Never Too Late

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This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.’

She sat on the bed caressing his pressed, crisp uniform, wiping away the non-existent tears. The tears had dried up but the searing, gnawing, ache remained like a permanent cloak, sapping all her energy and zest.

‘Is it already a year? Wasn’t it only yesterday, that the moment the informer had called, he wore his uniform and ran to attend the call of duty, promising to finish his favourite meal later, when he returned successful?’

He never kept to his promise. A definite first!

Only a dreaded call ensued, a casket clad in the Tricolor arrived  and a swarm of grieving people descended into her empty home.

‘He embraced death to give us a second chance at life’, they held her and shed copious tears as he was given the ceremonial send off.

The number of visitors reduced to a trickle as the cruel time marched ahead and she was left alone, tending to her permanent sores.

Public memory is ephemeral. If this were to be the harsh reality where everybody had moved on, while only her world had been devastated, why did he take this step? Not one remembered his sacrifice and yet he never shirked his duty. Did he even think about her or the repercussions, in his last minutes at least?

Why didn’t he leave the call of duty to others?

As the dark evening set in, the phone rang.

“Namaste Maam, we are having a service tomorrow in the memory of your brave husband. The very reason, we live…Could you please come?”

She smiled for the first time in the day.

They had remembered. It wasn’t all in vain.  It is never too late to remember your martyrs or to salute them.

She cuddled the uniform once again, feeling his warmth envelop all over her. She didn’t feel lonely now!

When you live for others…You live on…For ever

 

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An Unforgettable Friend

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This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.’

I carry your heart…I carry it in my heart

Thought the teary-eyed, recuperating patient, lying on his bed, in the intensive care unit.

In a split second, he was back in time and to the very place where it had all started.

They were childhood friends, who grew up with same tastes and who then developed intense feelings for each other. The boys knew, they couldn’t let the world sneak in on their secret. It wouldn’t understand with its draconian divisions of people.

So they masqueraded their affection as ‘close-friendship’ lest the hyper vigilante society separated them, punishing them.

They then decided that the first world with its more liberal outlook might be safe for them to disappear, to breathe free, to be alive.

The families definitely had no clue about this. Otherwise, all hell would be let loose.

They even acquired the requisite permits till a killer truck played the spoilsport, while they were returning from a night-show.

It is a perfect match. Both are of same age, build and height. Ravi has a chance to live if Sarath’s heart is used for implanting.”  The good doctor had advised.

Beta, I see my lost son in you.” cried Sarath’s mother, clutching Ravi.

I carry your heart…I carry it in my heart!

And in death, we are finally together, away from this rigid society’s judgements and rancor. Rest in peace, my love, my unforgettable friend. For now, I will protect you with my life” Thought Ravi, clutching his beloved heart.

I am Seshu

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We are having our monthly picnic in the hills now, as I speak to you.

I, Seshu, my twin sister Diya and her beau Raghu – Her Beau who is my best pal.

There they go again, hugging and kissing, right in front of me, as if I don’t exist, my views on this display of love, don’t matter! Anytime and anywhere is PDA time for these two love birds!

You must be wondering, why do I fret so. After all, these two, are my sister and my best pal. What else would one ask in life?

Ha! Ha! You see, God( if he exists that is!) has been flagrantly unfair to me. My sister Diya, is youth and beauty personified with the grace of a gorgeous gazelle. And I? Bound to a wheelchair, because of my cerebral palsy. Even with this disease, I am an Einstein when compared to my sister. She is a bimbette, you know. You could say a kind one at that. She looks after me with a smothering love! There have been enough times when I have wondered, how does it feel to snap her delicate neck, whenever she came running to bestow upon me, her innate, albeit grating kindness! If only my hands could derive the requisite strength from my burning anger at the unfairness of it all – She being the destiny’s chosen one and I, it’s cruel joke! But then, almost immediately, I feel ashamed at my vile thoughts as Diya fusses over me, narrating her – as is usual – a spectacular day.

