Gucci's Mysterious Parcel

Things when searched are never found.On the other hand, other things that were lost earlier, show up.This is one recurring problem in my life that defers many urgent jobs.

I am sure this problem is equally plaguing others.

Talking to Devi on this, I said I was not able to find my pan-card, although I had very carefully kept it inside my locker.I had frantically searched my semi-organised safe. I took out all that was there, the files , the packets, the envelopes (inside-out!) and even those documents where pan-cards are not supposed to stay. But I did bump into the KISAN VIKAS PATRA that I had lost some time back.Devi agreed to my predicament and said she had faced the same music more too often. Her case was different though, she said and narrated her woe.

Nikhil, her husband , had to go to New Jersey for his official business. He called Devi from his office to ready his passport, which he said he had kept in the first drawer of the fifth cupboard of his master bedroom.He had to leave that night and was desperately jammed with office work. So if Devi could pull it up ready for him...she would really be an angel. Devi,the ever dutiful wife, drove back home from the middle of her AIWCC meeting of which she is the convener. She immediately got to work on reaching home beginning with the first drawer of the fifth cupboard of his master bedroom ! She didn't find the passport but she found the long lost manuscript of the valedictory speech that she had prepared for Mrs. Mehta's farewell, last month. She had searched and searched then. She had dived into all possible racks and shelves - small and big of her master bedroom for her selfwritten declamation of the ten- year - tenure of Mrs. Mehta at AIWCC. This was done with much effort and more pain, for it was like salvaging the performances of Mrs. Mehta's contribution to the social services which were close to nothing! She had spent the lion's portion of her office in either getting straight with Mrs.Raghavan or confiding her bedroom secrets with Mrs.Chandra. Not finding any historic or histrionic bravado, Devi had created some contributions on her own to make her last day at the Association, a memorable one. And more importantly to remind her what she could have done. This important note Devi had lost at that precise moment.Very reluctantly she had delivered an impromptu speech, which, though widely appreciated, did not pacify her.

Now for fifteen whole minutes she looked at this four and a half-page manuscript wistfully, teary-eyed. What use was it to her now! Yet she could not throw it away.

But her target today was the passport.She resumed her search. She looked inside the other chests. It was not there too. Time had come for Devi to gear up for a massive haul, she thought. Pulling up the strings of her boots, taking some deep breaths, she did a C.I.D - type search of the room. Needless to say, the passport did'nt show up. But Devi definitely did find her School-leaving-Certificate, a pair of wedding pendants, the bank's lost passbook( lost three years back and a new passbook issued) and Wow! a packet of Gucci's lingerie, stashed inside Nikhil's wardrobe. Passport issue became ad interim . Lingerie took the centre-stage.

Should she open the packet? Her heart flirted like a butterfly and said "yes", but her mind stood like a fortress and said "no". It could well be her birthday surprise that Nikhil had planned. WOW!

Devi called up nikhil at his office and informed him that she did not find his passport. Nikhil said he was busy and could'nt remember either.He disconnected the phone. In less than five minutes Nikhil called back . He said, "Listen honey, just look for a packet of Gucci's lingerie."

"Should I look inside it NOW? I mean, it's not even my birthday?"

"Nonsense, passport has nothing to do with birthdays." Nikhil's humour had become very wry...work pressure... and all that,Devi thought. Yet following Nikhil's instructions she did open the packet and lo! her eyes widened. There lay the...

Devi now asked me to guess what she had found that day inside Gucci's packet. I guessed right. Can You?

THE RECLINING GANESHA

It was a Monday morning, yet Nidhi woke up with a palpable sense of excitement. The sun-rays that streamed through her slightly open window appeared brighter and warmer. Even the birds seemed to chirp in harmony to her exuberance. Nidhi felt proud of herself. She was nominated for the Godfrey Phillips National Award (championed by none other than Preity Zinta) under the Mind of Steel category!
When her memory flashed back she thought, was it a fluke?
No, it wasn’t. She had acted upon directions from her heart and mind. She couldn't accord it to chance or serendipity. It happened naturally. Although, considering her encumbrances, what she did was unnatural, almost impossible....

