Ranjit Kulkarni's Blog, page 29

God no.1

The festival of Gowri-Ganesha in Bangalore has quite a few differences from the festival of Ganpati in Mumbai.

In Bangalore, it is a private festival while in Mumbai it is a public festival. Almost everyone in Bangalore gets a ‘मूर्ति’ at home. While in Mumbai it is generally restricted to the eldest member of the extended family, though that is changing too with shrinking families, I think.

Everyone goes to everyone’s home for ‘दर्शन’ and ‘प्रसाद’ and some gossip-gupshup in Mumbai (well, at least before 2020). Once they know you have an idol at home, you get on to their annual visit list. No one does that unless invited in Bangalore – partly also because it is a private festival, partly because everyone has their own idol at home.

Also, while I was in Mumbai, I thought Ganesha idols are to be kept for a pre-determined number of days and that is to be followed every year. So you have 1.5, 3, 5, 7, 10 and 11 as the common number of days that idols are kept for in Mumbai. Most public idols and a lot of ‘serious’ private idols are kept for the entire period. In Bangalore it is relatively flexible. Most people do the immersion on the first day, and very few have it for all 10 or 11 days. Some people immerse the idol on weekends as it is convenient. Some people start initially with the intention of immersing in 1-2 days, and then think that maybe couple of days more will do no harm, so let’s extend. So that way it is quite flexible in Bangalore.

In Mumbai, the ‘प्रसाद’ is generally sweet – with ‘मोदक’ leading, but supported by a whole lot of others – almost everyday a new sweet makes its appearance. In Bangalore, it is mostly not sweet – generally rice and ‘चना’, sometimes ‘वडा’, sometimes fruit salad maybe.

The idols are also different. In Mumbai, you have all shapes and sizes, with various contemporary events unfolding on stage as well as in the idol. Even small home idols come in all avatars with the Lord sometimes taking forms ranging from the funny to the outrageous. They make them with all materials from clay, plaster-of-paris to whatever. In Bangalore, all idols are more or less standardized, mostly made of mud, and look more or less similar. All you can choose is the height that works for you, and maybe the color at best. They are quite understated definitely.

People in Mumbai immerse the idols in the sea. So, everyone from the smallest home idols to the largest public idols go to the nearest sea-shore on the west, and make a beeline (again, that was before 2020!). That way, Mumbai is lucky that it has a sea – difficult to imagine which other water body could absorb so much, and what a ruckus it would be without the sea-shore (not that it is any lesser now). In Bangalore, it is the lakes with specific designated areas for immersion – it is quite a disciplined affair (relatively speaking). People also immerse their idols in buckets or tanks in their homes, and use the water for gardening. Initially, I used to find it awkward, but now I think immersing at home is a great idea that everyone should adopt.

Honestly when I look at another year of the Ganpati festival, these differences do not matter much. The styles, rituals, methods may be different, but I think the underlying emotion, perhaps, is more or less the same. Just the scale and grandeur may be different. I also think what a wonderful festival it is, during which people actually bring God to their homes and public places, worship him and then give him a sendoff. And what an idea it was that Tilak came up with, when he decided to literally ‘take it public’.

Therefore, despite the fact that we bring ‘God no.1’ (as he is worshipped first in any puja) into our homes every year for this period, it is quite ironical that when my son was younger and cried as we immersed Ganpati with slogans of ‘पुढच्या वर्षी लवकर या’ every year, I had to tell him, “God is not in that idol, He is all around us”.

He never seemed convinced. He always waited for God no.1 to come back next year.

***

This article was first published in the September 12, 2021 issue of Indian Periodical, an independent medium for writing on topics related to India and Indians, with a global appeal. You can also read it at the link here.

Immortal and Other Stories

I have released a book of short stories titled “Immortal and Other Stories” on September 3rd.

Book Description:

Is there life beyond this world? Is there a part of us that is truly immortal? This collection has ten stories that believe there is. These are stories about the soul of loved ones that comes back, the one that stays in our memories, the one that never dies.

In this collection, you will find stories like these:

Can memories be erased? What if there really was a Memory Doctor?What would happen if a cat called Jumpy took the soul of a loved one?Why is a leopard in the city talking to a man and vice versa in A Second Chance?In Remembrances, listen to a young, single father talking to his wife about their daughter who is fast growing.What does an urban man who goes to his home in the hills find about being Immortal?Can the soul of a loved one be responsible for a man in sorrow to be Born Again?Read about these.. and many more.

You will find soul-stirring, moving stories about being immortal in this short stories collection.

How to Get the Book:

The book is now available on Amazon (Kindle)

You can read it on your Kindle Device or on the Free Kindle App.

It is available in PDF format under Books on my website.

It is also available on other ebook stores such as iBooks, Playstore, Kobo, Nook, Scribd.

You can check out the book and the store links at this page: Immortal and Other Stories.

Happy Reading, and would be great if you leave a review after you read it!

***

On Gardening

“To plant a garden is to believe in tomorrow,” said Audrey Hepburn. I realized the truth in it over the past few months.

The wife has been venturing into gardening – a small beginner home garden – for the past few months. She did most of the work. I was the observer, contributor, and co-passenger in the ride.

I got seeds from a gardener, soil and manure from the compost plant and a watering can online. Then we went and got a set of pots of different sizes with holes at the bottom. It turned out that some plants are better suited for longer shallow pots, and some for round deeper plots. No one told us which to use for which before we put the soil in them.

