Ranjit Kulkarni's Blog, page 32

Bad Writing Day

Since yesterday, I have been thinking that I will use the second Tuesday of this month to write a post saying that I am really grateful to everyone for reading the posts, for the emails you send to me, for the comments that you post on the website, for sharing the posts with others elsewhere.

I thought I will use this Tuesday to also provide a general update on what’s up with my writing.

I thought I will put all this across in a well-constructed long post today.

But I just couldn’t get it done. All that I wrote yesterday and today turned out to be a disaster. Every time I sat down to write, what came out just didn’t make any sense.

And the reason for that was a beautiful poem that a friend sent across to me that occupied my mind all day and messed up with my writing.

I read it twice and it affected me instantly and with deep feeling. It read as follows:

“Meri Koi Feeling nahi hai? Tumhaari Feeling tumhaari?

Tuada kutta tommy, Sada kutta kutta?”

It also had an accompanying music link with a jingle, which I clicked on and watched. I was instantly possessed by the wonderful lyrics and the jingle.

“Tuada kutta tommy,” I said on my morning walk to my neighbour who had his dog walking with him. He (the neighbour and perhaps the dog too!) gave me a blank look and walked past.

I sat down at my desk to write after that. But this jingle didn’t escape my mind.

I tried to put pen on paper and all that came out was “Kya karu main mar jau?” after a few minutes. Then I tried to put keyboard on MS Word and still the same ramble came out. All I wrote yesterday morning was “Tuada Kutta Tommy.”

I called my wife before lunch and when she asked me to call back after a while as she was in a meeting, I instantly blurted out, “Meri Koi Feeling nahi hai?” and disconnected. She called me back and asked me if I was fine.

I went mad with the lilting music of “Sada kutta kutta” not escaping me even during lunch. I tossed and turned trying to get my afternoon siesta, but it escaped me. The lilting jingle, its lyrics and their eloquence seemed to have made my soul their home.

That’s when, in a desperate bid to get rid of it, I called Jigneshbhai and Swami and asked them to meet me in the evening at the café.

“What did you say? Will you say that again?” Swami asked first enraptured by the stirring lyrics.

I sent him the jingle video and explained the meaning quickly. He understood it instantly.

“So you mean it is like ‘Your idli rice cake, my idli idli?’” he asked.

“Exactly, tuadi idli rice cake, sadi idli idli!” I answered, deeply impressed by his ability to culturally contextualise the profoundness of the song.

It is said that all great works get embellished by the contribution of wise people when they read them and decorate them further with their own interpretation. Jigneshbhai wasn’t far behind in making his contribution.

“So, you mean it is also like tuada cake muffin, sada cake cake?” he asked, biting into his muffin.

Both Swami and I nodded in agreement and laughed aloud.

For the rest of the evening, I heard Swami and Jigneshbhai make various value additions to the original. They went from “Tuadi tikki burger, sadi tikki tikki?” to “Tuada toilet restroom sada toilet toilet?”…and so on, and so forth. I guess you get the picture.

I was happy that I had relieved my head of the jingle. I looked forward to going home and having a productive session of writing. But it had now possessed Swami and Jigneshbhai. I could see the waiters in the café laughing seeing them entangled in the lyrics.

I tried to change the topic a couple of times but all of that was of no avail. While I had successfully discharged the burden of the jingle to Swami and Jigneshbhai, it had now become theirs to carry.

It was only when the wealthy old man who had been listening to our chatter from the adjacent table came over to ours that they found someone to share it with. In fact, that was the only way to offload it, by sharing it with someone else.

The magical thing about this jingle was that unless you share it with others, it just occupies you. And then, after you share it, it leaves you, while you watch the fun.

I decided to warn the wealthy old man to stay away from Jigneshbhai and Swami today.

I wanted to tell him to, for a change, please take my advice today, and avoid them, run away from them, hide from them if you can. It was in his best interest to prevent the contagion. Once contracted, there was no cure, I felt like telling him.

So I took tentative steps towards him.

I said, “Sir, I wanted to warn you. Please don’t get close to Swami and Jigneshbhai today. Just focus on your coffee and go home.”

But I realised that the damage had already been done.

The wealthy old man walked towards me before I could say anything further.

He lifted his cup of coffee serenely and said, “tuadi coffee cappuccino, sadi coffee coffee?”

***

PS: I ended up not writing that post in detail, but jokes apart, a big thank you for reading, posting comments, sending emails and sharing. Keep them coming. Gratefully – Ranjit

Reunion

At 4 PM, my phone rang. It was my friend Swaminathan on the other side. I hadn’t spoken with him for a while. I was in a meeting and neglected it. At 6 PM, it was Swami again. This time I answered it. And this time, also with him on the speakerphone was his close friend and advisor, Jignesh Patel.

“We have our silver jubilee reunion coming up,” Swami sounded excited. “Can you believe it is twenty-five years since we graduated?”

I did a quick mental calculation and realised it was, for good or bad, only 23 years. Not that such needless accuracy made a difference unless you were an engineer. Swami understood the reason for my pause. But as always, he kept speaking and did not take a pause.

“You might be wondering; it is only 23 years,” Swami started. “But we need two years to prepare. Jigneshbhai attended his commerce college reunion last year. It took them almost two years of groundwork. He says it takes time to get everyone onboard and make arrangements,” he added.

“Yes, you must start early,” Jigneshbhai concurred.

“I called you because a few of us are meeting tomorrow evening to discuss the modalities. Join us at 7 PM at our usual place,” Swami said, without letting me speak and hung up.

A college reunion after twenty-five years was an exciting prospect. I hadn’t been in touch with most of my batchmates, except a small close-knit bunch, busy as we get with life. I didn’t know what to expect. Even so, I was free that evening and joined the gang at – where else but our favourite meeting place – Jigneshbhai’s Club.

It turned out to be the start of an adventure. Apart from Swami and Jigneshbhai, there were over twenty or more middle-aged men there. They had various levels of hair on their head and different sizes of paunches on their bellies. I found it easier to identify them with the variety of drinks in their hands. It turned out that most of them were my and Swami’s batchmates from college.

“Hello, NAND-NOR, you haven’t changed.” An unknown hot cappuccino shouted aloud in my direction. It was my campus nickname that I had heard after almost two decades. I gave a startled look and walked towards him, pretending to recognize him.

After closer scrutiny, I spoke. “Is that….by any chance, … Sher-baba?” I took a tentative guess.

“Yes, it is,” the hot cappuccino howled.

Another iced café mocha barged in and more than tapped me on my shoulder. “This is Volvo, and that is Chats,” he said. A gin-and-tonic raised his glass. “This is Nags,” he said, “and that’s Srini-garu,” he pointed at a Gold-flake plus rum-and-cola.

Swami then rattled off a bunch of a dozen nicknames from the yesteryears. At each name, he pointed at one of our batchmates who was present there. I glared at each of them, mentally matching them with my historical outdated versions of them. There didn’t seem to be much of a resemblance. I needed some precise face-and-body matching tools, to be sure.

“Where is Tomi?” a whisky-soda asked. “And Chakru? Last I heard, he moved to Minnesota,” he added.

“That was seven years back, buddy. Now he is with a company in Singapore,” the cappuccino said. Many “who is where” and “who is doing what” kind of updates followed this. Some “do you still…?” questions, and “remember that….?” memories followed that.

Despite the fact that we had met after so many years, the exuberance in the air was familiar. It was as if it had been only yesterday since we left college after spending four years there together. A little bit of magic was in the air. The memories, the laughter, the profanities; the loving remarks of a bond almost forgotten; long lost events recollected. They all melted into the few hours that evening.

The evening would have gone into the night as one thing led to another. Many questions on where was someone didn’t quite get a satisfactory answer. We soon realised that there were still many outside this small group who were not traced. But we were confident that they could be traced. Someone, who was in touch with someone who they knew, would know.

“There are only six degrees of separation, after all,” a lemon iced tea reassured everyone.

“Guys let’s focus on the reunion,” Swami yelped in the cross conversations. He got no response. 

Swami then declared, “Let’s have a WhatsApp group only for this silver jubilee reunion.” That got some attention. “Things will fall in place after that,” he said. Everyone nodded in agreement, for once.

“But, by the way, isn’t two years a bit too early?” another rum-and-cola asked. “Don’t remember preparing for anything so much in advance – even supplementary exams – on campus!” he broke into a loud guffaw with a couple of others.

“Yeah, I thought we will do a night out reunion tonight,” the whisky-soda whispered.

“Oh come on. We aren’t twenty anymore,” a balding iced café mocha revolted.

“Age is only a number, forty is the new twenty,” the rum and cola countered.

“By the way when exactly are we having this? And where? And how many days? Any idea?” asked a colourful cocktail that hadn’t spoken so far. More than a dozen blank faces and a bout of awkward silence received this question. No one had any answers.

“Target August 2020, first or second week, 2 nights, 3 days,” we heard a confident, wise voice. It was Jigneshbhai, who had been observing in silence as usual. He had put a stick in the ground.