That day was a Monday morning too, but a Monday sans the blues. Her husband Sushil was abroad for his official tour and Ayush, her nine-year-old son, had a holiday from school as their Principal had kicked the bucket. This meant she was free to laze around for some leisure.

Jamshedpur was hosting its 7th annual Canvas Fair at the sprawling grounds of the Gopal Maidan. She decided to visit it with Ayush. It was the right day as there would be no maddening crowd on a Monday morning, no rush no panic. So it was that mother and son drove to the fair.

They ambled at the stalls lingering here pausing there looking at the vast display of an array of items. Ayush was looking for a stall with Ben Ten toys, while Nidhi was not particularly looking for anything. She paused at one which displayed ceramic items, terracotta, bone-china and other curios. Picking up an idol of Lord Ganesha in a Vinayak posture reclined on pillows in a stately grandeur, Nidhi was struck by the majesty of its simplicity. She marveled at this artifact with veneration-filled-eyes. But her intuition immediately informed her that Ayush’s tug at her sari was missing. After carefully replacing Ganesha, she spun around. For the moment she would forget Ganesha.

People had begun to pour at the fair much to her consternation. She had forgotten it was the 1st of May, a bank holiday, which gave opportunity for visitors galore!

Goodness Nidhi!!

Her roving eyes stopped at every stall specially the ones selling toys. Then she did spot Ayush. He was standing in front of a stall, wondrously gazing at a Ben Ten toy. No sooner did he see his mother than he rushed towards her imploring her to buy it for him. It was a fancy watch which was supposed to transform Ben Tennyson into an alien to fight monsters. Nidhi did buy it for him after haggling with the pricey item, for nothing in the world is more gratifying to a mother than her son’s guileless smile.
But the fair, by now, had become fairly crowded. A surging fear began to grip her. How could she dare to visit such a public place swarming with people ALONE, when she never did so even when Sushil was there to protect her? She never visited any crowded places, NEVER. There fore she had chosen this day.
Nor did she ever use fire except lighting incense sticks or candles, that too with much effort and after more cajoling from Sushil . For cooking she used her heater, a microwave and the cooking- range, not the gas cylinder.

Without wasting any more seconds, she held Ayush tightly and jostled her way out of the fair, almost frantically. Suddenly a scream tore through the air. It was a child’s voice. It was not Ayush’s though it had the same tonality. There was a cry of pain. The scream came from one of the stalls, a persistent hairsplitting scream of despair.
Nidhi gave one lingering look at her son and turned back. Again shoving aside the rabble, fixing her mind at that voice that could so easily have been her son’s, she briskly headed towards the crisis, Ayush's hand clutched in hers. Finally she reached him. His body was on fire. He too was standing before the same toy stall from where she had bought the toy-watch for Ayush. The electrical wires of the stall had burst into flames and engulfed the child who had sauntered there, away from his parents. The people were behaving hysterically and dumbly. Nidhi closed her eyes for the fraction of a second, remembered the Ganesha that she had held in her hands, and with great effort leapt inside the flames. She dropped the child on the ground, covered his eyes and rolled over and over the terrain, clasping the helpless child in her enclosed arms.

Ayush stood powerless in the crowd whimpering at the sight of his mother and the strange child. But what shocked him was his mother’s behavior which was stranger. For who on earth knew better than Ayush and Sushil that Nidhi had a dual handicap. She was pyrophobic and agoraphobic. Rare but true. Emboldened by her pluck, someone in the crowd managed to find a thick cloth and wrapped both of them till the flames were doused off. A few even got buckets of water splashed on them….

Not too long back did these incidents take place. Nidhi smiled. She particularly remembered her journey to the hospital with a good Samaritan at the wheels of her car, Ayush giving her all comfort and solace that was apt for a nine-year old, clutching his toy while the image of the Ganesha flitted in her mind. She had desolated Him but He hadn't. And what more? He had cured her disability once and for all !

Looking back on that propitious Monday Nidhi thought to herself, "You have definitely arrived".

