Nuptial knots

Pre-birth

I asked, being a kid, the obvious, whenever we saw our parent's Video cassette on the then VCPs, "where was i when you people were getting married ?" I was graciously told i was sleeping. & i thought 'awhh sheeit, how could i do that!'. Cassettes now turned to CDs, VCPs replaced by CD Players, & we, Indian middle class families, still sometimes enjoy the video portrayal of the auspicious ceremonies.

Then

• The marriage i profoundly remember over the years was my paternal uncle's. Probably 1995/96. I bought glamorous shoes, heavier than myself then, with tiny plastic pistols attached to each of the pair (which reminds me of Rajnikant somehow). Pistols however were obviously detached & lost by the end of the celebration (& yes i mourned over them).
• At another family marriage, i decided, can't remember under who's influence, to wear a cap throughout the night (Mind you, there were no Reshammiya's then). My mom trying to convince me what a joker I'd look wearing a cap at night & me sticking to my newly discovered fashion statement.
• It was my cousin's marriage, & that girl flashed past me, & i was lost, miserable lost. 'Manvi', as she was called, probably 10 years elder to my eighteen-some soul. There was this song by Kamaal Khan 'Kya yahi pyaar hai' out fresh then. All i remember was that i woke up next morning, teary eyed, that song playing over & over in my head, & a distant unknown face flashed unabated between my eyelids & iris. Never intended to pursue whatever i thought i had for her. Can't remember anything about her at all now, except the name & the song :)

Now

In quick succession over the past months, 3 close friends got paired up with their beloveds. Above all, long-awaited get togethers in lives torn credited to democratic drudgery of a 9x5 typecast servicemen.

Antecedent Excitement

Unheeded. Glittering. Joyous. Groves. Horsey. Friends. Alcohol. I-just-can't-wait-for-it kinda sickness all in that head.

Dress code
First Marriage: A friend ditched on call to stay with a blazer, so i ditched both of them - the blazer & the suit, as i had none handy. Held to the old most-fashionable jacket i possessed. It was nauseating still to see most men in shining suits, but company of few self-claimed-non-suit-ed-dudes gave some hope.

Second Marriage: No bourgeois company. A glamorous affair. All in suit, expect my high-headed soul. & how miserable i felt ! & My mom bitched me for this one beyond what i can admit in public. To un-curtain a glimpse: "Tere saare friends ne ye waali jacket dekhi hogi pehle. Photo bhi hogi sabke paas. Saare friend ne suit pehna hoga na ? Kya karta hai tu paise kamake jab ek suit bhi nahin kharid sakta ! Kahan paise udata hai ?"

Interlude: So pissed i was, i gifted myself a suit. Entered Van Heusen, & paid 7.5K for what hit me as befitting as my first suit, ever.

Third Marriage: Oh yeah baby, I'm SUIT-ed !!

Somewhere in the middle

Everything so normal that it ain't expected of a marriage, or was not expected by me. How is everything so, so, even ??

Ensuant Silence

Waiting for the boarding announcement, sulking over KFC's popcorn chicken, wondering, what has changed. Chicken in the mouth answered - "Nothing". The one still between my index finder & the thumb, sort of crumbling, said "Make sure you fucking find an occasion to wear that suit again mate". Once i gulped them both, i decided, "it was fun - yeah, that's what it was", & left the same lonely feeling that smelt when i left a group of friends to head towards home, or room, or another city, or another chance.

Back to non-ceremonious chore

Firstly, the marriage pics by all the camera-holders on Picasa/Facebook, ensued by plethora of comments/likes. Shortly follows the honeymoon pics by either of the pair. likes likes comments comments. display pic change. marital status change (not always applicable). Period.

Afterthought

I remember my dad's married friends visiting us sometimes. Gents-gents in one room. Ladies-ladies in another (mostly). Kids-kids, if applicable, either silently playing a game on host's call, or silently watching television, or silently watching another's silence (applicable to me). I don't know, & can't construct, how different it was from what existed before between friends. But i hope everything stays normal with us. Never learnt how to behave with a 'bhabhi', but i assume I'll gather it from someone else (like the suit). I hope the bhabhis are friendly enough to entertain sick-humored, high-voiced, expletives-friendly, chaddi-drink-smoke-buddies. I just would have to learn how to start !

An Impediment to the Pet bonding

Bhauuuu ! Aweee i liked the fluffy girl that went past a few minutes back. She was a blond, with a brown collar. Good she wasn't wearing a green nail-polish like her master. These guys do crazy things with themselves, spare the dogs. Anyways, I was just watching 'Bruce Almighty' yet again, & that polka-dotted brother he had made me giggle with that pee off the toilet seat, flush & all. Best was the newspaper-reading-shit in style, & the awe-struck woman at that sight. I just rolled my tongue over my face, twice, imagining myself doing that.

