Small Town Girl

It’s quite interesting to note, that the world I have known has changed so much. And all this in a span of such a short time. Now it seems as if I talk of the Stone Age when I talk of yesteryears. Which was not very long ago... just about 5 years back? I was still at college then. There were no cell phones. Ok I’ll rephrase that as no one used to sport a cell phone on their person except maybe if they were the Tatas, Birlas, Ambanis, and Hindujas. You get the drift. My parents used to call me as often as they could (which would be twice a week). At times, they used to book the call in our hostel. This entailed *waiting* for your call, till the operator would tell you that the call had been connected. It could take the entire day for your turn depending on the call traffic on either end. The girls’ hostel having just two external lines, which also had the intercom connected to it, made it an impossible task to get through to anyone. At times I got the call during my sleep. The ‘akka’ (hostel maid) used to call us from the mike. The person would go bolting like a bunny to the phone and attend the STD call. The STD rates were exorbitant. Just 5 minutes of a conversation meant parting with one ‘Gandhi’. This also when the rates would be 1/4th, which used to happen at 11pm in the night. We would especially request our warden to let us call home late nights.

Picture the scene now. My mamu (mom's brother) picks up the cell phone and dials my sister’s cell phone number. (She happens to be studying in a metro too as I did). They talk every *single* day. Not only this, they keep calling her to ensure her safety, the entire duration of the train journey that she makes to that place. It was one of my “duties” to reach back and let my parents know of my safe arrival as soon as possible.

The advancement in technology has changed this world so much. There was a time when I used to write looooong letters to my friends and post them all over the country. (Ahem… They used to wait for letters from appu). Buying greeting cards was a major pastime with me. I would lounge around in card shops spending hours and come out with a huge stack keeping in mind miscellaneous occasions and several people. I would keep my supply of inland letters and stamps stocked. It all slowly came to a full stop with email. Most of my friends had an official mail id if not a personal one. Greeting cards got replaced by e-cards. Archies? What’s that... ok, a comic character by that name comes to my mind now.

To withdraw cash from the bank there was a “procedure”. Firstly one could not just get up and go, visit the bank whenever one felt like. There were certain days assigned for cash withdrawal and certain timings. One had to fill in a withdrawal slip and sign it. The passbook (with a not so complimentary picture of you) had to be taken along with it. Once at the bank, one had to go through a huge rush at the withdrawal counter. After waiting for your turn, you would get to a person who would stare at you and then at the picture in your photograph, and ascertain that the person is indeed you. Once this interesting detail got confirmed, they would go through some drawers, finally landing at something you scrawled, but now called specimen signature, indexed somewhere according to your account number, match it with the one you made on the withdrawal slip and *then* sign the withdrawal slip and pass it on to the cash counter. Phew... Again, await your turn, produce your passbook, get it updated, collect the cash and be able to leave.

The scene now – go to the ATM, punch some buttons, withdraw cash and come back in less than a minute.

I am sure at the pace that the world is changing, some day I would just need to utter the word “cash” and it would come flying into my pocket. I don’t care where it comes from, as long as it lands in the right pocket. The left one is also ok. *wink*

…and those things that go bump in the night. One of the things that go bump in the night is my sis. No, well she’s not my own sis.. my cousin, as blind as a bat or anything, lemme explain. (I’ll be damned if she catches all these things sprawled on the web )

My sis has had the habit of talking in her sleep right since childhood. Seldom has she ever uttered anything intelligible. It all sounds like some weird Martian language to me. In addition to this, as a child, she also used to be adept at playing football in the bed (read kicking), of course not knowing that I am not the football or my mouth, not the goal post. What more, she would find herself in exactly 180 degrees of the position that she went to sleep in. Imagine trying to sleep and suddenly being thrust with something on your face.. and lo! behold it used to be the not so pretty foot of my cousin sister! (It could have given a chiropodist some great business). At times she also used to be found dangling somehow in the reams of the mosquito net that wasn’t being supported by the bed! Well, over the years these habits started declining in frequency and also weirdness. The only thing pending was the jumble mumble game at times.

One fine night she had just retired to bed (and slept off), whilst I was handling some night care regime. Suddenly she asked me in a very polished tone,” What *ARE* you doing?”. Note the stress on the verb. This sentence struck me as REALLY odd. For one, we don’t talk in plain proper English at home. We use what everyone is familiar with – hinglish. So a complete sentence with not a single word in Hindi, threw me completely off balance. Add to it the fact that she was using this sophisticated tone as if she’d just stepped out of an English convent where Hindi speaking was fined (Believe me, I have studied in one). Last but not the least, I wasn’t doing anything so outta ordinary that she actually had to wake up and ask me that! Somehow I smattered that I was doing... Whatever... and also appended a question about what the problem was. Suddenly, she was dumbfounded and she uttered yet another sentence which threw me more off balance than the first. She said, “Oh! I thought you were my English teacher!” (This was in hinglish BTW). Well, whatever in the name of... Err... Blistering barnacles or the like was that?? And of course in the morning, she didn’t remember anything of whatever happened and we just kept giggling at the atrociously weird nature of it all.