I had no idea how much compost to mix and how deep the seeds are to be placed. So I went to the gardener from whom we got them to ask. He gave ambivalent, anything is ok kind of answers. With the help of some of our own beginner logic and google, we managed to plant them. Now the question was how often to water which plants. It is not uniform. For a while, I charted a timetable and then just watered all of them every other day.

The planting and watering schedule was done in the first few days. After that there is not much to do but to watch them grow. And plants grow slowly.

Every day, for a few days, we went to the balcony to watch if there are any sprouts, and for a while nothing happened. We saw things that we otherwise didn’t, like a small sprout somewhere. It is hard to tell whether it is real or just something we want to see. Some things we thought were sprouting plants never came up and some grew out of the blue. The flowers, fruits or vegetables aren’t going to be seen soon, and unless you are ok with this, gardening can feel like way too much trouble.

There is a time for planting, and there is a time for harvesting. Rest of the time is waiting and hoping. Nothing can be skipped. For some plants, we got a harvest every couple of weeks, but then they ran out after couple of harvests. Then there were plants that took a long time to bear their first fruit.

Some plants got some diseases due to weeds. Some didn’t see light due to more or less water. Some survived but the fruit or vegetable fell off. Some just wilted away due to reasons I don’t know.

And some plants grew beyond my wildest imagination. In some cases, all sown seeds sprouted to life, and in some, none came up. The garden eventually produced a good variety of flowers, fruits, and vegetables. We had to build a stand for it. But I couldn’t have said which at the start.

Gardening is not easy. There are many factors that add up to create the result. You plant the seeds, lay the soil, water them, and wait and watch. And it is indeed a miracle that out of that, sprouts a plant that not only springs to life and grows but has the ability to bear fruit.

One Is led to believe that it would be too proud and too vain to claim that you were the only reason for it. You plant the seeds but someone else makes them grow. It is no wonder that some wise man said that the best place to find God is in a garden. You can dig for him there.

***

Funeral

In Varanasi, Pappu Pandey gazed at his dear friend Lalu Mishra’s dead body on the pyre. He stood next to Lalu’s son Pratap waiting for proceedings to begin. He was at a makeshift crematorium ghat next to the main one at Manikarnika. It was for people who had passed away due to the lethal pandemic virus. Pappu was among the less than ten close friends and relatives allowed to attend it. He stood in the middle of four other similar funerals of bodies of pandemic patients. They were all wrapped in personal protective equipment body bags.

“Lalu seems to have lost a lot of weight during his illness,” Pappu whispered in the ears of another common friend.

“Yes, true. This virus is extremely dangerous. See what it reduced our dear Lalu to,” the other said in a choked voice.

“In two weeks, he lost all the weight that he could not lose in his entire life.” Pappu couldn’t resist a backhanded joke even in such a sombre atmosphere. His five-decade long relationship with Lalu was such – always full of life and banter.

Lalu’s son Pratap overheard this conversation. A shadow of doubt crept into his mind. He had a closer look at the bag that had his father’s wrapped body. Indeed, my father has slimmed down a lot, in fact, it is a drastic shrinkage in size, Pratap thought. They weren’t allowed to see Lalu during his almost two week stay in hospital. Pratap felt it was tragic for his father to have shrunk so much.

He looked around with searching eyes. “Can I have one last look at my father?” he asked the healthcare staff standing next to the pyre. All the attendees had masks and gloves on, so it was tough to recognise relatives with all the distancing. But healthcare staff were the most covered of all. With their full body suits, Pratap could identify them from a distance.

“Yes, only one person. Who are you?” he asked Pratap.

“I am his son,” Pratap replied.

The healthcare worker gestured at Pratap to come towards him and went near the head side of the body bag. He then opened the zip, and asked Pratap to come and have a final look.

Pratap saw an old man in his 70s with a haggard face and wrinkled cheeks. He didn’t seem to have any teeth as his mouth collapsed with pouting lips.

“This is not my father,” Pratap howled at the healthcare worker. “I am certain. This is not him.”

Pappu Pandey heard Pratap and rushed towards him. He peeped into the head in the bag and vouched for Pratap.

“Yes, this is not Lalu Mishra. You have given us the wrong body.” Pappu proclaimed with confidence, raising his hand along with his voice. Pratap pulled it down.

The healthcare worker put his gloved finger on his lips and ordered Pappu to stay silent. He then removed his mobile phone and called the hospital.

“Body of Lalu Mishra is missing. His relatives claim this is not his body,” he said on the phone. Pratap and Pappu looked on with worried, angry eyes.

“Wait one second,” the healthcare worker said, and walked over to the other end of the body bag. Pratap and Pappu walked behind him in worried, angry eagerness.

“Yes, tell me. #CV19-UP-09324. Tag seems to be correct,” the healthcare worker said in a puzzled tone.

“What tag are you looking at? We are telling you this is not Lalu.” Pappu shouted, pushing himself forward with the momentum of all his ninety kilos even at this age. “Where is Lalu?” he questioned, raising his voice.

“This is…I am telling you… not Lalu Mishra,” the healthcare worker yelled into the phone. Then after a few seconds of pause, he howled even louder. “What?” he yelled and disconnected the phone.

“Hospital said that the handing over of the body is complete. Check others in the crematorium,” the healthcare worker reported in a morose expression.

Pappu Pandey’s eyes turned red, and he grabbed the healthcare worker by the neck on hearing this. “You bloody….,” he yelped.