Speaking of masters, I'd like to have one some day. I know a handsome bloke, who had wished to befriend one of my breed since his young age. The Alsatian kind. I dream fetching him newspapers & him walking me pissing over those tree trunks with a haunch raised. But these humans you know, they can't breathe easy, ever. That guy had her mother convinced over me, well, almost, but the elder in their gene don't give up easily, & are unabashed at any argumentation. So he grieved. & so did i, brooding over breadcrumbs people threw. Then that boy got hold of a girlfriend out of nowhere. & just when i thought he'd be young enough to pursue his desires, he got laid over the girl-power. Obviously when asked to choose over a shitty dog, & a shitty girlfriend, he went for the girl thing.

I don't blame him though. I mean, look at them. They are slaves. They have their fathers, their mother, brothers, sisters, their girlfriends, their boyfriends, husbands, wives, in-laws, ex-s & what the shit not. We are much better placed as pets. Oh, i pity him. I'll gift him a teddy puppy some day when i get earning.

There's one state of arts though that we canines hold prowess over, as compared to the supposed self-acclaimed creators of super-computers. It's Girls ! you know how it goes. Free lunches. Just don't ask how good a time I've had at this front. The famous pleasure-style is named after us, in case you are still sissy. I'd been trying to practice the art of kissing though lately. It's tough with a beaked mouth, you can imagine. I've watched the acclaimed best-kiss in a recent bollywood flick - some band-baja something it was named (my uncle, named Dogspeare, said once, "bhau bhau, bhau bhau bhau" - which transcripts to "what's in the name"). Now don't frown at me with those hollow eyes as to how could i manage a blog in English, my native language being doggish (I obviously used Google translator man ! c'mon scum !)

I'll cut it short here. Gotta see somebody ! Keep sulkin' at your miserable lives mate !

F*ck Vuvuzela

Ok. We're already 11 days into FIFA WC 2010. & the pain, let me tell you, has been unbearable from the 1st day. I was stuck in office when SA commenced with the first match, watching it online. I was pissed by the noise channel brought alongwith the commentary, or so i thought. Changed to 2nd channel, then to third - all the same. Television back home - same. Couple of days later, it was all over net & news.

Some adjectives bestowed, courtesy of the BBC: It is like "a herd of stampeding elephants", "the drone of a thousand bees, or the sound of a goat being dragged to slaughter". Or "like a cow being given a surprise enema" as the TimesColonist puts it.

To me: it's just an unbearable pain in the ars !!

They can produce a record level of noise, 130 dB. FYI - 120 dB is considered threshold of pain. British BBC, ESPN & several broadcasters world over received several complaints from viewers. FIFA thought, only for a moment, to ban it. Online Ban petitions & all that usual crap.

In Cape Town, stores sell special earplugs called Vuvu-Stop, to mitigate the noise level of 31 dB. Each package is accompanied by the inscription on the reverse side: "The highly effective tool for noise reduction. Used on football and rugby or fencing with the sound of your wife." [Source]

As noted by Wikipedia, the ear shattering device, In the wake of the 2010 World Cup, has been banned from a number of stadiums and events, including tennis matches at Wimbledon, the Melbourne Cricket Ground, and baseball games at Yankee Stadium.

Other Vuvu reads
Vuvuzela: Love it or ban it
How to Silence Vuvuzela Horns in World Cup Broadcasts

& I couldn't agree more with the pic below.

The Gift !

He never fashioned pocket money. His parents held the point that he could have whatever he wanted, whenever he asked for it. It was a genuine trade-off, he thought, but deprived him of something alluring for a kid his age.

Back in those summers, they were both at their Uncles', the only house that belonged to the family as one, he, & his cousin, 2 years elder & thrice as chirpy as his dummy self. Their uncle, well paid off as he was, was fat & rusty, like one of those typical Indian middle-class moustached family heads. He was well known to have maintained a hefty bundle of big papers of money in his trouser's pocket, even back then.

They thought it wouldn't be too bad if they took just of those big notes. Just one. None would happen to notice. No fuss. & they'd lavishly enjoy their lull vacations. Video games struck them most. Contra (2 Players). Street fighter. & then there was always that Nepal visit looming they were all gonna go. Yeah, they decided. It's not a bad idea to salvage our grandeur with something entirely unnoticeable.

He, & his accomplice, chalked it out. The elder would keep a watch, raise a flag when the time is ripe, & he had the big responsibility to get up on the bed, reach the pocket, dig out whatever laid within, pull out one (just one), & replace the rest back in just as it was, & then vanish somewhere to calm down their jolting hearts. It went precisely as planned.


