Sir Svaa Odey - To hell with them

 

Naman was livid. He felt insulted, belittled and cheated all at the same time. His voice almost trembling with rage, he pointed towards the door and said " GET OUT! NOW !!!

Without uttering a single word but his eyes heavy with humiliation and hostility, Bharat picked his black leather bag, exited Noman's bedroom and out of the front door in  a few quick steps.

Just as he was catching his breath, Naman heard his mom's voice - "taïnnu sharam nahin aaundi? Kisey nu apne ghar bulaa ke aistraan kaddi da hai?”

‘Have you got no shame at all? You can't invite someone home and then ask them to get out that like that!’ - she scolded him in no uncertain terms. 

"But Mom …..” he started. 

"Mainnu nahin pata. Odey  picchey ja te dhang naal gall mukaa”

‘I don't need to know. Just go after him and settle the matter the way it ought to be’ - She commanded in her well familiar tone that Naman realised hadn’t been directed at him for years now.

Almost as a reflex action to her words, Naman leapt on to his feet and ran outwards, his mind racing ahead of him, scrambling to choose his next words and emotions when he would face Bharat. 

Does he call out his name?  Just shout stop ? How does he manage it to be between a  command or request tone? Or simply shout a “Sorry” ? None seemed right because he wasn't sure how he felt right now.  He was still furious about what he had done.

He got outside and onto the road leading to the gate for the colony. Bharat's green-grey Bajaaj scooter was nowhere to be seen.

By the time Naman came back, Mom was in the kitchen already. "Kee gall hoi?" ‘How did it go?’ She inquired.

“Nothing. He had left already. I'll talk to him when I meet him next time" Naman responded unconvincingly, keeping his eyes to the ground, walking briskly towards his room. 

Naman busied himself, trying to take his mind off the altercation. He was struggling to accept all that had transpired within the last 10 minutes. 

It wasn't unlike him to argue to prove his point but it was very much unlike himself to be so rude to ask someone to get out. In fact this was a first for himself. But then Bharat was outright lying to his face! This was …. Day light robbery!

Naman was so lost in his thoughts he didn't realise how long Mom had been standing in the doorway, a plate of uncooked rice grains in one hand, picking out tiny white pebbles with the other. He only registered her presence when she gently placed the plate on the nearby study table and sat besides him.

“Hoya ki hai?”

‘Tell me what's wrong?’ She asked in her comforting mom-like tone. 

“He cheated me mom! He sold me a CD with just manuals instead of software I asked him to get! And then…. “ the banks were breached and he was surprised when he started bawling like a little boy.

Mom kept her hand on his lap and said “ bas, bas”. He tried to regain his composure, feeling ashamed, a twenty year old crying like that.

“He’s been lying for the last two weeks, telling me he'll get the right one but he didn't. “ Naman pleaded between sobs, still on the verge of crying. “Today he got another CD but it was exactly the same as first one. When I asked, he claimed that's the one he had always promised! Can you believe that ? Why would he agree to change it in the first place if he thought it was the right one?? ”

“ Bas! Aide wich ron di kedhi gal hai?” ‘That's it? What's there to cry in it?’ mom inquired

“Sir svaa pa odey. Kinney di hai ? Kissey hor kolon le le.” ‘*Shame on him‘ Mom said with her oft repeated lament, ‘How much did it cost? Just get it from some one else’ - she suggested. 

That triggered him and off he went crying again

" Maine itni muskkil se passion ka intezaam kiya tha “ ‘I took me so much effort to arrange for that money’ - Naman sobbed and said.

" 1500 Rupees. That new student whom I started tutoring…..  it was all for this CD. I take time out of my college …. my computer classes ….. I walk so far ….. wreck my brains out….  All of it for one greedy person to come and take me for a fool ? …. " he blabbered in broken sentences before realising he didn’t exactly mean to pour out his heart like that. 

Although close to his family, he never complained, nor mentioned the pressures he was going through to fund his studies and software development coaching. After all, everyone in his family were all dealing with similar situations in their own unique ways - making the best possible use of opportunities amidst dearth of resources.