A stone thrown away at the right time is better than gold given in the wrong time !

Yippeee!!!!

Yippeee reason 1 : I am back home from my month-long sojourn at the hospital. Yippeee reason 2 : I finally bought my pair of LSS jeans. Yippeee reason 3 : I am blogging again ( after aeons!) .

Life lands you in the most unpredictable places and predicaments when you expect them the least. No one knows it better than me now. So while I was busy shopping like crazy for the pujas, I had severe bouts of pain, forcing me to take refuge in the most dreaded and cheerless place - the hospital. I was diagnosed with a solitary calculus (stone) in my gall bladder with acute pancreatitis.

Need I mention how upset I was with the stone, for jeopardising my plans, with the pujas just round the corner? I remembered how stones of various forms and shapes (real and metaphorical ), had been upsetting me since bygone days. But thankfully those were external ones . This time it had dared to cross the Rubicon and penetrate inside my body !

When I was five, I was hit by a stone at the temple which was the first attack from a stone. It had caused profuse bleeding, pain and had left me with a long time companion - scar. My whole family was almost up in arms against the miscreant. ( Yet curiously enough, my aversion and awe towards the stone-thrower has , in recent years, shifted from the perpetrator of the action to the object itself ! )

Then at the age of fifteen , my friend Menal, who lived at a stone's throw distance from my house, hit me the second stone. This time figuratively. She lured my best pal, Rohit into her confidence . He slowly moved away from me. In the event I lost two things : Rohit , and his ever- so - happenning help of Julius Caesar' s notes . You see , how Menal killed two birds with one stone !

By the time I was twenty I was hit by the 'Rolling Stones', whose band was founded by Brian Jones, Mick Jagger and Keith Richards. Most of their albums became my treasure trove. I also became a fan of Buddy Holly whose 1957 song 'Early in the morning' contained the lyrics, " Well you know a rolling stone, don't gather no moss, and you crossed your bridge and it's time to cross". It was only after Holly's death that Rolling Stones got it's name.

The next ominous stone that gave me jitters during my graduation years, was a biblical expression, ' Like one who binds a stone in a sling , so is he who gives honour to a fool' . I had a hard time to figure out which of the two was referred to the fool - the stone or the sling !

All these years I have been plagued by stones. Never did I fathom that I would carry one within me, literally ! My forsaken sweethearts may have commented at some point of time that I had a heart of stone . This is not true. But now I won't mind them saying , "The stone from the heart slipped into the bladder !"

Retracing my steps to that doomed, cheerless place , Let me assure my small band of readers that the worst is over. I finally underwent a lapchole (Laparoscopy Cholecystectomy ), after the pancreas was brought to normal functioning. The gall bladder is now a thing of the past . They even removed the organ along with the blighted stone. I don't host it in my body anymore! And for the first - never -imagined- time , I feel a strange pride to show my sympathisers the stone, which I intend to preserve for some more time.

My present fears are somewhat different. Some extremely nosey and detracting so - called - well wishers of mine have cautioned me that now that I no longer have the gall bladder, I might , in future, weigh 21 stones !!!

LIFE IS COOL

"This puja I'm planning to buy a pair of jeans." I mused to Devi.

This came to her as a shock as I had never in my life invested in a Levi Strauss' and Jacob Davis' creation . Although, no sooner were they launched they had caught the fancy of the young and the old and had become a rage all over the world , I never actually did contemplate wearing one . Perhaps I never found a conducive break.

"Old age hath yet her folly !" Devi counter- mused in an admonishing tone. Then bracing herself for a more graceful reprimand she said,"Yet what makes you to host this out- of- the -box desire, sweetheart?"

"Well, nothing phenomenal. Just that I do not want to kick the bucket with the feeling that I did not taste the delicious feeling of slipping into a pair of jeans and in the process also lost the scope of assessing my own physical symmetry. You know Devi, I finally realised that a pair of jeans actually has many merits, quite contrary to my primeval sententious sentiments!

Devi was reprovingly all ears, as if to say ,"Let's hear it , baby, let's hear it."

