What's Better? A Moment Of 'Wonderful', Or, A Lifetime Of 'Nothing Special'?

It was one of those days when our pockets looked empty. The month was coming to an end and we waited for the paycheck. My brother and I had just begun working. Paying guest accommodation or hostels did not look very appealing. We wanted to live a free life. Our policy; 'live life king-size'. A lady was kind enough to rent out her 2 BHK house at a reasonable rate. We could afford the king-size living during the first few days of every month. The last few days; a peasant-size life. But, when it came to food, no compromise whatsoever. I checked my wallet. There was hardly anything. I asked my brother to buy a few vegetables. He wouldn't listen. The stomach wouldn't agree to digest anything vegetarian. He pulled out his trousers from the suitcase; 4 to 5 of them. In the pockets, there was money. Lots and lots of money. We put together all the coins, the crumpled 5 and 10 rupee notes and the money from my wallet. A hundred rupees - a real big amount when you thought there was nothing left. The required spices were already there in the kitchen. 1 kilogram of chicken, a few tomatoes and coriander leaves was all that we needed. The chicken stall was about to shut down when my brother reached. Luckily it hadn't. The tomatoes and coriander leaves were also bought. I cleaned the chicken while my brother cut the onions and tomatoes. The ambrosial chicken was soon ready. Meanwhile, the rice also got ready. We enjoyed the savor of our victory. The taste was better than the best chicken. The happiness; even greater than the taste.

There may be days when we have spent ten times more on food. But, it is just this day that I remember. It's not always the money. It's better to enjoy and remember a moment of 'wonderful' after a lot of painstaking than having a luxury-filled lifetime of 'nothing special'.

The Dinner - This Way Sir

The whole city, I believe, was mourning the death of actor Rajkumar. For me, it was a humdrum day at work. I wanted some rest. Had there been flights, I wouldn't mind taking one to get back home. Unfortunately, even our cab, which usually left at 2:30 in the afternoon was not let out of the campus for security reasons. We were asked to take the shuttle which left only at 6:00PM. To add to the frustration, the road was jam-packed with traffic and it took us unusually long to get back. It was already 9:00 and my tummy craved for some nourishment. I stayed with my brother then. I called him and realized he was at his friends' place. The bottom line, however, was that I had to get back and cook to feed my hungry self. Without any deliberate intentions, with a sad face, I told my friend, "I'm hungry and I'll have to cook and eat". He asked, "Do you want to eat outside?" I was hesitant for a while. The reason being, I felt he would have already made plans of going out for dinner with his roommates. I did not want to trouble him. But, as time passed, the hunger grew intolerable. I said, "Okay, let's go". We got off the bus and stood at the gates of one of the finest family restaurants. It was brightly lit. We entered. As we were getting ready to park our tired selves on the cozy chairs, a uniformed man said, "This way sir". We were led to the darker side of the restaurant. Whoa!! It was the tree top. That's not all. We reached on top and just stared at each other. My mouth was wide open. I took a deep inward breath and sat. He did the same. It was a candle-light dinner. The atmosphere looked romantic. It was very clear that dinners in that part of the restaurant were meant for the romantic couples and we were just good friends. We saw 3-4 pairs of lovebirds enjoying their slushy dates. We felt out of place. But why bother about anything else? We came there to fill our hungry tummies. We laughed over the whole thing and started eating. Prawns and mutton biryani came our way. The food was scrumptious. I packed a plate of biryani for my brother. Again, had I known he was going to pay the bill, I wouldn't have done it. He did not let me pay. He said, "next time". As I'm writing, I realize the next time has never come. It's three and a half years now. I'll have to compensate for the fluky, so-called date. I shall call him in a few days. Right now he's busy preparing for his baby's christening.
That dinner, however, I shall never forget. The tree-top candle-light dinner. Back in 2006, I had no idea that the dude was already in love. I wonder how red her face must have gone when he told her about it. Anyway, I will never repeat the mistake. Never!!!

Mrs. Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder

I sometimes wonder if my sister suffers from obsessive-compulsive disorder. My brother-in-law would hopefully second this thought. She is always bent upon having the house sparkling clean. The sparkle that you see in all those toothpaste ads can be seen in every nook and corner of the house. But, sister dear, will somehow still find a speck of dirt somewhere. It was a long time ago. She was a little girl then. Toddlers, as we all know, are never bothered about what they have in their hands. When they are not satisfied with what they touch or smell, it goes right into the mouth. Little scientists they are; always busy with their scholarly and scientific investigation. My sister's childhood story was the same; but, with a little twist. Her hands became as dirty as the dirtiest thing you could describe. She was never bothered. What bothered her? Her legs. Her feet would, at times, get a little muddy while playing. This tiny thing would immediately sit down and remove it all off. How? With her hands. The same story when she stamped on dog poop. She would resume her usual work once the feet were cleaned up.
Then comes the fish market story. Hundreds of fisherwomen sat at the entrance of the market. Inside the market, it wasn't as clean as the entrance. But, the fish sold inside contained the guaranteed freshness. So mommy and daddy always preferred buying fish from inside. But the little darling did not appreciate this idea of buying fresh fish. Her feet were there, right? They would have to step on the dirty water. But taking her to the market was never a problem. This girl was so charming and chubby that the fisherwomen at the market were more than happy to entertain her. When mommy and daddy were back, they would find her happily jumping from one fisherwoman's lap to the other feasting on their tea-time snacks. Something similar at the seashore. Every Sunday, evening time was seashore time. Taking her to the shore was all that mommy and daddy had to do. After that, she would run all the while and a bevy of beauties followed. She always had a group of college students after her. Such was the magic she possessed!! How I wish I had one of her childhood snaps right now to prove my point. At the moment, I guess these photos of a grown up Mrs. Obsessisve-Compulsive Disorder would suffice. The dimpled beauty is just like a magnet. Every individual in this macrocosm is just another piece of iron for her. She leads and everyone follows. This blog is dedicated to my lovely** sister who celebrates her birthday tomorrow.