“We did our reunion at that time at our college last year,” he continued. “It works for the institute, for folks coming from abroad, and for those in India,” he asserted. “And the weather is reasonable,” he added. Experience speaks, I thought, and Swami nodded.

Swami got to work after that evening and formed the WhatsApp group. By the end of the next week, there were over a hundred of fifty of us in there. By the end of the month, we were close to two hundred and fifty. Talks of having sub-groups by branch or location had started.

Every morning I woke up with hundreds of new messages when a few more of us joined.

“Hey, welcome, where have you been?” turned out to be a great first message. “Update your profile pics guys” followed the welcome. Even after that, it often left many still wondering who the person in the profile pic was. It led to many “Can’t place your name to face! What were you called?” messages.

When an unidentified person joined, the question followed “Who is this?” and, after a barrage of cross talks and arguments, it often turned into an occasional “Who left?” every few days.

Over time, the topics changed to “When is this reunion?” to “Let’s have families too”, often leading to strong “Avoid families” arguments and “Do it when it suits everyone” messages.

Jigneshbhai had once told me and Swami many years back during one of our coffee conversations. “We should form our opinions and habits with care so that they don’t deform us.” More inputs from Jigneshbhai in the form of a document listing his own reunion experience came forth. Swami circulated it in the group to silence some of the vociferous arguments.

“Assemble one day in advance at a convenient place. Take a bus from there for two days on campus. Have an agenda but keep it flexible.” Most of us concluded that those were practical inputs.

“We must felicitate some professors,” someone said to which everyone agreed in gratitude.

“Have a day for sightseeing,” someone said. Another countered it. “It’s not the sleepy town it used to be anymore. Everything has changed there.” Sightseeing got knocked out, though some of us decided that visiting some of our favourite jaunts outside campus was a given.

“We must have food in the mess and live in the hostels,” an enthusiastic voice said. Another disappointing realisation drowned that out. “No one uses our messes and hostels anymore,” someone who had been to campus, of late, brought forth the reality.

The group got down to agreeing on a bunch of organising volunteers. The volunteers did surveys and exchanged opinions. Movement was slow and sporadic but steady. It happened between the Happy Birthday, Happy Diwali and Happy New Year wishes. Distractions often got “can everyone stick to the reunion?” rejoinders.

After much debate, the dates, duration, location, agenda and all and sundry were final.

A lot of mini reunions and smaller meetings happened in parallel by smaller groups living close to each other. After many years, some of us reconnected. The photos shared only increased the enthusiasm. By early 2020, discussions on hotels and travel began taking root.

But…all things big and beautiful need something greater than a coming together of hands and minds. Call it luck, call it providence or something else. That something, unfortunately, played truant in 2020.

Somewhere around April or May 2020, Swami called me and said, “The silver jubilee reunion is off. 2020 has been such a year. Can’t help it.”

Many of the alumni that had gathered over two years still stayed put though in the group.

“Dropping into Dallas next weekend. Anyone around to catch up?” type of messages started sprouting. Swami, like many others, received a lot of “Hey we have been in the same city but haven’t met” messages. Jigneshbhai smiled and said, “Not bad when you didn’t have an actual reunion.”

Jigneshbhai, after his college reunion last year, had told Swami, “At a college reunion, you meet a lot of old long-lost friends. But the person you meet the most is… yourself.” In some sense, a mini reunion did happen over the past couple of years, albeit digital. It may not be as good as a real one, but several notches better than none. For the real reunion, Swami is still waiting.

Eye Doctor

“It is quite extraordinary,” Swami said as Puttuswamy drove past Town Hall, “that whenever I do some research on a medical problem before going to a doctor, the symptoms I read about suggest that I have got all the diseases listed in their most malicious form.”

Jigneshbhai realised that Swami and his Google doctor had been active all morning. “Did you find anything about blurred vision?” Jigneshbhai asked.

“Yeah, a little bit. It seems blurred vision could be due to many complicated ailments. All of which I could be potentially suffering from when I read about them.” Swami’s worried voice said. “The symptoms correspond with almost all the sensations I have had some time or the other.” His forehead had wrinkles and his eyebrows were twitching.

“Like?” Jigneshbhai teased as usual. And as usual, Swami did not get the sarcasm.

“Long and short sightedness seem to be the natural first thing. But it looks like glaucoma and cataract cannot be ruled out,” Swami said.

“I see,” Jigneshbhai said.

“Imagine my horror when I read that blurred vision could be due to migraine or diabetes too,” Swami continued in all seriousness based on his research.

“That’s bad, you are already on the edge of diabetes. Sorry, on the edge of being prediabetic,” Jigneshbhai said.

“Yeah, that got my attention too. So, I continued reading while I waited for Puttuswamy. And a wave of listlessness and despair took me over when I read that a blurry vision could also be initial stages of brain tumour, stroke, or even multiple sclerosis,” Swami’s voice quivered as he spoke.

“Say that again, multiple sclerosis. Did I hear some slurring? I have heard that slurring could be indicative of a stroke too,” Jigneshbhai added salt and spice to the already heated plate of Swami’s worried head.

“Well, I am not slurring. I checked that before leaving. So, that’s a reprieve,” Swami said.

“Thank God for small mercies,” Jigneshbhai pretended to heave a sigh of relief.

“Actually, after that, I went through all the eye disorders listed there. And only a couple of them seem to be unlikely,” Swami said.

“And may I ask which are those unlucky ones?” Jigneshbhai asked. I thought Swami was joking about this, but to my utter surprise, he was serious.

“Yeah, one is preeclampsia,” he said.

“Wow, you discovered something I have never heard of,” Jigneshbhai exclaimed.

“Yes, because it happens in pregnant women,” Swami said.

“So, that’s ruled out, I guess. And the other one?” Jigneshbhai persisted.

“Hmmm, I forget the other one. Wait, let me recollect,” Swami squinted his eyes and stared into blankness trying to remember. “Nope, lost it,” he added.

I sat and pondered over Swami’s research and analysis. What an interesting case Swami would be for budding ophthalmologist students, I thought. He could be a prized specimen for the class of upcoming eye specialists. No need to see so many patients and waste years of practice. One look into his eyes and you get the knowledge and experience of all ailments in one shot. Just take a look at one patient and collect your degree.

We had started our journey with Swami seeing the brighter side of things. But by the time Swami finished his talk and we reached the clinic; he was a man who could see only darkness all around him.

The waiting area was small but there was no one waiting. It was a small clinic. But it looked like the ophthalmologist was an experienced and senior doctor. I saw on the wall a photograph of the doctor with the Mayor of Ghatembur. And it said, “The Mayor of Ghatembur had his eyes checked here.”

If Swami hit a purple patch in his life, and one day became the Mayor, would such a board be put up on this wall, too? It was an inspiring thought. But then I felt almost every doctor’s clinic in Ghatembur would need such a board. It might be better to put up a few selected boards only in a few clinics that he hasn’t been to. That will be a shorter list like Swami’s shorter list of what ailments he doesn’t have. A board like “Mayor Swami hasn’t been here” would reduce the number of such boards required. By the logic of such boards being rare, they would then succeed in making that clinic famous. “That one on the 4th lane to the right from here, that’s the one Mayor Swami hasn’t been to, yet,” people would say.

The doctor’s assistant called us inside and broke my chain of dreamy thoughts.

“So, what’s wrong with you?” The eye specialist asked Swami when we entered the consultation room.

Swami looked at us and wondered what he should say.

“What’s the problem with your eyes?” The doctor repeated. Swami didn’t speak up despite the repetition. Finally, Jigneshbhai opened up with a smile.

“Sir, it will be easier for him to list what’s not wrong with him. That’s a shorter list,” he said. This gave Swami some confidence to start.

“It could be many things. I realised my symptoms are indicative of…” Swami started mumbling from his recently acquired mental encyclopaedia of eye diseases. But the ophthalmologist cut him short.

“Okay, wait. Just tell me what are your symptoms,” he said.

“I am having blurry vision,” Swami said.

“Since when?”

“Today morning or maybe yesterday.”

“Can you read this?” He lit up a board in front of him. Swami looked up in the mirror ahead and started reading out. “A X O T V…”

“Go to the last line.”

“Small A, capital U, small T, capital H…”

“Okay, that’s enough. Read this,” he said and thrust a small book in Swami’s hand.

“This is a study of spectacles, their uses and abuses in long and short sightedness; and the pathological conditions resulting from their irrational employment by patients above the age of forty…”

“Okay, enough. Sit here,” the ophthalmologist cut Swami’s essay reading short. I must admit that it might not have been a bad idea to let him read it completely. Based on the initial sentence, I suspected that it might have helped Swami. The doctor asked Swami to sit on a chair and peep into a set of lenses on a giant machine.

“Rest your chin fully,” he said and peeped from the other side. “What colours do you see?” he asked.

“Red, green, dark blue, bright yellow, light orange…”

“Colours are enough.”

“Violet, black…”

“Okay, stop.”

The ophthalmologist then asked Swami to lie down on his examination bed. He clutched Swami’s wrist first. Then he suddenly flashed a torch into Swami’s eyes – a cruel thing to do I must admit when he was not ready. And then the doctor hit him on the head with a rubber hammer of some sort – again not a very humane act, I felt. Then he came back to his desk and sat down.

