First among Equals
What am I getting at, you ask, noise pollution?
Nope. I am wondering if one can be in a noiseless state. Shut your eyes for a minute or two. Stop speaking and experience the silence. Guess what, for not even a micro-mille-second do you stop hearing your own voice. Even without speaking, you can hear your reflections. Millions of thoughts zip through our minds and we hear every one of them.
Scientists have discovered that there is sound even in outer space. Imagine, background music has been playing in our universe, in our galaxy and on our planett, long before the first living thing evolved and before the first background score of a movie was conceived. How spooky, right.
As you might have guessed, this week’s story “First among Equals” (perhaps you just realised I am an Archer fan. Guilty) has a strong association with the various opposites of noise: silence and music.
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On popular demand, I return this week to The Quack House (TQH), Manju and Sunil and their quirky life. This is the third story in the series. Here are the links to stories One and Two.
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The overhead seatbelt sign glowed. Sunil, who had been reading a write-up in the in-flight magazine about yoga and wellness, perked up, excited. The flight prepared to land. He had been away from home for two weeks but that wasn’t the novelty. He travelled alone most of the time; a work requirement that irked Manju beyond reason.
Even before their marriage, when he went out of town, Manju saw him off with a sullen face. She called herself an explorer and couldn’t fathom why she had to stay back every time. The word ‘explorer’ fit her to the T though. Manju had planned all their vacations, including their honeymoon. Sunil had to admit that every trip had been a memorable adventure worth repeating.
This was the only trip on which Manju had shown zero interest in accompanying him.
Sunil informed his family three weeks ago about his plan to visit Rishikesh, in Uttarakhand. No reactions followed his declaration, which was odd. He was a known non-conformist in matters of religion. His voluntary decision to visit the bedrock of Hinduism ought to have evoked a strong surprise, if not utter disbelief.
The lack of reaction was diabolic. [image error]
“It’s an evil eye, I tell you.” Sunil’s mother declared. They were sitting at the dinner table, attempting to eat the food before them. Sunil struggled to break a piece of rubbery chapatti with his right hand and fiddled with his mobile phone using his left. Manju, sitting to his right, relished the noodles she had opted for. Her mother-in-law was having porridge, which she claimed to love even though she consumed it only when she fasted. With the time way past her bedtime, the family’s little angel was lost in happy dreams in her bedroom.
Finally a reaction worthy of the bomb he had dropped. Sunil beamed. He had announced his intentions as soon as he received an email notification. Looking around the table now, he realised that he had misunderstood his mother. His family hadn’t heard a word he had said. Manju and his mother were discussing something that interested them more than his supposed spiritual awakening. A few seconds later, Sunil knew what that was. The absentee cook.
One week ago, their resident cook had taken voluntary retirement; from their service and joined elsewhere. Her departure coincided with the happy occasion when Sunil’s mother arrived. With Manju working full time and his mother being a choosy eater, the sumptuous fare dished out at each mealtime had varied between yesterday’s leftovers and two-minute recipes.
Manju had never taken to cooking but she could manage a decent meal when time permitted. His mother tried to help Manju, but the results were disastrous. Their preferences in food varied too much. On the first day, his mother made sambar to go with Manju’s slightly overcooked fried rice. The next day, they joined forces and made chicken gravy and plan rice. The chicken was overcooked and the gravy bland because both of them couldn’t agree on cooking times and proportions of spices.
That evening’s chapatti and paneer gravy were the best yet. But both women had opted for safer choices to avoid what they assumed would be a less than delectable meal. They were improving by leaps and bounds, Sunil admitted. His mother had been an excellent cook in her younger days. But since she appointed a cook ten years ago, she hadn’t made a cup of tea. Lack of practice had rusted her skills but she attributed it to the infamous ‘evil eye’.
Sunil was surprised Manju had not retorted the statement. She believed that people had two eyes, and neither was evil. Both women loved to argue on the subject and it was quite unlike Manju to let the comment pass unnoticed. His mother also peered at Manju, waiting for her sassy response. Manju finished chewing and swallowing her food then responded, “Don’t be melodramatic Ma. The new cook will be here at six am tomorrow and she comes highly recommended. Shift your focus from the devil to something more interesting.
“We need to brace ourselves for another premature retirement. Your son, my husband, Sunil, has decided he has had enough of luxuries of life. He proposes to take up an altruistic calling and dedicate the rest of his days to this worthy cause. His new hobbyhorse is to pollute the sanctity of Rishikesh, the holy land of Hindu believers, with his pseudo-atheist ideology. Lend him your ears, Ma.” Manju’s eyes twinkled with mischief as she said the words.
She had heard him. Sunil was thrilled.[image error]
“Really Sunil, what will you think of next. On the one hand, your wife is flushing good money down the toilet on an impractical project she calls TQH and now you are taking off to the Himalayas on a mission of your own? You both are two of a kind. I pray my grandchild has inherited more of her grandparents’ genes than her parents’” His mother barked, gobbling two spoons of porridge with a furious look on her face.