“No…no..,” the worker shouted.

“I will turn you into a dead body now. Let your family search for it,” Pappu shouted, and got ready to punch him on his face.

Pratap got into immediate, quick action. He along with couple of others jumped at the scene, sensing the urgency.

“Pappu uncle, forget him. We have to find Papa,” Pratap said.

He disengaged Pappu from the healthcare worker and took him along holding his hand. Pappu muttered under his breath with glaring eyes while walking away.

They walked to the funeral next to them that was about to start. Pratap looked at the body on the pyre. It was again too short and small to be his father. He moved on. The next one was that of a woman. He skipped it. The third one seemed like a man who matched his father’s body in size.

“Sir, I am sorry. But there seems to be a mix-up,” Pratap said.

“Of what?” the man standing next to the body asked, startled.

“Of…umm.. bodies,” Pratap replied. “Our healthcare worker says ..err… my father’s body…hmm.. is sent here but.. err.. we don’t have it,” he stuttered.

“We.. umm… have the wrong one,” Pappu Pandey barged in.

They could see that the man’s expression was changing as they spoke from grief to sympathy. But Pappu’s next demand saw it change to anger.

“I have to check your late relative’s face,” he said.

“What nonsense!” the man shouted. “We are in the middle of last rites and rituals….”

“Sir, only one check. Let me please see if, by chance, he is my father. Else, you can have a glimpse of your loved one for one last time. Sir, please understand…,” Pratap pleaded with folded hands.

The man’s anger subsided with Pratap’s plea. He gestured by his hands to Pratap to go ahead. The healthcare worker unzipped the bag so that they could see the face.

“We are sorry, Sir,” Pratap said. He moved on with Pappu, who had also resigned himself to their unprecedented, stark fate by now.

The utter despair of not finding his father’s body overcame Pratap’s mind and emotions.

“What the hell!!” he cried out loud. “Where is my father?” he questioned the healthcare worker.

This time Pappu held Pratap by his hand and tried pacifying him. Then he whispered in his ear. “We should go to the hospital. For all you know, Lalu might still be alive,” he said. Hope awakened in Pappu’s voice and face.

Pratap looked with eyebrows raised towards Pappu. He wiped his face in a hurry and decided that Pappu uncle had no chance of being right. But his mind asked him – what if he is? He told everyone assembled for the funeral to wait there while they go to the hospital and return.

***

On reaching the hospital, they thought of going straight to the mortuary. But the flash of hope that Pappu had given birth to in Pratap’s mind took them to the patient ward first.

“Lalu Mishra,” the nurse on duty checked the list of patients. She then looked at Pappu and Pratap and asked, “You are the patient’s relatives?”

“Yes, I am his son,” Pratap said.

“And I am his brother,” Pappu clasped Pratap’s hand and replied.

“Patient expired last night.” The nurse confirmed in a sombre tone after going through the sheet.

“Oh, are you sure?” Pappu persisted.

“Yes, see here, #CV19-UP-09324,” she showed them the list. “Lalu Mishra.”

“Because we got the wrong body,” Pappu told the nurse, whose mouth gaped open in surprise.

“Wrong body??” she exclaimed, with her palm on her forehead. Then she rechecked her list. “Patient is no more. If you got a wrong body, check with the mortuary.”

Pratap and Pappu walked fast with dejected faces towards the mortuary. It had been a dim, baseless hope. But a faint glimmer that the hospital had made a mistake in declaring Lalu dead had lit inside their being. It extinguished as fast as it had taken light.

“Lalu Mishra. #CV19-UP-09324. We got the wrong body,” Pappu Pandey thrust himself towards the person in charge at the mortuary. “We want to return it and get the correct one,” he added.

He later realised that it sounded odd. Like an online delivery received wrong. He felt like he was at the exchange counter. Even in this sombre mortuary, Pappu didn’t lose his mood of jest and banter with his dear friend. He hoped that the man there doesn’t say goods once delivered will not be taken back.

“Yes, we are sorry for the mix-up. Sunil told us,” the man said, with a surprisingly empathetic tone. His eyes probed at a register. His voice sounded tired with overwork.

“Sunil?” Pappu asked.

“The healthcare worker with you,” the man said.

“How can you be only sorry?” Pratap raised his tone. “Where the hell is my father?” he shouted.

“Calm down Sir. This is not a shopping mall,” the man replied in a soft, exhausted tone. “We understand your situation. But this pandemic has caused so many deaths. Mortuary is full of bodies,” he added in a worn-out voice.

“Besides, the policy of giving bodies started only last week. Earlier they only gave ashes due to infection risk.” The man put a lid on Pratap’s grievance and continued voicing his weary tirades. “We are tracing your father’s body,” he said, on seeing silence from Pratap and Pappu.

He was on many phone calls for a while after that, while they waited.

“We have traced it. The man who took it is coming here in fifteen minutes. Please go to the crematorium, and get back the body you have,” he said.

***

Pratap and Pappu rushed back to the crematorium. They told the health care worker Sunil the update that they had got from the hospital. He already knew about the status and was waiting for them to arrive. He had repacked the body and got it loaded into the ambulance. Pratap and Pappu told everyone else to wait for them to return with Lalu Mishra’s body. They got into the ambulance. Sunil drove them to the hospital.

On reaching the mortuary, they went back to the man.

“We have got the body back,” Pratap said.

“That man there took your father’s body,” he said, and pointed to a man standing near the notice board with his back to them. He was an elderly gentlemen wearing white kurta pyjamas.

