Matchbox

What’s there in your pocket

Nothing, just a matchbox

You cant carry a matchbox in the flight, you got to leave it here

I cant leave it here. Its full

But you cant carry it in.

Why?

Its against the safety parameters. Its dangerous

How, I cant hijack a plane with a matchbox

You can claim that its full of gunpowder .

But its full of match sticks

People don’t know

I will tell them. I will announce it the moment I enter the plane

Why cant you just leave it here. Its just a matchbox

But its full

So ?

I have hardly used two sticks

This thing costs just one buck

You buy it from me. I cant waste a buck

I cant buy it

But its just one buck!

Please sir don’t waste my time , others are waiting

Their time isn’t worth a buck..this matchbox is

Sir , I request you

Ok , I have a plan

A plan?

Give it to the Pilot, I will take it when we reach Delhi. Tell him I have counted the sticks

I cant do that sir, and I cant let you carry it

Then find a solution?

We are flying without you, that’s the solution

For a matchbox..for a buck!! I got another plan

Tell me ..fast

I need just the matchsticks..you keep the box..No box means no gunpowder threat.

No sir..I cant allow matchsticks on board. They are combustible

What would I probably burn . I am not feeling suicidal today.

Its not the intent that we check..Its the content

Smart words..But I need a smart idea. Lets dip the sticks in water

What?

Wet matches wont burn..Once I am in Delhi I will show them the sun and they will be fine again.

All this for a buck ?

What do you mean? A buck is a buck

Ok , I will give you a buck.

Why will you give me a buck

Coz I am desperate to see you off

Are you really this desperate?

Yes sir, I am

Then gimme two bucks. Desperation means business opportunity

I am trying to help you and you are trying to strip me

Gimme two bucks and I will go

We better fly without you

For two bucks? You stripping me of my rights for two bucks?

Tell me what shall I do sir?

Give me two bucks or give me a solution

Why don’t you chop the butts of the match sticks .

How would that help

It wont stay combustible anymore. So you can carry it

That will be wasting two bucks

Once you are in Delhi you can sharpen the sticks and use them as toothpicks

Toothpicks ?

A box of toothpicks is worth 5 bucks.

Holy shit.. I never thought of it. That’s a million dollar idea

Now can I please help you chop the butts off.

Ya, but are you desperate to help me?

Wine and Women

My grandpa was a well travelled old man

He had seen the world , its cities and towns

And the nuggets of wisdom that he shared with me

Were worth their weight in gold, pound by pound , ounce by ounce

Drink like a man and choose your drink like one

Your drink is your lady, wisely you must choose

For she changes your character, your attitude and your traits

As long as she stays with you, your woman and your booze

Hard grained liquor, like a strong willed woman

Sets you free, keeps you up and keeps up with you

She takes your worries, she brightens up your traits

For she is one secure lady who is proud of her brew

Weak women are insecure, their company ties you down

You want to fly, she holds you down and doesnt let you shine

A spirit so similiar, that spirit killing spirit, that trait dampening spirit

From squeaky grapes and gooey pulp that spirit is called wine

Grandpa was right, I realized that night, when I sat with a glass of wine

I had had 3 sips when I looked at the clock , the time was half past nine

At half past nine I heard some one speak, I thought I lost my chips

"Promise me you wont forget me", a girly voice said, "as you forgot the last 3 sips"

That was the weak woman , my good old man, had rightly warned me against

Brimming to the hilt with her "I need you" juices and ready with her complaint

She loves me I thought, she wants me I felt, but she wants to hold me tight

I felt so handcuffed , I felt so tied , my own self giving me a fight

I took up the glass and through the clear crystal I saw the lovely wine

I smashed it on the floor and looked at the clock , the time was half past nine

I felt so good , it was half past nine, I hadn't for a minute

Let her rule me, the mean weak woman, the villaness of this sonnet.......................................

Passing Shower's Love Bible

The Partystopper

Let me tell you the little secret madam. I can see the conspiracy.. I can see it very clearly. This party is a conspiracy.. The host isn’t the host and the people aren’t the invitees. We are all conspirators. We have conspired this plot so that we can have you with us..We wanted to bring you here because you bring happiness..you bring smiles to faces. You are the epitome of bliss, messenger of cheer and harbinger of joy.
You don’t seem to notice but everybody in the party is secretly or openly admiring you. Those who are shy are adoring you in whispered approvals. Those who are more confident are expressing their joy on the dance floor.
Men are dressed in their best and behaving noble because they want your attention. Women idolizingly envious are trying to imitate you. The DJ is playing ballads for you and people raising toasts to acknowledge you.
People are happy and people are gay because Hey! You made their day.
Look around.. Its your show..We are all bashful admirers and you our presiding deity..
Hail you Lady..

