The Purdah

Raul stands in his balcony and stares at the new house that stands in front of his mansion. His mansion, with rusted grille, mossed and cracked walls, peeled-off plaster flashing bare bricks, has stood tall for three generations. The purdah at the doorway blends with the jaded mansion, but serves the purpose.

“Lentil- eating peasants are our neighbours now”, papa would have derided, if alive. His father abhorred the nouveau riche.

Raul’s small real estate business helps him scrape through. A sheep amongst wolves, two months back he had done a big business though he had lost a pound of flesh there, his heart.  Like Bassanio, he was broke and had to sell mansion’s garden front. The dough had quietened moneylenders for sometime. 

It pains Raul to see a wall where the hedges stood; the garden was levelled for construction.

*

Raul and his wife shift on the mattress. The neighbour’s sewing machine noise stings them like mosquitoes. His wife murmurs, “ If only my father had not fallen for your pompous papa. All ham, no let.”

Raul doesn’t retaliate.

*

Subi smoked on his terrace while admiring the elephantine silhouette of the mansion. 

With his hard work and some bank loan, he has left the ‘thatched roof life’ behind. He has to work harder to repay the loan, but for now he is happy. This mansion backdrop pushes him to work more. 

He sews till late in the night.

It is Subi’s house warming ceremony. The kids are running in and out. 

Subi decides to share sweets with Mr. Raul, like a neighbour. Throughout the land paper formalities, Raul was taciturn and guarded, as his mansion was to outsiders. 

As Subi enters the mansion gate, he hears loud altercations and then few men step out of the doorway fuming; burly weaponed men. Subi’s conundrum is answered by a thud. Mr. Raul is lying on the floor, unconscious. The purdah and rod come crashing after, succumbing to Raul’s weight as he had attempted to balance himself.  His wife is frantically crying as Subi lifts Mr. Raul up.

He enters the hallway, his eyes wide with surprise. 

*

Raul’s papa had not changed his opulent lifestyle, long after the princely states had acceded to the government. Soon the huge mahogany dining table, chandelier, porcelain vases were pawned one by one. The mansion stood as the only royal proof.

Once, Raul had argued with papa when his rosewood lectern was being sold. It was dear to Raul; the intricate carvings are still fresh in his mind.

*

Subi lays Raul softly on the floor and sits down next to him.  The mansion is almost empty with no furnitures around. The purdah did a good cover up.

*

Raul slowly regains his consciousness but immediately lowers his eyes to avoid Subi’s. The purdah that had guarded Raul’s dignity, lay torn, baring it all. That night Subi sits longer on his sewing machine. 

By next morning, a new purdah is ready to guard the mansion.

*

Lone Wolf

He stood out as if from another time; square peg in a round hole. 

No one went unnoticed from my newsstand at the city square. He bought a newspaper and sat with his coffee, the old school way.

His drooping shoulders, parched lips and skin that could not remember what the sun looked like from years of deprivation, yearned to tell something. Like a lost pup, his gaze held on to every face that passed by his table. He sought a friend, for a familiar conversation, a simple greeting. Instead met his eyes, drifting faces; talking faces with wired ears as if spies on some mission. The mobile phone revolution era had completely passed him by. 

In between his sips he talked to me. A man of few words but many riddles, Roger had served 38 years in prison; went in, a young fella in 1977 and came out at the ripe age of 62. For second degree murder. 

“Young blood with anger is a lethal combination”, he had said while collecting himself and his thoughts up from his chair. I had swallowed my visible disquiet. I did not see Roger for the next few days. I was relieved. 

He came by next week; same coffee, newspaper and hopeful looks. People passed by, almost seeing through him. Some youngsters stopped by to take pouty selfies, making that V- sign and he could not contain himself anymore.

“Hey Johnny, are these phones ‘smart’ for real? Y’all look blockheads,” he guffawed.

Old generation rants, always! He believed that he had walked out of prison only to enter a dystopia. And yet he was desperate- to fit in.

“I like you Johnny but y’all are maze that I don’t get”, he said and walked away humming ‘I walk the line’ by Johnny Cash. 

The next day he seemed taken up. I was busy too, scoring on Tinder while catching up on my friends’ updates simultaneously. We were actively debating that millennials have it in them to face their problems. I typed a quick update: Don’t facebook your problems. Face Them. #millennialproblems

Just when I was feeling accomplished, he tapped me with his diary. 