Oh! how I hate this see-saw of naked emotions! You can almost feel my blood boil when the public goes gaga over her! How often have I heard them whisper conspiratorially to my father, (an unfortunate widower, who has to bravely bear the vicissitudes of life namely his wife’s death and thereby, looking after the crippled me!! )

How beautiful and dutiful is Diya! So caring! Can’t believe these two, are twins! Tch Tch! Don’t worry, you poor man. Your darling daughter will be the pillar of strength to your handicapped son! He will not be left alone. All will be Ok!

I’m not handicapped, dammit! I have a brain, I have feelings, my heart can feel love and conceal vitriolic hatred too, Thank you! Then, just to rub salt on my festering wounds, my father would come in and ruffle my hair, check the settings of my wheelchair! Eesh father! stop pitying me. They don’t make like you, even in the movies anymore!

To this saccharine sweet setting, to save me from further disaster entered Raghu, Diya’s classmate, as my savior. Raghu is virile, the quintessential Alpha-male. Raghu’s views and tastes match with mine. We would often chat about books, politics, events and he would read out to me, interesting excerpts. He was the first one to see a soul hidden deep inside my crippled and under developed body. He drew me out. I mattered to him, my opinions did.

Diya would often join us, not to contribute but to nod periodically and to eye her dishy classmate.There were fireworks all around. Between Diya and Raghu and unknown to all, my heart beat violently for Raghu. I would wait for him to touch me, lift me, help me around. Those were electrifying moments. But sadly only to me. Raghu had no inkling whatsoever of how I felt. I couldn’t dare let Raghu or for that matter, anyone else know.

This society wasn’t ready yet, for a brother and sister to have the same lover. But if my sexuality or my sexual preference made others uncomfortable or did not fit into the ‘usual’, is it my problem? Should I be the one, always adjusting and conforming to what is ‘Kosher’? Why can’t I be accepted and left alone? I am neither abnormal nor abominable. I just am!! 

As I vacillated between these extreme thoughts, Raghu proposed to Diya. Everyone celebrated except me.

Why good lord? Why? To have your sister touch what was supposed to be mine…All mine. Can you imagine the choking ache that sat permanently in my chest, in my throat? And it was open season now. That open, anytime PDA was enough to pierce my heart. Incensed at this new betrayal by fate, I tried to hog Raghu’s time, whenever he came visiting us, often asking him to help me out with various activities. Seeing Diya get irritated at my being a nuisance, hogging her time, somehow satisfied me.

Father, though, encouraged my growing dependence on Raghu as it somehow comforted him that there would be someone who would look after me, after he was gone.

All was honky-dory, till yesterday. I asked Raghu to help me change my shirt. As his hands struggled with my body, my fingers grabbed his hand and…You should have seen the revulsion in his eyes. As if he had touched a snake. His mental rebuke, killed me on the spot. Wordlessly, he walked out, closing the door behind him, leaving me to battle with my darkness, my demons, my insecurities. The longest hours of my life!

Today is the scheduled day of our monthly picnic in the hills. I thought, Raghu wouldn’t keep up with his date. Surprisingly, he did come but there has been no eye contact with me so far. Today Raghu seemed to hug Diya more, as if to drive home the point.

I am elated nonetheless, just to feel his presence around. I turn my head away, lest someone sees my hot scalding tears. I vow that I will do whatever it takes, to get the status quo back. He is just too precious to let go.

Now, please don’t advise me to forget him, to move on and that there are other fish in the pond as I agree to these already. The heart always craves for what it wants, you see. I don’t think I have the strength to tell father the truth, or to start all over, with someone else. Maybe time will be the best healer.

I move to the edge of the cliff. I can see the valley deep down. I turn back to see them kissing. Raghu’s eyes meet mine. There is that searing hatred in those black orbs…I know it clearly then, that it will never be the same again, come what may!

