The cards in the gale...

It was a windy evening. The common folk were either running for shelter or already inside, peeping through the windows. One girl standing by the road, unruffled by the gale blowing fiercely around her, proceeded to whip out a table from underneath her cloak, followed by a chair. Surprisingly, the storm did not seem to disturb her. She calmly sat on the chair, pulled out two packs of playing cards and started building a house of cards.

Through windows around her, people were bewildered. Some proclaimed her a witch. The faithful believed the messiah had come for them. The physicists called each other up to decide if there was some magnetic force behind all this. The reporters believed to be the scoop for that day's informal programme. Everyone had some opinion to offer on the uncanny situation, while the girl, clearly unruffled, kept building her house of cards.
Soon, people lost interest in the girl and instead, shifted their attention to the ever growing house of cards. The girl's hands moved deftly, pulling out a card and arranging it. Her eyes never left the task, a serene face, unmindful of the storm and oblivious of all the talk. The children tugged at their mothers' sleeves, wanting to go and see the house of cards.

An old man finally summoning the courage, came up to the girl, and introduced himself. She did not reply, her eyes focused on the card. Seeing the girl not harm the man, others came out too. The storm raged on. But no one dared to touch her or the cards. Finally, one child could not take it any more. He ran up to the table and tried to reach the cards. While trying to do so, he upset the table and along with it, the cards which were so carefully put. The girl, stood up, quietly staring at the mess. Then, she lifted her eyes to look at the crowd, screamed and vanished into the wind, table and all, while the crowd returned to their opinions while reporters bustled around for interviews.

In a world of magnets and miracles

The crowd was in frenzy. Each one wanted to pronounce the sentence. After all, she was a
pickpocket; she had committed a crime usually awarded with an amputation penalty in some
countries. Why should it be any different here?

The train crawled into the station. The crowd had managed to get a TTE to keep the
proceedings going. She looked all of eight. As she was whisked away, tears streaking
her tiny grimy face, she caught my eye, sight mixed with terror and helplessness, and for
some reason, incredulity. In our country, as soon as we are born, we are taught the value of
obedience, obedience to our parents and elders. She too had done the same. Had she not seen
how the passengers looked at their offspring with pride as they conducted themselves in a
decent manner, or, in a manner as the parents approved? She too, had learnt from her parents,
and, in fact, had learnt the trade successfully in a short period of time. She recollected
the ‘Shabaashi’ she was awarded when she pulled the wallet out during the practice session.
Then why had she been thrashed, her parents threatened at knife point, and her prize taken
away from her? The questions, the confusion, the clash of the ideologies, it was evident on
her face.

Suddenly she felt a hand on her shoulder, a reassuring hand, she looked up to see her mother
give a curt nod as to say, “Just keep going, it is all arranged.” What was arranged? As far as
she knew, they were going to the place where her father had disappeared four months ago.
Her mother had even stopped applying vermillion on her forehead, in reverence of the dead.
Somewhere, in her heart, she felt she would meet her father; perhaps her mother would start
wearing the tattered, but colourful saris again. Or, she thought with a shiver, they would take
her mother away this time, and leave her with her infant brother. As these doubts assailed her,
she let herself be pulled away, her immediate future uncertain, just like the next meal of the
day.

Some serious crap... for a change

It happened to me the other day. Speeding with a rundown scooter off into the sunset, i saw a familiar traffic signal. It was one of the inconspicuous ones, which blink on and people pass on under it, unaffected. Seeing the signal, I revved to full glory and was about to pass when I noticed the traffic guard, giving me the extremely appalled look. i just about managed to hit the brakes and slowly shuffled back into the waiting traffic. If it was any consolation, I had a scarf around my face which protected my identity from further tarnish. The others looked down on me with the expression of "Fie! Shame on thee!" I wished I could give people the "Boo me??? Boo you!!! You do it everyday too, I was merely the unlucky duck for today!"

