Serendipity

One pack of orange juice. Coffee powder. Carton of milk.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

One box of cereal.

No, not this one. Wonder if they stock those chocolate frosted ones?

She turned to put back the box and check again. That’s when she saw.

Oh my God. Not him.

Not when she’d finally thought she’d moved on with her life. Not after a whole year of coming to terms and getting a grip on herself. On her life. Not after accusing him, herself, her friends, family and the whole damn world itself for her failed relationship.

It doesn’t matter. You know that. He made it clear that he didn’t need you. And you don’t need him to be happy.

Who’re you fooling? If you didn’t care for him any longer, you wouldn’t be fidgeting like a schoolgirl at the sight of him.

He was at the other end of the aisle. She gratefully noted that the aisle was fairly long, AND that he hadn’t seen her yet. Waitaminit, he’s turning this way. Her first instinct was to turn away and duck into the next aisle. But some inexplicable instinct made her think otherwise and kept her rooted to the spot. By the time she’d changed her mind again, it was two seconds too late.

He was coming her way. And he’d spotted her. It was too late for him to turn back or pretend he hadn’t seen her. So there he was, trying to look genuinely surprised and pleased at the sudden meeting.

"Hi. It’s good to see you again."

That rich voice again. That same easy charm. Please. No more of that. His charm was what she’d fallen for two years ago. And it was ridiculously easy to recall the heartache when the spell broke.

"Hi…. Good to see you too." Since common courtesy demands it.

"Quite a surprise y’know, running into you like this."

"Hmmm."

Of course it's a surprise. Folks don’t expect to see their trash again.

Strange. Did she really have that much venom left?

The curt reply seemed to unnerve him somewhat. He tried again.

"So…how’ve you been? Work and all that?"

"Fine. Work’s great."

He paused for a moment. She knew what he was thinking.

Is she single? Has she found someone? Why the hell won’t she talk? Does she know about my...??

"Ahhh....Haven’t been able to keep in touch with folks y’know. Been pretty busy. I got married last month. In fact, I’d sent you an invite, but didn’t see you there..."

The words came out in a rush, like he was trying to get something over with. And ended abruptly, when he finally raised his eyes to meet her steady, level gaze.

She replied softly, almost gently.

"I don’t see how I can receive invitations if they aren’t sent to me in the first place."

His face crumpled as it first registered surprise, then dismay at her reply. Funny. There was once a time when she’d have taken his hurt as her own. Now, she didn’t feel a thing. No, actually she did. Surprisingly, satisfaction was the word that best described the feeling.

"But…I…"

Squirm. Squirm all you want. You made sure I’d hear about it from ‘well-meaning’ people.

Her next statement surprised even her.

"Since you’re dying to know, I AM still single. But life’s been a lot happier than when I was with you. That’s saying something, don’t you think? I’ll get going now. Am pretty busy these days."

She made her way to the counter and got her stuff billed. She could swear he was still standing gape-mouthed where she’d left him.

She’d been lying of course. Busy? She only had a lonely apartment and sitcom shows to go back to. And that part about life being better was a lie too. Unless you counted the last ten minutes, when she’d felt far better than she had in a whole year.

She stepped out of the store. The breeze ruffled her hair, and a tiny raindrop landed squarely on her nose.

I’m free. And I’m in control.

Finally.

A ghost of a smile played across her face as she walked to her car.


Chance meetings weren’t too bad after all.

Louw..sorry, Love in the time of coconuts

Cast:

Chacko - The hero of this story. Typical hotblooded, virile, daredevil Mallu achayan. Complete with curly mop of hair and Sathyan-style moustache. The type that Mammootty and his ilk modelled their later portrayals of the species on.
Rosakutty - The heroine. Typical doe-eyed, nubile Mallu beauty. Like yourstruly ;-P
Appachen - Rosakutty's father. Otherwise an upright, well-liked and respected member of society, but circumstances compel him to become the villain of this piece.
Ammachy - Rosakutty's mother. A placid, gentle lady who shows a violent side only if her Syrian Beef Fry is not devoured with appropriate relish and gusto. (Btw, the recipe is a family secret. Her vallyappachen decreed it so, after being bribed with three bottles of toddy by the then Health Minister of Kerala, who was also his son. The state's mortality rate fell the very next month.)
Assorted brothers of Rosakutty's, collectively referred to as the achayans.