“Hello Sir,” Pratap called him out. “I am Pratap. You took my father’s body. We took your body in the mix-up. I mean your dead relative’s body.” Pratap clarified. He tried to exchange pleasantries with an unknown stranger. This was a much unanticipated situation. He shuffled his feet in discomfort.

The man turned around. He had traces of a faint smile on a jaded face. He was an old man in his late 60s or more. But his face had an inexplicable zest for life. He had a white beard and wore a cap.

“He is not my relative,” the man said.

“I am Aslam Sharif,” he introduced himself. “I used to be a hospital worker here. Retired from the mortuary ten years back. Since then, I collect unclaimed bodies every day. I give them a dignified funeral,” he said. Pratap and Pappu had expressions of shock with raised eyebrows and a wrinkled forehead.

“I am sorry your father’s body got mixed up and was handed over to me as unclaimed today morning,” the man said. He then turned his gaze skyward and raised his hands in prayer. He looked at the man at the mortuary counter. “Unfortunately, I have already performed the last rites,” he murmured. “Please take these ashes. May God give peace to his soul,” he whispered, and walked away towards Sunil. As he went towards Sunil, Pratap and Pappu saw him take out a handkerchief and wipe the tears on his face.

“Sunil, can you tell me where the actual unclaimed body is?” Sharif asked Sunil and walked towards the ambulance.

Pratap and Pappu stood with their feet locked to the ground holding the ashes of Lalu Mishra in their hands.

The man at the mortuary saw them in their stunned state and woke them from their traumatic jolt. 

“Don’t worry Sir. Sharif would have done the last rites as per your religious rituals. He has been performing this noble service for many years,” he said. And then he added, “You are in Varanasi near the holy Ganga, Sir. Lalu Mishra’s soul will rest in peace.”

Pratap and Pappu recovered, if only for a while, and left with the ashes of Lalu Mishra.

The man at the mortuary, then, scolded the clerk sitting next to him with a tight slap on his face. “How many times have I told you not to drink on night duty?”

****

This tragi-comic tale of pandemic woes was first published in Setu Bilingual Journal, a monthly English-Hindi journal that aims to be a bridge that connects the world, one word at a time, and is based in Pittsburgh. You can also read the story on their site here.

PS: Funeral is also included in the book “Coma and Other Spooky Tales” : Check it out here.

Upcoming Books

I have a bunch of upcoming books to be released over the next four months. All of them are now ready for preorder on Amazon. These are all collections of short stories. Check them out at the list below if interested:

September 3rd, Immortal and Other Stories. A collection of ten stories revolving around the concept of life beyond this world, about a part of us being immortal. Preorder Here

October 1st, People We Know and Other Stories. A collection of twelve stories about people we know but haven’t noticed, human beings in our everyday lives having their own stories. Preorder Here

November 4th, Tough Love and Other Stories. A collection of fourteen stories about people who have loved, people driven in myriad directions by their emotion of love. Preorder Here

December 3rd, Mind Game and Other Stories. A collection of eleven stories in which the minds of the characters are on display, where their minds play games with themselves and with others. Preorder Here

If you place your pre-order now, the books will be delivered to your Kindle Device or Kindle App on the day of release. If you don’t have a Kindle Device, you can read the book on the Free Kindle App on your phone or tablet.

You may download the Free Kindle App here. Note that these books are not available in Paperback as of now.

They will be available on Amazon to start with, and other ebook stores and my website in due course of time.

I will post a message after these books are released and live as well, but just a heads-up that they are available on Amazon for preorder now.

If you find them interesting, check them out at the links above and place your pre-order now.

Also, let me know how you find the new book covers.

If you know other readers in your family or friends who might find this interesting, feel free to share this message.

Thank You and Happy Reading!

***

Breakfast Types

There are two types of people in this world: morning types and evening types. There are two types of morning types of people in this world: the breakfast type and the no-breakfast type. There are two types of breakfast types of people in this world: the poha-idli type and cereal-sandwich types.

I am a morning type and breakfast type person. But among breakfast types, I am ambivalent. I have taken one type for a while till I have replaced it. And every time, I have found it difficult to choose.

When I was in school, what’s for breakfast was an important question. I was the sandwiches type at that time. What goes in the sandwich was the choice to be made every day. One day it was bread and butter, another day cheese, then a chutney and on rare occasions even an egg.

I used to think that was a good breakfast, till I realised that it wasn’t. In college, I shifted to the idli-dosa type.  Down south, I realised that there were as many types of dosa as there were days in the week and didn’t mind having a masala dosa on one, a rava dosa on another, a pesarattu on another, and idlis and upma when none of these were made.

Later I moved north for my higher studies and parathas and pooris became staple breakfast. Initially I wondered how anyone could have such a heavy breakfast, but one cold winter made it easy.

When I started working, I realised that cereals were easy to make and seemed to have some sort of cool factor. Whatever the reason, they became my staple breakfast. Even in that I realised that there was a lot to choose. There were corn flakes, wheat, and rice flakes, choco flakes, and then muesli with various fruits and dry fruits got added to the mix.

But I got bored of them quite easily and didn’t care for the cool factor a few years later. I started travelling quite a lot on work and depending on where it took me, my breakfast changed. Croissants and pancakes started making their frequent appearance. I realised there were again as many types of croissants and pancakes as there were days of the week.

When I went east, I realised that people had noodles and dumplings for breakfast, sometimes rice too. Again the types varied based on what you mixed in them. I adopted that whenever I was there.

