Yoga and the politics of “Gourd”!!!!

I was appalled when I heard that one of India’s esteemed practitioners of Yoga had declared his plans of jumping into the fray of the 2013 general elections. His rise from being a “humble” yoga instructor to civil servants to an ideologue in India (The days the media airs his views on everything from price rise to H1N1 virus) has been phenomenal. In the initial years we had him speaking on the benefits of yoga but with time this man has started walking on the “road to sainthood”. Roads were built after him, a fully dedicated television channel showing him live throughout the day gave strong competition to the TRPs of other entertainment channels and the “Who’s Who” of India would queue up for an appointment with him. The greatest shock came to me when 16 Governors and 20 Chief Ministers were present at the inauguration of a “Yoga University” started by him.

Popularity charts rated him as the “icon in the making”. “Pranayam” and “kapal bhati” started the day of millions of Indians. His gatherings attracted rich and poor alike. Entry could be bought (proximity to the dias was decided by how many zeroes one could add) or could be sought (The last rows were always crowded with poor people). I still remember that my sometimes “not so nice” father bought tickets to one of these gatherings. Two grands poorer, he forced me to wake up at 4 am in the morning. After walking for almost 2 miles through roads where there were no traces of human civilization we reached the venue. It resembled ‘Noah’s Ark”- the whole human, primate, canine and feline population of the city semed to be present there. Following queues depending upon how much one had paid for the tickets one reached the huge field in which the instructors were supposed to teach yoga. It reminded me of visits to Lord Balaji at Tirupati. Rich or poor, you can have a glimpse of God, but the waiting period was inversely proportional to the amount of money you paid for the darshan. Holy smoke!

The convention started with the lead speaker talking about the benefits of health. This was followed by instructions in exercises, and a combined lecture on the benefits of these exercises, patriotism and MNC bashing. “The whole war around the world is all about marketing of western products”- these words were capable of rendering quite a few people jobless and making “globalization” dead meat. The harmful effects of coke and pepsi were enumerated (Baba, whatever you say , I haven’t been able to give up my addiction to the colas till now) and equated to a bathroom cleaner (some right-wing organization , I later learnt had proved that the lavatory could be cleaned sparkling clean using a cola. Wow! Harpic finally has a competitor.)

Some exercises were equally tough as the words of the Baba. Trying them out could mean either a fracture or tying yourself into a “Gordian knot”. I had a tough time convincing my over-excited father to desist from trying them out. Had Baba come to know that his appetizer last night were three pegs of scotch, the invitation would have immediately stood cancelled. Meanwhile Baba was asking his disciples not to eat anything except “Gourd- bootle,green, or snake”. Phew! Dad looked at me and said, “Oye puttar, wouldn’t roti lose its taste without aloo gobhi or baingan ka bharta?” I smiled at him and replied, “Who asked you to buy these passes for two grand when you knew that he is going to ask you to stop eating all this”. Dad made a face. He looks cute whenever he does that.
Suddenly, there was movement on the dias. The Governor had arrived. The burly old statesman entered folding his hands and straightaway made a dash into the feet of Baba. I was shocked. If not for he, the head of state should have not knelt in order to keep the honour of the state. Anyways, Baba blessed him. Then started the “I praise you, you praise me” session. Governor spoke on the revolution Baba had brought in the lives of Indians while Baba talked about the contribution of the Governor in the progress of the state. A few others were also praised for seconds- Mr. X, who had donated Rs. 5 Crores to Baba’s fund and Mr. Y, who hosted Baba. Yak yak and blah blah later, Baba continued with his recitals.

When the day’s programme ended, I breathed a sigh of relief. I would rather die at 50 holding a glass of scotch rather than be stretching my limbs at 75. As we walked out, what I saw was something that made me shocked in disbelief. A temporary bazaar had come up with all kinds of health food and supplements being sold- lemon grass, organic juice and of course, derivatives of the Gourd-juice, pulp, boiled – in every form possible. There were counters selling medicines, natural cosmetics (I wonder when bollywood divas would be modeling for Baba) and organic food. People scrambled to buy all these products. Maybe Baba’s words confused them. He never asked one to buy these things. He talked about a way of life to be followed. But then the “rich” of the city had one thing in shortage- logic. They bought everything possible. This reminded me of an old ad put up by an IAS coaching institute- “Please post your application form to UPSC and not to us”. Attending Baba’s camp assured quite a few people that they were beyond the clutches of morality. Baba was a superman. You could buy “time” by bribing the superman- directly or indirectly.

Needless to say, we never returned for the remaining days of the camp. Dad recited the benefits of Baba with a glass of scotch in his hands and kebabs by his side while I enumerated the benefits of the exercises watching Sharon Stone send Michael Douglas into frenzy. Mom was probably the only Baba loyalist who cursed us and snatched the passes saying, “I will religiously go tomorrow”. Let me clarify- next morning the whole household woke up at 7. It was probably afternoon for Baba by then.

