright coloured designer wears.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: arial;">Ancient eyes regarded him for a while, till the young man flushed again and said” I have enough money, don’t worry, and we are both adults. Just need the thing done today”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: arial;">“Come with me”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: arial;">The lawyer and his new client paid their bills, walked off the restaurant and into the nearby District Commissioner’s Court. The floors were dirty and the paint flaking on the walls. Both walked slowly till they reached the registration branch. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: arial;">Stopping outside the office, the lawyer said “Wait here, I’ll be back”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: arial;">Ten long minutes later, the lawyer emerges beckons the young man into a nearby alcove</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: arial;">“Twenty-Five thousand and get the girl here fast”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: arial;">Fifteen breathless minutes, both bride and groom are outside the office and twenty-five new thousand rupee notes are in the lawyer’s hand as he produces some forms and official notices. Things are moving along and signatures are being signed, when the earnest groom suddenly remembers his two friends who are to be witnesses and rushes off to get them leaving the lawyer and his bride standing outside the office</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: arial;">“Is this legal?” asks the new bride</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: arial;">“Very” gravely informs ancient eyes</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: arial;">“I mean, no way it can be cancelled or withdrawn?” </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: arial;">A long pause and a longer look passes.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: arial;">“Anything is possible”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: arial;">“Hmmmm, yes, I would like the possibility. At the going rate of course”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: arial;">A pause, shorter than before, a nod, shorter than the pause.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: arial;">The young man arrives with his friends and they all engage in a flurry of signing and smiles. The lawyer and the new wife are also smiling.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: arial;">Out in the open, the young man turns gratefully to the lawyer</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: arial;">“I can’t tell you how much you have helped me out. So if everything is done, and the certificates will reach us at the given address, we’ll take your leave.”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: arial;">Ancient eyes watch the young man thoughtfully from the black coat, the throat is cleared, a pause. The afternoon seemed to be full of pauses.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: arial;">“Umm, there was something….”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: arial;">The young man blushes again, grins and says “I am so sorry, your fee, of course, of course. I don’t quite know how much I should pay, but I hope this will suffice”. He stuffs a roll of hundred rupee notes into the hands of the lawyer and takes off with his wife.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: arial;">A few minutes later, the lawyer is still standing outside the office when the wife comes back and thrusts a smaller wad of 500 rupee notes into his hand, smiles at him and asked for his cell phone number. The lawyer smiles and gives her a fictional number and pockets the money. He walks back to the restaurant and orders another glass of tea. Takes out his cell phone and makes a call.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: arial;">“Yes sir, I came to the court to complete my forms for my bar licence, but it seems that it was a bandh today, so I will have to come tomorrow. I however met the peons at the registration office and got the forms. Yes sir, they were very helpful, they seem to know where all the forms are and what needs to be filled out. I also found out about the fees. Yes sir, thank you sir. I will get back to you later sir.”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: arial;">Old eyes, in an old coat, in an old profession, grimly look out at the horizon. A while later, touching his shirt pocket where repose a few wads of money, there is a faint smile in the young face with the old, ancient eyes.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: arial;">The afternoon is still scorching hot and the river still looks like green-blue glass. </span></div>
</div>
