Once upon a time...

Once upon a time, a sour spinster aunt went to stay with her two lovely nieces (princesses actually) and their (fairy) grandmother. None of them knew what to expect and all were excited at the thought of this unusual family gathering. The (fairy) grandmother was less fairy and more grandmother - all cliches, with white hair, rounded spectacles, a stoop and a shawl in any weather. When she wanted, she turned into a fairy - beautiful and straight and proud and created magic - in the kitchen, usually, but sometimes without. 

The nieces were small (figuratively speaking) and petite and cute like puppies and kittens usually are. In reality they towered over everyone and knew their mind and did they speak it! Do I need to describe the sour spinster aunt? She was round and short and wore loose clothes and of course spectacles. Her redeeming features were the twinkle in her eye and a booming laugh that could be heard two streets away. She had an easy sense of humour and a deep sense of irony and these saw her through her boring life. 

On the first day everyone wanted to please everyone else and so it passed quickly. There was ice-cream and waffles and French fries and every forbidden food amidst much laughter and giggling and hugging. The nieces pretended to study and the aunt and the grandmother were happy that peace reigned. They all happily watched as much TV as they wanted to. 

As expected, all that ice-cream in that cold weather ended in a fever. The atmosphere became a little stretched. The nieces couldn’t understand this new world where there were no rules. The sour aunt spread her sourness. The fairy retreated and the grandmother emerged. The smiles were strained. No one slept well that night. And it rained non-stop. 

The next morning the tired parents returned to a topsy-turvy order. Fatigued, they set things right and fell asleep to wake up at noon. Everything was back to normal. The nieces grumbled, but they knew this was the way their world should be. Rice and roti and vegetables and sambar and rasam and curd for a meal was just as it should be. The TV firmly switched off was right when exams were not too far away. Children should study and play - but each had its place and could not take over the other. 

The sour aunt sighed with relief that the house still stood. The grandmother receded and the fairy came up again. All was well with the world. It was normal. Two tired parents sat with their children while they did their homework. Outside it was Sunday and the world partied; not they; they had a destiny to fulfil. 

December 2017

I stayed with my nieces for a couple of days. When I was leaving, the younger one Anjali, asked me to write a story for her. This is that story :)

Afzal the Goat

As told to me by friends, with some masala added :)

While going to Panjim that morning, we saw a baby goat sitting by the main road and looking around quite placidly. The zooming traffic didn’t seem to bother this kid who seemed quite interested in what was going on. It is unusual to see a baby animal by itself and we would have stopped to enquire if we had had more time. Since we were in a rush, I soothed my conscience by thinking that the owners are probably around which was why the kid was sitting demurely rather than bleating and rushing around aimlessly. 

In the evening, as we drove back home, I wondered if the kid would still be there and I knew that if it was still there, we would have to stop and rescue it. My husband and I were quite tired and I was kind of hoping that it had gone home by this time. However, it was still sitting there, exactly where I had seen it in the morning. And now it was bleating as well – I couldn’t hear it over the sound of the traffic, but I could see its tiny mouth open and close continuously as we inched closer to it. Reluctantly I pointed it out to my husband and asked him to pull up. Between us I don't know who has the bigger heart when it comes to animals. I thought I was bad till I met him! I actually prefer animals to humans and so it is natural for me to notice them as we travel each day.

We had to make a steep turn to the other side of the road to get close to the kid. As we brought our Scorpio to a halt, I could hear the piteous bleating and I got down without waiting for the vehicle to stop fully. The kid was wrapped up in some kind of cloth bandages which had gashes of red on them. I was feeling terrible to see the poor mite in such misery. I went up to the kid slowly so as not to startle it. Patidev also joined in and pretty soon we were surrounded by a crowd. We didn’t want the kid to move thinking it to be seriously injured – so we kept our distance and were discussing what to do when a boy pushed through the crowd and reached out and touched the kid. It bleated even louder then, but before we could react, the boy had pulled off the cloth from the goat. We saw with relief that it was snow white with a bit of black on its nose. The boy explained that he had seen the goat in the morning and thinking it would feel cold had wrapped it up in some spare cloth – which had been used to wipe red paint! I guess we are so used to expecting animals to be mistreated, that we had jumped to terrible conclusions immediately.