Baba was constantly in news after that. One day he would be instructing Americans while cursing Uncle Sam (American were dumb! Baba proved it) and on the other day he would be making Japanese perpetually bow to him in Tokyo (Don’t these Orientals get bored of bowing). His Yoga University was going on in full swing while his aurvedic medicine factory was feeding the whole of the country. Baba featured on all kinds of merchandise. I somehow felt that very soon he would beat Ernesto Che Guevara as the most featured individual on merchandise. Maybe someday Baba would be tattooed on “strategic places”.
One politico who tried to challenge Baba’s might by dragging him into a controversy featuring some labour problems and mixing of caracass in his ayurvedic medicine factory found no support from any quarters. Even, the print and the electronic media which is expected to be the guardian of the interest of the democracy chose to show a “kissing controversy” between a small time starlet and a obscure singer rather than “analyse” the allegation. Baba’s brand equity was at a all time high.

Baba had struck the heart of every Indian. Combining emotion, fear and good old marketing, he managed to successfully project himself into the messiah of the common Indian who lived an indiscipline life. There were many others who tried to do this before but the lack of a marketing effort took all of them down with time. Baba had learnt from his peers. He was not going to repeat such a mistake. Patriotic songs, public service institutions with nominal charges for the populace and strategic use of technology helped Baba conquer the heart of millions. From baldness to infertility to jaundice and cancer- Baba was the doctor for all these ills. Every convention would feature patients who hd recovered. Teary-eyes, they would thank Baba for it. TVC, Asian Sky shop and others, please pick up a few cues from him.

The funniest part came with the market dynamics changing with regard to a few products. The “Gourd” family gained the most. At my hometown eating a bottle-gourd was considered to be a sign of poverty. But with Baba’s onslaught even the rich found gourds unaffordable. It became omnipresent. Juice, pulp, picked and sweetened gourd began to feature on the racks of up market shops. Oh my god! Non-vegetarians who were earlier ignored were now treated as outcastes. A gentleman once told me, “Watch Baba’s programme every morning. You will get over your addiction for non-vegetarian food”. I said, “Baba said something about celibacy too. I hope you are following it”. Baba had an opinion on everything. When H1N1 invaded India, Baba appeared on Television with some herb which was found in wilderness. Overnight, the herb became a bestseller. One company even launched an IPO for selling the herb and its derivatives.

Baba was lying low for a while practicing yoga when he suddenly reappeared. This time he talked of politics and his vision for the General elections of 2013. The whole statement was beyond my comparison. Baba you are great. The only difference between you and a certain “behenji” is that she made her statues after she entered politics, and you are entering politics with you being omnipresent in millions of hearts. I have no opinion on your decision on entering politics but at the same time I feel that over exposure might hurt your “brand equity”.

In years to come Baba will leave an empire which could put to shame the management policies of many of the India Inc corporations. I have no understanding of yoga or ayurveda. I live an indisciplined life. But I have certain understanding of business and brand-building. Baba, you give marketing and PR professionals a new field to study. You give management gurus a new turf to understand, but at the same time confuse even the politicians.

Whether Yoga and politics can co-exist and whether the “politics of gourd” will survive or perish; only time will tell. But there is a part of me which will always say that you will be more successful in assuring people of hair growth at right place than economic growth at wrong places.

P.S. The views aired are personal opinion of the author and are not meant to hurt the emotions of any person living or dead.

Sikkim Sonata

I started writing my travelogues after Dr. Watson, an established Physician and my esteemed friend and companion said that my anecdotes while on travel made interesting effects on the hearing faculty of people and could make interesting reads too. So, here I start with Sikkim Sonata-my first in the series.

Train journeys always have a topic of discussion-mostly co-passengers! My journey from Guwahati to New Jalpaiguri aboard the New Delhi bound Rajdhani Express had been uneventful. A pan chewing gentleman sat next to me who kept on screaming into his mobile phone and tried feeding me tit-bits which I just dismissed with the shake of my chin. As the train entered New Jalpaiguri my temper had risen to indecent levels. The gentleman (who I came to know as a wholesaler of spices during his conversation with me and on the phone) had bugged me with boring words and the bay where I had my berth was going to be filled with passengers boarding there. The waiter had served me a great meal thereby saving the spice-man from the upcoming harm and as I just smeared my parathas with some butter when one camouflaged “fauji” came inside and put a heavy bag next to my feet barely missing my toes. He was followed by three women in decreasing order of all statistics (except height which was inverse)- I later named them “naani”, “mummy’ and “bebo” (Not “babe” or “baby” because I had saved these for somebody more close to me). They were almost Russian Dolls saved only by the fact that “naani” had shrunk a bit!! Anyways, as they entered they grumbled (Is grumbling directly proportional with the age of female hormones?) over everything. My first look on them was returned with a volley of questions but I put up my serious face (the one in which I smoke a cigar and think away to glory) and concentrated on dissecting the pieces of chicken and rice given to me by virtue of my being a traveler in the train. The Ladies were followed by three more “faujis” who dumped more and more luggage into the bay (How do I tell them that it wasn’t the Bay of Bengal) and left. Then came two gentlemen with the ticket and checked the berths and then withdrew. They left the whole area and me to the mercy of these three dominatrices.

