My plump pumpkin of a friend

The wedding venue at which I first met her...the yellow-saree clad feet at the far-end is what I first saw of her

The first time I saw her was from a distance in a huge hall teaming with people and deafening with noise and music. One of my cousins pointed a finger to a woman, and said, “There, do you see her? The one in a yellow saree who’s laughing?” I craned my neck. Numerous shining and oily heads as well as droopy, broad and muscled shoulders and some derriere of various proportions blocked my view. “The one standing left to the bride?” I checked. “Second from right, with a baby in her arms,” specified my cousin.

As I spotted her, I heard, “Yes, she’s the one. She also lives in Dubai…” and I lost the rest of the sentence as I was taking in the sight of my target. A rotund body on which hung two arms that could take on a dozen wrestlers at a time. It also hosted a plump forever-laughing face embedded in the mass in the centre of her shoulders on which was a pair of owl eyes that seemed to smile at me from that distance. A petite nose that I assumed should have been somewhere above the large parted lips that never seemed to sit still just like the toddler that was forcibly perched on her side-seater – the culmination of her waist cum hips cum stomach.

Just then a young lad, about 6 years old, came crying calling her attention. She caressed the boy, rubbed his cheeks and whispered in his ears and the youngster stood beaming beside her, wrapping his tiny arms around her knees. A little later came two teenage girls and took away the boys and the woman was visibly freed as she got to animatedly talking to the newly-weds. “How much does that woman speak,” I blurted when I saw her wave at my cousin and in minutes she was with us beaming full volt.

Then it was a round of firing. “Where do you stay, which area, which street, which building, where do you work, where’s the office, which management, what timing, no. of kids, husband, maids, laundry, cooking… and I lost track as I was now massaging my arms.

Her each query physically landed on me. It started with a nudge, a tap, a slap, a pull and then she was hanging on my arm laughing at her own joke.

When the tornado rolled over, I told my cousin, “Hope she doesn’t track me down in Dubai. Collecting personal details in the first minute of the first meeting…I can’t stand such people.”

That meeting was five years ago.

Every alternate Thursday since then she has been calling me and laughing on the phone. I endured her onslaught with monosyllabic replies initially. Slowly, I started taking a liking to her. I liked the way I heard her laugh. Four months and about 15 calls later, I decided to ring her up. And I heard her laugh as always. “Oh, at last, you’ve decided to include me in your friend’s list.” I was lost for a reply.

“You might have thought what a crazy pumpkin I am, right?” and she laughed. “Oh, I’m an insult to pumpkins even. That’s got a better shape, yeah,” and she laughed more. “You know Nisha, I love talking to working women.”

“So every Thursday you ring up working women?”

“Ha, ha, ha. Three days a week. I have 30 working phone friends. I call 10 each on Thursday, Friday and Saturday.”

 “That’s some dedication.”

“This is my way of living my dream.”

I was all attention now.

“When my dad passed away, I was just 18 years old. My mom wanted to get rid of her responsibilities so married me off the next year. And here, I am today. A mother of four kids…”

Shortly, I learnt she was my exact age and something tugged at my heart.

“What did you want to become?” I asked, ashamed that I knew nothing about her.

“I have doctors, teachers, engineers, pharmacists, an artist, a chef, two dancers, a social worker, nannies, two nurses, a radio jockey, a freelance photographer… name a career and I have them on my phone list. I could have been any of these. But I would have been only any one of these. And end up like all of you. You’ll live pathetic lives, Nisha...”

What the heck! I was just beginning to like her and there she goes!

“…All of you just crib and complain of work pressure, politics, price hikes, future fears and when you are done with these you attack yourself of how your tummy is bulging out despite your fancy diets; how helpless you are to see the boobs sagging, how your hair is not bouncing over; how your cuticles are peeling out...”

Now I began laughing.

“At last, I heard you laugh. I have a selfish motive, Nisha in speaking to you’ll. I collect details about all professions and live them while I’m cooking or cleaning or putting the younger one to sleep. When I’m making use of you’ll shouldn’t I give back something? So I call you, because I am confident of making all you stressed out souls laugh for a few minutes. There’s no one on the surface of this earth who can hold a tight lip against me, Nisha.”

Now I meet her once every month. She’s on my list of close friends.

And…

I have stopped judging people.

Morally conscious papas and mamas @ work

Becoming a parent is bliss. The act of nurturing the bundles into young adults is a blessing.