We discussed with the crowd about the origins of the kid amidst many jokes about tender mutton kababs and the like. No one seemed to know where it came from. On the back of the kid something was written in black, probably with a piece of coal. I was by now cradling the kid in my arms and I tried to read the word, but whichever way I turned, the script was unfamiliar to me. I would have loved to take this little beauty home; only our three dogs would have made all the tender mutton jokes come true. 

The only option was to take the animal to the International Animal Rescue Centre and then hope that the owners would come forward to track him. The crowd agreed with our decision and we headed back to our Scorpio. A car slowed down seeing the crowd and then stopped by us and asked us if the kid was ours. We explained what had happened and asked if they knew to whom it belonged. The driver said that he had seen a house with many goats in his colony but couldn’t remember which one it was exactly. He offered to call us the next day with the details as he was headed to the airport just then and could not delay. So the kid, named Pichku, by then by me, was all ours for the evening. 

I put him onto the back seat of the Scorpio and offered him some water in a bowl. Thanks to our dogs, we are well equipped to deal with minor animal crises. Pichku sniffed the bowl, turned away, thought better of it and came back for a drink of water. He must have been tired after being out the whole day. I was wondering whether he would eat some biscuits when the input-output process of all babies was completed – he peed on the seat! We had been a little worried about him till then; this simple natural reaction made us burst out into laughter and we were sure he was in good shape. Goats eat anything; Pichku proved this by eating the biscuits and then trying to eat the wrapper. I had to quickly grab it from his mouth and got a bleat of disgust in return.

We dropped him off at the IARC after convincing them that we would definitely come back the next morning for him. In our experience these things always sort themselves out and we were not too worried. There was, of course, always the option of tender mutton kababs!

Sure enough, the next morning, the car driver called us to say that he had found the owners and gave us their address and phone number. We decided to surprise them and land up unannounced. We went to IARC and picked up Pichku who had apparently slept through the night quite peacefully. Pichku again did us the great honour of peeing on the seat. We reached his house and as soon as we opened the car door, he jumped out bleating as loudly as he could. This was obviously a home he recognised. An elderly lady and a couple of children came out and thanked us for bringing him back. She said that the badmaash always strayed from the group, but usually came home by evening. 

While we were relaying stories about Pichku, suddenly one of the children piped up, “but can’t you read, his name is written on his back – Afzal!” Another mystery solved and another animal rescued. So life goes on...

13/Feb/2015

The Story of Mikhail James

Mikhail James was born in 1958 in Nedumangadu, Kerala. He has one of everything – one mother, one father, one elder brother, one elder sister, one younger brother, one younger sister, one wife (whom he has married twice) and the only exception, two sons. His life story made interesting hearing. Whom am I talking about? Oops! Sorry! Perhaps you know him differently – J MIKE – the LOUD guy – that’s who I am talking about. Now that we are on the same wavelength, read on.

As a child he was very sickly and was not expected to survive (if I don’t believe him, I will get thulped). So his aunt took him away to Trivandrum and there he was brought up as Michael. He did all the house work in his aunt’s house as well as studying. By the time he was in Class IX he was fed up of the routine. So when he heard that he was to be sent to Madras to be an apprentice in a shop, he was ecstatic. However, his aunt changed her mind and refused to let him go. Mike is not one to give up so easily. He decided to go home and convince his parents of the scheme. No bus fare – 50 paise was a lot of money those days. So he walked the 50 kms home. His family meanwhile had panicked and was in mourning by the time he reached, late at night. But it ended well with young Mike being sent to Madras.

There his mudalali (employer) was kind, but did not keep any of the promises regarding wages and things. Just as Mike was beginning to get a wee bit frustrated, the mudalali was admitted in the hospital and Mike had to take care of the shop. This he did, but not knowing how to replace goods that were being sold. By the time the mudalali was discharged, the once bustling shop had a barren look about it. And the mudalali was furious. He ordered Mike to lock up the shop and follow him home. A terrified Mike gave him the slip, came back to the shop and took the Rs.375 that was there in the shop till.