**Conditions Apply.

Get Two At The Cost Of One!!

The chief pleasure in eating does not consist in costly seasoning, or exquisite flavor, but in yourself. We go to restaurants quite often now. Eating at home is a thousand times better than eating outside. However, it wasn't the same when we were kids. We relished even the insipid food served by waiters. Mom's food, though the best, failed to excite our taste buds. We went shopping one fine evening and mommy asked if we liked to eat outside.

In no time our eyes twinkled as the giant hot crispy masala dosas were placed right in front of us. Seeing is deceiving. It's eating that's believing. We started eating, and, as usual the taste was divine. Just then, one of us discovered something. No, not I. My sister discovered this tiny fly in her dosa. 2 options: Pay the bill and walk away quietly, or, call the waiter right away and fire him. But she didn't do either. Mentally, a circle of diameter 5 cms was drawn with the fly as centre. The rest of the dosa; happily eaten. She was happy; but not happy enough. At the end of it, she now tells mommy about the dear departed fly. Mommy calls the waiter. Mr. waiter sees the fly. "Sorry madame, will get you another one" he says. Happy ending. The moppet smiles with dimples on both cheeks. Lucky girl must say!! Today, finding a fly would be a different story. But at that time, I had wondered why the fly hadn't fallen in my plate. Why? Why? Why? :-) And, how did she manage to eat two BIG dosas? I wonder how. How? How?

I Know What Happened On Fool's Day

I wasn't born then. But I know what happened.

It was the 1st of April, 1984. Popeye and Olive were returning from church. Monday to Saturday; spinach is fine. But on a Sunday; red meat is a must. On their way back, they picked up a packet of pork. Now, Popeye must have hustled to get back home. It was a bike and not the sailor's usual mode of transport. There came a turn on the road. And, there they were; down on the road. The packet of pork all shattered. Passersby helped the two. They weren't too hurt. But Popeye still looked worried. The reason? He was worried about the expectant mother who was sitting behind him and had now fallen with him. They rushed to the hospital and were relieved to a certain extent when the doc said ‘everything is fine’. I, a eight and a half month healthy baby was born a month later. But, I swear, I swear; I did not kick mommy and push her off the bike. Believe me, it was the oil on the road that pushed them. Yes, Olive is my mommy's name. Popeye is not daddy's name though. And yes, if at any point of time you feel there's something missing in me, blame the half month. I came into this world a little earlier than I was supposed to. Right now, friends say I don't know to eat properly. Blame the half month. I talk or write rubbish? Blame the half month. Coz that's what the baby is supposed to learn in the mother's womb during the last half month :-)

A Lot Can Happen Over Coffee

Can anything really happen over coffee? Does love bloom or can a cup of coffee mend broken hearts?
As the coffee brewed I paced into the kitchen, poured it into a thermos flask and got ready to go. My aunt was in a medical facility for care and treatment of a formidable disease. I waited everyday to visit her, to talk to her, to see her smile in spite of the pain she was undergoing. I carefully poured the coffee into two cups after exchanging greetings. Just then, my Uncle, my aunt's cousin entered. Something that I am not aware of had put the two cousins at loggerheads. They hadn't spoken to each other for long and he came to visit her after 3 long years. I wasn't too happy to see him. All the more, I was perplexed and didn't know how to react. Slowly and silently I left the room and spent time walking on the corridor. I returned after twenty minutes. To my surprise, I saw the two sipping on coffee. They happily laughed telling tales of their childhood. They spoke about those sweet cherished moments as they quaffed the coffee with gusto. My happiness knew no bounds. The scene touched my heart.
I now believe a lot can happen over coffee. A cup of coffee can bring a smile; it can mend broken hearts.

Me or I?

What's right? Me or I? My English teacher was always right and she averred the difference between 'me' and 'I' with the following canard. St. Peter stood at the gates of heaven. Scores of people waited anxiously to get in. 'Who's next? Who's next?' asked Peter. 'It's me, it's me' came voices in unison. Peter was in a bind, when, from the far end came one shrill voice, 'It's I'. Peter sighed 'Oh! Yet another English teacher'. We often use 'me' instead of 'I'. The tale, though untrue, taught me the difference. You and I need to know the difference. It isn't 'You and me need to know the difference'. Have a great day!!