“Mummy” was in her early 40s and spoke with authority. She grumbled that people in India did not have any civic sense and class. Trains did not offer “value for money” and hooligans had captured the area under her seat. Suddenly a small man appeared out of nowhere and dragged three suitcases from under “mummy’s” seat and disappeared. “Mummy” had made her presence felt. After settling down- implying that every piece of luggage had been shoved somewhere or else (thankfully, not mine) and we were on an island surrounded by luggage on all sides. The ladies sat on one side and the gentlemen on the other side with me- they gave me some courage and hope that if these two can survive the onslaught for such a long time, I can definitely survive it for 20 odd hours. Lunch arrived and a game of “passing the parcel” started- this game was mandatorily to be played at mealtimes it seemed as if “Naani” was the winner in this game because she managed to pass the most of her food to her grandchildren “Bebo” and “Tarmohican”(Please be patient- I shall explain the meaning of “tarmohican”) and her son-in-law. “Naani” was the tormented matriarch of the family. On one side “mummy” ordered her and from the other “bebo” used her tongue. Few years back she must have been the real matriarch but then age displaces one’s position. Politics, I had learnt during my evolution was more of everything than political science. In the present case, it was physics-displacement to be precise.

Now on to “Bebo”. 20ish (20 to be exact-I used my investigation skills and checked the reservation chart to ‘calculate’ her age). She was blessed with age and sponsored by ‘Revlon’- a cosmetic giant of the 21st Century. Her face was hidden behind a layer of eye liner, eye shadow, mascara, blush, rogue, lipstick, cream and powder to mention the least. I must tell you that Sherlock had malafide intentions of licking her face but he showed restraint because he knew that she was a “honeytrap” and could kill him with a potent weapon called “cosmetic poisoning”. But I have a question to ask my ladylove- Baby, could you sleep with your make-up off. I am sure you don’t want me to die of “Cosmetic Poisoning”. Isn’t it? “ Tarmohican was “Bebo’s” younger brother- ok guys his name was Bharat (Oh! What a great name. The name reminded me of an actor of yesteryears who was known more by his screen name of “Bharat” and his ability to constantly hide his face away from the gaze of fans to tax inspectors). I named him so because he seemed a hybrid resultt of a failed attempt to cross Tarzan with “a Mohican”. His hair was like a Mohican (I hear that a Brazilian footballer by the name of Ronaldo has popularized such a hair dressing fashion) and he never was on the ground. I can’t call him Spiderman because he leapt too much in between the seats and air. I haven’t yet seen a man who has his lunch on the train with his feet on one of the berths and hanging in mid-air. Inspired by his daredevilry I took the liberty of naming him “Tarmohican”. But he was the most read among the whole lot. He had a “Diltonish” look (Now you are a jerk if you haven’t read Archie comics and let me tell you that I am going to quote a lot of references from them) and had a bundle of Xeroxed material with him (Exams in the neighborhood Dilton?). I later came to know that he was a student at Sikkim Manipal University at Dubai. Globalisation and computerization are two things which are beyond the analysis of Holmes. Thanks to them even Sikkim could be shifted to Dubai. Ms. Hope, you gave Bob a lot of hope but instead of China, Sikkim landed in Dubai!! The other cute thing about him was that he called “bebo” Sis!!!!!

The whole family wanted “naani”to go to the loo (cmon guys don’t force her) and tried all tricks under the train ceiling to make “naani” go to the loo. But “naani” wouldn’t budge. Even when “bebo” offered to take her “naani” declined. Wish “bebo” had asked me!! Finally the man of the house (let’s call him Papa) put his foot down (he had one foot in his mouth so he put the other down) and decided to lay everyone in bed. “Naani” was put opposite me where she would snore away to glory for the next three hours. “Mummy” took the middle berth above “snoring naani” and “tarmohican’ above his mother. Papa went out for a walk. I was the happiest. “Bebo” was to be on top of me(Let me revel in this metaphorical bliss). The only thing separating me and her was the thick bunk which if considered inconsequential could be made to disappear. I pulled my blanket and drifted off to sleep to be woken later by “snores of naani”. I would have killed her but she finally said what everybody had been waiting to hear- “I wanna go to the loo”. Yahoo!!! Euphoria arrived. Faces lit up. “Tarmohican” took her out on this walk to perdition while I smiled to myself. Finally was happening what everybody had been waiting for so long to happen. Should I have ordered Champagne?? Probably Yes!!!
“Naani goes to the loo” could have been given a cinematical form but I decided to leave this job to the Steven Spielbergs of the modern era. After all, I am a sleuth not an entertainer. I was more amused at the relieved look which was evident on five faces- four of them were relieved that “naani” went to the loo and “naani’s” because the rest of them spared her the ordeal of listening to them time and again. I, the silent spectator in the whole scene was the happiest. My head was spinning because of the constant pickering and I got some relief- rather most of it.

Tarmohican was lost in the papers he had brought. He would raise his head once in a while, crack a joke and then go back to his papers. Suspiciously, I peeked into the papers that he had brought along. On dog-eared xeroxed pages were scribbled lines of complex equations. Was Tarmohican, Albert Einstein in disguise?Oh my God! If this was true, I was with a Nobel laureate. “Shut up Sherlock, don’t act like a madman”, my mind said to me. Dejected, I waited for the waiter to bring me my evening cup of tea.