This isn’t all. A few days down the line (now this is the incident where she went bump in the night) so lights, camera, action... oh... no lights...pitch dark and some howling by dogs, yes! Again, this time we were sleeping peacefully. Or rather everybody was sleeping peacefully while sleep chose to evade me. Suddenly (and this is horrifying), my sister woke up with a start and got up in a rush. I found it weird but gave her the benefit of doubt coz she does that a lot in a rush to relieve herself. But this time it wasn’t to be so. Instead of heading for the toilet, she went in some absurd direction, to another door, which opened in another room! And all this while, she was in that haphazard hurry. Before I could ask her what was wrong, she bumped real BAD against the door, as if she didn’t see that it was partially closed! This was enough to wake up my parents who appeared faster than a genie would have on the scene. (Yeh parents log aise hee hote hain). They asked her what was wrong and led her back to the bed. But my sister, she crosses all heights of being eerie and with a stiff silence, came back and slept as if nothing had happened. Of course, not to forget, she didn’t remember any of this the next morning. All these night adventures of hers had the tendency to put us in splits when in a family gathering. But this was getting serious. What if some night she just decided that she was going to turn into a somnambulist? Anyhow, things became ok after a while and there was no trace of any such activity for a long time.

Last night’s journey back from office was unexpectedly calm and peaceful. I had given my bike for servicing and so sir suggested I be dropped by his driver. Set out at 7pm by the office cab bracing myself for the 1/2 hour ordeal. Surprisingly the traffic laden (no this isn’t Osama’s relative), bumpy and potholed stretch of road was pretty empty. Of course it was still as bumpy and potholed as ever but at least there was a scope to bypass those unintentional ’speed breakers’. Just because of the so called hartal there wasn’t a single living thing on the road and I could get the vibes of the time being midnight.

The pleasant breeze (sans the dirt and pollution) lightly caressed my face, delighting me. Strains of good music playing in the background made the effect even more ethereal. The breeze started toying naughtily, with my hair…throwing wisps of silken hair on my face. As a result the cool wind managed to cool my poor brain which was overwrought with mental tension. I felt like throwing open my hair and feeling the wind streaming down the strands right from the follicle to the tip. (One of the thrills of lengthy hair). It reminded me of the bike rides that we used to have back in Chennai, when we (literally) threw caution to the winds at 90kmph on Chennai roads. Seeped in nostalgia and complacently holding on to the moment, I snapped back into focus, realizing what I had been staring at for so long wasn’t just anything.. it was our very own moon, looking as full and brimming with moonlight as ever. It was SO big and close, it seemed like a scene straight out of ‘Bruce Almighty’, except Bruce wasn’t there..but the Almighty was definitely showing off his breathtaking stunts to me. We crossed the Venduruthy Bridge. another peaceful stretch with thankfully no high rise buildings blocking my view. I kept playing hide and seek with the moon…saw it next to the beautiful Naval Base, making it look like some Arabian structure with lots of mystery and magic. Suddenly I noticed a low flying plane going over the moon. From that distance, it looked as if it was literally going over the moon’. The beauty of a man made miracle next to a God made one, made that scene eligible for the best portrait award or something.

Soon we reached the gammon bridge, one of the best roads (plus bridges) here. The wind is absolutely the best here. You can smell the fresh ocean air to your hearts *and* your lungs content, hear the waters around you and pass by unnoticed and unheard. No lighting adds to the sea effect. The moon still kept its date with me as it followed me everywhere I went. The moment I would cast a glance at it, there it would be imploring me to somehow get photographic memory and lock this moment forever. Soon, I reached home, all fresh and calm and slept like a baby.

My classmate – preetha’s wedding happened last week and this post - I wrote the week before that. Somehow lost the word doc n found it today. So am posting it now. : )

Scene buildup: I am totally kadka (broke). I have to head for my classmates’ wedding next week and prior to that buy jewellery and shoes to go with my saree and get a hair cut done and I know that it’s gonna burn a hole of at least 2K in my pocket. I am driving and there’s no petrol in the bike. My wallet also has barely 200-300 bucks... out of which I decide to sacrifice 100 bucks at the petrol pump. I also need some cash to do more shopping next month. This requirement’s the result of going to Mumbai in May for a holiday. In other words... my monetary status would put paupers to shame.