Passing Shower's Love Bible

5:23 - Enormous Eyes

I love my children..all of them..but, I have my favorites too..These are the people, I will endow with such enormous expressive eyes that they won’t have to practice any other form of communication or expression to convey a message to fellow human beings.
Those eyes will reflect the inner beauty of my favorite child, and fellow humanity will learn the virtues of truth, honesty, integrity and love through the " now silent now furious, last moment loving suddenly fiery" pair of beautiful eyes that I will bestow upon my cherished child.
It didn’t take me long to realize that u have the most beautiful heart because your eyes told me so. I could never say a hard word or utter a lie in front of you because I know that your eyes know it all..they know it all and they say that they know it all.
World is a bad bad place..corruption, deceit, hatred, violence, bloodshed..but I feel protected and I find justice still firm..coz I know that God has his eye on things through the eyes of his favorite child.

Two Rupees

Lal Devidutt Nath Shahdeo… how would you prefer being called, our class teacher asked the new admission.

Devidutt sir, the new boy replied.

Ok Devidutt, welcome to class 6th A of KV No 1 Ranchi.

Thankyou sir, said the new boy and took his seat next to Rajesh, the strongest boy of the class.

I remember his first day at the school because everybody remembers it.
For the first three periods the whole class tried to memorize his full name and I became the first one to say it all in one go ,without a pause.
In the fourth period he fought with Rajesh and literally thrashed him for making fun of his long and strange name.
Over the fifth period and the adjoining lunch break we played the historic cricket match with class 8th, where Devidutt bowled half the team out in his 2 overs and won the match for us.
The seniors couldnt take the shameful defeat and invaded our class in the 7th period, beating us black and blue. The prime targets being Rajesh and Devidutt for making maximum runs and taking maximum wickets. The fight was still on when fat Mr PK Rai entered the classroom and gave a nice thrashing to everybody involved.
Devidutt’s shirt was torn and Rajesh already had a bad impression on Mr Rai … So they got a couple of sticks extra.
Nothing happened in the eighth period but I remember it rained like crazy at the bell. A watery end to an eventful first day for Mr Lal Devidutt Nath Shahdeo.
He wasn’t very tall but he was very strongly built and his first day was the last day when anyone had seen him involve in a fight. He was a jovial fellow who hated girls, very typical to guys that age. He hated wearing underpants too. He was the butt of our jokes for a week when he embarrassed himself and poor Mrs Sinha during the English period when she asked him to standup and give a reading from the text book.

He had a royal lineage and he was proud of it. His ancestors were Kings of Bhagalpur and he had interesting stories to tell about them. While I have forgotten almost all of them, one of them has somehow stuck to my memory. He once told us that his great grandpa brought down a palace and built a stage at its place.
What kind of stage..I remember some one asking
Like the one we have at our school..where the prayer team stands..but much bigger than that, he said
Thinking of it now, it seems quite illogical..I mean why would someone bring down a palace and that too to build a stage.
He might have meant an auditorium may be..still, there are better things to do with a palace..But that was sixth class..Logic had a permanent address back then..out of the window.

Devidutt never used to get his tiffin box. He would either get ‘ Frooty Bread’, sweet bread filled with sweet red things or he would get a couple of apples or other fruits. But mostly he would have 2 one rupee coins with him. He would buy “choley” or “jhaal mudi” during lunch break which would serve as his tiffin.
He didn’t have a mother. She died during his younger brother’s birth and his father never married again. The poor father wouldn’t manage to get much time to get his two children ready for school before going to work himself. So lunch box had to be sacrificed and alternatives had to be sought. Money and “Frooty Bread” were his dad’s idea of alternatives. Devidutt had different ideas.

He was an excellent deal maker. Once he got his feet firmly set in the new environment he showed the enterprising instincts that his grandpa lacked.
He would offer to buy our lunches with the 2 rupees that he had got and he would choose the one he liked the most. Everyone wanted to have the 2 rupees to eat ‘choley’ and ‘jhaal mudi’ and ice cream from the vendors at the school gate. Soon kids would started asking him what he would like to have the next day. They would urge their mothers to prepare that ..The lucky kid, whose mother fulfilled his requirement would get Devidutt’s 2 rupees.
Devidutt did it successfully for the 2 years he was in our class.

Me , Devidutt and rajesh, who was now his best friend were sitting on the rocks outside the school gate during the lunch break when Devidutt revealed his dearest desire.
Yaar pandey, I want to become the monitor of the class, he said
Why ? I asked, I was the monitor of the class
Maja aayega yaar..classmates would ask me for the toilet break when teacher wont be there.. they would ask me “ May I come in monitor”..I will feel good.
That isn’t any fun, I told him but he said it would be for him. He would feel like a King , he said
Then he made the offer I couldn’t reject..
“ Make me the monitor pandey and I would give you 2 rupees”..Rajesh will help you , he said
For the ‘ 2 rupees’ I was ready to run my brain. My thought process ran like this..
It was absolutely in the hands of the class teacher to decide who the monitor should be. But it was absolutely in my hands to declare that I wasn’t willing to be the monitor anymore. Once I step down Devidutt could be pushed for the post. For this the class should show that Devidutt was a good choice and Devidutt should show that he was willing.
Next day, I was ready with the plan.
I don’t want to continue as the monitor madam, I said to the class teacher
Why Pandey?
My Father is against it ..He says I am neglecting my studies..he asked me to step down..I too feel it’s a burden
Ok fine, but then who shall we choose as our new monitor
Devidutt would be a good choice madam, I said
Yes Madam , people listen to him, Rajesh stood up and said
For a one rupee coin,that I made Devidutt give him in advance, Ravi stood up and said-“yes madam..we want Devidutt to be our monitor”
Many others said “yes mam” , they weren’t promised anything, they weren’t part of the plan. They were just mass movers.
Ok then..we will let Devidutt be the monitor, are you willing Devidutt.
Yes mam , he stood up and said and as madam turned towards the blackboard to write, I caught the 2 rupee coin that came spinning towards me from Devidutt’s direction.