In a flash, I Seshu, am flying. I can feel the wind in my arms, my legs are dancing, mother Earth is eagerly waiting to embrace me.

I am one with the approving universe, finally.

Rupa and demonetisation

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Rupa hummed the latest chart buster as she stir-fried the bhendi, with one hand, while she rolled out the thin crispy parathas. Beer Singh, her husband, busy on the phone, came into the kitchen, tapped angrily at his watch. Rupa smiled apologetically and handed him his plate of food. She could hear her mother-in-law, invoking all the gods while she screamed at Rupa for her tardiness and her father-in-law demanded another cup of chai.

Nothing could faze Rupa. Not today. When long awaited happiness was in sight.

Tomorrow, her in-laws would leave home to visit her sister-in-law and her husband had appointments all through the day. So she would…

In a flash, she was back to that point where it had all started.

Rupa, true to name, was beauty born between many sisters, into a wealthy family steeped in conservatism. She was also bright with stars in her eyes and big dreams to chase. Her family let her study provided, she learnt all the ‘girlie’ talents. One by one, as her sisters were married off, much against their wishes, Rupa knew what fate awaited her but she hoped against hope. And sure enough, one fine day, as she came back from college, the elders gave her the news of her engagement with Beer Singh. Since the wedding was only a week away, her education was stopped. Wearily, Rupa got busy with the festivities.

On her wedding night, Rupa discovered what a monster her husband was…which continued. She tried complaining around. Her family said, their responsibility was over the moment she got married. It was up to her, to set her marriage straight. Her in-laws fumed, how dare she find fault with their precious son?

Enough ways were found to bring her into submission, to break her spirit. Weary Rupa, trudged along with life. Luckily there were no children and in-laws began hinting at another wedding. Totally broken, TV would be her entertainment, once she was done with her daily chores and the Mother-in-law retired for her siesta.

One fine day, Rupa happened to see, ‘Sleeping with the Enemy.’

A plan began to formulate in her head.

Beer Singh was a property dealer. There was always cash around. Rupa began to whittle away tiny amounts of cash from the sum she received to run the household, hid it in pantyhose, tucked it away under mattress, stashed away in the dark corners of closets. Mooched some cash away from the money given for safe keeping. Did whatever she could. Slowly this money grew into a significant reserve over time. It was her treasure, to be used as and when she decided to bolt, to set up life new in the remote south, where nobody knew her. She had it all planned.

And the D-Day was near. She was about to fly the coop the next day when all were busy.

Rupa finished the rest of the day very cheerfully. She cooked Beer Singh’s favorite food. The wretched bloke deserved one final kind gesture.

Beer Singh came back as usual, sozzled to the gills, demanded the TV be switched on while he ate his dinner. Suddenly, all the news channels started airing the PM’s address to the nation.

As of midnight, tonight, all 500 and 1000 notes will be demonetized. And…

Two people fell down simultaneously to the ground, though for different reasons.

Would Rupa get a chance to fly away? Tomorrow surely knows!

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Suddenly all her life was sucked out of her and Rupa became a mere shadow of her former self. She was trapped, forever! 

As is usual, no one in the family had noticed or cared really, busy as they were, with their own share of life altering and shattering cash problems. Beer Singh, her husband and her father-in-law were shocked beyond their wits, while the mother-in-law wailed round the clock. Bundles of notes everywhere but of no apparent value, as most of it was unaccounted for. All sorts of nefarious schemes were being considered and many fixers dropped in all the time, serving up, tens of under-handed dealings, to save the day.

Rupa, after the initial moping period, recovered soon enough. You cannot put a beautiful soul down, for long! She began to absorb and assimilate the information floating around her, sorting and discarding trash. She began to scout around amongst her friends for the most trustworthy, someone whom she could depend with her stashed but now worthless moolah. She obviously couldn’t share everything -(about her plans of flying off from her torture chamber) – with anyone!