I drive down to the petrol pump and instruct the attendant. Suddenly some chappie comes up and says a little apprehensively, ‘Excuse me Ma’m’.

Me says: Yes?

Chappie drawls: Ma’m … Could you do me a favor…

Me thinks: not another sales man... I don’t want any credit card, insurance or any of those darn things.

Me says: what?

Chappie drawls: Ma’m…. actually I left my wallet at home in a hurry. And now I don’t have any money. Could you lend me some?

Me thinks: Don’t tell me!! Haven’t I heard this story already... (Smirking internally)... How can ppl even *think* that this is gonna fetch them cash?

Me says: look, I hardly have any cash in my own wallet… am getting petrol filled for only 100 bucks!!

Chappie drawls: Please ma’m .. trust me.. I am a well educated guy from a good family. I am telling you the truth. Please help me ma’m. I am like your younger brother.

Me thinks: oh Yes... that’s why god spared me any brothers... esp the tight t-shirt wearing, ear pierced kinds...

Me says: look, why don’t you ask these petrol pump attendants? after all they have a lot of cash.

Chappie drawls: Ma’m their employer is not here.

Me argues: see, there’s some chap, he seems to be their boss, go ask him.

Chappie drawls: No ma’m I have already asked him. He’s not the employer. Please ma’m, you can keep my goggles, please give me your mobile number and address and I’ll return the money wherever you want.

Me thinks: beware of anyone who wants your details.. waise what could this guy’s thugging strategy be? Is he going to plant a heat seeking missile somehow? Is he going to misuse my cell number? I am not wearing any gold chain which he could snatch .. or does he have a camera somewhere and he’s from some stupid bakra copy show on some obscure channel..like alpha Punjabi.. whatever..

Chappie drawls: Please ma’m.. I need just 50 bucks.

Me thinks: just 50.. hmmm.. maybe he really needs it.. maybe he *is* being honest.

(Hark back to an incident a couple of years back)

M and I are going some place in an auto. M is a simble zouthindeeyan (no not a mallu though) and is gullibility personified. The auto stops at a crossing and suddenly some beggar women comes and starts wailing and screeching for money. They look quite healthy contradictory to their financial status. The story they tell us is that some female (in labour) is out on the road just about to give birth and they need some money urgently to get her to a hospital. I don’t buy that gibberish but M is totally taken by it. I warn him, but he brushes it off as one would an irritating fly. The strategy used by them, to bombard the unsuspecting citizen with the urgency of the situation and also the fact that the red (traffic) light is about to turn green, combined with the cacophony of ‘tumharee jodee banee rahe’ sentiments, probably flusters and numbs the mind of the most intelligent people and they give in, unable to handle so much. M starts pulling out a 20 Rupee note (something of great value to auto commuters). I again express that they are most likely fibbing and he needn’t be that philanthropic. But magnanimous as he is, he parts with it with glee.
The beggar women scurry away the moment they get their hands on the money. The light has already turned green and the auto driver continues. But the comment he made next is still clear and vivid in M’s memory. He said, ‘You shouldn’t have saab, this is their daily business. They loot so many passengers like this everyday’. Needless to say, I admonished that chap for not having said so a moment earlier. But at least after that M has had more reservations in these kinda situations.

(Hark back to reality)

I don’t want the same thing happening.

Me says: (to the petrol pump attendant, while the chappie has gone to borrow a pen) Does he come here everyday by chance, to ask for money?

Attendant: No, this is the first time I am seeing him, if you know him, give him the money else let it be.

Chappie drawls: Thank you very much ma’m. Yes ma’m. What is your number? I’ll return the money wherever you want it returned.

Me says: The number is 98XXXXXXXX.

Chappie: Your name.

Me says: Don’t bother with that. You have the number. I’ll just treat this as my good deed for the day in case you don’t do what you are saying.

Chappie : (sensing my inhibition) You stay somewhere nearby?

Me says: Yes, somewhere nearby.

Chappie drawls: Thank you very much ma’m.

3 days pass and I keep oscillating between feeling foolish and feeling magnanimous ‘coz according to me, he seemed to be in need of money at that time. Eventually I forgot about it. Finally I got a call from an unknown number which turned out to be the chappie drawling again asking me where to return the sum. Whoa! So I was right! Trust is still alive!