He spent the night at Egmore Station, not wanting to return home. Next morning, he wandered around in search of a job. Two young men, who must have watched him, approached him and started talking to him. They warned him of cheats and pickpockets in the bad city and offered to pack his money properly for him. Unsuspecting Mike handed over the moolah (money) and was given a neatly tied up bundle in return. They even offered to find him a job. Asking him to wait near the LIC building, they went in saying that they knew somebody there who would give him a job. After some time, a policeman came up to Mike and told him that he had watched the whole scene, and the two young men were known cheats and would not come back.

Mike had suspected as much by then. His stomach, empty since the previous day, had also been demanding some attention, and hence he went into a kaka hotel. He ordered himself a biriyani and was waiting for the meal when he realized that the neatly tied up bundle might not have any cash in it. Sure enough, it was just wads of paper. What could he do? He told the hotel owner that he would not be able to eat as he did not have any money and was about to leave when the hotel owner called him back and asked him to eat first and talk later. Thus Mike joined up the hotel as a cleaner.

He moved from hotel to hotel till, with callused feet and palms, he joined Hotel Dasaprakash. Life at last seemed to be settling down at the ripe age of 19. Mike obviously enjoyed this phase of life.

One day he was doing waiter service, when one particular vellaikaran (foreigner) was being particularly irritating. He ordered a wide variety of dishes and proceeded to eat them with great relish. But as he emptied the dishes, he would not allow Mike to clear the table. Slowly the dishes piled up. The head waiter called Mike and gave him one clout on the head. But what could Mike do? He silently cursed, till he saw that the cranky man had left a ten rupee tip. A lot of money twenty years ago. The next day they met in the lift and the third day in the room as Mike’s duties changed every day.

Then the vellaikaran offered Mike a job. Would he like to come and work in Bangalore? The man – Chris Stocks. The organization – yours truly. Chris said that he would send somebody to bring Mike and left. A month passed by and Mike was sure that he had been forgotten when Bhaskar arrived asking for Michael. The other two Michaels were produced before J Mike appeared. He was then whisked off to Bangalore the same day.

There he joined as an all-in-all – the first employee of ACTIONAID – India. The office moved from Hotel Airlines to Langford Road, where he was the king. One day he was having his bath, when there was a knock on the door. He wrapped a towel around him and went to the door to find a young girl standing outside. She had been asked to join that day and typically Chris had neither given her the office timings nor told Mike about her. Barking as usual, Mike asked her to wait while he finished his bath. When he asked her to come in, Sandra preferred to wait outside rather than be alone with this surly man. One of the first people whom Mike frightened in AA and certainly not the last.

Meanwhile he had made progress in his personal life. One of his friends offered him his sister in marriage. Mike had seen a little girl running around. And he assumed that it was her that his friend was referring to. Then one day, in their house, he saw a girl running inside with long, beautiful, black hair. Mike fell in love. And he promptly told his friend that he would not be able to keep his word. His friend laughed and called out the same girl – his sister. The wedding took place within a month. 

Being Mike he got married again – to the same girl. Something to do with religion. And what a girl! If you have not eaten food cooked by Krupa, you are really missing out on something in life. Soon the sons arrived – Christopher and Ashwin. The proud father showed me a photograph of both of them in the newspaper last week. They had represented their college in basketball and won. A long way from Nedumangadu. 

Mike has some interesting tales about AA. After all he has seen all of us join. From Narayan to Biraj. Talk to him next time you are in the CO for the real masala of AA.

He misses the old days of camaraderie in AA. Nostalgically he told me that in the old days everyone did everything. If it was child letter time and they were running behind schedule, even Chris would join in to ensure they were not delayed. While now everyone has their job description and sticks to it. The larger feeling for the organisation seems to have gotten lost in the race for personal gain. This sometimes saddens him and he wishes that this would change. Being a realist he also knows that it never will.

Mike – the only person who can make Juliana empty her lunch box and one of the most helpful people in AA. 

1996