As the “high tea” arrived. The game of passing the parcel started again. This time the ex-fauji Son-in law (ex-fauji not ex-son-in-law) was the winner. “Mummy” collected all the winnings from her husband and quickly produced a bag into all the stuff went. Tea Bags, Sachets of coffee, sugar, skimmed milk powder and chocolates made their way into the planned place. The bag proudly portrayed its age-old capacity to gobble up all these stuff. It made me think of as to why we did such things. We never used tea bags at home. Sugar cubes were never a part of our daily cuppa and skimmed milk powder could never beat the freshness of the milk delivered by the milkman. But then why? Quick came the answer, “a penny saved is a penny earned”. All these small savings will one day add upto a treasure. Maybe when Bebo would get married, Mummy would proudly say, “The Groom’s family was served tea with the tea bags collected by me over a decade. What a savior and conservator I am” Ha ha. I now wanted to donate the stuff in my tray too. Bebo’s sweet face made me the “best Samaritan” around. But then mummy was the epitome of self-respect. She would ‘steal’ only stuff given out on her fare. Collecting from fellow-passengers was beyond her dignity. Phew! I sipped from the tetrapack of juice that came in the tray and I kept on sipping on it till the liquid in it disappeared and gave way to air inside. I made an irritating noise and attracted attention. Bebo looked at me with contempt. Eeeeks! I stopped and put away the blown up pack. Faking an element of embarrassment on my face, I smiled at all around. They all stared at me. Ohhhhhhhhh, what pleasure I derived being a creep!!

The next hour I pretended to read of “Animal Farm” by George Orwell. Every 2 minutes I would flip the pages, but in reality, all I did was listening to their conversation and casually glace at Bebo’s face. I know, you would be surprised but this was what I was doing. “Mrs. Tiwari is such a creep. She served Rasna to us yesterday. It was so cheap. It was just out of courtesy that I gulped it down” Mummy complained. “I did not even touch it” Naani commented. “Arrey you should have tasted the kebabs in the Khanna party. They were as hard as stones” Said Bebo jumping into the bitching session. What a letdown. Bebo jumping into the session meant such heartbreak for me. I had to jump and grab the pieces before they fell on the floor with a crashing sound. Now don’t assume that I was sad because Bebo had jumped into it. I was sad because I was not a part of it. I know, the eternally gossipy Holmes that Ms. Adler would never approve of.

I was looking for a topic to open my mouth and say something eternally intelligent when that blasted waiter came into the bay and said in his rustic accent, “Sir Soup”. “Yes, I know, you idiot. It indeed is soup. You put me into a soup. Now all I need to do is jump into and save me from drowning in it. Isn’t that what you want”, my eyes said to him as I picked up a cup of brown-red liquid that smelt of pepper and what Indian Railways called, “Tomato Soup”. Going by their analogy, “crow curry” could be passed of as “chicken curry”. Beware Holmes, beware. “Honeytraps” on all sides set by adversaries. On one hand I looked at Bebo and her folks with utmost affection and on the other hand my “survival instincts” pushed me away from all such “material” things. Anyways, I let myself out of it.
“Tarmohican” was still busy with his papers. He was the most likeable in the whole family. The most amusing part was his hanging from anything possible in the train. With his notes clutched in one hand, he would use the other hand to show his primate background. He was the second man who reminded me that we had descended from monkeys. The first one was a colleague who used to have more than a dozen bananas for breakfast. When I pointed out his quality to him, the fellow instead of thanking me, chased me with a pocket knife. How ungrateful people are, I had a first-hand lesson that day. Anyways, coming back to the present, Tarmohican’s antiques made me move my head the way he moved. Bebo noticed this and said, “Isn’t he cute?” Bingo! The first words from her divine presence around me. I smiled and said, “Indeed”. Oh angel! At your words I can even find porcupines cute.

Dinner arrived. The game of “passing the parcel” started. This time I was the loser. Naani passed her share of chicken curry and parathas to me saying, “Puttar, you are young. You can help me finish this tray”. Naani was probably an agent of the adversary. I politely accepted the casseroles but did not touch them as I did not want my gastrointestinal faculties to fail me in near future. “Tarmohican” hung himself while eating (hung himself as in not hanging by the noose, but hanging on anything he could find on the train). He will one day become a replica to the “hanging gardens of Babylon” and will be the first “hanging” software professional. Bebo nibbled on the pieces of salad while mummy and daddy quietly finished the whole course.

Now it was time to hit the bunk. I was dreading the snores of naani and eagerly waiting for bebo to “get on top” of me (not literally). Anyways, everybody went to their bunks and the lights were switched off. I slept my way to lalaland. Suddenly, there was a huge jerk. Everything moved and suddenly came to a halt. I clutched at something that I could find. The pull resulted in a scream that woke up everybody. “Since when did curtains started screaming”, I thought. Hell no! it was not a curtain. It was Bebo’s hair. Again a goof up! Oh God! Save me. Chanting a few hyms, I turned around and went to sleep. Damage was assessed after putting on the light. Different theories were propounded- from me being the culprit (that was Tarmohican’s theory- what a sleuth that kid was!) to Naani’s theory of the hair being caught somewhere (Naani you are so cute!). I sleepily turned around and stared at all of them and then pulled the blanket over me. I made them feel that my waking up was “collateral damage” that needs to be adequately compensated by switching of the light. Mummy instructed Bebo to tie her hair and the matter ended there. Lights were switched off and the night ended. Such peace!!!

I was asleep when the waiter served tea. This time there was no “passing the parcel”. What was there to pass to anybody? You wouldn’t have anything to share except 2 glucose biscuits and even mummy’s “collection bag” did not have the capacity to gobble up the excess water. What a waste? I left the bay and went to the restroom to get ready for the day.