Eventually over the years, these travelling breakfasts didn’t suit me anymore and what was cool many years back became something to guard against while travelling. I started carrying packs from home even though it wasn’t cool.

Over the years, the types of breakfast have changed, but the fact that I am the breakfast type hasn’t changed. I still wonder what’s for breakfast every morning. But now I am more agnostic about breakfast – a believer but not ritualistic.

While it is important, I don’t really bother much about what it is. As long as it is there. And then I am ready for whatever the day has in store. Like this note that I wrote after breakfast.

***

PS: Get Kaleidoscope. Click Here

Garbage

Thimappa gathered the garbage with his shovel and pushed it on to the cloth sheet. It was at that time that he saw a small object shining through. He lifted one end of the cloth sheet and Santosh held the other end. Together they lifted the garbage, swung the sheet, and pushed the garbage into the truck. At that moment, Thimappa saw the shiny object fall down and roll off. A ray of sunshine fell on it and at the precise angle that Thimappa stood, the bright object glowed into his eyes. He was certain it was a diamond ring. He raised one brow, but it belied the intense surge of joy within. Thimappa stole a glance at it making sure no one else saw it, while pretending to focus on the job at hand.

“One last batch,” Santosh said. He focused on shovelling the remaining garbage on to the cloth sheet again.

“Pick it up,” Santosh said.

“Pick what up?” Thimappa asked with a tone of surprise.

“This garbage cloth sheet. What else? There is nothing else to pick up,” Santosh answered.

Santosh probed at Thimappa. The fact that Thimappa’s mind was elsewhere did not escape him. Thimappa became conscious of Santosh’s stare. He looked elsewhere. He gathered himself and picked up the cloth sheet to swing the garbage into the truck. Then they removed their gloves and cleaned their hands as per routine. They signalled to the truck driver that they had completed clearing the garbage. Santosh watched the truck leaving. Thimappa kicked the diamond ring away with his left leg pushing it into the gutter nearby. The garbage workers left with the job done. One of them, Thimappa, walked off promising himself that he will be back to take the diamond ring.

“Why is the breakfast taking this long?” Thimappa complained in the municipal workers canteen half an hour later. While drinking his hot tea, he whined, “Isn’t this too hot today?” Santosh gave him a scowl. “It’s your head that’s hot,” he said. Thimappa neglected him and hurried through his breakfast.

***

Thimappa left the canteen in a rush and went straight to the spot. He sat down and rummaged through the gutter, and sure enough in a few minutes, he spotted it. There it was, waiting for me, he said to himself. He smiled and picked it up in excitement. But as soon as he stood up, the wide grin on his face disappeared.

“I knew you were tense because of this,” Santosh sneered.

“Because of what?” Thimappa hid his hand behind his back.

“You think you are the only smart ass here?” Santosh smirked with a curl in his lip.

“Well. No…umm..err.. why me? Everyone’s smart,” Thimappa mumbled.

“I don’t know about everyone. But I am not as dumb as you think. And I am definitely not blind,” Santosh gave him a jibe filled with contempt.

“Ah.. I don’t. Err.. know what you are talking about,” Thimappa muttered under his breath.

Santosh was not amused. With a sudden movement, he held Thimappa by his left shoulder and twisted his right hand.

“Ahh.. what are you doing,” Thimappa cried in pain. “Wait, wait…,” he said and the diamond ring he held in his closed fist fell down.

Santosh jumped on it and grabbed it. “I am talking about this,” he said, holding the ring up. “Do you think I didn’t see it?”

“Look Santosh. Don’t steal it. I saw it first and pushed it,” Thimappa said with a raised finger.

“Steal? From a thief?” Santosh sniggered aloud.

“Look, but I hid it in the gutter,” Thimappa argued.

“That’s because I let you do it. And pretended to see the truck off,” Santosh continued to sneer at Thimappa, who now raised a finger on his chin. After a moment of contemplation, he realized that Santosh had cornered him. The tables had turned. It was time to share the spills.

“Ok let’s split the money,” he proposed.

“Now you are talking,” Santosh smiled.

“70:30,” Thimappa put his cards on the table.

“Go to hell,” Santosh yelped.

“60:40,” Thimappa made a counteroffer.

“You are getting closer,” Santosh smiled.

“50:50 then,” Thimappa relented.

“Now we are friends again,” Santosh laughed and pushed his hand forward to shake it with Thimappa.

They decided to get to work fast. They walked away together to find the nearest jeweller shop.

“How much do you think this must be?” Thimappa asked Santosh on the way.

“No one ever owned a diamond ring in my family’s past ten generations,” he mocked Thimappa with a hearty cackle.

“But still? You might have heard about it. In my family’s generations since the time of Shivaji Maharaj, no one has even heard about a diamond ring, forget owned.” Thimappa broke into a guffaw too.

“I have heard they cost at least 50,000 plus. Sometimes it can run into lakhs,” Santosh remarked.

“Lakhs?” Thimappa raised his eyebrows. “I will go back to my village and do farming all my life. Who wants to live in this city and clean its dirt?” Thimappa had a distinct air of dreamy melancholy in his eyes.

“Yeah. I don’t have a village to go to, like you. But I can find one,” Santosh laughed.

“You can come with me; there’s lots of room in my village. We can live there like kings,” Thimappa proposed. The two of them who were up in arms a few minutes back were brothers in arms now.