It was then that it struck me. We point fingers at politicians, branding them corrupt. What about us, Each one of us? How many of us have obtained our driving license in the legal manner? A friend of mine once joked, that he kept a hundred rupee note on the dashboard while driving, expecting to be caught as he was bound to break a traffic rule. It didn't strike him that if he drove carefully, he wouldn't be necessary. But oh dear me! Wouldn't that be uncool now? Bribing peons for proxy attendance at college, visiting illegal food joints, driving without license, getting jobs through wrong means, we have been through it all.

I was visiting a sister of mine, who took me out on a drive in the city. She waited at a signal when she could have ignored and passed under it. I thought, finally! A worthy citizen. Then, she turned to me to apologize for waiting. She felt embarrassed for doing the right thing! Is this what we have been reduced to? We do not mind partying late night, but it hurts the ego to participate in a debate, or even worse, to read the newspaper everyday. It is a style statement to be ignorant of everyday affairs. I see stuck up snobs saying, 'I don't know, ya!' And then peals of laughter follow, while the 'geek' is unappreciated for knowing and doing the right thing.

It is true that corruption begins at grassroot level. Let's face it. If we didn't start the practice of giving, there would be no takers. We are responsible for this practice and instead of making amends, we turn and point towards the next person. Corruption is not necessarily big issues like foeticide, forgery and scams. Innumerable minor bribery transactions take place every minute. We rank 57th in terms of corruption out of 179 countries. What does this spell for us? We have radio stations blaring out 'Lokpal' in the most melodramatic fashions. Facebook statuses keep updating on the same issue. We have Anna Hazare fasting unto death for Lokpal. But does it change anything? The everyday unlawful transactions will continue to take place. The change will occur when each one of us wakes up to the issue, recognizes the true essence of a corruption free world and works towards it. But, after all, man is an opportunist, We go by the motto, strike while the iron is hot... not live and let live. that is a thing of the past.

Uh oh!

I was very appalled with myself when I realised I had written about a lot of tosh but I had completely ignored the essential tosh -food!

If there ever existed an undergraduate course on food-cuisines, manner of approaching the cuisine, going through it and different styles of burping...Hell yeah! I would be the first person to graduate from the course. Most of the dreams I have got till date...except gruesome ones where crocs eat me up only to barf me out later (there you go, someone's eating), constitute of just food. 

Though a non-resident Bengali, I am still in touch in touch with my culture through my voracious appetite, although I try not to be partial by savoring the other cuisines as well. I certainly will not be surprised if I turn out to be a mutated dentrassi accidentally left on earth, the gourmand that I am.

Racism in me is exhibited only in cuisine terms. I accept or denounce a culture through the platter. As I work my way through the varied cuisines, the Chinese never fails to win my heart. Tea is the gateway to heaven while a cold coffee is bliss in the hot afternoons. A milkshake every now and then would just about be perfect. As Julie Andrews describes her favourite things, I slip away to the land of goodies popularised by Enid Blyton. Utopia in my eyes, I see myself running amok, dazed by the sights and smells, as free food blooms, ripens, appears, is passed over counters and is ingested. I am sure, had there been such a place, I would be elected mayor very soon. If not mayor, I would surely be awarded the ideal citizen or be approached to be the mascot for the town.

Though those were a few of my favourite things, Tamil and Gujarati cuisines break my heart and the North Indian fare keeps me looking for my weight machine every now and then. If I were given a chance to interview God, I would ask him these questions –

1. Why were the Tamilians programmed to render everything edible sour? Even the fish with its exquisite tang is not spared! How can one sour chicken?!?!?

2. Why are the Gujaratis so fervent about making everything sweet and dolloped with clarified butter!!! Luckily the papad was spared, or else the cuisine would be condemned in my suicide letter...

3. Is there any way to cook north Indian fare with oil a litre less?

4. Does the Andhra Pradesh cuisine favour food at all? Only Biryani isn’t filling, you know... a few more accompaniments would suffice, thank you!

5. Have you imposed fasts on Oriyas every other day of the week to prevent them from ingesting food? I thought the cyclones ravaged the coastal areas? I didn’t know it completely hampered food production in the state.

6. Why do the French like everything ‘rare’? Haven’t they evolved to the stage where man started using the fire to cook his food well?