He started writing a prescription and after a few minutes, he handed it over to Swami.

“I am giving you some eye drops. Take them for a few days,” he said.

“Okay, Sir,” Swami was at his studious best sitting in an upright posture.

“Do you work on the laptop and mobile?”

“Yes, Sir. Part of the job.”

“Okay. Reduce it if you can. You have some eye strain. Other than that, there is nothing wrong with your eyes. All you need is a few days of rest.”

“Oh okay, Sir,” Swami said.

“Work from home. Or take a few days off. Take some rest. You should be fine.”

“Okay thanks, Sir.”

I must say it was such a disappointment. When we stepped out, Jigneshbhai looked like a cricket fan who expects his favourite batsman to score a century and has to face the ignominy and the embarrassment of seeing him get out on a first ball duck. The weight of expectations on Swami’s shoulders of coming out with flying colours, which meant a diagnosis of at least some respectable eye ailment, had pulled him down. He was disconsolate on realising that all those expectations were to remain unfulfilled. The ophthalmologist had crashed his dreams to nought.

“Well, there’s nothing wrong,” he remarked looking at the doctor’s prescription as if it were the marksheet of a failed student. As we went towards the car, the initial shock of having no eye ailment had subsided. The terrible jolt of returning from a doctor’s appointment with only a set of eye drops to show had abated.

“Well, I need some rest,” Swami said when Puttuswamy arrived with the car after a few silent seconds of waiting. Those moments had helped him in accepting the inevitable.

“Yes, complete rest for a few days is what you need,” Jigneshbhai said.

“Maybe a few days off. Or a change he said too,” Swami remembered.

“Yes, a change where no thoughts come up. Where the mind is empty. Where you can rest in peace,” Jigneshbhai concurred and then corrected himself. “I mean relax in peace.”

As far as I could recollect, the ophthalmologist had advised rest. Though I didn’t quite remember the doctor advising any change as such, it was a thought that I found useful and worth expanding upon.

“Change? Let’s go somewhere,” I suggested.

The wave of despair that had enveloped the being of my friends went away. The dark clouds were replaced with not just a silver lining but bright sunshine, the kind that we had started our journey to the ophthalmologist with. There was hope after all.

“Yes, we need a change,” both Swami and Jigneshbhai said in unison.

“All this stress of the job on weekdays and house work on weekends is getting to me,” Swami said.

Well, whatever be the reason, the agreement was unanimous. We needed a break; we needed a change. And it was not as if we were being extravagant about it. It was not a prodigal idea only for our sake. It was inevitable. It had to be done. It was Swami’s doctor’s advice. And who can go against doctor’s advice?

***

Soulmate

Ten Thousand rupees for every boy she evaluated as her prospective groom was not bad. Six months back, Sanjana’s father had relented to this arrangement. It was a nice new source of income for her. She had never planned to get married. If possible she would never marry, but, in any case, she didn’t plan to marry so soon. And definitely not through this arranged marriage route. And for sure not till she found a true soulmate. About that, she was certain.

But it was tough to convince her parents about it. It was impossible to have a rational argument with them on it. So, this was a compromise, incentive arrangement that her father came up with. And which she accepted with glee. She had to, at least, see some boys with no commitment that she will actually choose someone. For every such evaluation, her father paid her ten thousand. It was like getting paid for visiting the shopping mall though you had no plans to shop. She had already made close to two lakhs this way and was happy about it. After a few months, her father wondered if his ploy had failed. With no plans of marriage anytime soon, it looked like a sustainable source of income for Sanjana.

Till this guy came along a month or so back. Out of the blue, her newfound income seemed to be in jeopardy. She asked herself if she was nudging herself to go down this path. Was she actually tending towards choosing this guy and putting an end to her newfound source of income? she wondered. Her father would be happy, she felt, and not only because he was going to save more expenses. But because of genuine satisfaction of seeing his daughter find someone.

So she tried to tell herself to stop going down that path. But as much as she tried to, she couldn’t stop herself from going down that path. The reality was that she actually felt, from deep within her heart, that she had found her soulmate in him.

Was there anything like being made for each other? she often wondered after chatting with him. If there was anything like that, I have found it, she convinced herself.

It was only about two months since she had registered at a matrimonial site and this guy had popped up from there. Looks, build, personality and all those physical attributes didn’t matter much to Sanjana. So she didn’t check all that in detail. What she had been looking for, was a true meeting of hearts. A union of souls, so to speak, that had, so far, been alien to her.

In the twenty odd prospective grooms that she had rejected, some of them fairly good-looking, there was no question of that happening. In fact, nothing even anywhere close to that had happened. It doesn’t take long for a girl to get it. Sanjana didn’t even have to meet most of them in person. On every occasion, she knew in a couple of chats or phone calls that this guy wasn’t the one. Ten thousand rupees wasn’t a bad amount for a couple of chats or calls, she told herself after rejecting them.

But with this particular guy Aryan, it was something else. She wasn’t able to get away from him. They kept chatting for hours discussing the books they read. And then the movies they loved and the food they adored and then what not. It seemed like they were reading each other’s minds. Her adulation for books was more than matched by his worship of her favourite writers. Her love for the outdoors found an echo in all his treks to the Himalayas. Her penchant for Italian food reverberated in his fascination for cooking Tuscan dishes.

Not only did their likes meet but it seemed like their disdain had common targets. They found common ground in a shared, general haughtiness towards politicians. He cringed as much as she did when it came to posting anything on social media. Loud socialising or parties were a strict no-no for him as much as they were for her. They even agreed on how they would, if they did, like to get married. Both of them had no second thoughts that it would be a simple, friends and family only type function.

She had made up her mind. This guy was worth sacrificing her annuity income for. Enough of these chats which were going on for more than a month. It was time to meet in person, she decided, and he agreed in an instant. She went through the matrimonial site and fixed a date with him. Sanjana – Aryan lunch date at 12 noon, it said. And today was that day.

***

She had dressed up well for the occasion. Blue jeans and a pink spaghetti top suited the bright sunny day. Though knowing her and Aryan, clothes weren’t such a big deal, she knew. Their approach was always more about finding common ground to live and love together. They would rather not bother about all these superficial things, she told herself. She had decided to meet at a popular restaurant that served, what else but, Italian cuisine. Sanjana reached the place well in time before 12 noon. She waited for Aryan to turn up.

When Sanjana saw a short, stocky guy in a tight black t-shirt that barely hid his paunch, walk in five minutes before noon, one part of her mind pleaded that he wasn’t Aryan. But he was. He walked towards her wearing a stubble from a few unshaven days in a confident stride without any hesitation, and asked, “Aren’t you.. aah.. umm.. Sss.. ..Sa…Sanjana?”

She looked at him and asked, “Aryan?”

“Yyy…Yes,” he said, and sat on the chair opposite her.

She noticed a few drops of sweat on his forehead. He was nervous, Sanjana thought. She smiled within at that realisation. It felt good to her that the man, who she thought was her soulmate, was as nervous as her to meet in person. She sneaked a secret glance at him and saw that he was looking elsewhere, scratching his half-grown unkempt beard.

She had a smile on her face.

“Some water?” she asked.

That shook him out of his thoughts, and he turned his gaze towards her. He removed his sunglasses. Then he started speaking but no words came out of his mouth for a while.

 Finally after a few seconds, he stuttered, “Aahh.. Yyess. And some ww..wine?”

He was nervous to the hilt, she thought, again smiling to herself. For all his confidence in the chat, here was a nervous bloke in person. She giggled within but had a plain face outside.

She called the waiter and asked for some wine. “Anything to start?” she asked him.

Aryan gave the waiter a blank look, who stared back waiting for him to say something. After a few awkward seconds, Aryan stuttered again, “vvv Vene.. ..tian.. .ss.Ciche….,”

“Venetian Cicchetti, Yes Sir,” the waiter completed the name of the dish, with eyebrows raised in surprise. It wasn’t a dish ordered commonly. “Anything else?”

Aryan looked at Sanjana. He bent forward as if to let the words from his mouth come out quickly. After a few awkward seconds, he asked her, “Are yy.. you…vvv .. vege.. tarian?”

“Yes,” Sanjana replied.

Aryan looked back at waiter and started stuttering again. “Parmi…gia.. aa..”

“Parmigiana?” the waiter cut him short again.

“Mela..n..za…,” Aryan tried to complete the order. He gave Sanjana an embarrassed look with a pale face and falling eyes.

“Parmigiana Melan Zane, Sir?” the waiter completed the name of the dish, impressed with the choice again. This man was a connoisseur, he thought. Only an expert could order such exotic, rare dishes without even checking the menu card.

“Yes,” Aryan sighed a heave of relief. He wiped his forehead.

“Ok Sir. One Venetian Cicchetti and one Parmigiana Melan Zane. Anything else?”

Aryan shook his head and the waiter went away. Sanjana looked at Aryan and wondered if he was still nervous.