Finally, she zeroed in on Sakhi, one of her closest acquaintances after her marriage with Beer Singh. Sakhi was shrewd and smart. Rupa would call Sakhi everyday, making deep inroads into Sakhi’s heart, exchanging daily domestic drivel, asking for advice. Once Rupa was sure that, Sakhi was now much closer to her, she told her mother-in-law, her intentions of visiting the nearby temple daily, to pray for the well being of the family. Mother-in-law waved her away, saying that it was ok, so long as all the jobs were done and she came back in time to attend to the rest. One less bother, to tackle!

Rupa would beg Sakhi to accompany her and Sakhi often indulged. Rupa amused her. Slowly, little by little, Rupa began to divulge her secrets to Sakhi. Sakhi was soon taken up by this adventure and she readily agreed to deposit the whittled cash in her account on the sly and take out the new denominations, over time, given the monetary withdrawal restrictions. Sakhi was amazed that, given the circumstances of Rupa, Rupa had managed to stash away so much. Of course, Rupa never revealed the entire truth though Rupa had no go except to trust Sakhi.

Over days, all the cash was deposited and it was time to rebuild the chest with new denominations.

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Why is Sakhi avoiding my calls? These days, she always meets me with someone in the room, so that I cannot speak about the money at all. What do I do now? What will she do with that cash? Above 2.5 lac, she needs to show the source! She knows that. Money makes morals fly’ thought Rupa, as she chopped onions. Her eyes were full of tears,- due to onions? or due to her anguish? she couldn’t comprehend.

I’m going to confront Sakhi today, no matter what! I will land up at her house, without any prior intimation and catch her off-guard!’. Rupa rushed through her chores, gave the excuse of a visit to the temple and marched towards Sakhi’s house.

Sakhi, luckily for Rupa, was all alone in her house. And a no-holds barred fight ensued. Sakhi point blank refused to part with the cash, even asking where the proof of deposit was. Rupa slumped into her chair. Sakhi pinned Rupa down, roughly shaking her by the shoulders and screamed, “ Get out of my house! Forget that we were friends ever! What money do you talk of? I dare you to prove it. If you keep coming here and harassing me, I will come over and complain to Bhaiyya. Now, get up and move.”

Softly sobbing Rupa, quietly stepped out, started her Scooty and moved towards home.

One of the narrower lanes, near her home was jam packed with people. Rupa tried to move around the crowd and then she spotted the boy, the reason for the milling crowd. A six year old boy was writhing in pain, foaming at the mouth, while the crowd watched. He had ingested something from the nearby food stalls. Someone had called the ambulance, but these are narrow roads. So…

Rupa called Sakhi, repeatedly but Sakhi didn’t pick up. Rupa quietly picked up the boy. She had to!

It was Sakhi’s son. She tied him to her back with her chunni, while he was throwing up on her, made another neighborhood lad sit behind, holding Sakhi’s son. She sped towards the hospital,  in the next lane, ran with the boy in her arms, created enough ruckus and got him admitted.

As the doctors attended to him, she made the call again to the mother. Sakhi didn’t pick up. She then messaged Sakhi.

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The doctors told Sakhi, that the timely medical attention had saved the boy. Else he had no chance. Sakhi, held Rupa and cried bitterly. Somehow the stench of vomit emanating from Rupa didn’t bother, either.

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Rupa, your friend Sakhi has come!” screamed Rupa’s mother-in-law. Rupa came out of the kitchen, smiled at Sakhi and took her to her room. Sakhi was carrying a big bag under her chunni. She simply put it in Rupa’s hands and bowed with her hands folded.

Rupa opened the zip, looked at the contents  and stuttered, “ This is much more than what I had given you!

Nothing I do, will ever repay your debt!” was all tearful Sakhi had to say.

Rupa smiled broadly and hugged Sakhi tightly

Now Rupa was ready to fly! It was all just a matter of time!