Problems followed, as with all crimes. They landed up on a Rs. 500/- note. Damn! What would they do with such a big thing. They were as if stuck with the impossible task of using a Gold brick which was hard to ingest for tiny folks like themselves. They couldn't use it on a shop that knew them even remotely, couldn't buy candies (how many 25 paise candies would you buy with a fucking 500 !). A headache. By the way, the elder reported hearing minor discussions on the missing note. But no fuss followed. The elder reprimanded him for picking up this cursed big note. He was too dumb to make a balanced choice of stealing & not stealing big at the same time. He was always dumb. Still is, at many fronts.

Finally, as professional thieves, the loot was halved somehow. 250 ! which was still too high an amount for a ten-some child. He has been keenly impressed by those Gillette shaving stuff adverts that came afresh those days. He declared right away he'd gonna spend the money on a Gillette shaving kit, which would a present for his dad's b'day next month. The elder went tongs & hammer on him, trying to explain to him how miserable he would be to account for the funds when it'll be asked; & beyond doubt, there will be the moment of accounting, that's for sure in families like ours. He went furious, & declared he's gonna do it, no matter what. Later though, he realized big bro ain't wrong after all & he'd be digging his own grave if he pursued.

The cursed big money lingered on, difficult to hide, too dear to loose. By the way, he even thought to replace it back. But yes it would be suicidal to place back something that's missing. He also wished he hadn't done it after all, cause it gave no pleasure. Money can't buy everything - as they say.

Finally they visited Nepal, the tiny town of Mahendranagar, on the foots of blissful River Sharda. It was pretty much a town of toys & aplenty goodies. Shops, shops & shops. What a splendid place to spend !! To get rid of the steal. Wow !! Sneaking past the careful watch of all others, they both went to a pretty looking shop. What to pick ! Quick ! He noticed a very tiny deck of cards, with nude girls on them. Well, he was lured but intelligent enough to keep away from stuff like that. Somehow, he laid his eyes on a shiny Golden-Black Musical Lighter. He didn't smoke then. Neither did he plan smoking on his calender for near or infinite future. Still, he liked the look & feel of it. Color, Music, the unabated electric flame was all too mesmerizing. What he was gonna do with it - he didn't care. He had to get rid of that damned money, & lighter looked good too. Elder gave a cautious glare, which he ignored in entirety with a "fuck you !" tone. Job well done !

Not sure how much did he spend on that lighter he gifted himself. Not sure what he did with the rest of the money, if at all any was spared. For years, that lighter lay hidden in that little drawer of his collectibles.

One fine noon as he returned from school, his mother asked him about the lighter. He was scared to death. Mother's in this part of the world are omniscient. Yes they are !!

Where did you get it from ?
I bought it from Nepal then/there [ sob sob (eyes+nose) ]...
What for ? [eyes almost popping out from fury ]
I wanted to buy it...
& do what with it ?
Gift it to grandpa [ That's the best lie he ever told !! Grandpa smoked - for good ]

No further questions. About money or anything. Child bought something, a souvenir to gift his grandfather. Oh my sweet child. Best kid in the whole goddamn world.
For once, he was happy he was smart enough to save his own ars.

Irony:

Now that we are going to visit Grandpa, do give him your gift. You should have given it much earlier.
Yes ma...

He watched him light his cigarette with that magnificent flame, & adorable music lingered in the air for a while. For a few years to follow, he watched it lie in a drawer, old, shattered, battered, finished.

He shouldn't have it, he ponders. Childhood is meant to be that way, he reassured himself.


PS: This dates back to somewhere around 1993-95. Summers. The child, is me.

Book Review: The Road by Cormac McCarthy

I've been lucky enough to live in a marvelously literary world, with beautiful books still being penned. I love fiction because it's more inclined towards unparalleled realism (yeah i know that's a paradox). Fiction, in it's literal context, would mean a tale crafted upon imagination. A tale unthinkable, completely dissimilar to real life motivations, is the extremest defining criteria of the Fiction section. After Salman Rushdie's Midnight's Children, this piece of writing makes me realize yet again how capable a book is, to lift & take one's thoughts into another world, a fictitious world, which the writer intends to craft out.

In a post-apocalyptic world, a nameless father walks with his son, in quest of finding the last good that might have been spared of humanity. He holds a gun to salvage themselves from the big dark ash laden world. His son is all that he has left for bleak motivation. & the child, ignorant of how the world has been as we know; yet he does know how to love his father, he's ingenuinely compassionate to a false world, he knows fear pretty well. They walk, & they walk; things unfold & complicate as their journey proceeds. The best father words can portray; the best son a pen can describe. The worst of situations one can think of in his wildest dreams.

I'm not inadvertent to being teary eyed. & that is precisely what i was while reading the closing pages of the book. A remarkable story with startling simple truths of life we all behold. Our basic fears. & an unimagined end to the entire journey.

The novel was awarded the 2007 Pulitzer Prize for Fiction and the James Tait Black Memorial Prize for Fiction in 2006. Last fall, a movie was crafted on it as well.

A short read. Recommended to one & all.