“ Bas bas. Koi gal nahin. Aistraan himmat nahin chhaddi di” - ‘there there, don't give up like that’ she consoled, wiping away his tears with her palm, a but of his anguish now reflecting in her eyes and a couple of wrinkles on her forehead too.

“But mom he cheated ...." Naman started

“Sir svaa odey.” - ‘Shame on him’ - She repeated and interrupted him in her mock scolding tone. 

“Khasmaan nu khaaye. 1500 rupaye hi si na? Koi gall nahin. Pher aa jaan ge. Tainnu pata te hai sadde naal aiston kinney waddey waddey dhokhe hoey ne, o vi apneyaan haathon.“ 

‘Let him go to hell (Not literal translation). It was just Rs.1500 wasn’t it? ‘ Mom asked and continued without waiting for an answer this time - ‘You’ll earn that again. You know very well, we’ve been defrauded for much bigger amounts and that too by people close to us. ‘

“Rabb sab vekhda ai. Tere haq da tu aiston kayi guna hor kama lega, mainnu pata hai”

‘God sees everything. I know for sure, if you deserve it, you’ll earn many more times of that’ - she continued and assured Naman, although still in a mock telling off tone. 

This was very much mom like  paranormal, poetic justice perspective but it got the penny to drop in Naman’s head. He sat there, still sobbing softly but no longer feeling the tinge of being belittled - neither for being taken advantage of nor for being rude even to someone who did wrong by him. Instead, he was surprisingly feeling richer by the whole experience. In an instant he saw it for what it was - a little hinderance in his hither to smooth sailing but short experience in gainful employment. In the grand scheme of life, this would be one of many such events and he can’t allow himself to fly off the hinge. Instead it was time to learn and take notes. 

He was now looking forward to see Bharat, walking up to him and saying sorry for treating him the way he did. He had already lost his money but, thanks to his mom’s words, he could mentally write off the amount now and claim back his moral high ground. Then, he could start working his way back to saving again and get the software through a better person in near future. 

Twenty five odd years later, living comfortably in a different country and much different financial situations, Naman once again has this feeling of being cheated. This time, it isn’t caused by a known face like Bharat but by faceless forces behind corporates. He is still going to challenge, sure. But by now he does not feel belittled when others are being less than efficient with facts or morals. 

Although there’s a lot of money at stake and it definitely hurts his finances, he remembers his mom’s favourite lament “Sir svaa odey” and take it all in his stride. 

*Sir svaa odey literally translates to let there be ashes on his/her head, with the intention of Shame on them. 

Don’t You Worry - Tu Chinta Na Kar

 Dejected, Amar sat there, disillusioned and demotivated. This was it. There was no other possible scope for his seemingly long, laborious life. He must end it. Family-less, jobless there was no aim nor ambition to keep him alive. Sitting on the cold, rusty park bench he held his head in his hands, absentmindedly staring at the moist glistening grass in the surprisingly sunny, September afternoon.

With a soft but definitely discernible, almost magical plop, a little silvery blue spec appeared on the grass right underneath his head, directly in his gaze. As his eyes focussed on the object, he extended his hand instinctively, inquisitively. He held it up delicately against the sun and realised what it was. A silver charm bead with a blue glass lining the outer rim.

Amar stood up and looked around. There was no one, not even a single soul on this side of the park.  All he could see in some distance were the giant rides in Legoland with very faint squeals of families having one last day of Summer holiday fun. He looked up towards the sky to spot a handful of birds, possibly seagulls, doing the rounds. Maybe it was something a seagull had been attracted to but then dropped it when it couldn't make a meal of it.

He sat down again and fidgeted around with the little charm still in his fingers, his heart delving back into the darkness that the little excitement of the charm was attempting to pull him out of. Still absentmindedly, his brain tried to place where he had seen such charms earlier. Maybe one of the Pandora shops he had visited while still with his wife. The glistening blue glass had a very pleasing effect almost calming, with subtle hints of air bubbles and some impurities in it. What great creative genius to leave such specks in jewellery - he thought. Almost inspired by life, as if to say fashion can't be without imperfections just like life never is. Maybe they even introduced some such specks to….