The train bamboozled its way into the railway station at the stipulated time. I looked through the window to find my dear friend Dr. Watson waiting for me at the railways station. Porters hurried into the compartment and fought among themselves before soliciting passengers. I picked up my piece of luggage and moved towards the exit. Suddenly I stopped, turned towards the family and said, “Sorry Ma’m, it was me who mistook your silky tresses for the curtain. I apologise for the mistake”. Everybody looked at me in horror. “Tarmohican” was smiling though. After a few moments, Bebo killed the silence by saying, “It’s ok. I was not hurt”. I walked off scot-free and smiling.

Dr. Watson evaluated my smile and remarked, “Seems like you just returned from heaven after seeing St. Peter”. I smiled and said, “Sikkim Sonata” was indeed heaven.

P.S. All the characters depicted here are figments of imagination and any resemblance to any person living or dead is totally coincidental.

Fasten your seat belts please!!

Flying has always made me nervous. The drive to the airport, the whizzing past of airplanes, the hustle-bustle at the airports, the intimidating crowds, the bus on the tarmac, the steps into the aircraft, the plastic smiles on the faces of the stewards and air-hostesses, the roar of the jet-engine, the sudden leap into thin air and the turbulence- a wholesome package that had become a part of my life. But, it made me nervous. As a child I always dreamt of flying in an aircraft but once I grew up and airline journeys became a part of my life, I found it lesser than less appealing. Hopping from city to city became a part of life. One fine day I would be on my desk getting ready for a hearing in one of the courts when somebody would shout, “Vinayak, you got a hearing at Mumbai high court tomorrow. So, pack your bags”. These lines would always be followed by a call to the company travel agent, “Khanna Sahab, one to Bombay. Tommorow early morning. Return next day evening”. Life was a roller-coaster. Time was flying.

But in spite of this busy schedule, there was one thing which I never missed. A fortnightly visit to Chennai to see my mother. The visit would always be on the second and fourth weekends of a month. It had become a time table. I left the office at half past five on Fridays, took a taxi to the airport and catch the half past seven Jet Airways flight to Chennai. The flight landed at half past 9 and by 10 o’clock I would be home to spend time with my folks. A few faces had become familiar in the course of time and we nodded to each other. The scene was somewhat similar today. I left office, got into the cab of a Sikh cabbie who played numbers sung by some obscure fellow who claimed to sing in Punjabi and finished the torturous journey in about 50 minutes. Entering the airport, as I handed over my ticket and my identification papers to the girl on the desk, she looked up to me and said, “Sir, there has been a minor goof-up with the issue of tickets. We are overbooked. So, we are moving you to the Paramount Airways flight departing at 7:55 P.M. It’s a first class ticket. Please collect your boarding card from the Paramount desk. Sorry for the inconvenience, Sir”. Before I could react, the next passenger nudged past me and I started looking for the Paramount Airways Desk. I had no reasons to complain. I was departing at more or less the same time, was flying first class and above all would be reaching in time to grab rice and sambar made by Ma. Life was on a roller-coaster.

Paramount promptly issued me the boarding card and directed me for the security check. The stern looking Security Official frisked me all around before letting me past him. I waited for the sign on the display board and soon an announcement made me get up from the seat. “All guests flying by Paramount Airways flight number PA 523 to Chennai are requested to proceed to gate number 7 to board”. Again, I was on the bus on the tarmac. These drivers seemed to me to be the most disciplined drivers on earth. I wonder how they would survive when they have to drive on the roads of Delhi. A cool breeze blew on the tarmac as I got down from the bus. This was the best part of every journey. I always tried to delay my embarking the aircraft as much as possible. It was bliss to stand on the tarmac. It felt light as the cool breeze blew past your face. Suddenly I felt a hand on my shoulder. A strong hand has disturbed my “solo titanic” pose. “Sir, please board the aircraft”, said a ground staff from the airline. His looks said, “Get on the flight, you upstart. You haven’t paid to shoot for Titanic here”. I walked up the stairs.

An air-hostess with a plastic smile greeted me inside the aircraft. “Good Evening Sir”. I emulated her with a equally plastic grin. I always wondered if these petite women suffered from face ache after putting up such smiles to 300 people throughout the day. A recent article had pointed out the stressful lives of these women, but for most of us on the ground, they were “angels in air”. Anyhow, I made my way into the first-class enclosure. The seats looked tempting. They were huge leather sofas. God!! I was flying royally today. Suddenly, I felt the presence of somebody behind me. Turning around, I saw a face smiling at me. “Could I take your coat please” said the face of an angel. Dressed in a trademark Paramount blue outfit, she brought the word “beauty” to a standstill. I would have stared more but the angel inside me poked me and said, “Come on Vinayak, atleast justify the divine name you have been bestowed with”. She sensed my embarrassment but did not let it show. I handed over my coat and she walked towards the coat compartment to find a place to store my jacket. I felt like a stupid schoolboy who just messed up his first glance at a girl. Oops, what a screw-up. Never mind, “why am I conscious”, I reminded myself as I settled into the comfortable seat.