Let us Mock, Stalk & Quarrel

15111089_1167050083364261_1330858925931304118_oA wikipedia would define Satire as a genre of literature in which the vices, follies, abuses, and shortcomings of individuals, corporations, government, or society are held up to ridicule, ideally hoping for an improvement. A feature of satire is strong irony or sarcasm. Although satire is usually meant to be humorous, it’s greater purpose is constructive social criticism, using wit to draw attention to both particular and wider issues in society.

We are seeing some solid society churning. In such times, a true writer uses the pen to echo the turmoil around.

When the mere wax figures  masquerade as role models to the ignorant and fawning believers, 

when goddesses mull over festering sores of deep-rooted gender inequalities, 

The domestic drivels or the mismanaged familial relationships or the idiosyncrasies of our daily humdrum,

When knowledge acquisition suffers a collateral damage as you go chasing degrees, 

When even after 70 years of independence, an MP has no Locus Standi, 

When a death in search of fame doesn’t even merit a footnote in the daily rags,

When the age old biases exist to debilitate and stunt,

When it becomes a herculean task to find a noble prince or a malleable maid,

When Gods are slotted, reservations are resisted and blood needs to be proved,

When it is not fair to be dark and the government becomes our matrix,

When miracles or god-(wo)men defy logic or a tail becomes a frenzied tale …

It is then time to get to work, wield that acerbic pen and whip up a torrid storm.

These are the prevalent, pertinent issues, screaming for a platform to be showcased so that there could be a change, albeit slowly.

There are two ways to go about this.

Either one pontificates or playfully delivers a sledgehammer.

The second option is always,  in my humble opinion, more effective because it softens the blow while making one chuckle and also circumspect.

Sarcasm always works because humor helps you cope, think and if possible…act!!

Edited by Indrani Ganguly, Mock, Stalk and Quarrel, a collection of satirical stories,  pokes fun at all the seemingly insurmountable, deep-set issues of today.

Short story format is apt for such an endeavor as the restless world around expresses the feelings in 140 characters. Everything is insta and happening!

So short and snappy is catchy.

It is our way of wanting a tangible change.

Together, we could and we did.

I’m extremely proud to be associated with this ‘Must-Read-One-Of-A-Kind-Satirical-Anthology’ and invite you to pick your copy at this URL.. 

http://amzn.in/7AQZ2VW

Abide with us -The Magical 29 

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AeDilHaiMushKil – A bloody Honest Review

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#AeDilHaiMushKil Kill Me Now!!

Dear Karan Johar,

Here I am back, writing an open letter, yet again. Kya kare Aadat se Majboor!

I have just spent 3 hours 45 minutes 54 Seconds of my rather ordinary life watching ‘Ae Dil E Mushkil’. Which can never be recovered ever again!! And at my station of life that is precious resource really!

Enough Puns have been made on this title and I won’t try making more. Suffice to say KJo, my limited precious non-regenerative brain cells have been masticated beyond repair. I was so traumatized, that like the rest of Junta that scooted the moment the credits rolled in at the much awaited end, I tried doing the same thing – Pulling the arm of a scantily clad auntie with puffed up hair and leaving my one and only daughter behind.

Bahut Kuch hota hai Karan Tum na Samjhoge

You must have seen Imtiaz Ali’s ‘Rockstar’ one evening nursing a large No?

Complex ho gaya Nahin?

Yeah! after a while, when all the Moolahs have been raked in, Manva craves  for dollops of respect.

So you decided to make a hash of it while you filled in your floating characters with oodles of designer distress. Added to it your Childhood Fanzie moment with Ash!

When one walks out with a feeling that she was the best of the pile as far as killing black is concerned or pouty reds spouting incomprehensible poetry ( Aren’t Shayars supposed to be lean, mean hungry? Show me the money Da, or I’m in the wrong profession) or simply doing a scene as it is supposed to be! Tells one a lot about the movie right?