Amar suddenly sat straight up, his mind and heart jolted abruptly out of all thoughts of self- pity and suicide. He realised where he had seen such charms. It was in the little catalogue that the funeral director had handed out when he had visited them after his dad's funeral to settle the invoice.

This was not an off the shelf charm. It was a bespoke charm with a few grains of ashes baked into the glass lining for people to keep an iota of their departed loved ones close to them.

Rekindled by this realisation, Amar held the charm bead close to his face as he squinted to observe the hole in the middle of the charm. He could see there was a faint inscription on the inner seam of the charm. It was too tiny to read by itself so he brought out his phone and clicked a picture. He zoomed on the picture and read out the words. “Tu chinta na kar” it said in cursive font. 

Being born and brought up in Britain, his Hindi was barely passable but he understood this phrase well enough. "Don't you worry” it meant.

It was just about getting dark but Amar’s mind was as clear as the day had been a few minutes back. He knew what he had to do with the charm. He would send the charm back to the company that speacilizes in such ashes to glass services. Chances were they would have made this one and might be able to reunite this one with its rightful owner, probably heart broken having lost such an important part of their life.

Somehow, somewhere the inscription had triggered enough courage in his own heart to go back to his troubles and give it another go. “Tu chinta na kar” - Exactly something his mom would have said had she been alive and seen him in this state.

Up there somewhere in a different dimension, dealing with after life matters of our world and Amar's, another argument broke out among the Karma account staff. The matter at heart- should the good deed of saving Amar's life be counted towards the credit of the original speaker of those words in the inscription - fondly known as Penji?

Kesh Kartanaalaya Chronicles (किस्से Hair Cut के)

Chik-Chik-Chik... Tachik
Chik-chik-chik-chik ...- Khachik
Chik-chik-chik-chik ...- Khachik

Kainchi- scissors ki ye repetitive awaaz kareeb 5-7 minute chalti thi.

"Hilna mat varna kaan cut jayega" Nashe se laal aankhein liye jab naayi kehta tha to lakdi ke phatte par 6-7 saal ki nanhi si nicker band tashreef tak jhurjhuri si daudh jaati thi.

2 mahiney mein ek baar honey waali 'cutting' ka ek wo hissa hota tha jab naayi apne ustarey ko geeley chamde par ghis kar meri taraf maano slow motion mein badh raha hota tha. Desi Ustarey ka is tarah saamna karne ke liye ek taraf mann hi mann khud ko veerta puraskaar diye jaatey they, doosri taraf kaan aur gardan par चीतकारक (scream inducing), हृदयविस्फोटक (heart exploding),
असहनीय (unbearable) gudgudi hoti thi. Naana, parnaana sab yaad aa jaate they. Ab 6 ya 7 saal ki umra naayi ki maan aur behan ko yaad karne ki umra to hoti nahin hai!

Background mein boodhey radio par puraaney manhoos se gaaney chalte they.
“Kallan ki lugaayi ke mauda huo” (Mr Kallan’s wife has delivered a boy – or words to that effect) - Mrs Nai (नाईन ?) parde ke peechhe se kuchh to bhi announcement karti thi. Like a true professional immersed in his work, Mr Darua naayi mere baalon se saney face par beedi ka dhuuan dhakelte huey sirf “hmmmmm” ki hunkaar bhar deta tha.

Meanwhile, Cheating karte pakde gaye ladke ki tarah kisi tarah bina hiley, kasmasaatey se aapke bhai ne zindagi mein wo kathin padaav bhi kayi baar paar kiya. Uske baad har baar jale par namak ko charitaarth – exemplify kartey huey naayi thande haathon se fitkari ka paththar laga deta. Aur phir chubhte huey baalon bhari shirt pehne ghar tak ka cycle ka safar jaise nark ka trailer. Lets just say I am counting all these occasions as having had an adventurous life.

Agle 2-3 din us katora cut hajaamat ko lekar doston mein jo live chheenta-kashi chhedh-chhaadh (teasing) chalti thi usey hi aaj kal 'bullying’, ‘body-shaming’ jaise tamgon se sajaaya gaya hai. Naam naya, paap wahi.
Khair, 2 Rupayee waali hajaamat se expect bhi kya keejiye?

