Ghachar Ghochar

by Vivek Shanbhag

Anita’s remark about jokes feels innocuous, but it carries with it painful associations. The rest of us become flustered and try to ensure Appa doesn’t hear any of this. Anita sees victory in our flapping about. Doesn’t she know our entire future is perched on a will Appa hasn’t written?

After all this blowing of war bugles over the upma, I don’t even eat it. I rush out and go to Coffee House even as it is opening. I sit down, order a cutlet and a coffee. I make some small talk with Vincent: ‘So, Vincent, what news?’ He says, ‘Holes in dosas in everyone’s house, sir.’ A common enough adage it’s true, but am I to believe he brought it up with no knowledge of the morning’s events?

This is my typical routine: I finish my bath and, on peaceful days, breakfast;

On the journey back, Sripati told us at great length about Anita’s father’s idealistic views. This was probably meant to soothe Amma, who had taken offence at something he said. When Anita and I were away, having coffee, Amma had announced grandly that we didn’t expect a dowry. It seems Anita’s father said, ‘I wouldn’t give my daughter to you if you asked for one.’ Amma, who’d been enjoying her own magnanimity, was not pleased.

My impatient hands couldn’t get anywhere with the stuck knot. She tried too, but to no avail. ‘Tchah,’ she said, ‘this string has become all ghachar ghochar. Wait.’ I stood there as she sat up, bent over the knot and carefully teased it apart. It came to me later when we were lying there catching our breaths. ‘What was that you called the petticoat string?’ I asked her. She giggled. ‘Ghachar ghochar,’ she said.