Over the course of the next hour or two, they discussed all sorts of things that they had chatted about. Sanjana had to take long pauses often to wait for Aryan to complete. But Aryan often moved closer to her as if she would not hear him otherwise. Sanjana liked the smell of his perfume. She loved the nervous movements he made while talking to her. She stared at him while waiting for words to come out.

Aryan ordered exotic desserts for them after the lunch that Sanjana had only read about. He spoke about his latest trek to the Himalayas. He showed her some amazing photographs he had taken on his phone. He even caught her once glaring at his face while he was showing her the snaps. They even discussed their favourite Wodehouse characters. Aryan rooted for Emsworth and Sanjana pitched for Bertie Wooster. After about a couple of hours, it was time to leave.

***

On her way home, Sanjana seemed to have some disconnect. Despite the wonderful connection they shared, her steps slowed down on her way back, as doubts occupied her mind.

It didn’t escape her mind that Aryan had a heavy stammer that was embarrassing. It didn’t quite fit in with her idea of her soulmate. The soul level connection that she had before the lunch date seemed a bit tenuous now.

She had also noticed that his hand had large patches of white. They had caught her attention when he showed her the Himalayan photos. She had also noticed some patches on his neck in a stolen glance under his t-shirt collar. They indicated that he had a pigment disorder. It might be vitiligo, she wondered, though she didn’t ask. These didn’t match her ideas of her soulmate.

She had sweat on her brow when these realities hit her. Her lips quivered at the thought of spending her life with a man with a stammer. Her hands shivered at the recollection of the vivid white patches on his body. Were there more beyond what she saw? She wondered.

She urgently googled the causes of stammering. They varied from low self-esteem to psychological trauma to brain disorders. She wondered if Aryan had any of these. She made impatient searches for the cures for it. It relieved her to read that a doctor could cure it. It starts with slow speaking, it said. No wonder he spoke at a slow pace, she reassured herself. We can see a doctor after marriage, she affirmed and dispelled her own fears. She heaved a sigh of relief. Some energy returned to the pace in her step.

But then she started her google research on vitiligo. It wasn’t very encouraging. There weren’t any known, sure shot causes. Some said it was genetics, others said it was an unknown virus. Her desperate search for a cure only landed her to some steroids to improve appearance. But she found no long-lasting treatment for it. Vitiligo had no permanent cure. And it could get worse. She was disconsolate. It didn’t fit in with her expectations.

Tears flowed down her cheeks. Her eyes and nose turned red due to the soft sobs. Her dreams seemed to be in jeopardy.

She felt wrong about herself for such thoughts, though.

She questioned herself. How can she be so mean? What if he had developed these later? What if she discovered them after marriage? And what about their soul connection, which was at a different level altogether?

What about the fact that her heart said that Aryan was her soulmate? She felt ashamed of herself. She decided that the stammering and vitiligo weren’t important. What she desired from the bottom of her hearts was a true meeting of minds. A true soulmate. And that is what she had got, she told herself.

And she opened her chat and pinged him.

Like earlier, when she started chatting with Aryan, minutes turned into hours. Sanjana was back to her cheerful self. The tears went away. She was smiling again typing away to glory on her phone. The smileys and emoticons conveyed her sentiments to Aryan. It wasn’t a surprise that very soon, after a few more chats, Sanjana had forgotten about the ailments. The stammering and the vitiligo went into the background.

Aryan soon popped the proposal and she said yes without much ado. She had found her soulmate.

Sanjana had decided, out of her own free will, to give up her easy source of income after a good twenty rejects. Her father was the happiest man in the world. She told him about the stammering and the vitiligo, and he raised a frown. He sulked a bit and felt that she should reconsider. He asked her to have a rethink but Sanjana insisted. She said she had found her soulmate and such mundane things didn’t matter. Her father relented. His daughter had herself chosen him.

At the back of his mind, it was a relief for him that, at least, she had chosen someone finally. Those thoughts were enough for the father. After all, Aryan had a good career. He was an intelligent man.

***

Aryan thanked this career and intelligence in secret, when Sanjana said yes. They had come to his rescue. Without them, for a man with a stammer and vitiligo to win over a beautiful, headstrong woman was unlikely. He had fallen in love with her many months back at first sight while he was loitering around near her office. And at that point he had decided that this was the girl for him. But he knew that he stood no chance if he met her in person with his stammer and vitiligo. For a few tense moments after the lunch date he had his doubts again.

But all that was in the past. The date of the wedding was fixed. Aryan got ready, so did Sanjana. Despite their insistence on a simple event, her father made lavish arrangements for the wedding. It went off smoothly. All Aryan had to do was to turn up and sweep the bride off her feet. And he did it in style, like all other things he did.

It was on the night after the wedding that Aryan opened his work laptop surreptitiously when Sanjana was fast asleep.

There was a plethora of messages waiting for him. He saw the most important ones. There was one from the Intelligence Bureau of India, another from the Federal Intelligence Agency of Argentina, and another one from the National Intelligence Service of Kenya. As usual they were all encrypted.

“Lord XKDC is on the hunt,” he typed after logging in.

The Federal Intelligence Agency of Argentina was the first to respond.

“Mission: Capture cybercriminal suspected of insurance fraud. Set cyber trap and report details,” Aryan decrypted and read the message.

“Lord XKDC on board. Mission accepted,” he typed and closed his mailbox. He checked if Sanjana was still sleeping. Then before he shut down his laptop, he quickly went to the matrimonial site and uninstalled all traces of the chatbot that he had written. Lord XKDC did not need the chatbot anymore. He shut down his laptop, embraced his soulmate in a tight hug, and whispered in her ear, “Ggg…Good…nnn..night.”

***

Player or Commentator?

“Why doesn’t he just shut up and let the game go on, instead of boring us?” Swami complained. He was watching the IPL final on that Sunday afternoon on his iPad while sipping his coffee.

“So many players become commentators after retirement,” Jigneshbhai remarked, while sipping into his coffee.

He peeped into Swami’s iPad to check the status of the game, though I knew he wasn’t such a big IPL fan.

“It’s atrocious sometimes, though. I put the commentary on mute when some of them speak,” Swami said.

“I am sure they themselves didn’t listen to commentators when they were playing,” Jigneshbhai said, out of the blue. I did not quite understand what he was saying, but Swami missed it.

“Of course not. They would go crazy, isn’t it?” Swami agreed.

“I wish they could hear their own commentary then,” Jigneshbhai then said. “Drink a bit of their own medicine,” he added with a twinkle in his eye.

“I am sure they would mute it themselves, and then keep playing,” Swami broke into a guffaw.

“Hmm. True,” Jigneshbhai said. “When they were players, they must have been experts at that,” he added.

“Experts at what?” Swami got a bit confused, not yet getting a hang of what Jigneshbhai said.

“Experts at muting their own commentary,” Jigneshbhai replied.

Swami and I looked at each other. We were thinking about the same thing. Muting their own commentary? we wondered. What was our wise friend talking about?

“But they weren’t commentators when they were playing,” both of us said at the same time. “They were players on the field.” And as if to clarify further, Swami added, with an apparent snub, “And by the way, players can’t listen to anyone else’s commentary when they are playing.”

Swami turned his attention back to the game.

“This game is going to go down to the wire,” he said, and then smiled when he realised how he sounded. “Did I sound like…?” he started, but his attention was pulled back to the iPad by some noise. He saw that the batsman had heaved two sixers. “Maybe it will get over before that,” he said looking at the score now.

Jigneshbhai smiled while sipping his coffee but we knew there was something else to it in store. Something else was cooking.

“See even your commentary turned out to be wrong,” Jigneshbhai remarked.

“True. He hit two sixers changing the course of the game. I am sure he didn’t listen to the commentator,” Swami agreed.

“But he had his internal commentator, I am sure. He must have shut him up every time he spoke, before going ahead and hitting those sixers,” he said.

“Eh? Shut up whom?” Swami asked, looking confused at me and Jigneshbhai, but stealing a glance at the match.

“His commentator, who else?” Jigneshbhai replied.

Now Swami and I raised our eyebrows in a frown. We suspected that we and Jigneshbhai were talking about different types of commentators.

“His commentator?” Swami was the first to ask, as usual.

Jigneshbhai sipped on to his coffee a couple of times again, while we waited.

“All of us have one, isn’t it? An internal commentator that only talks and doesn’t let us play,” he asked.

Swami and I looked at each other and got a hang of what our friend was saying.

Jigneshbhai munched on to his muffin this time.

“How would a game be if you were both a player and also the commentator?” he asked.

Swami and I realised that Jigneshbhai wasn’t talking about the commentary we had in mind. In fact, he wasn’t referring to the IPL game of cricket anymore that Swami had been watching.

Swami set aside his iPad as the game was done and dusted and cast his attention on Jigneshbhai’s commentary.

“It strikes me that our real life is truly like that game, isn’t it?” Jigneshbhai asked with the excitement of a new discovery. Then he continued. “A game in which we are both the players and the commentators, isn’t it? “

Our friend was on to a game at a different level, Swami and I realised. Both of us tried to digest what Jigneshbhai had left us with, while also munching on to the real double chocolate muffin. We were just starting to agree with him.