“Should we try this one?” Thimappa asked Santosh in front of the first jeweller shop they encountered.

“Yeah let’s try,” Santosh said and they went in.

The security guard at the entrance gave Thimappa and Santosh a head to toe quaint look. They showed him the ring and walked inside.

“This is not diamond,” the store manager said after scrutinizing the ring. He had put it through many scales and scans before declaring his conclusion.

“When and where did you buy it? Do you have a receipt?” he asked. Thimappa and Santosh gave a blank look to each other.

“No Sir. Gift from parents, in village,” Thimappa made up a story on the spot.

“Hmm. Whoever sold this to your parents as diamond has fooled them. This is some stone,” he said.

“Stone?” Thimappa asked.

“Junk stone,” the jeweller said. “I will pay 500 for this.”

Santosh gave him a scowl. “500?”

“My last offer is 600,” the jeweller replied. “It can go into some imitation jewellery,” he smiled.

Thimappa pulled back the ring from the jeweller’s hand. He walked out with Santosh pacing ahead of him.

“I am sure he is conning us,” he told Santosh when they came out.

“One hundred percent. Did you see how his eyes lit up when he saw the ring first?” Santosh concurred with him.

“Yes, it was only after seeing us that he toned down his enthusiasm,” Thimappa agreed.

“We may never have seen a diamond. But we see garbage every day. We are smart enough to know what’s not garbage,” Santosh gave Thimappa a thump on his back and they exchanged a hug.

“Let’s try another one. This time we will be careful,” Thimappa said. And they walked searching for another jeweller.

They found one after a few minutes of walking.

“Rubbish,” he said after examining the ring. “Not diamond, not even precious stone. It’s some glass,” he added.

Santosh and Thimappa gave him a scowl. Santosh pulled the ring back.

“If you don’t want to pay, don’t call it rubbish,” he reprimanded the jeweller.

He smirked back. “This thing has no value. If you have sentimental value attached to it, why are you selling it?”

“That’s none of your business. No, we aren’t selling it. And not to you definitely,” Thimappa retorted with boiling eyes and a clenched fist.

And they walked out of that store too.

“This store was too close to the other one. The earlier guy must have called and told him about this. They all gang up against innocent sellers. So he must have known we are coming,” Santosh postulated.

“I am certain, without a doubt. These guys are all the same. They gang up. They won’t give true value to our ring,” Thimappa agreed with Santosh’s hypothesis.

“Let’s go to another area,” Santosh proposed.

“Yes,” Thimappa said. They walked to the nearest bus stop and hopped on to a bus that came along.

“Last stop,” Thimappa told the approaching conductor without knowing what it was. It was better to go as far as possible from here, he presumed. Santosh gave him a thumbs up and winked. They were on the right track, he felt. After an hour or so, the bus reached its last stop and they stepped out. This is a new area, they said to each other. Here we will get the right value, they thought together. They walked in search of a jeweller and found one soon.

“Waste,” the jeweller said. But they continued. And went to another.

“Trash,” said another.

“Scrap,” said one more.

By evening, Thimappa and Santosh had knocked on the door of every jeweller in that area. They had learnt all the ways possible to call something garbage.

“Why is everyone calling this garbage? Is it indeed trash?” Thimappa asked Santosh.

“I still don’t believe it,” Santosh said, looking at the shiny object.

“It does look like a real ring,” Thimappa stared at it holding it between his  fingers.

“It is a ring,” Santosh asserted.

“But if this isn’t diamond, why would someone make a ring of this type of shining stone?” Thimappa asked.

“Was it auspicious for the wearer?” Santosh asked.

Thimappa felt Santosh had hit the bullseye. His eyes lit up.

“You are right. In my village, I have seen rich people wearing rings that are auspicious. We wasted time with jewellers. We should have gone to astrologers,” Thimappa proposed.

“But even if it turns out to be auspicious, it still won’t have any value,” Santosh said.

“Yeah, you are right. But at least it will be auspicious,” Thimappa agreed with hesitation.

“I don’t know about you. But I am not going to wear it, if has no value, even if it is auspicious,” Santosh asserted.

“Yeah true. If rings could bring luck, we wouldn’t be garbage workers,” Thimappa said in a desolate voice.

After a few moments of silence, during which both of them mused over their bad luck, Thimappa spoke.

“No wonder it was in the garbage,” he said in a despondent tone.

“Yeah, if it had any value, it wouldn’t be in the garbage, isn’t it?” Santosh had also lost all hope by now.

They stepped into a bar and drowned their sorrow in a few glasses of country liquor.

“This gave me some hope for the future,” Thimappa said looking at the ring through his glass of liquor. “Now it’s back to garbage cleaning tomorrow morning,” he glared at the ring with a sullen frown.

“Yes, I was dreaming of an idyllic life in your village all day,” Santosh whimpered in sorrow sipping his drink.

“Let us see if the bar accepts this ring as payment. I don’t have any money,” a drunk Thimappa said after a while, and presented the ring to the cashier.

“It’s a diamond ring, keep it,” Santosh reiterated to the cashier.

“Don’t give me junk. Cash only,” he growled at them.

They emptied their pockets on the drink and walked out. In the darkness of the night, Thimappa looked at the ring and showed it to Santosh.

“Goodbye, diamond ring,” Santosh said as they walked to a bus stop at midnight. Thimappa held it with the fingers of one hand and waved it goodbye with his second hand.