And the list would go on. At the end of it all, God might condemn me to the Sahara where I will have to dance with the tribes to invoke the rain god for a few showers so that we can grow watermelons to quench thirst. Hunger...well let’s not talk about it. While the gujjus thrive in their sweetness and tamilians add more lemons...yes Father Almighty...thy will be done! Amen!

Cornflakes

the other day, i stopped at my aunt's place. as she shovelled cornflakes into her perpetually squawking son, she spoke at length about the everyday problems that an average housewife faces everyday. this certainly did boost my marriage paranoia which has been escalating ever since i entered adolescence. the girls who would put on pretty ribbons and frills to go out to play suddenly grow up to become aliens concerned with their settled life which was at that moment of life,of no concern to anyone else who should have been concerned about it. puberty can either do you wonders as boys suddenly awaken to the possibility of girls being, well, girls. or, it can hamper your progress as a normal sane individual as you take to the geeky path. at any rate it is very astounding how much information gets stored in the brain, irrespective of its value. boys have to remember their music, bikes, cars and good pickup lines. the girls have more work to do in absorbing gossip, processing it, sorting by date, person and issue and revealing their knowledge at the proper times. the tomboys have the most work to do in following the middle path that requires all the aforementioned skills.

at such times, they need some energy and memory retentive skill boosting material. what can be better than cornflakes, manna for the identity starved people! the wonders of the combination of flaky fermented orange chips with the pure whiteness of milk claims to act faster than any drug. with cornflakes by our side, no one can beat us at impressing the opposite gender. as i say this, let us, by the power of cornflakes, imagine the kellogs mascot do a jiggle for us... even before we see the orange hue of the sunrise, mother keeps a bowlful of similarly coloured cornflakes at the table. she hopes we shall excel at education by the grace of the soggy flakes sinking into the milk. naive souls! little do they know where our true aspirations lie. recharged, we start the day by flashing the devil's horn or going wheeee! and getting back to the inpression business. all hail cornflakes! mother of all aspirations....and no, i wasnt paid to advertise cornflakes..

The pros and cons of a dust bunny

it is not very pleasurable when one of them falls on your first morsel of the day. but nonetheless, if seen from a very unbiased perspective, dust bunnies can be the most endearing members of the house. the way they hang from the fans, going wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!! when you turn the fan on, doing somersaults in the air before tenderly floating to the ground, resting at your feet, waiting for a word of appreciation. yes, they most selflessly work hard to adhere to your wishes and moods. even when subjected to the demeaning broom, they submissively get swept and wait outside the door, just hoping you shall turn around and sweep them back into the house where they took birth and hoped to multiply with your good grace.

the dust bunny, with its brood, be it any season of the year, any time of the day, patiently waits by the door. as soon the person enters, they lovingly circle his feet, welcoming him, when the rest of the family seems unaffected. yet, we, the insensitive souls that we are, continue to enter, crushing them mercilessly, leaving them to painfully reconstruct, accept their lot cheerfully and wait for the next entrant. how many times have we sought them out of love, without a cloth covering our face and a mop at arm's length.

when we yearn for pets, temporarily casting aside the additional responsibilities of pet care, we forget the lovable soft creatures of a verisimilitude kind, waiting in the dark, who have given up all food and water, all personal luxuries and ego hassles and ruthlessly dust them out, cursing under our breaths.

o! hear ye, ungrateful creatures!! respect the creature who works untiringly for thy satisfaction! spurn not, its colour and appearance, its birth or raiment! denounce not its handicap! for in the spongy hollow heart that it has, there is only one aim...thy happiness!!

you don't need time to get acquainted with them, endearing that they are. whenever you sit in a corner of a room, feeling unwanted and abandoned, you shall find yourself surrounded by them, all ears and caring gestures, just to make your spirits high. as your confidences take a plummet, they gradually rise in the air, making your spirits soar. they entertain you, making patterns in the space, delicate moves, floating down to rest at your feet. that is all they want. yet, what we do is view them with distaste and discard them at the earliest.

when shall our hearts mellow down to appreciate their existence and give them the rights they are entitled to? when shall we bend down, lift one up lovingly in the hand and leave it in space to be free and dance its way down? someday, we shall realize...