ANNIVERSARIES

“Happy Anniversary”.

It was my daughter on the phone wishing me for an anniversary which had gone into recess of memories. She gently reminded me- it was the day I met Padma and got engaged.  It made me feel young for a moment and could understand how Raj Kapoor created the first ever dream sequence in movie lore in his move Aawara in early 1950s.

Indian arranged marriages have as much romance and thrill as much as a quest for a new employment contract.  I had secured a job in a nationalized bank as a clerk (secured job , though I was then on probation) after around eight months of effort at written test, interview etc. For some reason, my father (mother had taken an early train to a final destination a year earlier) decided that reaching the legal age of maturity is adequate for “entering into a state of matrimony”.  My official stand is that I continued to obey my father’s diktats and this was one more instance. Looking back, I would say that ignorance is a great strength to do very foolish or very brave acts. Marriage has a share of both- especially when ventured at young age.

Padma started her life in a beautiful settlement on the banks of Cauveri river. It is not a perennial river as there is dam upstream. During major portion of the year, it has a good flow and is beautiful to watch. The river serves as a meeting place for the inhabitants, for ablution, religious activities, water supply and renewal of gossip. A busy road separates the settlement from the river. The Agraharam has a temple at the beginning and end with row houses facing each other.  Everybody knew each other and their history. The day began at 5.00 a.m with temple bells ringing. All of employed individuals went by the same “office train” and returned by the same train in the evening.  Dinner by 8 or 8.30 p.m. and lights out  by 9.30. p.m.  Every festival was known to all and celebrated with gusto and simplicity.  Radio Transistor was a modern communication medium and television was uncommon.  In short, it was possible to identify beauty and joy in day to day life.

One version of my first meeting with Padma that I dish out is that I saw her for the first time coming out of the Cauveri River clutching a pot , looking somewhat like Zeenat Aman in Satyam Shivam Sundaram or like Dimple Kapadia in Sagar (both old movie stars-maybe arrested memory development). I was entranced and send a telegram  to my old man (pre SMS/E mail period) proclaiming my undying, new found love for the dream girl coming out of the river like a nymph.  For a change, he consented and the rest is history.

I ran this line with some of my younger and less adventurous generation (all opted for arranged marriage, showing distinct lack of any initiative) , who laughed outright at this rather imaginative version of courtship. Now, I will try it out with Shivam, who would be more receptive.

The reality is far more interesting. My matrimony ad had appeared in Hindu in December 1977. My resourceful brother in law had seen the ad when he was spreading the old newspaper in  the wooden sleeper in a train . He send it to his father, which resulted in a letter to us. After exchange of letters (courtesy Indian Posts & Telegraph), four and a half of us booked tickets to Trichy. The half is my neice who was all of four months old. We reached there on a Saturday – not auspicious for “Bride Seeing”; and  spend it on temple visiting. Sunday morning dawned and we were off to the Agraharam . 

Padma has three siblings- one elder brother and two younger sister. Her father served with Indian Railways . Her mother was a traditional home maker. They belong to a generation which is almost extinct. They had old world grace, courtesy and charm which came instinctively. They knew what they wanted from life and lived with restrained expectations. Their joys arose out of simple activities of day to day life.

Now “bride seeing”  is somewhat like Japanese tea ceremony. The men sit and discuss trivia, while the women hid behind purdah sizing up each other.  Suddenly , matters turn serious. We have to see the ‘girl’ now.  She glides  into the room with bowed head (trying to find out where the ‘boy’ is sitting through the corner of her eyes) and looks up when asked a question. This at least is the theory.

The reality was more prosaic. I saw Padma for the first time when she  glided into the big hall thru the door.  It is not seemly to stare at a woman for an interminable period. I only looked at her eyes which had a dreamy and soft look (belying the tigress stifled inside). She is tall by Indian standards. Father asked her some question, which I think she answered.

We then repaired to the verandah for a discussion. I was casually asked whether I liked the girl. In a moment of bravado, I assented.  I wondered what next.  After discussing the weather and such matters for some time (it is not correct to agree without seeming to discuss such matters at length), we agreed to proceed further.  Could the engagement be conducted immediately? The bewildered  hosts agreed. So within a hour of seeing the bride , we were engaged to be married. We had yet to exchange a word. The first words we spoke to each other were in Sanskrit- these were part of marriage ceremonies.  Perhaps the prayers ensured that God intervened when communication lines broke down like mobile links today.

I could now really believe that we were really young at one time. There were mountains  to conquer, rivers to wade through, clouds to fly through. We knew we could do all this and more. I did not have to look back to see who is behind me as I could see we were all together.

Today I  had a new weapon to impress Padma. I purchased a great cake and gave it to her as a stroke of surprise. She had forgotten the date and I temporarily took the credit for it. I waited till Priya –my Daughter in law- came and we cut the cake. It tasted great and had all the sweetness accumulated over 34 years.

Life  consists of such small moments- each of which is to be savored and remembered.

