Aal izz well

 

Aal izz well

As I sit here drumming the keyboard, I want to share with you this feeling of immense satisfaction that things have begun to move more or less smoothly and we can now go on with our lives as usual.

If you are raising your eyebrows or scrunching your nose at this, please be patient for the next three minutes and go through my explanation.

It has been two days since Diwali. The dense smog generated due to explosion of tons of paper-wrapped gunpowder into piles of garbage in just a couple of hours by husbands and sons of women who claim to be unable to sleep without air purifiers on normal days, is beginning to clear. The animals and birds s*** scared of this war on their sensory organs are beginning to come out of their hiding places.

We have duly worshipped the brightly painted small clay figures of Lord Ganesh and goddess Lakshmi, pleaded with them to grant us the boons which the other gods ignored or forgot to bestow on us during the rest of the year, and done with the ritual, deposited the duo in the custody of mother nature to do what she thinks fit with them. We have checked the gifts, stashed away the mithai and nuts and based on what we received on this festive occasion, analysed and discussed among the family our future relations with at least a couple of people. A non-believer member in the family has already suggested that the string of uncertainly blinking tiny Chinese lights be removed and the lighting of diyas (earthen lamps) whose flames go live with the unnecessary burning of edible mustard oil, but fight a losing battle with the seasonal breeze taunting their annual appearance, be stopped.

By the way, I am elated that USA is considering announcing a federal holiday on Diwali so that everyone celebrates this glorious festival of lights. It is good that supposedly the most powerful country in the world is learning from us how to honour government staff with more holidays than they can handle. I am told that most of the 1.2 per cent population of Indians there works in non-public sector and Diwali is just another weekday day for them to work their asses off. Yet this day they come back home, take out shiny saris and silk kurtas hanging lop-sided under their own weight in cupboards, dress up, put flowers and lights everywhere and send family photos to relatives in India on their Whatsapp broadcast list.

If I am misinformed, please check this with your siblings or children working in the MNCs, hospitals and universities in Neeyark, Bawstun, Dull-ass, Techs-ass (strictly as they are pronounced in Indian languages) etc. I was also overjoyed to hear that the Kenyan president had wished Hindus, Sikhs and Gujaratis a happy Diwali (WION, Nov 3,’21).

The Indian cricket team has earned a Diwali gift in its victory against Afghanistan in the T-20 series. The advertisers are relieved that the players’ regular appearance in print or electronic media and on billboards selling anything from shaving cream and bathing bars to life insurance and air-conditioners would still be respected. It is also reassuring to think that India-11 would easily defeat teams from strong countries like Germany, Italy, France or even Russia and USA, if their born-this-minute teams faced them in a match this evening, after giving them a quick lesson on the bat, ball and wicket, which is all there is to Cricket.

Source: patrika.com

A Diwali gift by the government is the announcement of rollback in petrol and diesel prices by about  Rs 5 ($.13) a litre. I had this sneaking suspicion that jolted by the performance of the party in power in recent by-elections, the government was going sweet on public in view of the decisive elections in some states in 2021.

 

But is this my dirty mind working? By the wildest guess, even if one person in every 20 in our country uses a petrol or diesel-guzzling machine, and we are 1.3, I repeat, 1.3 billion homo sapiens, you do the math for the amount of money the government is going to lose. Believe me, the government does have our welfare in mind.

And talking of government, I am proud of the way our Prime Minister Narendra Modi handled the COP-26 meeting in Glasgow. His body language has filled me with confidence that India would now be treated as a power to reckon with. Ask any expert. They would tell you that the dazzling-teeth smiles, slapping of backs familiarity, pulling–arm-out-of-socket/shaking-elbow-to-dislocation/vigorous-push-ups-of-hand manner of shaking hands of the head of our government were merely a symbolic warning not to challenge our strength. If just one man can do that to the physical selves of the heads of great powers, multiply the possible damage by the sheer numbers of pairs of hands available in India. Mera Bharat Mahaan!

Air India is back with the Tatas. Now Ratan Tata is one quiet sombre gentleman, one of the very few people on this earth I would love to chat with over a cup of his brand of chai before I die. If my wishes could fly, I wish he restores some glory to this one inanimate maharaja among the hundreds animates ones in our country whose titles are mostly useful at society meets, finding matches for their  children or in films.

Covid has disappeared or so I feel as I look around. The official statistics on the number of new cases going down drastically and vaccination increasing, keep coming. What I see are no-mask, no hand sanitizers crowds everywhere. Places are opening up and the resilient Indians have pushed back painful memories of earlier this year. My issue is that the sanitization frenzy is now a thing of the past and all insects including mosquitoes are back. They have grown pricklier as the weather has also turned milder on them.

The day before Diwali, I went to RJ’s house for an elaborate post grih-pravesh (first steps into a new house) lunch. Everyone there was ooh-aahing over the painstakingly-built mansion. After the initial hellos, I had just started the inspection when somebody casually mentioned that there was a golgappa counter in the lunch area. For golgappas: https://anupamaexcursions.blogspot.com/search/label/Food-%20Chaat

Now golgappa-lovers would understand this. I could hear sirens in my head. Rightfully or not, sure of the family’s constant love for me and overconfident of their generosity in future too, I travelled in time, seeing myself in their beautifully done up house, shamelessly enjoying their hospitality in the coming times. Let us be practical: the house was not going anywhere, but the golgappa counter was there only for the duration of the lunch. So off I went doggedly in the direction pointed, baring my teeth into a smile huge enough to confuse others.

As is the ritual, I picked up a dona (plate made of leaf), nodded a hello to an acquaintance already enjoying the treat with her cheeks billowing with spicy water and eyes rolling in the state of bliss of a golgappa-in-the-mouth person, extended my hand towards the server, checked the spice level with him and when he put the ball in my dona,  put it into my wide open mouth, without losing a second.

The moment the sphere crunched into an explosion of taste and flavours in my mouth, the lady, after ingesting her own golgappa and ready to plop the next one into her mouth, asked me with absolute innocent curiosity, “aap kaise apne aapko busy rakhti hain sara din, Mr Mani to busy rehte hain.”(How do you keep yourself busy the whole day, Mr Mani stays busy.) 

Under ordinary circumstances, I, with my foot-in-mouth affliction, might have asked her for an explanation, especially about Mani’s business. But not while eating golgappe! These magic spheres turn me benevolent with love for all humans, and I merely nodded.

Those golgappas have since been digested. Only their memory remains. Do you think I should tell her that I run after machchhar (mosquitoes) enjoying freedom under Art 19 of our Constitution and roaming/flying everywhere in India? And that respecting the socially and legally acceptable levels of non-violence, I try to slap, bat, squish to death these tiny winged creatures who puncture and pierce my skin, feed on my blood and then go and sit bravely on furniture, furnishings, walls and clothes, challenging me with their agility. How can they, with their approx 220,000 neurons sized brains, know how to escape the weapons and devices I use to end their existence?

Yet this one victory of mine I cannot glorify and very soon I can be found dabbing with paint the evidence of my crime before the official decorator and lord of the house notices the cumin-seed sized marks and thunders.

I am a busy woman!

         

                                                                                            - Anupama S Mani