Par Logic bhi daalna tha na! Koi Na! Mixer sahi se chala nahin Aur Thodha Khushi Bahut Gham Ho gaya

By the way, stalking is aint cool KJO! A No is a No even if it is Ranbir

And Ranbir Honey, how many times can the lady repair ya? Just asking! Leave them be!

Just Imagine Karan Johar – What all could be done with Rs 1500/-

A meal at a decent restaurant, some gas in the car, so many colas or chips, metro recharge!

But your ilk doesn’t stoop to these normal things right?

As it is they don’t have to worry about existential dilemmas of monies as they go pub hopping, clubbing and private jetting.

Those are for lesser mortals.

Faltu ka MNS se lad rahe the, ban utarvaane ku…Fawad ko Bhagane ku ( I’m still trying to figure out his X factor!)

Isse kehte hain Khaali peeli BhomBhat.

One Last Question – What exactly happened here???

Accha Chalta Hoon, Dua mein Yaad Rakhna

Phew! You killed that song forever for me Bro.

Weary Viewer AJ

Disclaimer: Mutual Fund investments are subject to market risk. Please read the offer document carefully before investing’

Na Na Readers! Don’t go by this review! please go n see.

Everyone has to go and do their share of ‘Penance’😄😜

kya pata you might love it and you might think I’m crazy 👻

ki kitna bakwaas likhti hai

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A twist in the tale

“Dham Dham!”
The maid was at it. Again! Dropping many hints while washing the dishes.
“So many dishes! I wonder how they manage this daily, with only three members in the house. All this work, I have do single handedly. But If I ask for a raise or leave, all hell will be come down. Always the same answer ‘No’ ‘No’. This month end, I will definitely give her a notice. Let me see how she will manage without me.”
Sharon heard the hints loud and clear. She wanted to scream and tell the maid to get the hell out of her house.
“How would I go for work then? I have to suffer her tantrums till I find a decent replacement. Always spoils mood while I am working”.
Sharon went back to answering her mails and then onto her fix. Facebooking.
“Drats! Everyone is on a holiday. That too abroad. These bloody status updates! Oh thats me in Dubai! Look at me, I dipped into Niagara. I’m pouting in front of Pisa..Nonsense! Why can’t they go quietly? Do they have to rub it in? And here Gautam says lets go to Coonoor! How bloody down market! Can’t blame the poor fellow though. It is our budget that cannot be stretched.”
To cheer and soothe herself, she then hit Jabong. “ 3@999/- ? What a delectable deal. Buy! Buy! Buy!” she said aloud.
“Mom, you are always buying for yourself. Why can’t I buy some books too? But it is a No always! A waste of money! Not fair!”
‘OMG! When did this little fellow creep in…’
“Honey, this purchase is work related. I have to dress for my job right? You have so many books.But you still want more!”
“Mom, these are for widening my mental horizons. I need the new..”
“Okay Okay, I will buy you, when I come back from work. I need to rush now. I have kept some food in the fridge. Study till Dad comes home Ok?”
***************** *******************
Sharon reached late. She was the EMCEE at a startup celebration party. The host was getting antsy. He made sure she understood his displeasure. Cursing him under her breath, Sharon took the mike, cracked a few in season jokes, made some witty observations and got the party rolling. DJ got the public grooving with some Funjaabi numbers.
She then strolled off to the overcrowded bar, where everyone was drinking their sorrows away.
“Hey Paddy” Sharon greeted a deeply furrowed young man who was boring holes into his smartphone.
“It is Padmanabhan! How many times do I have to correct you? Tomorrow when my book comes out and I become this hot shot author, you will be chasing all around me for autographs!”
“Yeah Right! I have been hearing that for a long time. Till then, It is you and me, covering these seedy parties. Also, it is Paddy till then” Sharon winked at Paddy and guffawed loudly.
Paddy was the quintessential Page 3 correspondent. He hated his beat and begged his editor to give him some editorial space where he could write lifestyle pieces. He regularly emailed her some soul stirring stuff. Heaven knows where the mails went. Spam/junk?trash definitely archived!
