You will have to imagine a much older
and a simpler Mumbai. It was called Bombay back in those days. To get the
timing right you will have to work hard to consciously eliminate the color from
your heads and picture the next few sentences in pure monochromatic black
and white. If you are older, this will be certainly easier.
Slightly away from the richness and
ex-British South Bombay, lay a bustling suburb named Malad. And in
that populous suburb of Malad lived a young man with burning side burns and a
mutt as a much-loved pet. His mustache was a prized possession that he groomed
to unconventional lengths for a man of his age and who was not enlisted in the
military. I would call him a strapping young lad, perhaps not a good looker by the
chocolate-hero standards, but, more than enough to be ‘somebody’s’ desert. I am
not certain but I suspect he spent most of his time wiling away with his
neighborhood buddies, walking the dog and also signing Hindi songs fairly
confidently, regardless of the actual technical capability. Strapping!
ex-British South Bombay, lay a bustling suburb named Malad. And in
that populous suburb of Malad lived a young man with burning side burns and a
mutt as a much-loved pet. His mustache was a prized possession that he groomed
to unconventional lengths for a man of his age and who was not enlisted in the
military. I would call him a strapping young lad, perhaps not a good looker by the
chocolate-hero standards, but, more than enough to be ‘somebody’s’ desert. I am
not certain but I suspect he spent most of his time wiling away with his
neighborhood buddies, walking the dog and also signing Hindi songs fairly
confidently, regardless of the actual technical capability. Strapping!
Not too far away, in the same suburb
lived a slightly younger girl. Tall by average standards, much fairer than most
with jet black long Indian hair, I could easily classify this woman to be gorgeous.
To go with the prettiness that she sometimes magnified by wearing a black saree,
she also seemed to have a very stable head about her. A sibling to younger
brothers and sisters, she was looked upon early for providing. Serious about
education and her work duties, her prettiness then could almost go unnoticed.
lived a slightly younger girl. Tall by average standards, much fairer than most
with jet black long Indian hair, I could easily classify this woman to be gorgeous.
To go with the prettiness that she sometimes magnified by wearing a black saree,
she also seemed to have a very stable head about her. A sibling to younger
brothers and sisters, she was looked upon early for providing. Serious about
education and her work duties, her prettiness then could almost go unnoticed.
Of course, the strapping lad was
hardly the one to let things go unnoticed. So he noticed her and to make sure
she knew that he was noticing her, some whistling across streets transpired. It
is not my place to comment on what qualified as distinctive flirting in those
days because I would most likely be wrong. In fact, if I must be honest, I
wouldn’t exactly know what qualifies today in the Facebook era.
hardly the one to let things go unnoticed. So he noticed her and to make sure
she knew that he was noticing her, some whistling across streets transpired. It
is not my place to comment on what qualified as distinctive flirting in those
days because I would most likely be wrong. In fact, if I must be honest, I
wouldn’t exactly know what qualifies today in the Facebook era.
But whatever methods this young man
utilized obviously worked. She was drawn to his rougher charms. So much so that
it resulted in their marriage in that same suburb on a day when it rained
significantly and some guests arrived much later, to miss out on food and have
just ice cream. I am not sure if this was the major gripe but there was some
consensus that this young man, my dad, had a ‘married up’. And after 37 odd
years, their second son finds himself sitting on a couch in a living room in
Germany recounting the story of his parents ‘hooked up’.
utilized obviously worked. She was drawn to his rougher charms. So much so that
it resulted in their marriage in that same suburb on a day when it rained
significantly and some guests arrived much later, to miss out on food and have
just ice cream. I am not sure if this was the major gripe but there was some
consensus that this young man, my dad, had a ‘married up’. And after 37 odd
years, their second son finds himself sitting on a couch in a living room in
Germany recounting the story of his parents ‘hooked up’.