Then he stepped two steps ahead in drunken stupor. With Santosh cheering, he threw it as far as he could with all the strength he could muster in his right shoulder.

***

Loud voices emerged from an apartment after dinner that night. The apartment was fifty feet from where Thimappa had picked up the ring earlier this morning.

Mrs Vaidya shouted back at her husband standing in front of her open wardrobe. “Why are you fighting with me over my jewellery box?”

“Can you stop asking questions and just tell me where it is?” Dr Vaidya fumed with fiery eyes.

“Why are you meddling with my jewellery? It was just an imitation jewellery box. I take care of my jewellery,” she continued. “All my gold is in the locker. You don’t need to tell me what to do with it.”

“What did you do to that box of imitation jewellery? It was here till last night,” Dr Vaidya persisted. He had sweat drops on his brow even on that cold evening. “Just tell me that. I don’t want anything else.”

Mrs Vaidya curled her lip and said, “Oh! Now I know. It had the imitation earring you had gifted me before marriage. But that was twenty years back.” Then with a slight smile, she informed her husband, “I forgot about it. I threw that today morning. In the garbage.”

Dr Vaidya’s face looked like a lion who just had a haircut.

“Are you angry because I threw that earring away?” she asked.

“No!” Dr Vaidya howled and rushed like a cheetah down the stairs from his ninth-floor apartment.

The entire apartment looked out from their balconies in wonder at what they saw. They saw Dr Vaidya rummage through the garbage bin late into the middle of the night all alone. Little did they know what the famous archaeologist was looking for.

Dr Vaidya’s area of expertise was the Maratha empire. He had kept his team’s secret discovery for safe keeping without telling anyone in his wife’s wardrobe. It was a valuable stone ring from the annals of history that Dr Vaidya and his team had stumbled upon a few days back. It was an auspicious treasure that he had unearthed with effort. It was a gift given by Jijamata to her son Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj at his coronation in 1674.

***

This story was first published by Kathmandu Tribune, Nepal’s National Online English Daily pressing forward to contribute significantly towards English Journalism in Nepal, in their May 14th issue. You can read it here.

PS: Check Soulmate and Other Stories with a Twist here.

Nonsense Generator

For individual investors who have ambitions to become market experts, my broker friend Jigneshbhai has devised a step by step approach that can be followed by almost anyone. No background in investing is necessary, but a learning attitude is important. It does not guarantee success (like market disclaimers!), but it is a sure and steady way to market expertise.

For those interested, here are the steps involved:

Step 1: Take any word in column 1 and another word in column 2 to form a cohesive set of meaningful terms. Like “Macro Environment” or “Monetary Policy”.

Step 2: Repeat step 1 to come up with two or three such cohesive meaningful terms. You can add more, but beyond two or three, it can tend to get difficult for people to believe that you are a genuine expert. So let’s say, you choose “Macro Environment” and “Global Uncertainty”.

Long-term             positions                buy

Short-term             policy                     sell

Underweight         environment         advise

Overweight            analysis                 hold

Structural              research                 observe

Global                    uncertainty           watch

Fiscal                      models                   take

Monetary              markets                 wait for

Domestic               scenarios               given that

Aggressive             investments          if you look at

Active                    valuations

Passive                   factors

Technical              institutions

Fundamental        Liquidity

Foreign                   consolidation

Macro                    Basis

 Cues                     Risk

Jigneshbhai says practice steps 1 and 2 well before moving to step 3.

Step 3: Now assuming you have mastered steps 1 and 2, add a few verbs to this term, and perhaps also a few adverbs after the term. This is actually something that cannot have copy-book instructions. Hence Jigneshbhai does not have a table for it. You will find some guidance in the column 3 above based on his experience.

So finally after adding some non-core words to your core terms, you should come up with a nice expert sentence like: “Given today’s macro environment, lack of foreign liquidity and global uncertainty, going overweight is not recommended. Though long-term valuations and structural factors are still favorable.”

Or you could come up with something like: “The market may be going through technical consolidation, and fundamental research may not hold ground. Unless global cues are favorable.”

(Expert Terms underlined above)

Caution: Step 3 is very crucial to ensure that you have the right mix here. Do not go overboard in using the terms here. There is no sure-fire formula for this and can only be mastered with creativity and experience. It is a bit like cooking. An expert cook always knows what are the right ingredients and what should be their proportions so that the dish does not get spoilt. So keep practising step 3 till you reach perfection.

Step 4: Finally, any writer can write a speech, but it takes a true expert to deliver it in all seriousness. That is what step 4 is all about. Deliver it in true seriousness, preferably with a ‘lost in thought’ look, as if you actually understand what you are saying. That is the sign of a true market expert.

PS: For those who cannot master the steps just based on the notes above, Jigneshbhai says that practical demonstrations of step 1 to 4 are available mostly 24 by 7, but certainly between 9 am and 4 pm Mon-Fri on any business channel on TV.

***

Logic of Decisions

“If we go by pure logic, no one has any reason to eat this double chocolate muffin,” Jigneshbhai remarked the other day.

Swami scowled with his mouth full of two bites of it. “It’s logical to have it for its taste,” he said.

“But logically, it’s not good for health, especially the frequency with which we have it,” Jigneshbhai teased Swami.

“By another logic, having it once in a while is good for mental health and well-being,” Swami winked, gulping down the mouthful with a sip of coffee.

Jigneshbhai smiled and looked into blank space for a few moments. Swami and I knew something was cooking.