So he covered tripe, much to his consternation.
Paddy stared at Athiya, his editor, sharing a joke and a drink with the host.
“Do this please Paddy! It is for a friend!” He mimicked Athiya’s nasal twang.
Sharon burst out laughing. “ We are the suckers Paddy! To us! Bottoms Up!”
The host, Suren, stared through Athiya, half nodding, while she conspiratorially narrated a senior minister’s affair with tan upcoming starlet. He looked around and saw people guzzling away his food, his booze, his hard earned money.
“Just Imagine, how many salaries could be covered with this ugly expense. How am I going to fill in this short fall?”.
Still nodding, he stared at his trophy wife, in a snug fitting LBD and glittering diamonds.
“Daahling! It is important to be visible. Visibility is everything. This coverage and this party will give a massive boost to our business. Surely, I don’t have to tell you that!” She had crooned and like a fool, he had agreed.
‘What did she know? We are celebrating my dotcom bust. We need a bloody massive miracle to get us out of the deep slump that we are in now.’ Sure looked heavenwards, almost pleading.
“Suren, can I have a word with you please?” A deep baritone commanded him.
Suren turned around to face an expensive suit, a regular front pager of The Economic Times and paled in shock, but recovered quickly to blurt out an obsequious “Hello Sir!”
“Not here! somewhere quieter” The suit suggested. They walked into an alcove and settled in.
“Suren, I will come straight to the point. Being famous or present on Page 3 is equivalent to being rich on Monopoly. Absolutely redundant! I have looked at your books. “
“How?” Sure managed weakly.
“I think you should worry about ‘What Next?’ rather than the hows! I offer you a senior position with all the perks. My CA will get in touch with you to thrash out the details. Quietly wind up this and move on. Your people already have an inkling of what’s happening. So no surprises there. I need someone of your caliber. Don’t worry about wife. She will be happy with the page 3 coverage. Make sure of that. The offer is on till midnight. If I know you, your answer is already a ‘Yes’!” With these stirring words the Suit moved on as quietly as he came on the scene.
As Suren sat gobsmacked, trying to fathom this Christmas Bonus, Athiya joined in.
“What’s up Suren? You look all shaken up?”
“Athiya, The coverage standards are going down. I’m spending so much money here. I’m worried whether I will get my dough’s worth. Wife has been working so hard to make this party a success. I just hope the reporter does a good job! Could you please ensure wife gets a good mention, please, for old times sakes?”
“Actually, the guy who is covering this – Paddy – is getting complacent. He fancies himself to be a terrific writer and all this, beneath him. I must be on the look out for fresh talent now. But don’t worry. You have my word.” Athena assured Suren.
Sharon overheard this nugget as she came out from her pee-break. She rushed to caution Paddy. After all, he was a good chap.
The party eventually wound up and everyone said their lusty goodbyes.
Paddy dropped Sharon home.
“Thanks buddy for the heads up. Let me get my act straight. I’m going to unleash my creative juices, produce a vintage piece and send it ASAP. I’m going to be super serious about work.” Paddy promised and zipped off.
Sharon unlocked the front door and walked into her waiting, beaming husband, Gautam.
“Guess what honey, we are spending the weekend in Goa! Dil Chahta Hai Ishtyle!” Gautam gushed and hugged Sharon.
Sharon smiled broadly, gave her husband a tight squeeze and beckoned the watching son to join in.
“Here are some coupons for you, my son from that DotCom Party I went today. You can buy some great books.”
Needless to say, it turned out to be a happy night for all.
******** ********
Next morning, the maid was washing the dishes quietly without a whimper while Sharon surveyed her quizzically.
“Cannot afford to lose this house too. The other madam threw me suddenly without even a notice. This one is better. Doesn’t scream at me. Will ask for increment next month. Till then..” Maid muttered to herself.
Ahh Well! Adjustment is just a shift of thoughts…