"Did you ever think that a pair of jeans can be worn for as many as ten days at a stretch without having to be washed or ironed? Look at our saris. They always wait to be pressed after every use. Our salwars and churidars need a dupatta for extra coverage ! Not so for a pair of jeans and kurti. In the monsoon this scores better than our good old saris. In a sari we juggle to lift them up very cautiously to negotiate puddles of water, which is always so complicated. In jeans just fold the ankle-end as required and your job is done.

"And Devi dear ", I was now quite infused with all it's goodness and felt a strange surge of bravura overpowering me, "Have'nt you noticed the span of time needed to don a sari ? You have to be ever so careful to wrap yourself up with this 9 yard long unstitched dress material. The pleats and the dangler must have a uniformity which is so time consuming. While just slip into your jeans and 'Presto', you are ready for the occasion...."

At this point Devi cut me short . She was too confused at the vicissitude of my loyalty which had so suddenly shifted to a less nobler more avant garde apparel. She took out her right hand, poked out her index finger and said, "Had your say? Now hear mine."

I seemed to have opened the sluice-gates of her fiesty declamation.

"Sari is our national attire. Stalwarts like Indira Gandhi, Sarojini Naidu vouched for it. Women of substance today like Sonia Gandhi , Sushma Swaraj , Renuka Choudhary wear nothing but saris. Saris exhume a dignity which nothing else can. Never can a sari offend the propriety of an occasion- formal or informal. It's comeliness is versatile ingenium. There is even a rare decorum in the diplomatic exposures, which assuage the beauty and sensuousness of its wearer. They range from Rs.200 to Rs.2,00,000 or more, meaning it caters to the poor and the rich suitably. There is no danger of looking crass in a sari. Have'nt you ever noticed the distinctive ways of wearing a sari? Each region in our country has a discreet way of wearing it. Is'nt it unique ? It is always so easy for me to pack a suitcase with my saris. Just fold them , stack them strategically and 'Voila' (!) my saris far outnumber Nikhil's , even while he struggles to keep the right crease of his shirts and pants !

Now my o' my ! That was some silencer !

There invariably was veracity in everything that Devi had said. I could not but endorse with her opinions. And I remembered my maid too.

For my maid has all the good reasons for wearing a sari.Each nook of her sari has special value for her.With the alacrity of purpose and celerity of her nimble fingers , her sari serves the refuge for all the disappearing items from my shelves and racks. They are so tactfully placed that whenever I point my suspicious finger here or at a projection there, she draws out a harmless miniscule tin and says nonchalantly-"Khaini hai bhabi" !!!

[ Yet I must state that I am sticking to my initial decision. I am buying a pair of jeans. Only time will tell whether it will be any other Denim or a Levi's ].

Happy independence day to me and to all.

Happy Woman's Day !!!

I hate it when the time difference between two blogs gets stretched to more than a week. It stifles me. For one, the thoughts that are cooking in my head desperately wait to be served. For another, my conscience which suddenly becomes proactive, nudges me, and says, "Hey hello, what happened to your panache for writing? You did begin with rave promises, did'nt you? Whatever happened to your word of honour, my ever enthusiastic, propitious lady?"
I have no excuse to offer as I have none. Does'nt my own soul know about my handicaps? Does it have to nag me everytime I am late for my blog?
Why are consciences so heartless, I ask myself.
These are hard times. Times, when even our own consciences will not spare us.

So how do you expect your mother-in-law to spare you, especially when it's her birthday and you have forgotton it? I was so clumsily lost in the mesh of my other duties that I forgot to wish my mom-in-law a 'HAPPY BIRTHDAY' on her D-day.
"This is profanity", commented Devi, when I shared my blunder with her . "You should jot it down in the first page of your favourite diary, write it on the wall, not your Facebook's, silly, or at least note it in your mobile's Reminder." Then after a contemplating pause she added, "Technology should have made you smarter."
"Et tu Devi?" "Yours is the unkindest cut of all." I said, giving an ostentatious, histrionic twist to my words, - our role play of 'Julius Caesar' at school had lingered indeed ! - at which we both fell to squeals of laughter. She then narrated to me how she too had been in the same predicament as mine, some time back . And worse.