“Johnny! I think I know how to turn things around, like ol’ times”, he was beaming. 

I read his notes aloud, adding my take after each pointer.

Rules-

1. Don’t cross the road if you are wired. 

“So what you mean is don’t get distracted by phone. Cool.”

2. If you go somewhere, be there.

“Ok….No recording or Checking-In?”

3. If you order food, eat it.

“Don’t click? No Insta. Gotcha”

4. If you are with someone, talk to her.

“No chatting on smart phones, right!”

“Roger that”, I smirked and went back to my chat window. The man had clearly gone cuckoo. 

He waved goodbye while holding on to the printout of ‘Taste of Country Music’ ticket. I had helped him with online ticket for the event and I felt swell. #Livenletlive

*

My phone starts buzzing in the night. I check only to find a video of Roger singing with a bunch of youngsters- ‘On the road again’ by Willie Nelson.

My lone wolf is finally finding his footing.

A picture comes next, him holding his diary. It reads:

If you go somewhere, be there. Some experiences are worth capturing.

TO DO or not to do…

Like everyday, I am flying and brooding; I get profound when I fly. I am TO DO, not to be done, it’s my name. I am an ordinary pigeon with various shades of grey. Honestly speaking, I am an outcast for I showed my aversion to eating food that humans throw at us. First they lay the trap and when we pick on easy meal, they shoo us away. So, I rebelled.

Looks like I got carried away… 

This place seems abandoned with jaded workshop sheds, barbed boundaries and no humans! Oh, is that a sparrow, are their kinds still around? 

“Hello there…long time no see!”

< muffled grunts and pants >

I glide closer to show my disproval when he starts a free fall. I dive down to save him in the nick of time. It’s a she; no black ring around her neck. She is still giddy but smiles.

“I am Ray…”

“….of hope?” I quip. 

“TO DO.” We shake feathers.

“I shouldn’t be out, will you drop me off at home,” she asks. 

I oblige and fly along. She enters one of the many workshops that I had spotted earlier. I am stunned as I witness the biggest colony of nests that I have ever seen. The entire workshop is converted into hundreds of nests, rows after rows, neatly stacked from one pipe to another.  Hay, grass, plastic- a lot of it, cloth, even cigarette butts- the nicotine keeps the ticks in check. I whistle, almost. 

It looks like a war- ridden zone with scores of sparrows- limping, trying to fly, others just chirping, anger mixed with hunger. Ray tells me that her specie is the most affected by mobile phone base stations as the radiations not just harm the ones around but their next generation as well. She points towards the baby sparrows; they don’t look good. Next, I spot few healthy sparrows teaching the weaklings to fly. 

Hop- N- Glide.

“I learn in this team,” Ray says. I had already noticed her clipped wing outdoors.

“We have a purpose here- to survive the ill- effects of technology. Together.” 

“Can I join you?”

Ray smiles and turns towards a room.

TRAINING

I see pigeons, crows, swallows, swifts and even a cuckoo, all focused. I am welcomed amongst volunteers who want to give a helping wing to sparrows, to bring back their normal lives.

“We can help them fly, build nests for the sick, hunt for food, signal danger (human and cat)”, says the trainer, an old sparrow. She thanks us for joining and announces lunch break. 

A miniature human comes out of the clock as it strikes two. 

DONG

DONG

I laugh till I cry.

Janus- faced

Thorax_Thor: Is he really a comedian? Dafuq

NaTaLiE435: OMG, U R not funny but ugly. I want my 6 min back.

JorahFrnZone: Shite! My eyes hrut..

The above comments are the better lot. Nasty comments are growing like hydra- headed monsters all over my social walls despite my success as a comedian. My videos usually hit a million views or more. I judge comedy shows and am invited to talk shows frequently. Friends call me to parties expecting to have a ball with my non- stop jokes and charades.

Yet negative comments are pouring in. 

People expect me to be funny all the time, a real pet peeve of mine. My past dates have shown discomfort to my romantic gestures and my peers scoff at my rational views on politics. Like seriously, do you assume that a chef cooks at home too or a mountaineer hikes to his office (may be hitchhikes)? Ok, that was lame. But jokes apart(oh irony!), sometimes I want to have real conversations where I am not expected to drop a punch line in every sentence. The struggle is real and these negative comments only add to my woes. 