Ever tried online dating? I haven’t, but I created a profile on MSN for myself for the fun of it…out of curiosity to see what happens and then who knows, maybe I *could* go in for it. My profile was rather short and sweet, intentionally so to see if it attracts anyone at all. Till date I have communicated with perhaps 2-3 ppl through it, but never met any of them. Somehow I am just not the types to talk to *absolute* strangers on the net. I could never understand how ppl can waste hours chatting with some doubtful characters lurking in the anonymity that the net lends. Anyhow, with this mode I had an option to choose whether to correspond or to just ignore the responses. For statistical purposes, there are a lot of them out there who are very openly looking for no strings attached sex and make no bones about it. This includes a lot of foreigners settled in India as well. The oldest guy who has mailed me was 48 years or something (at least that’s what he claimed). The youngest has been 21. There are a lot of lonely hearts out there too, who probably don’t know what to do with their lives or their spare time. Many of them could do with some further education as far as their English is concerned.

Here are a couple of ‘funny’ responses.. which I have copied exactly as they were from their mails. Makes one realise, that it takes all types to make this a weird world. Enjoy the snippets with my comments inline in italics.

>>>>
Hi,

How are you doing? The world has been really pin down with this Internet, we come across ppl whom we rather won’t be able to meet or communicate.
Aboutme I am 28 yrs old guy from Delhi, hmm married for last 4 year. If comes to my relationship with my wife, it really open and understanding. Given each other the space to add spark in the life and go ahead with it.

About me as such I am into Business, which really makes me travel, but I really enjoy it, love driving, can pick up my car and end up to an unknown destination, but that only fun in life. Enjoy life as it comes. Other than traveling reading, writing and interacting with ppl.

What hold us back to indulge ina relationship? Hmm our marriage. What is Marriage? It is not a ritual or an end. Its is a long intricate intimate dance together and nothing matter more than you own sense of balance and your choice of partner.Now who we think is out PARTNER? . ..

Partner is the person who is someone special, who seem to know the art of bringing so much happiness and warmth in your hearth, someone you can tell your secret, dreams n feeling to, someone u can really trust to help n see u through, when you find there.

Anyway is pretty long mail I have written, you must be yawing. He I would love to hear back fro you , if u want you can email me at $$$$$ (at the rate)yahoo( dot) com or if yr instinct allow u can call me at ##########. You take care of yr self and be safe
Adios
Pawan
>>>>

Some understanding spouses! Shows that swinging is quite prevalent and open now. For all I know next they would be advertising for an orgy or something! Thanks Pawan for explaining the institution of marriage to me.. ‘Be Safe’, he says! Wonder whether he meant safe as in sex..

>>>>
Hi,

This is Avi Here. I searched you through the MSN Match, thinking a friendship with you can be a rewarding experience.
Some expectations!

For last 3 years I was an NRI, and have come back to explore the possibilities of settling back to india. No other reason, I think I love India and Kochi and would like to do something in my life, in my own country, not in some foreign land in some foreigh country.

You can go through my profile in MSN a link to which must be somewhere in this mail. If that appeals you, why not give freindship a try. You can email me on “$$$$$$$$$@hotmail.com”.

Regards,

Avi
>>>>>
Aa-ha! So here’s a patriotic, garam khoon , deshbhakt!.. Why doesn’t he admit he got laid off!

>>>>>
Congrats dear lady,

Its u lucky day 2 day!!!!

And mine 2!!!!

Coz we’ve found each other!!!

Rohan
>>>>>
Oh My My! Lucky me.. doesn’t he sound like Reggie from Archies! ‘We’ have found each other indeed! Hope he goes and finds some sense for his head.

>>>>>
hi ,
well it dosent get better then this i guess…….a
guy and a gal meeting up through the net…..well i
saw ur profile and believe me it was quite magnetic
and i didnt have second thoughts abt sending u this
mail…….as for me iam someone who is born brought
up and spoilt in panjab kinds ……working here in
a mnc……iam clean shaven and i stand 6 ft
tall dark and for u to decide if iam handsome or not
else its like every donkey praises his own
tail……dont take me as a donkey either…..as far
as the person in me is conerned iam more of a outdoor
kinda guy who is into golf ,trekking and adventure
sports andlove driving my car………and i like doing
my own thing…….i guess thats it from my side and
in case u feel that some chemistry is there between
us drop in a line…..

living…..loving……waiting

ranvir
>>>>>
Uh? Chemistry through mail? never heard of such a thing, if it existed!

>>>>>
Hi,This is Anil the cool guy, but my friends use 2 call me Anny Wld u like 2 call me Anny.I love traveling,listening Music.Bassically I am a party animal.
I am six feet tall handsome,smart guy. I have casual styleing. I am lookins 4 a gal who is smart sexy and senceual (generally gals r not Kidding). Should have good sence of homour.Should be putting up in Ernakulam or around
>>>>>
Yeah sure, Anny nanny.. would sure help if you improve your english some! Gosh!