That’s when the wealthy old man barged into our table. He had been listening to our conversation for a while. He tapped Swami on his shoulder and said, “If you are the player in the game, neglect the commentator.” Swami and I scratched our heads as the wealthy old man left us with more food for thought, while Jigneshbhai smiled.

***

Tuesday Posts and Food for Thought

More things are returning to normal than earlier, more people are making plans for the future than earlier and more eyes are brighter than earlier, all of which are good things.

In that spirit of cautious optimism of the past month, I made some plans of writing more short fiction in 2021 than earlier :). 2020 taught us that plans don’t always go, well, as per plan, but then, that doesn’t stop us from making them, isn’t it? So we make them and do what we can.

What that means is that I will write more Jigneshbhai and Swami stories (coffee conversations and other slices of life), and more non-J&S, general short stories over the next few months.

I plan to post one piece of short fiction every Tuesday at 4.30 PM IST starting 09 Feb on my blog. You should get a simple notification email when it is posted if you have subscribed (if not, check and fill the box on the side bar or footer of this post). So keep a watch for it. In case you don’t see it by end of Tuesday, check your spam folder. If you still don’t find it, let me know. So, that’s the plan. Let us see how it goes.

One more update is that I published a short Jigneshbhai and Swami book called “Food for Thought” in January. When Swami, the impatient bloke with a heart of gold, and Jigneshbhai, his wise, calm friend and advisor get together to talk over coffee, the questions don’t stop and the answers keep coming.

If you followed my blog earlier, you may find the setting of the coffee conversations between Jigneshbhai and Swami in this book familiar (not to forget the wealthy, old man creeping in with his pearls of wisdom). This book is a collection of 43 such thought-provoking coffee conversations. It is available only in Kindle format at the link below:

Food for Thought

If you read the coffee conversations in the book, (or the Tuesday posts that start on 09 Feb), let me know by email how you find them. Better still, post a review on Amazon or leave a comment on the blog.

Thanks a lot for your time and attention. Happy Reading -Ranjit Kulkarni

Gut Feeling

It was the annual conference of the bacterial community. The debate over whether the Human exists took an ugly turn between groups of bacteria. The ‘doesn’t exist’ side was especially aggressive and up in arms. They argued that the Human is non-existent based on sound logic and rational thinking.

“The invisible, nonsensical being that you call the Human is a figment of your imagination.” A member from the tuberculosis bacteria dynasty said with a villainous look. He vehemently denied all claims of Human existence made by the previous speaker. The tuberculosis dynasty had a long reign till a few bacterial centuries back. After that, it went into relative decline, but still managed enough to rest on past laurels.

“In our long and successful reign when we expanded bacterial frontiers,” he added. “But none of our monarchs ever made any mention of any such creature or being. Do you have any concrete, logical proof of the existence of Human, or is it only a creation of your own mind?” The tuberculosis bacteria spewed venom on the earlier speaker.

The earlier speaker had been from the lactobacillus bacteria community. Since time immemorial, they had skills in converting milk to curd. He stood up again. With a calm demeanour, he spoke. “Our diminutive microbial eyes cannot see the Human. Since ages, we don’t have logical answers to even simple questions. We don’t even know how we get the milk from which we make curd on a regular basis. So how can we expect rational answers for Human existence? It is a fruitless exercise. How can we expect, from our miniscule view, to see the Human? You have to feel and experience his presence, and you can perceive him when you have full faith.”

The annual conference included prominent leaders from the bacteria and related microbial species. The intelligentsia in the bacterial world often discussed “Human: Myth or Reality?” That was the theme of this year’s conference. Microbes had gathered at the well-known microbiota symposium ‘The Gut’ this year. Over three days, distinguished bacteria from various sectors debated over it.  It was the last session of the last day. Experts from all bacterial fields of endeavour joined this climactic debate.

“The question is not if the Human exists. It is what difference does it make?” a renowned bacteria businessman from the diphtheria community rose up and proclaimed. “We are only concerned with the here and now on our planet, where microbial life has flourished since ages. We have to be thankful for the good deeds of our previous generations. We now have enough food and all other requirements for a successful microbial life. We need to work hard on increasing microbial wellbeing and output. We must focus on it so that we can ensure comfort for our future generations. There is no point in wasting time any more on such abstract speculations. The existence of Human is irrelevant. It is time for action,” he remarked.

This inspiring bacteria talk got a huge thunder of applause. There was loud clapping from the audience, young and old.

“I agree,” a lone voice said. “We need visionary bacterial businessmen to tap into microbial potential. We need to provide employment to millions of microbes of the next generation. Rest assured that you will get all the government support you need. Ease of microbial business is top priority.” The solitary microbe representing the government rose and said.

A leading member of the famous cholera bacteria dynasty thumped his desk in delight. This dynasty had known ambitions of world dominance. It was his opportunity to capitalise on this favourable wave towards bacterial business. He stood up amidst claps and said, “Well said, Sir. Well-meaning bacterial businesses are eager to expand the frontiers of our species. We must tap this optimism, never before seen in microbial history. We have all the resources, skills, and the burning desire now to do so. It is important that we remain focused on the right things. We must pursue the furtherance and betterment of our species. Otherwise, how can we leave a legacy and make life better for our future generations?”

The entire cholera community stood up in reverence for its speaker. The sound of their claps reverberated in ‘The Gut’. They also got the support of the smaller diphtheria and government groups. Visions of a bright future for the bacterial generations of tomorrow inspired applause. The cacophony stopped when, out of the blue, rose a wise, dissenting voice.

“We are taking our future generations down the wrong path.” The somewhat enlightened voice spoke. It turned out to be a leader from the Gut bacteria community, the host of this year’s event.

“Expanding bacterial frontiers where we aren’t meant to go isn’t good. It will not serve our future generations. We must act with an attitude of service rather than one of entitlement and profit. That is where the enlightened self-interest of the bacterial species lies. We need to be thankful for the hidden hand of the Human behind everything that we do. We must find ways to live in harmony with that hidden hand.” The service-oriented member of the Gut bacteria dynasty claimed.

The mood of the audience didn’t change a lot after his wise words, though they gave them some food for thought. It evoked a reaction from a group of bacterial activists.

“Why is this hand of Human always hidden, by the way?” a member from the activist organisation ‘Rational Microbes Society’ yelled in rebellion. There were whispers that the cash rich cholera and tuberculosis dynasty funded this society. It was an unproven claim though.

“Why doesn’t the hand of Human come in front rather than stay behind? For all rational and practical purposes, a hand that’s hidden is as good as not there.” The vociferous member argued.

The Gut bacteria stood red faced with no answer to this rational onslaught. He had never seen a Human but believed that he existed. He had believed in doing his work tirelessly. He looked towards the like-minded Skin bacteria for support.

“Well, hidden it might be. But it is not absent. Of that, I am certain,” the speaker from Skin bacteria community stood in support of the Gut bacteria. “There are a lot of things that we can’t see with our limited microbial eyes. That doesn’t mean they don’t exist,” he said.

He further added, “Let me assert that we must not be arrogant about our skills. The universe doesn’t revolve around bacteria. We have a part to play and we have to do our part. If we don’t do so, and go against nature, I have full faith that the Human hand will do its part. We will learn the hard way,” the skin bacteria submitted his words of wisdom with humility and forcefulness.

There was an awkward silence. The two opposing views didn’t reach any satisfactory agreement. The last session on the last day had almost reached its close. There were no signs of a common bacterial memorandum.

The tuberculosis, cholera and diphtheria bacterial groups were too powerful. They weren’t willing to give up on their interests. The Gut, skin and lactobacillus bacteria had abundant resources. But they didn’t have enough support for their wise intentions. They weren’t successful in showing the bacterial community the higher path. An attitude of service didn’t have many takers among the species lit up by ambition.

At that crucial time, it looked like the last session would end in acrimony. But seeing the deadlock, an elderly bacterial gentleman stepped on to the stage. He was frail and weak, and seemed battle-hardened. He was hardly able to walk steadily without support and looked like he might fall at any moment. Few knew who he was. He held the mike with shivering hands, and with a quivering voice, he spoke.

“My dear bacterial brothers and sisters, I do not know if the Human exists. I have not seen him with my eyes. But I have seen life enough to realise one thing. Whenever the bacterial community has shown arrogance, it has met its end. Whenever it has pursued only its self-interests, it has seen a downfall.”

He looked on to the audience waiting for a response. There was none, except pin-drop silence. But there were some murmurs around the hall asking who he was. Word spread that he was a descendent from an ancient bacterial dynasty.

That dynasty had ruled their planet millions of bacterial years back. They had ruled over a long, successful bacterial era of wealth and prosperity. Their kingdom spread far and wide. The long and prosperous reign that they had was never seen by any other bacterial dynasty. There had been none like them, before or after. But they were almost exterminated in a natural disaster. That disaster took a toll on most of the members of that dynasty. Now there were very few of them left. They didn’t have much of a voice left now. Their numbers were very few and dwindling further. Most of their members were old. They lived in abject poverty, paying for the sins of their ancestors.

“Let me introduce myself,” the aged, derelict bacteria started.