The tense moments came as the plane taxied to the runway. The most difficult moments during the whole flight for me. The pilot was courteous enough to distract us by talking about weather, the duration of the flight, the names of the cabin crew and what a wonderful city Chennai was. But none helped me out. I was sweating. The jets came alive, the speed increased and kept on increasing, sounds were buzzing into my ears to the point that they might burst anytime. And then there was calm as the tyres were retracted and the plane leaped into air. The aircraft gained altitude and soon we were into the stratosphere. As the plane steadied, the Captain muttered a few more instructions. It was time for a nap. It was time for Shri Vinayak Iyer, Advocate and Solicitor to catch up on that beautiful nap that he was looking forward to the whole day. With the seat being so comfortable, there was no way I was going to miss it. If I was lucky, it was because “luck favours the brave”.

“Excuse me, Sir…..would you like to have your dinner now. We would be landing in 30 minutes from now”- the same silky voice woke me up. Her voice showed apprehension and my face showed irritation. “Some Orange juice please”, I instructed. “Nothing to eat”, I dismissed her. A few moments later, a glass of canned orange juice made its way into the foldable table in front of my seat. This time her face showed some irritation. Sleepily, I picked up the glass, drained it into my mouth and called for a refill. The refill arrived with equal irritation hidden behind a plastic smile. Now I sipped in consciousness. What a marked difference! “Theory of diminishing marginal utility” blah!!

Finishing the glass, I needed to use the restroom. I did not want to reach home tired or sleepy. Ma had his normal habit of cursing my lifestyle every time I arrived in a messed up state. She liked things orderly. As I walked up to the restroom, I found both the lavatories locked. “They are locked from inside. The red sign indicates they are occupied”, a voice said. I turned around to see the same “angel” beside me. Her voice had a major element of sarcasm in it and was covered with a “plastic smile”. I burst out laughing. She was a pathetic actor. I was looking right through her and she didn’t even realize it. Her expression now turned into one of “shock, awe and surprise”. But then she was paid to smile. Soon the “plastic smile” came back. I was barely able to control my laughter but in order to portray myself as a gentleman I decided to stop. The lavatories were still occupied.

“Don’t you guys get bored of flying” I asked her trying to be polite. “Well we do, but then we get paid for that and plus the thrill of visiting newplaces” she quipped back. “I have been travelling for the past 15 days and I already feel like a zombie”, I lied (The lawyer in me was a pathological liar, you know). A conversation started. I tried looking at her name-tag. She caught me gazing at the “wrong” place and said, “The name’s Akshara”. I hid myself and said, “Vinayak”. These were one of those moments when you feel that a tyrannosaurus rex should have eaten you up. But the dinosaur had become extinct. I had no assistance to cover my embarrassment.

Suddenly the door opened and an old man came out. Uncle should have taken some more time inside but then luck’s never on your side when you are talking to the “fairer sex”. I wanted to talk more, know more. The investigator inside me had woken up from a slumber. This was not my day. I was forced to go inside the lavatory to cover up my “confusedly genuine” intentions. When I came out she was checking the inventory. Although an air-hostess, her job profile was no better than a waitress. I did not know what to speak; I just blabbered out, “Can I have your number. Maybe we can speak sometime?”. A stern look grew on her face, “Sir, please return to your seat. If you prolong this conversation, I would have to call out for security”. I retraced my steps. Gosh!! I can’t let it happen. “Corporate Lawyer caught molesting air-hostess mid-air” could be the headlines the next day if I did not become Carl Lewis now.

The next 20 minutes till the flight landed were spent in acute embarrassment. Never in my life had I been rebuked like this. Well, I had never tried wooing an air-hostess mid-air too. As the flight landed and the doors were opened, she came to handover my coat. ”Have a pleasant stay in Chennai Sir” was all she said before she went off. I met her at the door again. Before I disembarked I gathered some courage and said, “Ma’m, I didn’t mean to sound rude or desperate. It’s just that the combination of orange juice and you make a speedball. Ciao”. She smiled and mumbled something which I did not hear. I was back to the tarmac, my favourite place. I did a “solo titanic” and boarded the bus. I wanted to be one of the first to be out of it.

The worst place in the airport is to wait for the luggage on the conveyor belt. It takes eternity before one’s luggage arrives. The threat of it being stolen or damaged looms over your head till you get it safe and sound in your hands. After a wait of a few minutes my bag arrived. Loading it into a trolley, I started for the exit when I heard an announcement , “Will Mr. Vinayak Iyer who has arrived by Paramount Airways flight no….report at the assistance desk”. “Now what? Oh my God! I am dead! She must have filed a complaint against me. I am gone.” I wanted to run away but that might only complicate things. I tried to remember every section in the Indian Penal code with respect to “outraging the modesty of a woman” and approached the assistance desk. When you pick a peppermint in a grocery shop by mistake and you are caught for it, a lawyer mind will always think about the harshest punishment.

“I am Vinayak Iyer. I was told to report here”. A man looked at me and smiled, “Happy Birthday Sir, Paramount Airways is happy to offer you a drop facility to your local address”. He also gave me a bag which undoubtedly was a gift hamper. “But it’s not my birthday”, I quipped in. The man looked around and said, “But our cabin crew gave the message that it’s your birthday. You are Vinayak Iyer na?” “Well, I am Vinayak Iyer, but it is not my birthday”. Now the man was confused. After looking at a few papers here and there, he said in chaste Tamil which when translated goes, “Champ, come on. Take the facility and go home. Make my job easy. I too have to go home. Don’t make my paperwork more difficult”. I tried to argue with him. Reasoning would not work. Then a voice behind me said, “Sir, please avail the facility. If you prolong this conversation, I would have to call out for security”. Turning around, I saw her smiling at me. Big time fixer she was.