Maha shivratri just went by. It’s my nani’s bday. Well not technically but yea.
This post is in fond memory of her. I miss you nani maa. 

There’s a poem I’ve heard…
Wo Naani Kee Baaton Mein Pariyon Ka Dera
Wo Chehre Ke Jhuriyon Mein Sadiyon Ka Phera
Bhulaaye Nahin Bhool Saqta Hai Koi
Wo Choti See Raaten Wo Lambi Kahaani

Although my nani never narrated stories to me, (not that I remember), she definitely did amuse us with real life incidents. She was a brave woman who along with her children made it to this point in life. My maternal grandfather died at an early age. But my nani also carried with her memories of happy times, when the money and jewellery would be just lying about, cupboards full of it. There were personal godowns of dry fruits and grains. These were part of palatial houses with infinite rooms, marble flooring and plush interiors. Those “facts” were so difficult to digest they seemed like made up stories for they were being told to children who heard of such things only in their Amar Chitra Kathas and Tinkles.

“Nani na ghare jaayis to jaaddi thayi ne aavis” is what my nani and mom always used to say. It was true also. It was almost as if the visit’s sole purpose was indeed to fatten up the children. We had delicious food with loads of butter – the home made white butter that I so love (this can also be attributed to the huge dairy which my mama(s) owned – oh and p.s – its named after me i.e Apeksha Dairy). We also had an angeethi – the actual thing made of clay and it used to take ages to get heated up and then to cool down, but the result was fabulous tandoori rotis. Their cutlery and tableware included a lot of brass. I distinctly remember that I used to fight with my cousins over who would get to drink in the heavy brass glass. It used to take enormous effort to just hold it.

Being the only child of my mom (who is also the only daughter of my nani); I was always treated somewhat specially. As a kid I used to hate the regular stuff that all kids hate – veggies like Karela, bhindi, dudhi etc. but when my nani made it (using shudh desi ghee) the end results were so delectable that one could live on those forever. My maternal grandparents used to stay in Chalisgaon – the actual village which existed much before the glitzy Aurangabad came into picture, much before there was life on the other side of the highway, much before there was any inhabitation on either side of it. In those days all the neighbors had goats + buffaloes and tabelas! Almost all the houses were made of mud instead of cement (like my nani’s) decorated with the dung cakes that were so characteristic of a village then. Thankfully my nani’s house wasn’t a buffalo barn, but we sure got amused every time we would go from Kochi to Chalisgaon (the distances were so much more in spite of being the same physically).

I met her about 3 years back after she had recovered from her surgery (she had uterus cancer). She seemed to have recovered just fine and was attentive, alert, taking meals and medicines properly. That was the last time I saw her. Just when I was beginning to think that maybe my mother’s mother and I do look a lot more similar from a particular angle (seeing the B&W pic that hung on their wall), her death took her away from us. And the irony is that we were going to meet her but the day I started from Kochi in train was her last day. God couldn’t wait for jus ONE more day. :’(

She had been through much more serious medical situations before and had always made it. We had not even thought that cancer would result in catastrophic consequences. Yes, we tried all the ways to cure her but…  Such situations are so pathetic. When the doctors tell you that there’s nothing else you can do except wait for the person’s death, it is the worst feeling in this world.

My mom took it bravely and so did the whole family. After the cremation we all tried to concentrate on remembering the good times instead of weeping inconsolably. We even laughed. That was something I could not even imagine doing, given the situation. It is very disheartening to see how someone who was alive and well could turn into a “body” and then soon into a “picture”. I can never forget the way my mom used to look at her mom when she was old. It forced me to think in a particular direction myself and I knew that even though I don’t want to think about it, it’s a grim reality of life. When I look around I realise, we do have our hearts full. But full of the memories and of the love that she gave.

We miss u nani maa. 

We all have our notions of the birds and the bees. Here’s one.

“Stop! Cross the road carefully”, said appu.
“Don’t you know you might have an accident if you are not careful”, wise appu admonished her best bud from school – ansuiya verma...
“And then you’ll be taken to the hospital and you’ll have kids”. More wise words uttered by appu – age 6.5, to ansu - age 7.

Flash-forward “sola saal baad (16 years later)”.

Appu – age 22.5, ansu age – 23.

Giggle giggle... Chuckle... Gasp. Chuckle... Giggle... Giggle...

“And did I tell you I used to think that matches for marriage are made if the bride and groom physically resemble each other?”

That’s some more gyaan! lmao…

Ahh childhood... 