Jab teenage ke parr Iagaakar kachchi umra waali aashiqui ki udaan bharni chaahi to Aamir- Salman ki tasveeron waale "Hair cutting salon" par dhyaan gaya.
"Personality mein to apan bhi hero hi hain, bas baal set kar do boss" waale bhaav lekar gaye to sahi lekin nikle phir wahi mundu se ban kar. In hind sight, us Mithun se jhabre baalon waale hajaam ko dekh kar hi samajh jaana chahiye tha ki he was like a Junior Doctor. Deewaron par lagey poster uske liye medicine ke latest journals ki tarah they – handiwork of best in trade. And he was practising the latest trends on his subject - me ! Uske is experiment ki keemat - teen guna lagaan - yaani 7.50 Rupaye.

Aise kuchch experimental saalon ke baad, chhote sheher ke iss chhore ne hichkichaate huey Delhi ke ek decent se "Debonaire Men's Parlour" mein kadam rakha.
Aaiye aapko khaaka kheench doon or as they say - Let me paint you a picture. Badhiya AC yukta room, side mein cable TV – a novelty back then, sofa-susajjit, saaf suthre almost bhavya se bhavan mein Safed coat pehne ‘hair stylists’ ‘clients’ ko full courtsey se ‘serve’ karte huey. Gone were the days of paan chabaate, beedi phoonkte badboo waale naayis. Lekin rate list mein ‘gents cut only’ ke 30 Rupaye par nazar padhi to turant aatma ki aawaaz aayi – “beta nikal le yahaan se, teri ghani, reshmi zulfein abhi itni bhi keemti nahin hui hain"

Thanks to Sanju baba's khalnaayak, Yalgaar type roles and of course the new boy in B-town Shahrukh Khan, her rikshey waala lambey baal rakh raha tha. Yaani, if I played my cards right, 2-3 mahiney just another wannabe SRK ban kar baal na katwaata to "Debonaire Men's Parlour" was back on the table!

There I was 4 months later, sitting all mantra mugdh, mesmerized by the shiny branded bottles of hair-gels, after shaves, taking in the talc of Lakme and imagining that blow dryer blowing on my head. Har graahak ki gardan ko naya topaz blade allot ho raha tha, aadha hi sahi.

"Sir aapki lassi abhi lenge ya hair wash ke baad " – haav, bhaav aur taav se head stylist lagne waale ne Baniyaan pehne, baalon par mehendi lagaaye, Ganesh sa lambodar liye (pot bellied) ek uncle se poochha. Uncle ne Mamta Kulkarni waali Stardust se nazar hataaye bina bas haath badha diya. Doosri baaju par doosra doctor-coat waala naayi mukke maar-maar kar shaayad apna koi gham galat kar raha tha.
Wah! kya hospitality hai!!

Kuchh der baad pata chala, mehendi, massage, lassi aur tip milaakar lambodar uncle 375 ka chadhaawa chadhaa gaye!

Aaj, kareeb 20 saal baad, baalon mein ek taraf safedi ke saath chhupan chhupaayi chalti hai doosri taraf eeshwar se yaachna ki kaale safed jaise bhi ho, tera haath mere baalon waale sar par hamesha bana rahe. Isliye hair cut ke liye jaana apne aap mein ek Vijay yatra – walk of victory si lagti hai ki ishwar ne itne baal to diye ki katwaane bhi padhte hain.

Kyonki nostalgia is the latest trend, main kabhi kabhi hair cut waali Kainchi ki “chik – chik – chik – Tachik” mein bhi memories dhoondh leta hoon. England ke ek chhote se shehar mein bina coat waale but well trained stylists se hair cut karwaate huey “weather is horrible” aur “are you doing much this weekend” type small talk karte huey daruey naayi ko bhi yaad kar leta hoon.
Pound ke hisaab se kareeb 1500 rupaye ki chapat ya haircut ke baad bhi shirt par na aane waale baal to nahin chubhte lekin radio par Vividh Bharti ki jagah bajta rap zaroor chubhta hai. Ye bhi khayaal aataa hai ki Kallan’s Mauda – that son of Mr Kallan, must be a grown up young man now.