*Translations and close approximations have been provided in italics alongside. Wherever it is not available, dear reader, thou shalt use thy imagination.

Scene One:

Chacko adjusted his crisp white mundu a tad nervously. The church compound was already empty. Mallu X’ians don’t waste time getting back to their appams and kozhi curries on a Sunday. He took a look at his Timex, a gift from Babu-chayan in Dubai. Just another ten minutes and the kapiyaar would be back to lock the church and the compound gates. Good thing that Chacko had decided to do his confession just before the kurbana. His confessions always left Achen slightly dazed and in need of a reviving tumbler of toddy post-church. Pro’lly counselling too. Which explained why the kapiyaar had vanished. But where was Rosakutty?

And then he saw her, dressed in pristine churchgoer white and demurely walking towards him. What a lovely sight. His Rosakutty. With the coconut trees swaying in the background, beneath an azure blue sky. Chackochan’s heart filled with a thousand exclamations of raw emotion……. Lal Salaam… no..... Inquilab Zindabad…errr, never mind. Firmly suppressing the raw emotion and exclamations, he walked towards her.

Chacko: Nee vannallo. (You've come!)I thought you’d finally given in to your Appachen.

Rosakutty: Illa achaya…..I couldn’t get rid of Sicily and her friends.

Chacko: Appo… paranjathupole….(W.r.t. our discussion of the 18th last...) We elope tonight!
(Another raw exclamation fought it’s way to the surface, but our hero stifled it just in time. You never know. Could also be the stale puttu-kadalacurry from last night)

Rosakutty: Pakshe achaya… enikku pediyaakunnu…(But... I'm scared)

Chacko: Don’t be afraid….njan ille nintekoode (Main hoon na!!Author’s note: Now you know where SRK maaroed that dialogue from!!)

Rosakutty: (Gulp…That’s what my Appachen’s scared of too) Njan varaam (I’ll come)

Chacko: Innu raathri (tonight)…. Sharp 9 p.m. (another look at the Timex). Ten hours from now!

They part ways.

Scene Two:

That night at Rosakutty’s house. 8:55 p.m. by Chackochan’s Timex as he lies in wait outside.

Appachen: Edeeee Rosakutteeeee……. Njaan arinjadi!!!(I've found out!!) You’re planning to run away tonight with that lowlife scoundrel Chacko!!!
(Note: Appachen’s voice here bears striking similarities to a wounded buffalo)

Chacko: (Hiding outside and under his breath) Aiiyyooo…..chathicho Daivame!! (Equivalent of “Dammitttt!!”)

Rosakutty: (Inside with a wide eyed and innocent look) Illa Appacha….. I never met Chacko even once after you forbade me.......

Appachen: (Bellows) KALLAMMMM!!!! (LIIIIESSSSS!!!)I have my sources. Varkey saw you two talking today…. And he found out that Chacko’s hired a taxi for Madras too!!
I’ll show him, the impudent young dog!! Eda Mathaiiii!!! Royyyyy!!! Vargheeeeeese!!! Daniii-YELLLLLLLLLL!!!!!!!!!

(Four younger versions of Appachen come bounding out of different parts of the house. Of course, they’re better known as Baiju, Binju, Benny and Binu. But Mallu fathers insist on doing full justice to Christian names when they’re furious.)

Chacko: #@$%$)((#!!!! (Loosely translated as “Beeeeeeeepppp!”)

Appachen: (Reaches for the hunting rifles on the wall behind him and slings a couple of them to his sons) We won’t come back till one of our bullets find their way into him!! Vaa makkale!!!!
(Stomps out in a rage, followed by the achayans)

Rosakutty : (In tears) Appachaaaa!!! (Daddeeeee!!!)

Ammachy: (In tears) Ente karthaave!! (My Goddddd!!)

A faint 'bonk' is heard outside.

Chacko: (In pain AND tears) ENTAMMACHEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!! (MUMMMEEEEEEE!!!!)

Chackochan’s exclamation in the previous line could have given the aforesaid wounded buffalo a run for its money. While playing the faithful lover waiting for Rosakutty, he ignored one of the fundamental rules of ancient Mallu guerrilla warfare:
Sec 27(6)(aa): Thou shalt hide from the enemy if thou hast to but not under a coconut tree. Especially not on a night of balmy breezes under a tree loaded with the stuff. And most certainly not after thou hast downed two pegs thyself.