Are my jokes falling flat? 

Do they release laughing gas before I go on stage? 

Do viewers laugh on my horseplay, my face?

Am I losing my mojo?

I mull over it for a week, trying to reach the core of the problem. I better fix this and fix it soon. Comedy is my home ground. I have used it to defend myself since childhood. Rotund, ugly and stuttering school- going lads are perfect bully materials and I wasn’t spared my share. I was fat, ugly and I stuttered- a complete package. The defence mechanism that I started with as a naive child turned into my script material as I found my footing in comedy. And just when I thought that I had arrived in life, these trollers have started attacking me. There is an infinite power that one holds behind an alphanumeric username which can debunk someone’s confidence or career or both. But not mine, not again! 

————————————————

LilAngelica19: Ur so adorkable. laughed my guts out

Pablo_psycho: The most relatable shit ever! bring them more

EenaMinaDika: ma new crush @RealPat..gr8 stuff. luv from NZ. 

@RealPat read the comments and raised a toast to himself on the newfangled success. New subscribers and fans were only a matter of time now. Been there done that! He knew that his jokes were good; the rest had been fixed. He took a last look at the card before tossing it in the hearth.

Refresh. Renew. Reveal

                                                                   the new you……..

    IMAGINE Plastic Surgery

www.imagineplas.com

The cheerful fire danced around the corners of the card turning blue and amber before engulfing it. However, his soul smoulders with hatred because lookism has won. 

Shark Teeth

I settled into my chair, looking at appointments for the day when someone knocked. It was Shasha’s father. But her appointment was only later in the day. He entered, followed by another man who carried Neha in his arms. Neha is Shasha’s younger sister. Her chin is covered in blood; the bib has failed to do its job. Her blue dress is soiled with blood and saliva. 

Her father blurts out, “ We heard a thud in the bathroom and we rushed to find Neha on the floor, unconscious. Her mother’s hair brush was lying by her side, its handle smudged with blood.” I immediately put on my apron and gloves to examine her and tell her family to wait outside. Ruby, the nurse joins me and hands me a swab, while I hold tweezers in the other hand. 

My head is abuzz. 

*

Only yesterday had I met Neha at my clinic. I had peered out to summon someone when my eyes met with big, brown eyes trying to peep in. She was almost six years old and her eyes brimmed with mischief and curiosity. I smiled at her, but was only greeted by a cold stare. I craned my neck back in to pack up for the day. As I kept the mouth mirror to be sterilized, I goofed about, contorting my face. My reflection was no where close to funny, hidden behind the mask. 

I had laughed, again under the mask. 

Shasha, an eleven year old girl, was the last patient yesterday who wanted braces because she felt that her teeth were protruding. Well, her teeth seemed unruly but were still under control. Children these days are very conscious of their looks. So here she was, all set to be caged for a few years. In my childhood, my mother would teach me to use a fresh twig of mango or neem tree as a toothbrush. The trick was to brush while pressing the teeth inside with the twig. I grew up in a small town in India and I did not use a toothbrush until I moved to college and to a bigger city. The twig had worked, apparently, because I have one of the most beautiful set of teeth. It could have been genetics too, but I would rather go with twigs. Having a good set of teeth is an advantage in my profession. I only wonder, how do dentists with crooked teeth assure their patients of successful results; or the almost bald trichologists succeed in selling hair treatments  to the gullible patients sitting across the never- to- be- missed Before- After poster hung in the clinic. 

I had met Neha again on my way out. She was hiding behind her father’s legs and was nudging Shasha. And she was grinning.  Like a true dentist, I noticed shark teeth lurking from behind her baby teeth. I held her jaw, examined her teeth and casually told her father to help her get rid of the two baby teeth in the front line. Her father told me that she doesn’t let anyone touch her tooth and they were afraid that she would have crooked teeth. His fears were in the right place. I bent forward and told her in a heavy, made up voice, “There are SHARK teeth coming up in your mouth and if you don’t get rid of your baby teeth, sharks will kill them and then they will eat all your favourite food that you put in your mouth. Everything!” Her face turned ashen and I had immediately regretted my theatrics. Shark teeth aren’t abnormal and happen in approximately 1 in 10 children. Mostly, shark teeth resolve without intervention (i.e. the baby tooth falls out and the permanent tooth takes its proper position). But her baby teeth had seemed to be in no hurry to go. 