"My mother-in-law is one who does not acquiesce in to excuses hands down. " Devi began, "You know her well. Last month I forgot her birthday. Now stop squinting at me derisively. Okay yes, all those manouvres and hints about 'technology' struck me much later. . .So what ?
The point is I FORGOT HER BIRTHDAY.

Nikhil called from Toronto that evening, to wish her. Thank God I picked up the receiver. He said, 'Hi honey, where's mom, got to wish her a quick " Happy Birthday".' It then struck me like a thunderbolt. But I hurriedly gathered my wits . I said,''Listen sweetheart, I'm planning a grand surprise for mom, so I have'nt wished her yet. I know it's already evening, but that's part of my plan . Just hold on, while I call her."
I called her.
Now I realised why she had been sulking since morning !

While she spoke I committed another sin. I eavesdropped. But I had to know the details of the burden that she was carrying in her heart. Was she lamenting? Was she bellyaching as if her convent nun stood in front of her?
"No, not yet." She was saying, "What gifts? No, no, no,...." This was all I managed to hear.
I stopped eavesdropping. Not because I was struck by remorse, but because I had to think of the grand plan I just promised Nikhil. I was at first restless. What would I plan? I was always such a lousy and lazy planner. In less than a few minutes I had begun to hear the pounding of my heart, or was it the thundering brain? I thought this, I thought that, but nothing grand occurred to my dull, feverish mind.

Finally, a feeble idea did raise its head amid the plethora of ludicrous ones. This one was feasible and might even lift her sagging bravura ! I immediately called the nearest florist and placed an order for a nice, sweetly-scented bouquet and perked him to deliver it in less than fifteen minutes time. I took a deep breath and waited. As soon as she replaced the receiver, which she did not after less than half an hour, I fell to action.
I started to sing to her her all time favourite song, "Kisi ke muskurahaton pe ho nisar, kisi ka dard mil sake to le udhar, kisi ke waste ho tere dil mein pyar, jina isi ka naam hai. "
Singing thus I did a little waltz , during which , the flower-man rang the timely bell. I heartily thanked him and paid him the additional perk, for crowning my grand surprise. Then most theatrically, like a thespian, I offered her the floral tribute. There was finally a glow on her face. She seemed happy and what more, I too felt strangely happy. We sat down beside each other. She said, "So this was your grand surprise Nikhil was talking about. But tell me Devi, how was my grand surprise? I did fool you with this sullen face that I put on me since morning. Tell me , haan, I can give Nirupa Roy a run for money, eh? I had checked your diary yesterday and I did see that you had noted down May 8th in a separate page." She had a glint in her eyes.
But mine were as round as panipuris. So she also keeps a check of my diaries? This was alarming, to say the least.
The only consolation was, for the time being my face was saved. I completed the rest of the formality by driving us to the nearest restaurant and ordering a sumptuous dinner.

"But you listen," Devi now moved closely towards me threateningly and added, " NEVER wish her a"Happy Woman's Day" in the coming years. How I thank myself for not adding WOMAN'S DAY beside that ominous 8th May !! There you wish her exuberantly and here I am doomed. Let her blissfully forget that her birthday coincides with Woman's Day.
Just as I had forgotton.

Life's like that only

I am overwhelmed and overjoyed by the concern shown by each of my readers for my blog or for the lack of it ! I also apologise for this long hiatus which stemmed out not because I was undergoing a period of the writer's hibernation and successive germination but because I was visiting different ailing relatives. But now I am back in Jampot, sitting in front of my p.c. and it feels like heaven to be able to write again. During my fortnight's tour to Koltata I finished reading Paulo Coelo's 'The Alchemist' and Jahnavi Baruah's 'Next Door'.