“So it was you”, I asked her as I collected my stuff and we walked out together. “Indeed, Ihad to stop you some way or the other. Either you would have argued till I came here, which you did or you would have coolly taken the bag and walked off. In that case you would have left your number”. I smiled feeling like a fool. Women were smarter. “Now give me your number, I will call you sometime from a public phone. I won’t give out my number as of now. I hope that is okay with you”. I remained quiet and fished out my card. It had been a hard day for me. I was in no mood for arguments. She read it and looked at me “Advocate and Solicitor, whom do you solicit”. I just smiled. Before the smile ended, she waved her hand, smiled at me and dashed forward. A group of her peers were waiting for her. They got inside a cab and sped off. All I could see was a scarf that came out of the window and fluttered in the air for a while. I didn’t know whose it was or for whom it was. I found my cab and went home. Mom’s love mixed with sambar and rice went inside me and I hit the sack. Akshara was on my mind, but I wanted her to get off my mind. I managed to do the latter.

“Vinayak Sir, a call for you. Some prospective client” said Meghna, the receptionist on the intercom. “Please connect” I said and waited for the voice. We always like the “sound of prospective clients”. Money sounds good! “This is Vinayak Iyer, Associate Partner, how can I help you, Ma’m”, I said into the phone as I heard a female voice say “Hello”. “Mr. Iyer, I just misbehaved with an air-hostess mid air. I was interested in engaging your services to defend me”, the voice said. I was about to say, “Ma’m, we are a firm of corporate lawyers. We do not take up criminal cases” when I realized whose the voice was. Mind games! “Well now that you have misbehaved with her, you have no choices. You will go to jail, Akshara”. This was followed by laughter on both sides. After the laughter died she said, “How busy are you right now? Can we meet for lunch?” “I would have jumped and said yes but I am to brief a senior Advocate over lunch. Would an early dinner suit you?”, I replied. “Yes, but it has to be an early one. I have to end my day by 9 at night. I got to be at the airport at 4 in the morning tomorrow. Make it 6 pm at Geoffrey’s, Ansal Plaza”. “Done”, I said and then the phone clicked. I spent the whole day in a frenzy. Shri Manmohan Khurana, the Senior Advocate who I was to brief cancelled his appointment. I would have killed the old timer but for his legal skills without which our firm would go nowhere.

I left office at 4 p.m. I wouldn’t have met her in my black and white attire (too predictable and too recognizable). A quick change at home into a pair of levi’s and a white khadi shirt was followed by a quick decision between my Maruti Wagon R and my Enfield Machismo. I stuck to my bike and rode along to Andrews Ganj humming an old hindi chartbuster. I was there just before 6 p.m. I looked for her inside Geoffrey’s. I couldn’t find her. Then a hand went up and waved at me. My God!! She was unrecognizable without the make-up she put on during her work. She was pretty. The skirt and blazer had been replaced by a FabIndia Kurta and a pair of jeans. As I made myself comfortable into the plush chair, I could see her blushing. Well, I was blushing too. A new twist to my life’s tale.

“So, Vinayak Iyer, you wanted my number so that we could talk. So, here am I, in front of you, Shoot!” she said commandingly. Like an established lawyer, I started my opening arguments, “I am really honoured that you came all the way to see me. The call came as a pleasant surprise. I was in a fix as to how to react”. She spoke likea Defense Counsel when she said, “I did not come all the way to see you. I was in Delhi and I did not have anything to do. So, I fished out your card and called up”. How rude!! Truly, women are from Venus. We Martians cook so many stories to make them happy and look at the response from the Venetians. Always a letdown. Hiding my disappointment I suggested drinks. I was planning to avoid alcohol in case she was a teetotaler but her order of a “screwdriver” made me ask for my favourite “scotch on the rocks”. Three repeats later we had opened up quite a bit. We talked of backgrounds, of families, of education, of common interests and of course- our professions. She had a degree in Economics and was serving “geeks and goons” while I with my degree in History was also serving “geeks and goons”. We shared a common liking for the works of Hemmingway and Toni Morrison, poems of Neruda and Frost and could watch “Casablanca’ numerous times. Food was a plate of “Chicken Shaslik” for me and a “Paneer Shaslik” for her. She amused me over the fight with the chef for extra nuts and raisins in her “hot chocolate fudge”. The evening ended early for me and late for her. At half past ten, I dropped her off at her hotel. Expectations of a tight hug on the bike ride were never fulfilled as her hands were constantly on my shoulder and never moved in spite of constant breaking or accelerating. As I left, she waved with a smile. I was on cloud nine. Again in mid-air.

A few days later Akshara called again. A short call of pleasantaries. I enquired of her well-being and the call ended. Calls were followed by SMSes and futher calls and SMSes. The next time we met in Bombay. She shook all my bones by making me travel in a local train where the locals abused me in Marathi for not giving them way and then making me run at chowpati. We walked on Marine Drive where she talked nineteen to a dozen while I just nodded in appreciation. I hoped for rains like in movies but Rain God did not like me. Drizzles never happened. What a letdown. Almighty, why are you always so cruel to me? The day ended fast as always. She dropped me at the airport where I was taking a flight to Delhi. She smiled when she saw my ticket. I was flying Paramount Airways. “I am your master”, I teased her as I disappeared behind the security check.