Sunil was taken aback by her sudden temper. The fact that his mother considered TQH a crazy waste of money was old news but that she had such strong views on the matter surprised him. “Don’t worry, Ma. I am going there on business, that all.” Both women burst out laughing making him realise too late that they had only been putting on a show to pull his legs. An unwelcome feeling of utter stupidity swept through him tempting him to retaliate with as much vehemence.
“Nice to see both of you so lovey-dovey with each other. Hope the bonhomie continues through the two weeks I am away as well because I will speak to neither of you during the period.”
“Stop being childish, Sunil. You are too old to play this game.”
“No games, Ma. I mean it.”
“Stop being a cry-baby. You don’t have to go to Rishikesh to sulk. You can do that very well here as well. At least some money will be saved for my new car.” Manju added.
“I am not a cry-baby and you traded the car for TQH remember.”
“Stop speaking now itself, why wait for another week. As it is you are only arguing.” She replied.
“Fine”
“Fine”.
He hadn’t spoken all night, but the next day when his accountant emailed TQH’s expenses statement for the first month, Sunil had to call Manju. They had another fight. Perhaps it was a good time to go to the mountains for a few days. With the cook’s abrupt exit and the extra workload due to fulltime work, Manju was cranky often. He could use a break. He didn’t discuss his trip with the ladies after that but went ahead and finalised everything.
After checking into the Ashram he was visiting, he dispatched a message to both women, “Arrived. Checked into Ashram. Submitting my phone and all other communication gadgets at the reception. Strict rules. Two weeks only meditation and yoga. Not allowed to speak to anyone. Catch you after two weeks.” Who was laughing now, he told himself, depositing all his devices, knowing that they would spend two agonising weeks waiting to hear his voice.
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Two whole weeks without speaking would be challenging, he admitted but the Yoga Guru running the ashram was rumoured to be on the lookout for a partner to expand operations to other parts of the country. Sunil knew that Yoga was a multibillion-dollar industry and had his sights set on venturing into the sector.
Several attempts by him and his team to reach out to the elusive teacher had failed to bear fruit. That was when he had learnt that the man would be at his ashram during this period. Sunil knew that if he got a few minutes to discuss business with him, a deal could be struck. He decided to take the risk and signed up for the fortnight-long silence therapy at the ashram. How he would manage to win over the guru without speaking was a puzzle he was yet to figure out.
After his first day at the Ashram, Sunil was ready to bolt. The satvic food, the resounding silence, inability to speak to his family, being deprived of his electronic lifelines…, their collective impact was so great, all Sunil could think of was going home. He reminded himself of the business deal he wanted to crack, a million times that day, just to get through it.
But he stuck to his guns and stayed put.
After fourteen wordless days, his voice sounded alien to him. The only silver lining was he had exchanged business cards with several other businessmen (who were there for the genuine wellbeing of their souls) with whom he hoped to have professional ties in the future. The yoga guru continued to remain aloof but Sunil did have a preliminary discussion with someone akin to a CEO in the setup, hours before he boarded his return flight. He was hopeful of a positive result in the medium term.
Above everything else, Sunil was excited to be going home. The moment he had switched on his phone, a zillion messages tumbled out. The ones he cherished the most were those sent by Manju.
“What?” (Seconds after his bombshell)
Five minutes later, “You can’t be serious.”
Ten minutes later. “Don’t be stupid. You can’t stay without speaking for even twenty-four hours.”
Half an hour later. “I can’t believe you are doing this.”
“Call me I Miss You.” One hour later.
“We didn’t speak the whole day today!” accompanied by a slew of ‘horrified’ emojis to emphasise her dismay, sent at the end of the first day. Followed by many more on subsequent days.
She had sent videos as well. He watched each of them on his long drive from the retreat to the airport. He couldn’t wait to be reunited with her. He considered calling her as soon as he received his phone but decided to surprise her in person, instead. He had waited three hundred and thirty six hours. He could endure a few more.
He also decided to book that car Manju had her sight set on, at the first opportunity, the next day. He couldn’t wait to see those dimples appear on her face when she saw her brand new car. He bought a bunch of flowers from a florist at the airport and set off to TQH, where Manju was likely to be at that time. TQH, he signed. How much longer would she pursue this bizarre obsession and how much more money would he have to sink into that black hole?
Their last fight had been about the cost of keeping the place open. Their diverse business philosophies continued to be the cause for regular arguments between them. Even his mother was concerned, but Manju, as always, was cocksure that she would succeed.
She wouldn’t quit and so she couldn’t fail. He could kick himself for having fed her the [image error]idea. Now he would have to talk to her about reinventing and innovating, to divert her zeal from the loss magnet of a venture to something more likely to succeed. He had one hell of a task ahead. But for the day, he was happy to be back and couldn’t wait to take his wife out to celebrate.
A shocking sight at TQH befuddled his senses Sunil hit the brakes in a great hurry, the car screeched; the tyres dragged on the tar leaving dark tread marks on the road and brought traffic to an abrupt halt. Behind him, other drivers also stopped with hair-raising urgency. Sunil cursed at his folly as the incessant horns of those on his tail reminded him of the holdup he had created.
To his utter amazement, a queue had formed outside TQH building.
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