Lazy Afternoons

Laziness is something I'd like to say is inherent to all of us. Of course, that is something I'd only 'like' to say; it doesn't make it true. But based on what I've seen over the years, I think it would be safe to assume I'm right to say so. More than any other time, however, it seems to be that magical few hours in the middle of the day that seems to personify this quality more than anything else: the afternoon.

My family has always been one for great energy and vigour in terms of work to be done, things to be cleaned and furniture to be rearranged. But everything always fell silent the minute lunch was over and the clock struck 1. The house seems to slow down along with the world itself and soon, all you could hear was the gentle snoring of my grandfather or my father (they were both quite heavy sleepers). All was quiet and lazy. Till I knew the coast was clear, of course. I've never been able to sleep in the afternoon, something my mother never seems to get tired of telling people. What this afforded me, fortunately, was a free reign to the house to get up to all sorts of mischief without anyone to stop me. I'd climb the granite top of the kitchen to see what I could find in the upper shelves, roam in the garden around the house looking for things to dig up with a trowel I had found behind the fridge and open the cupboards in all the rooms as quietly as I could to see what was inside, while keeping a constant eye on the sleeping individuals in the room. The smells interested me the most around the house, seeing as I've already established my olfactory tradition throughout this blog. It was this smell of jeera rusks mixed with yellowing newspapers, that kind of dusty, nostalgic smell that made you hungry and sleepy at the same time. But despite all these nice memories, I still have my share of mischief to counter these impressions.

Pocket money always fascinates children and I was no different. It was a joy to get a few coins just to be able to put them into my piggy bank and hear it jingle. Though I never really had plans for the money, it was nice to have it. One afternoon, I climbed the granite in the kitchen as always and while scrounging in the cupboard, I found a small box of coins. Assuming they'd be given to me eventually, I took the box and emptied it into my piggy bank. Suffice to say, when my mother found the box empty and I, in my dutifully honest-under-pressure self, told her I'd taken it, the piggy bank was taken away and I never got pocket money after that. Another time, I found a small tube on top of the fridge filled with small white balls while looking in the freezer for ice-cream and I decided to try one. Finding to to be sweet, I emptied the entire bottle into my mouth and savoured the taste. When my grandmother woke up later and found the tube empty, she automatically turned to me ans asked me if I had eaten it. To this day, no one in my family ever stops thanking God that it was all just homeopathic medicine and that I wasn't found foaming at the mouth and convulsing. I guess the whole concept of  a 'keep medicines away from children' warning on the containers has some validation behind it...

Most of the other incidents involve me spilling things on the floor, trying desperately to mop it up before anyone finds out and still being found out in the end. My grandfather's box of powder (which I deliberately spilt in order to create a makeshift ice rink to slide on), salt, pepper, jam, green gram...the list just goes on. But I never stopped exploring the possibilities as a child. It was a magical time, really, with the sun shining bright and a warm glow to everything around the house. Recently, I've found out that entire cities can just shut down in the afternoon for a well-deserved nap (like the government employees take on a daily basis) while the world comes to a standstill. It's nice to know I'm not alone sometimes. For now, I sit back in the same easy-chair my mother kept catching me in during my childhood after my afternoon escapades and think about life, the world and what I have to eat next. Time for another trip to the kitchen, I think...

Ciao!

(It just happens to be coincidental that I decided to update my blog on New Year's day. Fate, destiny or whatever. You decide. Happy New Year everyone!) 

The Window

It’s a window. A perfectly placed window that wasn’t designed to be so perfect. But it was. It just somehow ended up being there. We chose her room for her, because it would be on the ground floor and close enough to everything she could need. Self-sufficient and all. But I wasn’t bothered about that because the house never interested me. She and I are actually quite similar, in the sense that we both love our own space and we’re happy to stay there and not go anywhere else. We build worlds for ourselves and we could only do that because we were allowed to. I think Amma and Appa never thought this would ever happen and thought they could bully us, guilt us and just somehow get us to change that part of us. But no, we just didn’t care and they accepted it and grumbled about it.

I have my room and my window. My bay window. Now there’s tin-foil in front of it but it is there and on sunny days, the light is just perfect to relax and think and feel and just be. Filtered light, light that wanes and light that just feels like it was for me. A little gift from the outside that wanted me to come find it. But I won’t leave. The inside is me and the outside is boring. Not true, never true. It is what it is and I’m too scared of my restrictions to find out. But I’m going to. I will. But that isn’t the point.

Today, I sat there. I sat in her room in the one place I’d never dared or just thought about sitting before; the chair beside the window. She went on with her work and I sat there. I looked out and it hit me how similar we were. Two souls separated by two generations yet the similarities were uncanny. I knew why she sat there. I knew why this room was hers. I knew why she doted on me. We were the only ones who could live together and not be bothered about the world. I looked over to her, saw those hands work their magic just like they had over the years. I thought about her life and the things Amma had told me about her and the life she had led. There was no one else I knew who could relate to my feelings like she could. But I knew I’d never tell her this. We were just like that. We couldn’t, just couldn’t. Similarity had torn us apart in a way that it had brought us together too. We were one, but never the same for the world to see. I turned back and let my mind wander again to the mundane things we think about when the world lets us do so.
 