Tradition, culture, values, beliefs, faith, empowerment, education, vocation, passion… name it, we guide our kids the best way we can in all ways we can at all times we can until we ever can. I know of mamas and papas who are so obsessed with parenthood that honorary doctorates would fall short for their priceless research on offspring rearing. From the best curriculums, the best teaching methods, the best schools in towns, the best extra-curricular activities that can put the kids directly on that spaceship…they know the best.

Here are some comments of such ethically and morally conscious parents I have been privy to.

“Oh! **** ***school. I don’t like that. Have you seen their uniform? You just need to look at the way those students walk.”

“I’ll never look at *****. Do you know they hire housewives as teachers there?”

‘Children should settle abroad. They have no future in India.’

Interestingly, these are parents extraordinaire who will wash down culture, manners, ethics and morals down their kids’ esophagus with their daily Bournvita.  Check these out…

“I punish my son, if he doesn’t do his bed every morning before going to school.”

“I call my neighbour’s kids every weekend to play with my daughter. It’s important she learns to share her toys and space.”

“I ensure my girl washes her undergarments herself.”

“I reward my son with an ice-cream every Sunday, if he keeps his toys in place through the week.”

Courtesy: TFW

Now, these mamas and papas after disciplining their wards and planning for their future, when they turn up at workplaces, play brooders. Place a clutch of eggs under them and rest assured your tea-time sandwich is taken care of.

The office boy should collect the print-outs from the printer. ‘That’s his job’, they remind you and yell,  ‘where the hell is that idiot!’

He should offer coffee, guessing their sugar swings, at regular intervals without being told. That’s his job. ‘How many years, you’ve been giving me coffee. You still can’t get it right!’

The cleaner should wash their lipstick-kissed or cigarette-smelling cups after their last sip. That’s his job. Otherwise, the stained cups will accumulate beside their keyboard for days!

If newcomers commit an error, they are corrected loudly and clearly. ‘We also started like this!’

If juniors show enthusiasm, then they are passively bullied. ‘He needs to be shown his place now, else tomorrow he’ll shit on our scalp!’

Once they are done with disciplining co-workers they get down to executing their own future plans…They will block all calendar holidays in advance and if an emergency befalls any colleague during their pre-planned holiday, they will fall ill with a contagious disease!

And, yes, when they sense work pressure increasing or deadlines nearing, their kids would be performing in a surprise orchestra and they would have to be present at school right away...'to boost their morale'!

M...orally-conscious florals!

Spare a thought for Sanjay Dutt’s children

If you err you face the consequence. And when the highest court of law in a country sentences an individual, the person ought to humbly accept. Period. So should it be. But the emotional vortex the verdicts unleash within the loved ones of the affected unsettling their lives is indescribable.

So is it with all the number of people convicted in the 1993 Bombay blasts, including actor Sanjay Dutt. But when a celebrity is punished, the national interest it generates is immense. Unfortunately, it can be more harmful for the family than the jail term for the individual.

Petitions seeking Dutt’s pardon are forwarded to the competent authorities; movers and shakers are all over social media voicing their solidarity, an ex-Supreme Court judge has taken his plea to the highest office, not to mention his innumerable fans who pray and fast and curse… all citing that he has suffered enough.

There are yet others who are opposed to any leniency, asking ‘then why not others?’

Why? Why such hallabaloo even after the actor has announced he will surrender on April 18. He’s being a man.

Let’s not be hypothetical in our attack or support. Give him a chance by respecting his decision. He owes it to his children, for Pete’s sake!

Imagine all these hateful words of defamation, sympathetic display of support and zooming close-ups of him at his most vulnerable moments documented for posterity!

If at all anyone cares to continue speaking about Sanjay Dutt, they should do it for his family. For his two innocent toddlers who are unaware of what’s happening around. For his wife, the woman who needs to carry on each day without support and worse still protecting her children from the current media glare and upholding their dad’s stature.

This is a stigma the kids will carry, irrespective of whether Dutt serves the remainder of his jail term or receives a pardon. A pedigree tainted by prison records!

The fact that Dutt’s name is taken in congruence with the 1993 blasts, even when the Supreme Court has acquitted him of terror charges, convicting him only for illegal possession of arms, is pathetic.

No punishment is bigger than one's inability of being there for their children. Media reports allege that Sanjay Dutt cannot travel to countries that deny visas for the convicted, which includes the US, where his eldest child lives. But at least she is witness to the happenings and old enough to sieve through the interpretations.
 
Imagine the two toddlers, who will have to do it on documented information when they grow up.

Time is a great healer. For all you know, Dutt will walk out a hero! He has done it on previous occasions. Pray he does it again - this time for his kids!

[Picture Couertesy: www.sanjay-dutt.info]