The warfare code was found inscribed on the walls while excavating the ruins of an ancient kallu-shaap (liquor shop) from circa 300 B.C. The rules seem to have been addressed to an unidentified Mone Dinesha.


Ammachy: Idhiyaanodu njan paranjatha (I-told-him-so)…. We should’ve called Kuttappan to do something about those coconuts last week itself.

Appachen: (From outside) Pidiyada avane!!!! (Catch hiiiiiim!!!!)

The sound of running feet, rustling bushes and a stray gunshot. The yelp that follows the shot, unfortunately for Danielachayan, comes from the neighbour's doberman, Bruno.

Reader: (In a moment of raw emotion) Inquilab Zindabaaaaaaad!!!

Me: Amen. Lal Salaam.

;-D

The secrets of Venus

Ahem....This post is lovingly dedicated to a lovingly dedicated friend whom I shall refer to as the Psycho Enchantress ;) I know you’re reading this baby….. yeah, so I shoved the link down your throat and begged you to read it :P
Without your collection of books (whose covers had to be wrapped in brown paper before being read in public view), I would’ve been sorely ill-equipped for the journey of life (Sob!! Sentiments is the comingssss….) Just one grouse btw….. 99% of the time the contents of your books never lived up to their cover and title!!! :-D

“The Duke leaped down from his chestnut steed, his tall and muscular frame at once lithe and powerful. All the while laughing at her and looking as devilishly handsome as ever. With his blue-grey eyes flecked with cobalt looking deep into her eyes, it was all Lady Charlotte Marguerite Constance St. Braxbourne could do to stoke the dying embers of her rage back to life under that wonderfully warm and mesmeric gaze. She was horrified to discover that she didn’t feel half as furious as she was a moment ago. Which really was not surprising. For Lord Edward Anthony Vernon Delacouer had that effect on women, especially auburn haired, peach-skinned, green eyed beauties of a lively temper…..like Lady Charlotte.”

Not bad. Not bad at all, even if I say so myself.

That, dear reader, was yours truly’s first attempt at writing popular romance. A la the doyennes themselves…..Johanna Lindsey, Nora Roberts, Julie Garwood et al. M&B’s (Mills and Boon to the ignorant. Like, are you human??) Regency romances, Danielle Steele-type contemporary ones….. Meet the common weakness of the female half of humanity. At least 95% of it. The author of this piece is one who finds herself teetering on the line dividing the 95 from the other 5. Was pretty ignorant of this genre of fiction in my formative years. Quite natural I suppose, except that in my case, ‘formative’ lasted till I was 21. Shhh, for heaven’s sake!!!!

Enlightenment dawned in B-School. Such was the paucity of reading material in our room that I’d read India Today’s analysis of the Quattrochi case five times over and was in serious danger of doing the same with my copy of Kotler. Being a good South Indian girl who would die fighting for her principles (and coconut oil and sambhar and appam and beef fry) instead of zimbly giving in, I assayed forth to the neighbouring room. Only to find that my choices were a copy of the India Today I already had, and an M&B where the cover and blurbs suggested super scandalous twists and turns to the story. Caught in an internal tug-of-war of principles and scruples, I finally did what any self respecting South Indian gal would do. Walked out with the M&B, promising to return it in a few hours.

Settled down to reading the book after fighting off my roomie who started blabbering incomprehensible stuff when she saw the book in my hand. Something like ‘ooohbabyyouhavefinallygrownupwhencaniborrowthebook’. Thus began an odyssey that has taught me quite a bit.