“I am one of the few remaining members of the ancient Plague bacteria dynasty. No bacterial community, nation or dynasty has achieved as much as the Plague dynasty did. I don’t know if Human exists or how it looks if it does. But I know that we perished due to the self-indulgent arrogance of our ambitions. Don’t let that happen again to you is all that I can say. Rest, I leave to the wisdom of this August assembly.”

The last surviving member of the Plague bacteria dynasty submitted his plea. Seeing no immediate response, he stepped down from the dais.

There was a long silence after he left. But there was no memorandum signed. Warring factions of the bacterial community didn’t reach a common agreement. The conference ended this year too, without any conclusion.

***

Several bacterial months passed after the symposium.

News spread then in the bacterial community of the rise of the cholera dynasty. Their march had captured several new kingdoms. History noted that the dynasty had taken advantage of favourable weather conditions. They had gone for the kill to fulfil their ambitions of dominating the bacterial species.

Over the following years and decades, their march through troubled waters was relentless. The wealth and prosperity of their dynasty had grown by many means, fair and foul. They were now in a position to call the shots of power in the bacterial world. History said that this was an era of dominance of the cholera dynasty.

The Gut bacteria dynasty, since time memorial, always had higher numbers. But the members of that community did their part in all goodness. They toiled in their duty to protect their territories with an attitude of service. They watched the developments in silence. To their dismay, all their good deeds of service were never appreciated by their own brethren. The acts of ruthless maniacs like the cholera bacteria always took all the headlines.

But, within a few bacterial years and decades, the tide turned. The sudden, swift, and rising march of the cholera bacteria dynasty came to a halt. Even faster than their rise was the pace of their sliding downfall.

The Gut bacteria was fighting invaders on its territory in a single-handed manner. At that time, news spread that the cholera bacteria dynasty was down and out. Their decimation was final. Its last few standing members begged for mercy. The reasons for their downfall were still unknown. There were no eyewitnesses that could report on what exactly happened.

Some members of other dynasties said that it seemed like a natural disaster swept them away. It was not due to a lack of preparation or courage on their part. But they attributed their demise to completely, unforeseen circumstances.

Over time, everyone realised what the cause of that downfall was. It was an unforeseen natural disaster. The living members of the bacterial community had never seen before.

But the old archaic members of the Plague dynasty got a feeling of Deja Vu. They had been there, seen that. One of the old members tried to raise his voice. But it wasn’t heard.

The living members, younger and more enthusiastic, felt it was time to prepare better. It was time to learn from the Cholera dynasty. It was time to take lessons from their courage and ambitions. It was time to improve upon their failures.

Whispers spread that the bacterial community should prepare itself. “The next time, the microbial community should be better prepared.” One of the upcoming leader claimed in a speech. That was also set as the topic of the next bacterial conference.

They called that natural disaster that had fallen on the Cholera folks as ‘Antibiotic’. They decided to dedicate next year’s conference to strategies to mitigate such disasters.

The topic was set. It was “The Antibiotic Challenge for Bacteria: Natural or Human?”

The members of the Gut bacteria dynasty and their friends believed that it was the Human hand at work again. They did not have any fact-based rationale for the existence of the Human. They could not prove the hidden hand of the Human in this Antibiotic disaster. But they had a strong intuition. They had an inner voice that said that it was the hidden Human hand. History named this inner voice and strong intuition as the Gut feeling. And the Gut feeling was that though they didn’t have the data, they were right.  They were right about the existence of Human, and its hidden hand in the world of bacteria.

Excerpted from the book “Kaleidoscope: Short Stories of Many Hues” by Ranjit Kulkarni. Available on Amazon in Kindle Format. Follow Ranjit Kulkarni on his Amazon Author Page to hear about his latest books and get updates from his blog.

Novel: A Short Story

Pardy and Siddy stepped out of their classroom giving each other a thumbs up and a high five. The smiles on their faces were brighter than the warm afternoon sun. The spring in their step was proof of the glowing confidence that radiated that they had got all the answers right.

This was their English Novel class test.

Q1. Montmorency was J’s

(a) Cat

(b) Dog

(c) Pig

Q2. The Three Men in a boat had a holiday on River

(a) Thames

(b) Ganges

(c) Seine

Q3. J thought he had

(a) Liver disease

(b) Stomach upset

(c) Almost everything

Q4. Describe what happens when one of the three men jump in the river.

Q5. What was the reality of the trout and how was it exposed?

“The first one is, I am sure, the cat,” Siddy said, pointing at the question paper.

“What? Nooo..,” Pardy exclaimed with eyebrows raised. “It’s the pig, Siddy,” he yelled.

“Pig? Go and read the book again, Pardy. Montmorency is Jerome’s cat,” Siddy claimed with conviction.

“No Siddy. There’s a cat called Tom that Montmorency gets into a fight with. But he is a pig,” Pardy countered Siddy, urging him to realise that he was wrong. Siddy had to be blind to mistake a pig for a cat, Pardy thought with a chuckle.

“Guys.. guys.. guys,” Dev pushed himself and barged into Siddy and Pardy, both of whom shuffled their feet in an awkward movement. “The river was Thames, right?” Dev asked.

“No, it was Seine,” Pardy replied with a quiet confident smile, and turned his attention to the next question. 

“What?? Seine? That’s in France. They went to India and sailed on the Ganges,” Siddy looked at Pardy and howled at the top of his voice. Then he turned his gaze to Dev and said in a soft voice, “Dev, don’t listen to Pardy today. He hasn’t read the book well; he says Montmorency is a pig.” And Siddy broke into a loud guffaw.

Dev had a confused expression which subsided in a few moments. He wiped the sweat on his brow.

“Well, I asked because I wasn’t sure that the river was Thames. But I am certain it’s not the Ganges, Siddy. They definitely didn’t go to India,” Dev said with a distinct swagger. Then, he looked at Pardy and jabbed him with his elbow. “By the way, Montmorency is a dog, not a pig,” he said, before joining the other group.

As they walked past the other gang of boys, Pardy and Siddy heard sounds of laughter.

“Both Pardy and Siddy have gone mad. One of them says the three men sailed on the Ganges with a cat. And the other says they sailed on the Seine with a pig,” they overheard Dev say over a loud cackle to someone.

Pardy and Siddy gave each other a blank look as they munched a snack on the way to their school bus. The radiance on their face was swept away by the dark clouds of doubt. As the afternoon started giving way to the evening, their faces became as long as their shadows. Confused and dejected, they walked with their heads down.

***

That was because, today morning as the clock had struck 6 AM, Pardy had got a panicked call from his buddy Siddy.

“The English Novel test is at 3 PM,” he had yelled into the phone, even before Pardy had fully opened his eyes from slumber. It was dark and cold as most mornings were for Pardy and this news could not have made it any brighter and warmer.

“And we haven’t yet read even a single page of it,” Siddy added to the bad news. “In fact, we don’t even have a copy of the novel,” he continued. Pardy sat up rubbing his eyes realising the gravity of the situation. “At the Library by 8 AM,” he ordered Siddy and rushed to the bathroom.

“No copies available, all issued,” the librarian informed them.

Pardy checked for it online in a desperate bid, but all deliveries were two days later. Siddy called their friends and asked them to send across scanned copies. But nobody had the time to scan so many pages at the last moment. Everyone was busy doing their last reading. In a final act of desperation, they decided that it was time to call their English teacher in a state of mad panic.

“Good morning Madam, this is Siddharth. Me and Parth need a copy of the novel for today’s test,” Siddy pleaded to Mallika Madam. “There are no copies in the library, and our friends aren’t sending us their copies. Can you please give us a copy?” he beseeched her in a fervent appeal. With his fingers crossed and lips quivering, Pardy watched Siddy.

Mallika Madam had a sense of calm around her as she heard Siddy out. She cleared her throat momentarily.

Then she replied, “Ok Dear. I will send you a link to an app. Download it from there and read the novel in the app,” she said. “And tell Parth too,” she added.

“Ok Madam, thank you so much,” Siddy said, heaving a sigh of relief before hanging up.

Pardy and Siddy got into action after Mallika Madam sent them the link. They downloaded the app and got the digital version of the novel there. For the next five hours, they speed read the novel “Three Men in a Boat” in that app on their respective phones. Rushing through all the chapters, both of them had finished reading the novel by the time it was 2 PM. There was no time to discuss anything. After a quick lunch, they had rushed back to their class to be on their seats on time for the 3 PM test.

With this kind of last-ditch attempt made in preparing for the test, it was no wonder that they had long faces as they walked to their bus in the evening after the test. It was disappointing for them to realize that both of them had got the first two answers wrong. But both Pardy and Siddy were still confident that they were right. Or on second thoughts, they weren’t. Doubts started creeping into both their heads.

When the others were away, Siddy asked Pardy with a sense of hesitant trepidation, “The third one, Pardy? By the way, what did…umm.. you ..err… answer?” A drop of sweat fell from his forehead as he spoke, even as the afternoon sun had gone down.

“Well, I thought…hmm.. it was.. wasn’t it.. almost everything?” Pardy stuttered when he asked a counter question with a similar serving of doubt.

