(December 23, 7:42 pm)
Repost from 23 December 2010
It was December 23, 1992..I was young...very young..
but, the memories are clear like marbles..
Since the Gods knew our days were numbered, they bestowed me with sharp memory. They needed to prove they were kind.
XXX
The Babri had just been pulled down, and anticipating the riots, we had left our sprawling cottage-house in Sultanganj, and moved to this place where Muslim population was thin..
Grandmum had tough time convincing mumma, since even her personal tailor and the tax consultant were muslims..
XXX
I despised the house...but since it offered me a view of the main road, from where i could keep a watch for mumma to return, i had agreed it as periodic arrangement..
XXX
So, there i was in the terrace that afternoon, standing under the radiant sun.."Look its approaching four now, she said she'd come by 2," I told my brother, with whom i had played the ludo and hide and seek many times already...and left with no innovations now, had decided to just kill time, looking at the street below..
XXX
Every year, after our schools had closed for winters on December 3rd or 4th, we counted the days for 23rd to arrive..Mumma's last working day!
And with bro's b'de the next day, she'd hurriedly come back from college, dress us up, get us a brunch, and we'd be off shopping...we bought the jackets, we bought the shoes..pairs of denims, santa caps, wind-cheaters..gloves and mufflers to match..story books, toys..the cake, the meat-balls...the list would be endless, because mumma, before she'd come to pick us, would have encashed whatever was left in her bank that day..
XXX
23rd December 1992.
Bro still was waiting for mumma.
XXX
But, I was waiting for the culprit.
XXX
Brightness slowly began to dull, and despair set in like some unsought guest..i was more and more sure she had failed us. Yeah, she'd turn up, but without the money.
Grannie had just told us how we were in for a crisis..how Mumma had first squandered everything, her arrears, her deposits, her NSCs...then indulged in relentless charity..and this magnanimity as if so intoxicating, she hadnt even bothered to draw salary between..
XXX
So unless there was some bounty of magic, we would not have any money for the year end.. Her salary would come only on Jan 2nd, when the university reopened..
Fingers crossed, we waited.
We prayed.
We implored upon the Gods to be kinder..
Else bro's birthday would be wasted.
Even Xmas.
My b'de too, which coincided on New Year.
XXX
But she would not turn up. "Why is she taking so late. Is her salary credited. Why did she have to go looking for it the last day. why dint she draw it three months? And why did she spent all her money away?" I asked irritatingly.
"May be it's credited," bro suggested, not willing to give up.
"In that case she'd have come already."
"May be she is shopping," he tried to reason.
"Without us? No way." I dismissed.
XXX
And then with careless abandon to how it might upset him, asked him again, "Will she come?"
"Not again," he stooped me midway.
"Will she..."
"Will she what," this time he didnt beat around the bush, "She is not dead. Nobody dies just suddenly. But if you believe she has, do it all to the Goddess, please."
XXX
He left.
XXX
I felt better. His outburst had somehow convinced me she was not dead. So i was back the tyrant again. Awaiting the culprit.
XXX
It was a long wait.
The sun God said he'd send the moon to befriend.
XXX
XXX
XXX
From the crossing, she appeared like spring.
And the grace in her walk, undid all the wrongs that were done.
XXX
Who'd say she had been so long into the 40s...
Except the laugh lines, perhaps.
But, they appeared only when she laughed tumultuously.
XXX
She did rarely.
XXX
She was wearing pure-silk saree.
It was finest silk. Grannie's testimony to mumma's indulgence.
XXX
The story goes that in the late 1960s, decent pure silks were available for Rs 120. The classy ones came for 200. But if you were the type who wanted the bride-hunters do talking, you wore a 300..to upset would-be brides, a 350...and to let the men gasping, a 500.
And upon such times, i am told, mumma had bought this sari for 900.
Even professors were paid 800 then, aunts had added.
XXX
To be continued....
Repost from 23 December 2010
It was December 23, 1992..I was young...very young..
but, the memories are clear like marbles..
Since the Gods knew our days were numbered, they bestowed me with sharp memory. They needed to prove they were kind.
XXX
The Babri had just been pulled down, and anticipating the riots, we had left our sprawling cottage-house in Sultanganj, and moved to this place where Muslim population was thin..
Grandmum had tough time convincing mumma, since even her personal tailor and the tax consultant were muslims..
XXX
I despised the house...but since it offered me a view of the main road, from where i could keep a watch for mumma to return, i had agreed it as periodic arrangement..
XXX
So, there i was in the terrace that afternoon, standing under the radiant sun.."Look its approaching four now, she said she'd come by 2," I told my brother, with whom i had played the ludo and hide and seek many times already...and left with no innovations now, had decided to just kill time, looking at the street below..
XXX
Every year, after our schools had closed for winters on December 3rd or 4th, we counted the days for 23rd to arrive..Mumma's last working day!
And with bro's b'de the next day, she'd hurriedly come back from college, dress us up, get us a brunch, and we'd be off shopping...we bought the jackets, we bought the shoes..pairs of denims, santa caps, wind-cheaters..gloves and mufflers to match..story books, toys..the cake, the meat-balls...the list would be endless, because mumma, before she'd come to pick us, would have encashed whatever was left in her bank that day..
XXX
23rd December 1992.
Bro still was waiting for mumma.
XXX
But, I was waiting for the culprit.
XXX
Brightness slowly began to dull, and despair set in like some unsought guest..i was more and more sure she had failed us. Yeah, she'd turn up, but without the money.
Grannie had just told us how we were in for a crisis..how Mumma had first squandered everything, her arrears, her deposits, her NSCs...then indulged in relentless charity..and this magnanimity as if so intoxicating, she hadnt even bothered to draw salary between..
XXX
So unless there was some bounty of magic, we would not have any money for the year end.. Her salary would come only on Jan 2nd, when the university reopened..
Fingers crossed, we waited.
We prayed.
We implored upon the Gods to be kinder..
Else bro's birthday would be wasted.
Even Xmas.
My b'de too, which coincided on New Year.
XXX
But she would not turn up. "Why is she taking so late. Is her salary credited. Why did she have to go looking for it the last day. why dint she draw it three months? And why did she spent all her money away?" I asked irritatingly.
"May be it's credited," bro suggested, not willing to give up.
"In that case she'd have come already."
"May be she is shopping," he tried to reason.
"Without us? No way." I dismissed.
XXX
And then with careless abandon to how it might upset him, asked him again, "Will she come?"
"Not again," he stooped me midway.
"Will she..."
"Will she what," this time he didnt beat around the bush, "She is not dead. Nobody dies just suddenly. But if you believe she has, do it all to the Goddess, please."
XXX
He left.
XXX
I felt better. His outburst had somehow convinced me she was not dead. So i was back the tyrant again. Awaiting the culprit.
XXX
It was a long wait.
The sun God said he'd send the moon to befriend.
XXX
XXX
XXX
From the crossing, she appeared like spring.
And the grace in her walk, undid all the wrongs that were done.
XXX
Who'd say she had been so long into the 40s...
Except the laugh lines, perhaps.
But, they appeared only when she laughed tumultuously.
XXX
She did rarely.
XXX
She was wearing pure-silk saree.
It was finest silk. Grannie's testimony to mumma's indulgence.
XXX
The story goes that in the late 1960s, decent pure silks were available for Rs 120. The classy ones came for 200. But if you were the type who wanted the bride-hunters do talking, you wore a 300..to upset would-be brides, a 350...and to let the men gasping, a 500.
And upon such times, i am told, mumma had bought this sari for 900.
Even professors were paid 800 then, aunts had added.
XXX
To be continued....
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