It’s a strange thing to know you resemble your grandmother so much.

The Actor

White. Swirling white mixed with water.

A little bit of blue, then a little bit of red. A shadow passes over the water as the white fibres of the towel absorb the droplets. A mass of shapes rises behind the fogged up mirror and a line opens to reveal tired eyes slowly turning white again.

Faheem was used to this. He hated the fact that he had to put on make-up and paint his face just to please his directors, but that’s what one did in theatre. He knew that no matter what he looked like, it was his performance that mattered. Of all the things in the world, Faheem knew he could act. It was just one of those things people instinctively recognised the moment they met him. With eyes constantly twinkling with mischief being planned, an aura of madness that earned him the title ‘Joker’ and a smile that never seemed to diminish, he charmed everyone he met with his simplicity and had quite a following wherever he went. The ever increasing number of acquaintances came with its share of back-biting, but it never bothered him since his life and soul were devoted to his one true love: theatre.

Today’s exhaustion was the result of a grand performance at one of Delhi’s greatest amphitheatres of a play he had written himself. His role had been a central one and the exhilaration still made his heart pound as he emerged out of the washroom; bright flashes of it revisited his mind every few minutes. The usual subtle nagging voice in his head reiterated that it could have been better but he was at peace with it. Behind him, he could hear the heavy footsteps of his friends rushing backstage to congratulate him. He took a few moments to compose himself and, with a comically tired expression, turned to greet them.

“Breath-taking Faheem bhai!”

“It was so you. I couldn’t stop clapping!”

“What a guy! Fahi, I have never seen anyone like you!”

To each of these praises , Faheem joked around, but his eyes searched for the one person whose opinion mattered to him. And there, at the very end of the empty theatre, he locked eyes with her. Priya...

They had met just 8 months ago, but he felt like he had known her for years. Every time he saw her, his hand unconsciously moved to the tiny locket around his neck; a gift from his ex-girlfriend. She too had been a large part of his life, till she broke his heart and left him a year ago. Priya looked so much like her that Faheem could never supress a gasp, his heart could never stop skipping a beat every time he saw her. She was pretty, kind and the wisest person he had ever met. Neither of them knew exactly when they knew they wanted to be together; it had just happened one day. It had been a month but the sight of her still sent a tingle of joy down his spine. She had come to every one of his performances, been a true critic, consoled him when he felt inadequate and taught him so much about life. But today, he had asked her to look out for more than just his performance. For today was the first time his father had agreed to come watch his performance.

Faheem’s parents had never been very supportive of his passion; typical of a generation that saw theatre artists as a bunch of worthless tarts and cads, Priya was the only one who knew about the battles he fought every day to follow his dreams and the pain he felt at not being able to have a conversation with them. She was also the only one who knew exactly how much it would mean to Faheem to be appreciated by them. It was that light that shone in his eyes tonight as he looked at Priya. He walked up to her and hugged her tight as he heard her whisper in his ear, “No one took their eyes off of you. You were absolutely amazing”. He let her go and looked at her, his eyes asking the question his voice couldn’t articulate. “He came” she said, with a smile, “I sat right behind him and saw how his eyes followed you everywhere. In fact, he was so spellbound that he dropped his phone! I kept it, thinking I would give it back to him at the end of the play but he left as soon as it finished. Here, give it to him, alright?” Faheem took the phone, pocketed it and said, “Let’s go grab some dinner and celebrate! I’ll walk you home after that”.

All through dinner, they chatted about inconsequential things but Priya could see that Faheem’s mind was pre-occupied with something. As they made their way home, Faheem asked her, in a quiet voice, “What do you think Baba thought of it?” “I’m not sure. But I’m guessing he enjoyed it. He stayed till the end so....” Before she could finish, his phone rang. It was another friend calling to congratulate him on the performance. Faheem spoke for a while and ended the call. But before he could put away the phone, he saw something that made him stop in his tracks. “Pri...”, he said,  his voice tentative, “look here. A message from Baba”. Gingerly, he tapped the phone to open it. Inside, it read:  

Faheem, I’m sorry. I know how harsh I’ve been about

your theatre work but what I saw today left me speechless.

You have a gift, beta, and I never noticed it. Great

job today, you made me very proud.

 

Tears blurred his vision as he looked at the phone. He could hardly believe what he had seen. It had taken years of struggling but finally, his father had seen him for what he truly was. Now, he knew, he could take on anything in the world, simply because he knew he had his family’s support. Priya could see the joy blooming on his face and, moving closer, put an arm through his and guided him on the path home. A few moments later, Faheem put his arm around her and together, they disappeared around the corner, a couple truly in love.

Meanwhile, two other men, the last to leave the amphitheatre, walked down another road while talking about the play.

“What a play it was! Pity that it didn’t go on for longer”, said one.

“True. But I guess that man in front didn’t like it much. He got up halfway through and walked out. I’m not sure, but I thought I heard him say ‘such a disgrace’ before he walked out”, said the other.

“I know. I saw his phone drop too. Some girl picked it up. I wonder who he was...”