“Yeah. I .. well.. marked that. But what if both of us are wrong?” Siddy raised what seemed like a legitimate query.

Pardy shrugged his shoulders in resignation. “I suspect we are…hmm.. wrong…err.. in all the rush, we have messed it up.. I am sure…err.. we are ..umm.. confused,” he said.

“What about.. umm.. the fourth one? No, err.. let’s talk about.. umm.. the last one first…I wrote…, ” Pardy asked dithering.

“Oh that should be simple, isn’t it? I remember that scene to a T,” Siddy cut him off and jumped in excitement.

“The trout turned out to be a glass fish tank. It crashed when they tried to get it off the hook. Then they all got blisters on their feet as they danced on the glass amidst the fish gathering them. I wrote a nice couple of pages about that scene,” Siddy explained with a wide grin.

His voice was full of delight remembering the comic scene, till he saw the expression on Pardy’s face. His eyes twitched as he had never seen more wrinkles and frowns on Pardy’s face.

“What happened?” Siddy asked. “Didn’t you write about the fish tank?”

“I don’t know, well, what.. fish tank.. err.. you are.. umm.. talking about,” Pardy muttered.

“Why?” Siddy asked.

“I thought the trout was a bowl in which they found some tasty cooked pasta. And they got it down together with a ladder, and shared a nice, hot meal,” Pardy explained.

“A bowl of pasta?” Siddy scratched his head. “Where did you read about that? You had pasta for lunch, Pardy. Why did you write about that in the test paper?” Siddy howled at his friend.

Pardy didn’t know what was wrong. Was he too tense about this test? he asked himself. Had he read everything in such a hurry that everything got mixed up? Looks like it, he convinced himself.

“I am going to fail. None of the answers are right,” Pardy murmured and shook his head, tears welling up in his eyes.

“Me too, Pardy. Unless you want to discuss the fourth question and check?” Siddy replied, still hopeful.

“No, forget it. What difference would one correct answer make?” Pardy remarked in stark melancholy. With hands hanging loose, and neck tilted sideways, he stared into blank space. Something didn’t seem right.

Siddy opened the app on his phone and asked Pardy, “Do you want to recheck the answers from the book? For our satisfaction?” Siddy felt that if they check once, they may realise that they could scrape through. There might be some hope against hope for them, after all. Only a faint chance, he thought, holding on to the last straw.

“Forget it, Siddy. Let’s see when Madam declares the scores tomorrow. Anyway, we are getting a D,” Pardy replied, forlorn.

***

The next morning when Pardy and Siddy went to school, it might have been their worst morning in a long time. They waited for Mallika Madam to declare the scores.

Pardy and Siddy got the shock of their lives that morning. Mallika Madam declared that both of them had got an A+ in the test yesterday.

“How is that possible?” Pardy pondered aloud to Siddy, during the recess over lunch. “How did we get A+? We know what we answered. Besides, if one of us got an A+, the other should have flunked, right? How can we both be right, when we had different answers for almost all the questions?” he asked with a finger to his chin and eyebrows uniting in a frown.

“I have no idea what’s going on. I know everyone calls us teacher’s pets, but isn’t this a bit too much? Why is Madam making it so obvious? We don’t need such blatant favours,” Siddy revolted. He sounded almost embarrassed with the unexpected A+.

“We should go and tell Mallika Madam to give us what we deserve. There is no need to gift us this A+ only because she likes us,” Siddy continued. Then he bent forward towards Parth and whispered, “What will we tell Dev and gang?”

Pardy agreed. “This is too much. How can we get A+ when we expected to fail? Whatever we discuss after a paper in the future, everyone will think we are pretending,” he asserted.

“This is not done. Let’s meet Mallika Madam today after school,” Pardy decided, and Siddy nodded in agreement.

At about 4 PM, Pardy and Siddy walked fast to the teacher’s staff room, and accosted Mallika Madam. She didn’t seem to be in a hurry. It seemed like she was waiting for them.

“Hello, I was expecting you both,” she said with a broad, welcoming smile. “Surprised?” she asked. They noticed a distinct, mischievous smirk on her face.

“Yes Madam,” Siddy spoke in all seriousness, neglecting her smile. “Why did you give us an A+, though we didn’t deserve it?” he asked in all honesty, straight to the point.

“Madam, please give us the grade we deserve. You know we started reading only this morning. Next time, we promise we will read the novel in advance, so we don’t mess up,” Pardy backed up Siddy. Mallika Madam paused for a while.

“But I have given you what you deserve,” Mallika Madam then replied, shrugging her shoulders, to their utter surprise. “Do you think that I will give you A+ when you haven’t earned it?”

“How have we earned it, Madam? All our answers were wrong, isn’t it?” Pardy asked.

He glanced at Siddy and waved at him to speak.

“Yes Madam, we checked with.. umm.. each other, and with Dev too. All our answers were.. err.. wrong,” Siddy said.

“No, all your answers were right,” Mallika Madam reaffirmed, with an enigmatic smile. She twitched her eyebrows twice as if to ask them, ‘how was that’.

Pardy and Siddy glared at each other, scratching their heads. Either they had lost it, or Mallika Madam had lost it, each of them got this creepy feeling within. 

“How is that possible, Madam?” Siddy asked.

“Because you answered all the questions right. They were based on what you read in the novel,” Mallika Madam replied.

“But Madam, we gave different answers. How can both of us be right on the same novel?,” Pardy pointed out.

“That’s because you read different novels,” she said.

“Different novels? No Madam, we read the same one – Three Men in a Boat,” Both Siddy and Pardy yelped in unison.

“Well, same novel, different stories,” she clarified, and laughed out aloud. She gave an eyeful to the huge number of question marks on the curious, blank faces of her favourite students.

“Sit down dears. You were part of an experiment, let me explain,” Mallika Madam said. “And the experiment has succeeded,” she added.

“What experiment, Madam?” Pardy asked, and Siddy looked on shellshocked.

“Well, of an app,” Mallika Madam explained.

“An app?” Siddy asked.

“Yes, do you remember where you read the novel?” Mallika Madam probed.

“Yes, Madam.. On that app you sent. Ohh – So that app?” Pardy howled, slapping his hand on to his forehead. It seemed like a tube light had, out of the blue, switched on in his head.

“Yes – that app,” Mallika Madam said with a grin.

“What about it?” Siddy asked, trying to keep pace.

“Madam – do you mean….?” Pardy had a huge grin on his face as it dawned on him.

“Yes – you got it,” Mallika Madam confirmed.

“So that app showed us what we….?” Pardy started.

“SShhhh.. Yes, it’s a secret,” Mallika Madam replied, with a finger on her lips.

There was a stunned silence from Pardy on the other side of the desk for a few moments.

“Oh, that’s why….,” Pardy gathered, and stared at Siddy, who was still wondering what was going on.

“Yes that’s why Siddy went to the Ganges and saw a fish tank, and Pardy went on the Seine and had pasta!” Mallika Madam said with a broad smile. And then, she added, “And that’s why there were no wrong answers.”

“This is awesome,” Pardy said, jumping six inches in the air. “Astounding but,…it is bizarre,” he said, his smile giving way to a frown. Siddy starred at him blankly.

“What happened Madam? What happened Pardy? What’s going on? What about the app?” Siddy asked.

As she walked away, Mallika Madam warned Pardy.

“This is a secret project. Don’t tell anyone else. Otherwise, you know what will happen to your A+ grades.” She winked, walking away, adding, “Explain it to Siddy.”

Pardy had started thinking of spilling the beans of this awesome reading app to all their friends. How excited would it be to tell them about this awesome app? But if it was a secret experiment, now he didn’t know how they were going to justify getting the A+ grades.

“Let them think we are teacher’s pets,” Pardy said, after giving it some thought, and explaining everything to Siddy.

“Yes, Pardy. We have no choice,” Siddy agreed, jumping with joy when he understood the app experiment.

“And for heaven’s sake Siddy, after the next test, will you stop discussing the answers with others?” Pardy implored, as they walked towards their school bus with arms on each other’s shoulders. As he boarded the bus, Pardy secretly wished that, someday after this experiment was over, every subject has books that changed based on who the reader was, and what the reader liked. So that there were never any wrong answers.

Excerpted from the book “Kaleidoscope: Short Stories of Many Hues” by Ranjit Kulkarni. Available on Amazon in Kindle Format. Follow Ranjit Kulkarni on his Amazon Author Page to hear about his latest books and get updates from his blog.

Kaleidoscope now available

Do you like stories about life, death, and human behaviour with a twist?

Welcome to Kaleidoscope – short stories of many hues – which will haunt you, tingle your spine, provoke thought and, often, bring a smile.

What if a patient in coma can hear everything around her?Why does an old man find an apple at his door every day?Do bacteria know that the human exists?Do you know of a train that takes you not where you want to go, but where you need to go?Can an experienced doctor handle his young daughter’s terminal illness?What does a garbage worker who finds a treasure do with it?Why do two teenagers pass an exam they should have failed?What secrets does a golden wedding anniversary reveal?What happens when a dead body is lost just before the funeral?