“There are many logical arguments to every side,” Jigneshbhai said with a twinkle in his eyes.

Swami also broke into a loud laugh and along with him, we enjoyed the wonderful coffee. There were no two views on it.

“But we don’t decide based on logic. We decide first most of the times, and then give a logic for it,” Jigneshbhai said.

Swami and I gave him a queer look as we had thought the subject had come to a logical close. But apparently it hadn’t. Jigneshbhai still had something to say. And when he has said something, can Swami be far behind?

“That doesn’t sound logical to me. I think I decide based on rational logic,” Swami claimed, and then smiled realising that he had made a claim that couldn’t be supported by any logic.

As an afterthought he added, “But I thought you are the rational guy who takes decisions based on logic,” and looked at Jigneshbhai.

“Even I don’t decide based on only logic fully,” Jigneshbhai confessed. That was a surprise for both me and Swami.

“And all these years, I have been taking your advice thinking it’s always logical,” Swami teased.

“Well, it is, but not entirely,” Jigneshbhai said, and stared into blank space. “I wonder if we decide and then look for logic to explain it.”

Swami and I pondered over it for a while. Perhaps, that was how we were. It was logically nice to appear logical. But most of times, logic could explain any decision after it was taken.

That’s when we saw the wealthy old man walking towards our table from the next. He had been listening in as always.

He resolved our quandary when he came towards us and said, “All options in a decision have some logic till you decide. After you decide, what you decided is most logical.”

***

Morning Walk

A few days back, I started going for a morning walk.

I walked down the stairs of my apartment and found another walker coming out of the lift. He waved at me and I smiled back. But I had a mask on and so he couldn’t see me smile. He thought I was giving him a blank stare. So he looked elsewhere, cursing me for not returning his greeting.

I turned the corner of my block and I saw a few walkers stand in a line with folded hands facing the east. I realised that they were praying to the sun. I slowed down and did the same, but I ended up getting awkward stares.

On the long stretch at one end of the complex, I saw a flurry of walkers in both directions. I felt like asking if there was a particular direction that I should take while walking, for the sake of uniformity, but quickly realised no one had an answer, and it didn’t matter.

A lot of walkers went past me as I walked slowly. Everyone walked at their own pace. There is no competition, except with your own walk of yesterday, and that too is optional.

There were all types of individual walkers and there were all types of groups of walkers.

Among the groups of walkers, I saw some strolling along, some pacing through, some chatting among themselves, and some walking together in silence focused on their step count. The chatting groups discussed different topics based on who was in the group. Politics, cricket, jobs, bosses, economy, money, cooking, maids, children, in-laws and, of course, covid – pick your poison.

Among individual walkers, some walkers smiled when I crossed them, some looked elsewhere when they saw me approaching from a distance, while some gave me a blank glare when I smiled. I couldn’t make up my mind whether smiling was ok on a morning walk.

I decided against smiling at unknown walkers after one elderly gentleman stopped and asked me if I knew him when I smiled at him out of courtesy. I had to confess that I didn’t. He wasn’t amused.

Some walkers had sticks in their hands. I didn’t realise why till I saw one of them shooing a stray dog away. But soon after that, I saw a walker with a bagful of food stopping to distribute it to a bunch of stray dogs. One man walks to avoid the dogs, while one man walks to meet them.

I realised that the dogs, both stray and pets, are active and noisy on morning walks. The pets bark and jump when they see a new walker. The strays bark and run when they see a new pet. I quietly took another lane avoiding both new dogs and new walkers.

I used to think that people who go on morning walks do it mainly for health. I soon realised that not everyone walks for health. In fact, very few walk for health alone. When I saw the manner and pace at which some walk, it was clear to me that health was not in their list of reasons to walk.

Some walk because they have company. Some walk because they like the solitude.

Some walk because they can’t stay at home. They don’t really want to walk as much as they want to get out of the house. So they walk for a while and sit most of the time.

Some walk because they have been asked to walk, either by their family or their doctor. It is clear that if given a choice they would prefer being wrapped in a blanket.

Some walk to walk their dog. That also includes many other things that the dog does, about which other walkers often express their displeasure. The dog lovers don’t seem to care and keep walking.

Some walk to get flowers from the plants. Many of them pluck the flowers right in front of the notice that says ‘don’t pluck flowers’. They are oblivious to them. They walk to get flowers for God.

Some walk simply so that they can tell others that they go for a morning walk. It is a good boast.

I met a walker who walked to find customers for the health drinks he was an agent for. Another man, who I later realised was an insurance agent, walked to find takers for his insurance policies.

I found that there were many walking couples, but they didn’t keep pace with each other, especially the older ones. I found the husband walking ahead of the wife, and the wife on the mobile a few feet behind dragging her feet. After a couple of rounds they lost track of each other. I hoped that the morning walk didn’t become a reason for a day of arguments.

Some walkers jogged between walks or walked between jogs. I found this type of walkers when I went outside my complex after a couple of rounds. They needed a broader arena, so they stepped out. They were the serious exercisers among walkers. Many of them wore shoes that matched their attire. Some had a mobile phone clamped to their arm or a band on their wrist. They had targets. They didn’t seem to enjoy the walk as much as the ones who walked without targets.

There were all types of walkers that I saw during my long morning walks. It didn’t matter what type they were and why they walked, as long as they walked. The morning welcomed all of them.

I hope I added some variety to the mix of walkers on the days I went for a morning walk.

***

PS: Check Grandpa’s Pet and Other Childhood Stories