*

I feel cold fingers on my wrist and I come out of my reverie. 

Ruby has cleaned Neha’s face by now. She gestures me to come closer and whispers, “I killed both of them before they could eat my pancake.” She grins again, the baby teeth are gone and so is the twinkle of her eyes. Her cold stare sends chills down my nape. I bite my tongue hard for causing such a tumult and turn away, towards a mirror to put on my mask. To my horror, two devil teeth have cropped out in my mouth, ruining my perfect set of pearls.

He Rode The Fast Lane On The Road To Nowhere

Five Easy Pieces (1970)

Dupea: I'd like a plain omelette, no potatoes, tomatoes instead, a cup of coffee, and wheat toast.

Waitress: No substitutions.

Dupea: What do you mean? You don't have any tomatoes?

Waitress: Only what's on the menu. You can have a number two - a plain omelette. It comes with cottage fries and rolls.

Dupea: Yeah, I know what it comes with, but it's not what I want.

Waitress: Well, I'll come back when you make up your mind.

Dupea: Wait a minute. I have made up my mind. I'd like a plain omelette, no potatoes on the plate, a cup of coffee, and a side order of wheat toast.

Waitress: I'm sorry. We don't have any side orders of toast. I'll give you an English muffin or a coffee roll.

Dupea: What do you mean you don't make side orders of toast? You make sandwiches, don't you?

Waitress: Would you like to talk to the manager?

Dupea: You've got bread and a toaster of some kind?

Waitress: I don't make the rules.

Dupea: Okay, I'll make it as easy for you as I can. I'd like an omelette, plain, and a chicken salad sandwich on wheat toast, no mayonnaise, no butter, no lettuce, and a cup of coffee.

Waitress: A number two, chicken sal san, hold the butter, the lettuce, and the mayonnaise, and a cup of coffee. Anything else?

Dupea: Yeah. Now all you have to do is hold the chicken, bring me the toast, give me a check for the chicken salad sandwich, and you haven't broken any rules.

Waitress: You want me to hold the chicken, huh?

Dupea: I want you to hold it between your knees.

Waitress: You see that sign, sir? Yes, you'll all have to leave. I'm not taking any more of your smartness and sarcasm.

Dupea: You see this sign? (sweeps all the water glasses and menus off the table)

I had come across this drop dead funny scene way too often to ignore the film and I finally watched the master piece called Five Easy Pieces. This is an era where things were very unsettling, the youth was unsure, perplexed with the events, the film makers were revolting with an emphasis on realism, the so called “American New wave”.

Robert "Bobby" Eroica Dupea( Jack Nicholson) is a brooding blue-collared laborer in an oil-rig, who spends his idle time in bowling, bars, motels, while trying to adjust with his simpleton and insecure waitress girlfriend, Rayette Dipesto (played by Karen Black), who aspires to be a country singer. The difference between the two is obvious and gets clearer with their music discussions when Bobby tries to explain his choice with words like, “It's a question of musical integrity" and is retorted by Rayette, “You can play on the piano. Your whole damn family can play some kind of musical instrument. All I'm asking is for you to help me improve my musical talent”. And one realizes, Bobby does not belong here. He  is a complex individual who has left a life of privilege and culture behind to become an oil rig worker, in an attempt to get away, a life where he was a child prodigy but an under achiever as per his father’s expectations leading him to oblivion, degenerating into meaningless existence.

His emotions are the typical Nicholson-schy; reactive, exploding with rage,  with some  shades of vulnerability, that vanished with age in other masterpieces like ‘The Shining’, ‘The Departed’ or ‘As good as it gets’. While on a runaway from his restlessness and upper class family, he is equally restive in his new sphere. He has a disdain to the surroundings while maintaining the indifference to his past.

There is a scene when Bobby gleefully jumps up on a truck in a freeway traffic jam, discovers a piano strapped on top and gives a spontaneous freeway concert, playing the film’s first piece of the five- Chopin’s Fantasy. What strikes one is his denial or the attempt at escaping from reality when the truck drifts in a wrong direction. His confused self resurfaces again in a spat with his co-worker where Bobby refuses to be compared to him and his trailer-living life that’s beneath him. He feels out-of place here, and recklessly quits his rig job when the film takes a subtle turn into his past life that he has been running away from.