With stories of mystique, tragedy and comic irreverence, Kaleidoscope promises the reader the many tragic, comic, and spooky shades of life, death, and human behaviour, with an odd turn. Grab your copy now!

The book is available at my website (PDF), Pothi.com (Print and PDF/EPUB) and all Amazon marketplaces (Kindle). You may get your copy from any of the links below:

PDF Directly from me at ranjitkulkarni.com

eBook or Print from Pothi at pothi.com

Kindle from Amazon at amazon.in or your local Amazon marketplace

I look forward to your feedback at ranjit@ranjitkulkarni.com or reviews at the site of your choice. I hope you enjoy the reading as much as I enjoyed the writing.

Leave: Book Excerpt

“Today is Friday,
so let me wear casuals to work,” Swami thought while having his breakfast.
The sun was bright in the sky and Ghatembur had risen to a pleasant Friday.
Like most mornings, it was a hurried one for Swami, though being a Friday, it
was slower than normal. “There’s nothing new in the news,” he told his
wife sipping on his coffee cuppa.

“Why do you read
the news everyday if there’s nothing new?” she asked. Swami had enough
experience to let such questions go without an answer. He got up and got ready.

“I am
leaving,” he told his wife as he stepped out after tying the shoelaces.
She shouted back from inside, “Have you put your eyedrops?”

That is when it struck
Swami. Things were looking brighter than usual for him this morning. And he had
been wondering why. Was it the blurry vision in his eyes again? He let a doubt
creep into his mind. In all the hullabaloo over Purno and the fashion couple,
it had slipped his mind that he had been advised rest. He put his eyedrops and
resolved that today was the day when he would ask Raichand for leave. In fact,
he told himself that he will not ask, he will just tell Raichand that he was
working from home for a few days. As he took the lift, he asked himself. Why
work from home and why a few days? He decided that he will tell Raichand that
he is going on leave for the entire next week. Not ask, tell. That was it. And
that he didn’t have a choice. It was necessary as per medical advice. And that
he had earned the leave balance.

With a surge of such
bravado in his mind, Swami entered the battlefield of his office with a war
cry. Today is going to be my day, he said to himself. The first thing Swami did
after reaching his office was to check his empty calendar and Raichand’s full
calendar and fix a meeting for 3 pm. ‘One-on-one discussion’, he named it in
his calendar invitation first. But on second thoughts, he changed it to ‘Last
week’s discussion continued’. Such a title had a better chance of being
accepted by Raichand, he thought. And he was right. He got an acceptance for
the meeting within ten minutes with a note that said, “Feel free to walk
in earlier.”

Conversations with
Raichand, as acrimonious as they tend to be, were never among the pleasures of
life that Swami looked forward to. But with this unexpected meeting of minds
based on this note, he decided to take advantage of the turn in tide. He had
the swagger of a commander who walks into enemy territory to bring about a
peace treaty even before the battle has begun. With that braggadocio, he
knocked on Raichand’s room.

“Can we meet
now?” He asked, adding, “in case you have fifteen minutes?”

“Can you give me ten
minutes? Just in the middle of something,” Raichand said without looking
up from his laptop.

“Sure, I will
come back then,” Swami confirmed.

Damp squib, he
thought. For all that talk of feel free to walk in earlier. He decided that he
will not go back. Does my time have no value? Ten minutes became twenty, and
twenty became forty. Forty became sixty. Swami felt like the water in the
geyser that gets heated for a bath, and then someone switches the geyser off,
and it turns cold again. That water has every right to complain, he felt. Why
not me then? So, when Raichand came out after ninety minutes and called him,
Swami gave him a stony glance.

“These agencies
we hire are such idiots.” Raichand kicked up a fuss about project vendors.
“We pay them for work, but they behave as if they are the ones doing us a
favour.” He was still engrossed in doing something on his laptop. He cast
a cursory glance at Swami.

Swami pretended to
look at the vase on Raichand’s desk. He swallowed discreetly to overcome a
momentary urge to pick that vase up and hit Raichand on his head. While the
vase broke on Raichand’s imaginary head, Swami’s real ears heard Raichand say,
“We spend tons on these agencies and get zilch in return. You know that I
hold a budget to spend crores, right?”

“Of course, I
know, Sir,” Swami said. And then thought, not only do you hold it, you
also hold on to it. If only you released some of it, I would be ready to retire
by now, Swami said to himself. The real vase came back to haunt Swami’s
imagination again with more destructive possibilities on Raichand.

“We have to
ensure every paisa we spend is worth it, Swami,” he said.

“Yes, Sir,”
Swami warped into his slimy, obsequious mode at the first hint.

“We must keep a
watch on how our vendors work. We must be relentless in checking if they are
giving us our money’s worth.”

“Absolutely,
Sir.”

“Money doesn’t
grow on trees, right?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Yes?”

“I meant
absolutely not, Sir.”

“Very good. Let
me not keep you waiting any longer. Tell me how can I help you?”

The hollow pretence of
this rich, self-indulgent brat. That was Swami’s first thought before he
gathered himself. But he reminded himself of the meeting’s purpose. Stay
focused on your leave, Swami reminded himself. The start wasn’t good though.

“Well, I…err…was
thinking…umm…” Swami clenched his teeth while speaking. All the swagger of
the peace warrior had flattened out. Raichand waited. He glared at Swami.
“Of course, only if it’s possible…and if you agree…” Swami mumbled.

“See, Swami. Be
straight. Like me. Don’t hold anything back. I want my people to be bold.”

Well, Swami had
intended to be straight. His intention had been to be boldness personified in
this meeting. But his voice choked in his throat and didn’t come up any further
up than that.

“Well, yes, Sir.
I was wondering if I could, you know, next week…perhaps…um…if the business
allows it…”

“When will you
grow up, Swami? People are going places just with confidence. See here, my
batchmate from business school – look here…” Raichand erupted out of the blue
and pointed to someone on his laptop. Swami peeped into it dutifully. “He
got funding recently for his start-up in the US. Ten million dollars with just
an idea and loads of ambition and confidence.” Then he pointed at another
person. “And this guy is speaking at this global conference next week.
Look at their big dreams. And their confidence.” He looked up from the
laptop at Swami. “And you can’t speak your heart even to me, someone who
understands you so well?” Raichand admonished Swami.

“I was going to…err…but
was only wondering…if you give me some time…”

“Again, ifs and
buts. What are you saying?”

“Yes..see. What I
am trying to say is…”

“Don’t try. Say
it.”

Swami picked a glass
of water and gulped it down his dry throat. He breathed a few deep breaths. The
tyre of his war march had been flattened by the onslaught of aggressive
punching by this bully.

“Well…what I
wanted to say…was that…actually, next week…”

“Swami, just sit
down and relax,” Raichand put a hand on his shoulder. “I think you
are under a lot of stress.”

“No, Sir.”

“I can see sweat
on your brow.”

“It’s because the
AC is off, Sir.”

“No, look. I can
see it. I hope last week’s appraisal meeting didn’t cause it.”

“No, Sir. I am
fine, Sir. “

“So, you mean to
say that I am wrong?”

“No, Sir, but I
mean to say…”

“Don’t mean to
say anything, Swami.”

“Okay, Sir.”

“I understand my employees
very well.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“And I know you
are under tremendous stress. Sometimes I can be demanding. I can see
that.”

“Okay, Sir.”

“So, I have a
suggestion.”

“What, Sir?”

“Please take the
next week off.”

“What, Sir?”

“See – I see
worry again. You are tense. Don’t worry so much about work. Someone else will
handle it.”

“Okay, Sir.”

“Not just okay. I
want wholehearted agreement. No working from home. No nothing. Just a few days
off, okay?”

“Okay sure,
Sir.”

“Just finish the
evaluation of the new agencies I have shortlisted today. And email me your
report before you leave. Is that okay?”

“Sure, Sir.”

“And I want you
to apply for leave before you go home today, alright? I don’t want to see you
in the office next week. And this is an order.”

“Yes, Sir. Sure,
Sir.”

“Alright good.
Now I feel good. Now get back to work.”

“Sure, Sir.”

“And by the way,
don’t worry about whatever you wanted to discuss. We will have our discussion
after you are back when you are more relaxed. Okay?”

“Yes, Sir. Thank
you, Sir.”

Swami stepped out of Raichand’s cabin wiping the sweat on his brow. The meeting didn’t go as planned. But the outcome was better than expected. He smiled to himself when he was at his desk. Things indeed looked bright, even though it was evening. And he was certain that it wasn’t due to his eyes. Jigneshbhai was right. A set of ‘Yes Sirs’ and ‘Okay Sirs’ for a good appraisal and a week’s leave wasn’t such a bad deal. He was a lucky man, Swami thought while emailing the agency evaluation report. Isn’t that feeling called joie de vivre? When you have inexplicable gaiety in your demeanour and a glowing sparkle on your face? That is what Swami had after applying for his leave and stepping out of his office that Friday evening.

Excerpted from the book “Give Me a Break” by Ranjit Kulkarni. Available on Amazon in Kindle and Paperback. Follow Ranjit Kulkarni on his Amazon Author Page to hear about his latest books and get updates from his blog.