 

One day in the life of HH*

What is the difference between a cave man and a flat dweller? Really, nothing much. Both shut themselves behind a seemingly secure entrance. Both  needed/ need  to venture out into big, bad and dangerous world every morning with weapons. What are these weapons? For cave man it is club and similar arms to crush the life of his potential feed.  Today, such weapons have shrunk  in size. They are  mobile phones, blackberrys , Ipads,  tables (larger , the better)lap tops (lifeless tops and not lively ones). The dress code has changed. From garments which match the climate, we wear dresses most inappropriate either to the climate or our own body structure. Well, we have progressed a lot.

Every morning when I venture out of my flat with several of the weapons listed above, I wonder which of them would be of greatest use that day. The present day skill is to kill your opponents such  that they continue to live but with lot of internal bleeding.  I know it well, after all my boss is black belt  degree holder in this art  ( belt is made of mix of tiger, lion and buffalo skin).

I have always wondered whether cave man would have a weekly break or would he have to work all the seven days.  Any way I enjoy a five day week. In the midst of it, there came two holidays, which my co-cave dwellers did not have. Padma is  giving company to my daughter and so I would be  enduring solitary confinement during the day.

Priya completed the lunch and breakfast preparation  in a flurry, tasted a few morsels of breakfast and packed a small sample for lunch (her employer – a foreign based bank- frowns on any lunch that takes more than 180 seconds to 300 seconds). My son Anand, works with a  more benign employer (having significant level of Indian Government blood and parentage) and can have an Hindusthani attitude to physical nourishment. Both of them rushed out (every day all of us leave together) leaving me in  splendid isolation.

I started my morning prayer believing that God also would be more relaxed and would be able to give undisturbed attention to my regular submissions. Instead of five to seven Power Point Slides, I could insert  slide number eight and nine  of the  back up set. These contained the right model number of Bose Home Theatre, vacation in South America to see Isuzu Waterfalls (biggest in the earth). Back up slides 1 to 6 were regularly scheduled on Saturday and Sunday.

I commenced my communication meeting with God and had begun to catch his attention when the door bell rang. It was for collecting the waste from the rubbish bin.  In my hurry to complete this chore, the wet waste (kept separately) spilled slightly. I cursed my clumsiness and spent some time cleaning it up. I then resumed  my communication. I hoped God’s attention did not stray to my next floor neighbor who, I suspected, was vying for God’s attention. I believed I had an edge as his mother tongue was different and we all knew that God communicated only in Tamil.

I was about to commence the puja with flowers when the servant maid rang the bell (disturbing my tempo) and walked in briskly with a  jadu. She seemed to be determined to sweep anything that lay in her path. I decided that discretion is better part of valor and repaired to another room  and to be safe sat on the cot and resumed  the interrupted  missives to God.

There is an old saying that religion is the opiate of the masses. I have a lingering suspicion that religion can turn into an obsession unless its place in our life is viewed and understood in the right perspective.  So before mind became totally focused on breakfast, I ended my prayers and turned my attention to more worldly matters.

I believe that Breakfast is the best meal of the day and never hurry through it.  I had just commenced when the phone rang. It was Padma’s friend inviting her for some program. Women and brevity are normally mutually exclusive. So I watched my breakfast  slowly turning cold while she wound down her long explanation on some program at another location where Padma’s participation was eagerly  expected (headcount issue?) . 

The most powerful weapon in the house is the TV Remote. I had undisturbed possession of it and commenced what many state as their hobby in employment application form- surfing the TV.  Every channel seemed to believe that only Home Makers  watched TV during the “happy hours” and  telecast only cooking related shows. The cuisine related  to Italy, Greece, France, vegetables with exotic colors , non vegetarian dishes (I am a vegetarian) and everything other than what we normally consumed. 

Next was movie channels.  I was sure there would be some action movie or thriller going on in some channel.  These seemed to follow the ‘happy hours’ routine  with movies relating to family/feminine issues. Every movie seemed to have women undergoing unknown/complicated issues (to me at least). The only action I could see was in a dubbed version of a Telgu movie in which  in which everybody was speaking some outlandish version of Hindi in a comical manner and human bodies were flying at frequent intervals defying normal laws of gravity.

I gave up and comforted myself by watching old movie songs and reading the latest pulp borrowed from the library. The hero was about to extricate himself from a tight situation when the door bell rang. It was courier with a renewed credit card and wanted proof of identity. It took me ten minutes to complete the process of getting a credit card thrust on me by an enthusiastic saleswoman (on phone).

By now I was tired  and fell into Dhyan Mudra for the next 90 minutes. I was almost close to touching my favorite deity when the laundry man came to deliver the ironed clothes and wanted payment for the last  month’s bill. Tallying of his bill with our records and payment took the next half an hour. I was wondering whether it would be worthwhile to make tea or skip it when the old newspaper chap came.

By now, it was already 5.30. It was as though I had been  in the midst of a tight back to back schedule. Padma rang up to ask me to go to the next building  to meet her friend and to pass on gift for a marriage which she would not be able to attend.

By now , I could well understand why women preferred to work , even in a drudge dead end job, rather than get stuck to house hold chores.  An office environment assists in working in a structured manner with all conveniences at your beck and call. To convert a house into a home requires immense and very subjective efforts which we sometimes let go of.

Should I express appreciation of Padma’s  efforts or should I reserve it and dish it out in small installments like dessert?

Let me ask her what she prefers.  After all she decides in all such matters.

 

*House Husband (HH)