 He visits his ailing father and his siblings, the house of music that he had run away from. He still feels alienated and yet plays another piece with dexterity. His lack of direction towards any one particular life does not let him be and he tries to make peace with it by making a remorseful confession to his father. This powerful scene leaves one choked, when Robert apologizes and says, “I am sorry, it didn’t work out”. 

Towards the end, he abandons his girlfriend, leaves his identifications behind and escapes as the same disenchanted lost soul with a lumber truck to somewhere unknown, looking for freedom. This abrupt ending leaves one feeling empty and depleted, yearning for escape, exactly how Nicholson's character feels, but realizing that one cannot escape self. This resonates with the theme of everyday life; just living life because this is where you are and then developing an indifference for life because you stop living. 

                          -  He Rode The Fast Lane On The Road To Nowhere.

Jaane Bhi Do Yaaron- A walk through the cult film

There are few films which sink before learning to float and then re-emerge after decades as the so called cult films.

Jaane Bhi Do Yaaron is one such cult film that acquired a cult following with dedicated fan base, quoting dialogues at the drop of a hat, for who has not used the dialogue, “Thoda khao, thoda phenko, bahut mazaa aayega", sititng in college canteens, to the jaw aching, “Beta Duryodhan, yeh kya ho raha hai!”

Living up to the definition of a cult film, Jaane Bhi Do Yaaron faded quickly from theatres and went to the national broadcaster Doordarshan, the fringe benefit of NFDC producing the film. After umpteen airs on Doordarshan till it became a black spot, one could still not catch the full film thanks to the obscure schedule timings. I remember watching the second half of the film and then finally completing the jigsaw puzzle of the whole film in another three attempts.

The innocent duo, Naseeruddin Shah and Ravi Baswani struggle to make a living through their “Beauty photo studio” and sing, “Hum honge kaamyaab, ek din (We shall overcome someday)” till they wind up dragging a dead body, leading to many iconic scenes, etched forever in our minds.

 Be it Om Puri’s drunken state or the Mahabharata scene; one is bound to bang some funny bones. 

The turning point of the film comes with Vinod and Sudhir accidentally clicking a picture that shows Tarneja murdering someone. The duo uncovers the dead body of D'Mello. And in the process Sudhir says, “Vinod, Chal ghar chalte hain”. This hits you somewhere, the callousness that we show in dealing with all the wrong doings, happening around us; we stop, we observe, we react (maybe) and then we continue on our way.

What makes Jaane Bhi Do Yaaron a cult film is the satire, the black comedy, which fits the current India as well as it fit 32 years back. The orchestrated madness for two hours plus has its own way of conveying the political message, a satire at its best. It lampoons the society we live in, where innocent virtues stand defeated against power and corruption. One is not left behind for a moment to sit back and ponder for the stark undercurrents and the climax hit hard, making one squirm in the spot.

The film remains relevant in today’s India. Just turn around and dodge all the intolerance and bans, the answer is there. Scams, nexus, communal riots, things have only become worse, like a hydra-headed monster engulfing all that is good. The film is no guide to how the life should be led, but it provokes you to ruminate, after one is done laughing out loud. Another worth mentioning dialogue is when Tanreja scoffs, “ In logon ko Bengal ki Khadi ya Arab sagar mein dubo dena chahiye (The press should be dumped in Bay of Bengal or Arabian Sea)” and we feel the same for the media today. Back then the public and media spoke against the faulting government, now the media is at the receiving end, not that our government has turned all pious.

And in enclosing, let us refresh ourselves with the funniest penultimate scene of the film- The Mahabharata scene.

Recapping some of the stinging one-liners, need I say more!

*Shant gadaadhari Bheem, shant

* Nahi, Draupadi jaisi Sati nari ko dekhkar maine cheer haran ka idea drop kar diya hai.
* Draupadi tere akele ki nahi hai. Hum sab shareholder hain.
* Nalayak, adharmi, durachari, vamachari, bhrasthachari, bol sorry!
*Jai ho, aisi Sati nari ki jai ho.

* This is too much. Yeh Akbar kahan se aa gaya?

The last scene says a lot, does it not?

Don't let go of things, take charge!