Between that busy rainy day in Mumbai
and this quiet night in Western Europe, exists my past and my Parent’s past
perfect, present and perhaps future perfect. On their wedding Anniversary, I
often ask them what the plan is. In my MTV upbringing I expect a detailed
answer that at least includes a dinner, a movie or a trip of some sort. In fact
at times I feel they make a plan just so that they can answer these pointless
questions from a son who has yet to understand what companionship is, only to
stop bothering them.
and this quiet night in Western Europe, exists my past and my Parent’s past
perfect, present and perhaps future perfect. On their wedding Anniversary, I
often ask them what the plan is. In my MTV upbringing I expect a detailed
answer that at least includes a dinner, a movie or a trip of some sort. In fact
at times I feel they make a plan just so that they can answer these pointless
questions from a son who has yet to understand what companionship is, only to
stop bothering them.
It should make you wonder what 37
years of companionship and marriage means. I have a suspicion that there is so
much under the surface of a relationship with such considerable substance and
distance. How would one dinner on one day of a year make any dent on this
diamond?
years of companionship and marriage means. I have a suspicion that there is so
much under the surface of a relationship with such considerable substance and
distance. How would one dinner on one day of a year make any dent on this
diamond?
What would they talk over dinner? How
can they possibly recall decades of living together? They had two kids; they
changed innumerable houses, cities and states. With the two nitwits, they traveled to temples and snow-capped mountains alike. The petite wife tolerated incessant puppy poop while the strapping man displayed superb patience as his wife locked the same door twice. She provided for delicious food day after day while he went to work diligently, sometimes with a unloaded hand gun in an old black VIP briefcase.They fought, at times
louder than desired but they sustained stronger than most, the morning after.
They played witness to two boys growing up until one of them gave them a
grandson in return. They provided more than can ever be expected. They did all
this together.
can they possibly recall decades of living together? They had two kids; they
changed innumerable houses, cities and states. With the two nitwits, they traveled to temples and snow-capped mountains alike. The petite wife tolerated incessant puppy poop while the strapping man displayed superb patience as his wife locked the same door twice. She provided for delicious food day after day while he went to work diligently, sometimes with a unloaded hand gun in an old black VIP briefcase.They fought, at times
louder than desired but they sustained stronger than most, the morning after.
They played witness to two boys growing up until one of them gave them a
grandson in return. They provided more than can ever be expected. They did all
this together.
I cannot fathom then the quality of
the silences between my mom and dad. I feel so miniscule when I smugly give
them creative ideas on how to remember the day they got married. What I don’t
understand (yet) is that they rejoice at the fact that this day is remembered
by their off-springs, in whatever way possible. They don’t need a day, a dinner
or daisies to recall their years of togetherness. They are constantly reminded of that, sadly by an emptier than usual house in a warm Nashik, an empty bedroom where
both their kids destroyed the wooden cupboards with cheap 7-up Fido Dido
stickers in years long past.
the silences between my mom and dad. I feel so miniscule when I smugly give
them creative ideas on how to remember the day they got married. What I don’t
understand (yet) is that they rejoice at the fact that this day is remembered
by their off-springs, in whatever way possible. They don’t need a day, a dinner
or daisies to recall their years of togetherness. They are constantly reminded of that, sadly by an emptier than usual house in a warm Nashik, an empty bedroom where
both their kids destroyed the wooden cupboards with cheap 7-up Fido Dido
stickers in years long past.
If anything, I need this day. To
marvel at their love’s sustenance, to stop recommending foolish romantic
ideas but to rather practice my own whistling across the street.
marvel at their love’s sustenance, to stop recommending foolish romantic
ideas but to rather practice my own whistling across the street.
Read at 00.16.
Good one.
Rest of the comments later
Magnum opus! Loved the movie script style. .. waxing eloquent!
You're getting just better at this each passing day. liked it. 🙂
Baba, Dada: Thanks. All I really had to do is remember.
Ash: Thanks! I am glad you feel so.
Sush – Lovely!
This is pure gold Dush…as much the blog as the sentiment…we are taking ourselves too freaking seriously to treat life simply, is the lesson of you ask me..:)
Mukund: think you are asking that lesson to yourself, thank you 🙂 but I am glad you enjoyed the post.