The findings are listed below:

• Aristocracy, especially of the British variety is invariably comprised of dashing, devastatingly handsome dukes, lords, earls and an occasional prince or two. Who meet charming, seductive, breathtakingly beautiful duchesses, ladies, countesses and princesses and ride with them into the gently rolling hills of Devonshire to live happily ever after. Mah-vellously splennnndid mah deah.
• If the story is in America, it involves handsome scions of prominent business empires who have turned their backs to love and all that jazz. Only to meet their match in intelligent and beautiful young women who are too spirited to be tied down to one man. Deeper analysis would of course reveal that past relationships on both sides with absolute morons had warped their attitude to life for good. No wonder that entire nation’s in therapy.
• You learn more biology, or specifically speaking, anatomy than you ever will in school or college. Mebbe even medical school for that matter. As well as adjectives. If I knew then what I know now, I’d have aced the verbal section of CAT and passed outta IIM-A by now. Ha ha ha. Nice try kid.
• There’s always the mandatory description of the hero (the heroine’s immaterial to me) which usually reduces the reader to a drooling, simpering idiot. With a tear or two in her eye when she remembers what she’s faced with in real life.
• There are portions in every book that are marked by a profusion of anatomical references linked to myriad verbs and adjectives, coupled with a chronic shortage of punctuation marks. Do not be amazed if sentences run into entire pages. The printed sighs and gasps don’t seem too contrived after that. Try reading that stuff aloud and you’d sigh and gasp for dear life too.
• All that talk of biology…the NCERT’s really missing out on something here. Indian kids grow up believing they were picked off trees. Thank heaven for Bollywood to set the record straight. Even if it is the bee-and-flower routine. Hand out an M&B each to high schoolers across the country. Of course, Randolph and Sylvia can be changed to Randeep and Sunita. Or Ramaswamy and Savitri down south.
• The hero and heroine WILL hate each other at first sight. And second and third sight as well. Forget Mars and Venus. We’re talking the Milky Way vs. an undiscovered galaxy here. But that won’t stop them from exchanging looks of smouldering passion (GAG!!!) despite wanting to claw each other’s eyes out.
• You will close every one of those books with the unshakeable knowledge that your life sucks. And the feeling grows exponentially. Absolute ‘Height of the Abyss’ moments (Thanks Swamy!!) Not to mention the awareness that truth is often stranger-looking than fiction. In other words, real men do not look anything like fictional heroes. If they do, they’re already movie stars, twenty years older, thrice divorced and have a string of kids to boot.

Pshaw.

I do wonder how stories like these would sound in an Indian context. No doubt we have our Laila-Majnu’s, and Heer-Ranjha’s. And more recently, John-Bipasha and Jodhaa-Akbar.

Royal/Aristocratic romances are a dime a dozen. But doesn't the great Indian middle class have love-ishtories too? My guess is the lack of glamour does them in. Not to forget that furious papa-ji’s these days are very likely to hire goons and slaughter the hero. Khandaan pride salvaged from the presumptuous pup. As well as beti’s honour.
Come to think of it, we’re so conditioned to western fluff, the Indian version pro’lly wouldn’t ...ummm…inspire the right feeling either. I promise to illustrate with my next post.

Memory bytes

Indulged myself in a cupboard-rummaging session when I went home for the Easter weekend. On one of those lovely Chennai afternoons with a light drizzle and a cool breeze at 2:30 p.m. (yes!). With the rest of the family in siesta mode, I had all the time in the world.
So there I was with my ‘treasures’ of the past decade strewn all over the place. An assortment of random doodles done in different classes at different ages, notes passed around in class to share catty comments, birthday cards, friendship bands (Jeez!), team ribbons (Maaannn!!!) and much more.
The most interesting find was a coupla manila covers with nearly a hundred assorted photographs. Vaguely remembered pulling them outta albums as and when they caught my fancy. Given that I was seeing the lot after nearly 4-5 years, it took me on a full fledged hike down memory lane.

Like the one where big bro and I are frozen in mid air above a trampoline. Where he’s all of six years and I’m aged four. With HUGE grins pasted on our faces.

My Ammachy surrounded by her grandkids. (Ammachy is ‘Grandmother’ in mallu X’ian lingo. Bless her soul)

Parents’ wedding pic. (Ohmigosh, Dad had a French beard?? And what kinda trousers was he wearing????)

Moi with friends on our first sari-wearing session in high school. All dolled up and giggly but the ‘little girl’-ishness is intact. Suddenly, sixteen doesn’t seem as grown up as it was made out to be.

With Dad just before leaving for school one day. (I was wearing two ponytails???AND ribbons????? :-O Noooooo…..) This one undoubtedly has ‘Daddy’s Girl’ stamped all over it.

Our first snap as a family. Taken when they brought Mom and me home from hospital.