Calls became frequent. My telephone bills went up manifold. The beep of SMS never stopped. My fingers ached from SMSing her. A delayed SMS would make her go crazy. I liked her possessiveness. Now I always travelled to Chennai fortnightly on board Paramount. Akshara would try and be on that flight.There was nothing said or done but we were behaving like a couple. Was I in love? I didn’t know. All I could say was, “I am stuck..stuck…at the sight of you..at the thought of you”.

I was in a state of slumber when the doorbell rang. I thought I was dreaming. It rang again. I dismissed it as a dream. It rang again. What a shrill sound. I went and opened it. My first sight were two huge bags followed by Akshara in her uniform. “I am on leave for two weeks. Can I stay with you? I hope you have a spare room for a guest”. I smiled, picked up the suitcases and let her in. One look at my house and she started yelling,”Except for the kitchen everything is in a mess. Lots of work to be done here. But before that I need to sleep”. I put her suitcases into the spare room, changed the sheets and tidied it up a bit. She opened the windows and let in some fresh morning air. Then she pushed me out of the room and bolted the door. I returned to my room and fell on my bed. Before I slept I looked at the watch. It was 3 am.

“Excuse me, Sir…..would you like to have your breakfast now. We would be landing in 30 minutes from now”- the same silky voice woke me up. I smiled and woke up. I made my way to the breakfast table where Paranthas stuffed with vegetables waited for me. “I couldn’t find many things for a spread, so make do with the paranthas now. I have kept a list of things I need. We would go out shopping once you come back”, her commanding voice intimidated me. As I got ready to leave I saw the list which was 3 pages long! Why do women have to shop so much. Do their hormones contain some secretion that makes them compulsive shoppers? I gave up thinking and picked up my briefcase to go. “Vinayak, Can you lend me your car. I need to finish a few things” she said making a coy face. I tossed the car keys, picked up the helmet and transferred the contents of my briefcase into a back pack and walked off to the parking lot.

In the evening she took me shopping. 4 hours of looking for things in the biggest up market mall in Delhi made me so tired that I lost my patience. But she hardly lost her zeal. After we came back home, she made me a light dinner. We watched “Casablanca” together. When the movie ended we chatted for a while on the balcony. Exactly at midnight she excused herself and went off to sleep locking her door. Was she Cindrella? “And what were you expecting dirty mind”. I smiled to myself and went to sleep.

The coming days were a state of bliss. We were living-in like a couple sans some things. Neighbours looked at us with smiles on their faces. Breakfast was always ready. She dropped me at the office every day. Meghna (the receptionist) announced that I had got married. Questioning gazes from acquaintances whom we met at different places were always dismissed with smiles. We walked, rode and drove around Delhi. She took me to watch plays while I took her boating in the Yamuna. We watched movies at Shakuntalam (my favourite theatre during my college days), ate at old places which had gone out of our social calendar by virtue of our student days expiring and walked around Lutyen’s Delhi. But one thing became a constant. Watching “Casablanca” after we came back home. She always went crazy at Bogart’s voice and laughed when I tried to copy him. She had this queer habit of poking me whenever she got a chance. And laugh aloud after she did that. A kid probably lived in her. I was falling in love with her without even caring what emotions she had for me. Truly, love was deaf, dumb and blind.

It would be frivolous not to accept the inevitable. It was bound to happen. I was shocked that there was an animal inside me but she cut me to size by saying, “the animal inside you is a pet”. Soon Vinayak Iyer and Akshara Deshmukh were man and wife in the true sense of the term sans the social sanction and the legal formalities. Two weeks just flew by. “Good times never last long”- proved to be an axiom.

As she got ready to leave I said to her, “Can you shift base to Delhi. We could stay together” She didn’t reply but picked up her travel bag. As I tried to move the huge suitcases she said, “Now that I have slept with you, are you throwing me out”. I dropped them and took her in my arms. After a few minutes she retorted “Mr. Iyer, your actions are spoiling my make-up. Plus, you ate up all the lip stick. It’s a Estee Lauder in case you don’t know.” “Screw you Askhara, I don’t care”, I said as I kissed her again. She drove to the airport with me by her side. I must say she drives like a Grand Prix driver which scares the hell out of me.

As we reached the airport and I unloaded her travel bag, the sadness on my face was explicitly visible. She made no conversations but kept on smiling at me. Then she started walking towards the departure terminal. I was irritated. Women would speak a lot in normal course, but never spoke when you wanted them to. Then suddenly she turned back and shouted at me, " I would be coming back the day after tomorrow. Make sure you don't mess up the house and wait for a late dinner". Then she blew a kiss at me and walked off. A smile came to my face as I opened the door to get inside the car.

The drive was fun. I was already counting backwards. The car smelt of her, the gear shift had her touch on it. As I eased my car into the highway, my cellphone beeped. A message from Akshara. My eyes lit up. It read, "I would be leaving my apartment next week. You want to share the rent or do I become your mistress?" She was such a fixer. I laughed and typed back after stopping the car (you sometimes want to follow the rules), "I can afford the rent but I can't afford a mistress. Look for a 'paramount alternative'. come back soon."

Life was on a roller coaster again.

P.S. All the characters mentioned are figments of imagination and resemblance to any person living or dead is purely coincidental.

Dedicated to Sherlock Holmes and Irene Adler whose immortal love story remains incomplete.