Things happen when they are destined to happen.
I had been contemplating to read 'The Alchemist' since a year. I knew from different media that this book of Coelho's was recorded in The Guinness Book Of World Records for being the most translated book by a living author. Like Santiago, the protagonist, I too have had interruptions between my desire to read the book and to actually read the book. But I only managed to buy a copy of this 1988 published bestseller on 7th May 2009, after a chance discussion with my very good writer-HR-professional-RJ- friend, whose books 'Mediocre But Arrogant' and 'Married but Available' are a current rage in all the leading bookstores of India and abroad.

So, is twenty years a long time to learn and enjoy something which more than a millon people have already learned and enjoyed ? I think not. For one, the book gives you direction. It gives you faith and reaffirms your confidence in yourself. It gives you the hope that " ...when you really want someting, the whole universe conspires in helping you to achieve it." It establishes a direct link between omens, signs, dreams and the Soul of the World, that is ones' deepest desires.

The hero's name Santiago, is used only once, which is a striking feature. In the entire story he is referred to as the boy. But Santiago, the name appears two more times : Santiago Matamoros the Saint and the alchemist who looks like the saint Matamoros. It is interesting therefore that a whole story can be narrated even without repeating the name once. What is however more fascinating is the journey of Santiago.

The journey of Santiago will metaphorically coincide with every man's journey, if he is a forsighted visionary and if he has a dogged and inflexible desire to translate his visions into reality. I have seen and met people - some my own, some not my own and some though not my own, with my very own predicaments. They give me the zing to live. I choose to write about them in the next blogs.

Meanwhile, let this piece just be the starter to my forthcoming writings. Let this be the 'I'mPresent, if you please' call in the attendance register of http://nicheofgems.blogspot.com/ !!!

A Voter's Dilemma

Some time back Devi made a comment. She said, " India is a land of past glory, present uncertainty and future mayhem." What made her make such a sorry statement is not totally unjustifiable.

We were talking about elections. The country is currently reeling under two spells. The heat spell and the election spell . Anyone and everyone who is some kind of a celebrity is jumping into canvassing and campaigning for some party or the other. But how do we , the totally confused electorate, place our votes amidst this plethora of contestants ? Will they deliver at all? I was strangely reminded of George Eliot's words , " An election is coming. Universal peace is declared, and the foxes have a sincere interest in prolonging the lives of the poultry."

Only during election time do we see our politicians making patriotic outbursts and rave promises . Although their credibility may stand on flimsy grounds, none shirks from giving hopes, however high, however false. The louder the claim, the more dangerous - as most of them are a pack of thugs. Some are verbally volcanic, some poetic and a few yet too downright arrogant. In skills of oratory we do have quite a handful of leaders who indeed are blessed with the gift of the gab. But the point is, how can this particular skill deliver our nation? How do we choose from this jamboree of specimens ? I for one , along with Devi, did not know a single party that was taint-free, honest, bold, firm and could steer us to our cherished idyll.

To dispense my confusion I decided to visit some sites like http://www.jagore.com/ , http://www.lkadvani.in/ , www.google.co.in/loksabha2009 and http://www.indianelections.com/. I did a study of these sites back to back. Yet I confess I was none the least enlightened in any singular upright man. I was aware that our country had a history of promising men- but promising men with a difference. They drew a line for themselves. A line that demarcated their duty before and after elections. Before election they showed great fervour, zest and vibrance. And after the ordeal of elections was over they became like 'deceitful jades' and sunk in the trial.

I remembered some famous words again. This time Adolph Hitler's : SOONER A CAMEL WILL PASS THROUGH A NEEDLE THAN A GREAT MAN DISCOVERED THROUGH ELECTION. ( I must mention here that although I am not exactly a great fan of Hitler, this quote of his caught my imagination to a great extent ! ).

"Is election required at all ?" Devi pondered loudly. "I mean look at the amount of money that is spent. Don't you think if all the money were to be utilised in the right channels most of our problems would have been solved automatically , without any leader to boot ? How money is drained to the gutter ! " She moaned pathetically.I then told her that notwithstanding all her good intentions, election was essential in a democracy.

After some sigh, a long pause and then a frown that spread to her temple, she remarked with effort, "India is a land of past glory, present uncertainty and future mayhem."