dgoswami1979http://www.blogger.com/profile/06497337806216907980noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3943167523683786927.post-38431331432409762392007-10-04T12:25:00.000-07:002007-10-04T12:36:41.305-07:00A Boy’s Death<span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><br /><br />The pain was numb at first. It did not exist, nothing existed. The phone emitted a dull moan as the dial tone went on droning and it took some time to realise this. Things seemed to attain a new perspective as he looked around his office. The framed certificates, the affiliation license, the awful Rajasthani prints which he always hated, his large steel and wood desk, littered as always with the wreckage of paperwork and worse, his old bakelite phone whose zero needed to be pushed extra hard, his cigarettes and matches…the debris of a life lived without actually knowing it was lived, there was never enough time.<br /><br />The phone was back on its hook and the words were hanging in the air, it seemed. He wondered at the feeling of loss and how akin it was to having grass…grass in a rock concert…she was there too, as were the rest of his gang, sitting on his bike, head-banging to some god-awful Indian band trying to play covers…the music, the lights….her….always HER.<br /><br />Four…no, wait, it was almost five…five years of a note of music shimmering in the air, ethereal and yet alive….she had called him a poet in denial. Law school often produced weirdo’s, nothing new with that. Five years since passing out, the maxim still held true.<br /><br />The phone rang…..<br /><br />He reached for it….and stopped. He did not need another phone call, he needed booze, alcohol, needed lots of it. It had worked in college, it worked after college, it would work now.<br /><br />But it did not…<br /><br />Booze was like the law, a fickle mistress giving only as much as was taken, leaving one in the end with a sour taste and a thick head and memories.<br /><br />It was late afternoon to judge by the slanting sunlight as it lit up his chamber. He had loved the sun, always had, loved its warmth and the feel of brightness and clarity. She had called him nairun, a child of the sun, god only knew where she would get her nonsense from, but it was the kind of nonsense more easily missed than most sense.<br /><br />She was gone….<br /><br />Everything in place, all the pieces in order and just like that, the whole board had been upset, the pieces flying, the board skittering, the players stuck dumb and still by an event unconsidered and un-envisaged.<br /><br />“Its over…I am not coming to Guwahati. All the best with your NGO and your life”<br /><br />He had tried to reason…. by the gods, he was a reasonable man, always had been…. reasonable only when he could not play his way, bulldoze his way in, break down and disrupt every possible bit of resistance…yes he was reasonable then, was reason not his ally then and had he not broken down stiffer opposition.<br /><br />And so he used reason now, because nothing seemed to work now……but reason failed.<br /><br />She was always stubborn…regardless of her stand or position.<br /><br />So, it came down to this….a phone call that terminated. Maybe he should call his phone the terminator….sick jokes, bad jokes, pathetic jokes, he was always making jokes and only she got them all and also got the fact that he was joking because reality scared the hell out of him.<br /><br />Five years and another five, he was in college, unfocusedly focused, just another idiot who believed that the law was like water or the air, to be moulded and illusions to be created out of, with words and craft. That’s it….he used to call it the craft, just like witchcraft. Pull off the trick and you are a magician and people are calling for encores. That’s what he liked, the looks of stupefaction and surprise when he pulled off scam after scam, be it the courts of law or the college canteen.<br /><br />And then she had come along ….. and had seen through the scams.<br /><br />He had seen her sitting quietly with a friend in the hostel parking lot, while he was coming along with his bunch of guys, his gang, you could call it. He had seen her and though he had poor eyesight, he could see her eyes, so he walked over.<br /><br />“Do you know the colour of your eyes?”<br /><br />Eyes snapping up at him, like a startled doe, a wide brow and long, oh so long raven tresses.<br /><br />He asked again “Do you know the colour of your eyes?”<br /><br />“No, I don’t.” Eyes down, all he can see is a crown of glorious long dark hair.<br /><br />“It’s the colour of wild honey”<br /><br />“Oh really?”<br /><br />Of such humble beginnings are epics written and fought over….<br /><br />The words, the beliefs, the years, the dreams, the views…..all seen in the haze of golden sunlight stretching through a long summer’s afternoon.<br /><br />The phone rang….he let it ring.<br /><br />They had built a castle out of smoke and she was the mirror for his illusions of reality and yet the castle was real, it was seen by the world and marveled at for its ingenuity and approach.<br /><br />They had believed in doing something beyond what was possible and they had done it. The long years of separation and the huge phone bills were just a down payment on their dreams and hopes.<br /><br />They were about to enter the castle when the doors closed down on him and she raised up the gates.<br /><br />He knew why, he understood the how, the what, the when, and the who…..<br /><br />Oh yes, he understood, he was good at that……<br /><br />The castle was his and the walls were cold. It was now night and the bottles on the desk and the floor were just another part of the scenery. The feeling of numbness was now reached, nothing mattered and yet responsibility was a bitch who never let go.<br /><br />He did not remember locking up, did not remember reaching home….perhaps he never did.<br /><br />A boy, full of dreams and hopes and beliefs had left home…..he did not return, perhaps he never did.<br /><br />Just another line, just another life…….dgoswami1979http://www.blogger.com/profile/06497337806216907980noreply@blogger.com1