But the one that found me staring at it for the longest time was one of me and my Mom. Where Mom’s carrying her year-old baby. In typical mom-and-kid pose, with a lovely smile on her face. It’s not the cuteness/sweetness aspect that struck me. What hit hard was:

1. I finally realised that the rest of the family was right. I do look like her. Uncannily so. Explains how her long lost college pals and phoren- cousins would take one look at me and say “But I’d know her anywhere…”
2. The freshness and optimism on her face. It’s not just youth. Given what I know, I think it came from a very simple belief that life ahead for her, her man and her child would be worth looking forward to, no matter what it held.

Dunno what the foundation is for such uncomplicated faith. Mebbe her faith in God. In herself. In the people around, though she’s been let down often enough. An extremely resilient spirit perhaps?
Have found myself wondering since what I would feel like in that same situation. If my turn ever came. At 24, I already feel like a jaded 50 year old cynic. Blame it on the times and circumstances I’ve grown up in. On a world that denies your right to innocence and simple faith. Where everything HAS to be complicated to the last degree or it doesn’t become worth talking about. Or even thinking about.
Have had plenty of disagreements with Amma. Still do. Some are bound to remain unresolved. Or even get worse. But despite it all, she still retains her belief that I am and will remain an individual worth all the love, trust and respect I can get. That knowledge has got me through situations time and again. Given me the guts to hang in there and fight it out. Kept me searching for who I truly am. To walk out on people who figured I was insignificant enough to kick around.
Wow. It's amazing what a little faith can do. Mebbe it wouldn’t hurt to try it out on the people in my life either.

I know this much. The next time someone says “You’re just like your mother”, I’d be hoping that it’s not only the looks that they’re talking about.

Though I don't say it often.....here’s to you Ma.

Thank you.

Now listening: Let it all go - Mark Knopfler

Arbit observation(s) #2

Another set of random observations that have popped up at various times in yours truly's meandering existence to date.

Warning: If you're attempting to read this, I love ya already. ;) But leave your brains behind..... most sensible folks would have discovered a few of these eons ago. And the remainder would've been considered too halfwitted to bother about anyway.

1. Gym clothes are available in precisely the sizes of those people who don’t need to go the gym in the first place.
2. Irrespective of education levels, professional qualifications and exposure to the world, men who can see women as more than just an assortment of specific body parts are a shockingly small minority. Am yet to figure out if this is a purely ‘Indian’ thingie.
3. Minding your P’s and Q’s will never go out of style.
4. Until you actually learn numbers in Hindi, a tweak or two on the English names will suffice. For example : 35 can be referred to as “Thurrrdy-phaaaiiff” till you learn that it’s actually “Painthees” (No, that’s NOT the Hindi version of ‘panties’ you moron. Get your mind outta the gutter!!)
5. Your judgement w.r.t. certain people may have been lousy. And you pro’lly got punished for it too. It’s okay. Move on and leave the grudge behind. But stay canny enough to prevent a repeat performance.
6. That life as an only child is fun in its own way. Being Daddy’s princess and Mummy’s darling is something you never grow out of. Or want to grow out of despite all your exclamations to the contrary. :-)
7. That being an only child also brings its own load of emotional baggage and insecurities. Not to forget the perceptions of the rest of the world. And no one to share it with. Giving you plenty of “Why me? Why the beep??” moments.
8. Filling in the ‘Personal’ tab on Orkut can be an eye-opener. I’ve discovered that I do not know my best feature (is a multiple select okay?? ;-P) And what do people first notice about me? None of the possibilities that come to mind are very complimentary.
9. Jim Reeves’ voice can truly caress one. And I mean caress. May his music live on. Makes me wish real life had a background score too. With baritone vocals. ;-)
10. A blog is meant to be written in. Not just started and then left with the rest of your litter in cyberspace. My bad. Bad. Baaaaaad.
    
    So heigh-ho, off a-blogging I go.

Aaarrgghhh….

Don’t you just hate it when you have the snippets of prospective posts float around your head…..and you end up blankly staring at the lappie screen when you’re actually try to put it down in words???
Am silently cursing all those whiz blogger-types who (seem to) churn out one fab post after the other with remarkably little effort.

Bah. I hate you all. >:-(

Where did my voodoo dolls go?