More Mother

She was 45, she looked 60. She was a mother of 5, my beloved neighborhood aunty and my mother’s best friend. She was a mother and that was all she was. I could never understand why she was more mother than my mother or the mothers of other neighborhood urchins. 8 was the number of times that aunty became a mother, my mama told me. Three of her children were still born. Carrying a little life with her for almost a decade was the reason why she looked much older than her age. That probably was the reason why she was more mother than other mothers. Hormones do play their role during child conception and carriage..Mothers love for her child is purely hormonal. In her case, since the ‘maternity juices’ were secreted more number of times, she became a little more mother each time..This of course was my own theory.

The roof top incident does impact my memories of her and it does so profoundly. Keeping those ugly pictures aside, when I sit back and remember her, I portray her sitting on a chair with my mother in our drawing room. Her youngest kid, a girl of 6, clinging on to her, nagging her for a rupee, pretending to sob, putting her hand in her blouse, where she knows her old mother keeps her little purse, pulling her mother’s hair, throwing a fit, howling on top of her voice and finally running out with her prize in her hand..She would do it again and again .. the clinging and nagging routine. It irritated me like hell..My mama used to scold the child but why would the child listen to somebody else’s mama. Why don’t you discipline the child..why do you heed all the time..my mama would ask aunty..She is a kid ..she will learn, aunty would say.

She would ask her two young sons, 12 and 14 to get kerosene from the ration shop..She would ask them the whole day and next day I would see her standing last in the long queue at the ration shop. Mama why cant you cook faster..the young boys would shout when she couldn’t prepare chapatis fast enough to match their hungry sprint.
Come push the hand pump for me while I wash the clothes, she would urge the young rascals.
Coming …they would shout and keep watching the television.
Once in a while, out of pity or to get some favor, one of them would extend a helping hand. He would have drawn just a couple of buckets when she would send him back. The mother would overcome the tired old lady. Its too hot, she would think..my child would get tired..

The elder daughter Manju was a sweet girl of 16. She was my best friend. Very much like her mother she was a shy, genteel , motherly girl of 16. She would do her best to share her mother’s burden. The elder brother would bully her and so would the younger rascals. The little kid would nag her when she was done nagging her old mother..Manju would just smile..the way her mother did.. She was growing up to be her mother..I feared worst for her.
My fears weren’t just aggravated by the rooftop incident, they got substantiated..they got confirmed.

The summers were sweet. Mama and aunty would go out and get heaps of tomatoes and tamarinds. We would sit in her house, wash the tomatoes and cut them. I would do the cutting along with my sister and Manju.
Chop them thinner, aunty would tell us..Avoid touching the pulp. We would then grind the spices and she would judge the fineness of the grind. Next she would guide us on the right mix of spices and the right blends of oils. While we carry out the operations as directed by her, she would prepare delicious 'halua' for us. This routine would run for days together. She was a master at making pickles..The boss..That was the only time I had seen her in control.
While the afternoons were spent in lazy pickle making, evenings were meant for play. Mama and aunty would go for the evening walk and we children would play in aunty’s backyard where she was trying to have a little productive kitchen garden for the last 2 years. We wouldn’t let anything grow there.. We would flatten the infant spinach buds and uproot the little radish roots that would try to encroach upon our mini soccer field. She never asked us not to play there. We would play with gay abandon till the clock struck 7.
The two rascals would start keeping a watch at the door after that..It was time for the eldest brother to return home and nobody wanted to be caught playing. I would return home with my sister. At the gate I would see aunty rushing home with her little bag of vegetables. Manju would start readying the kitchen and the kids would be ready with their books..Everybody would be ready with his best and every body ready for the worst.

He was 25 and he was her eldest son and he would return home anytime after 7 from the little photographer’s studio he worked in. He didn’t like nuisance when he was sober and his tempers would run wild on rainy days. He drank when it rained and he drank when it didn’t. He was one of those kinds who take their drink a bit too seriously.
High on liquor he would stumble home on his bicycle..on his own most days..occasionally helped by friends.
He was harsh on manju. She was a girl and so she had no rights to take her own decisions. Her decisions on what to wear and where no to go could only be taken by him..her elder brother..
He was cruel with the two rascals and his leather belt was his favorite accessory. He was indifferent towards his kid sister.. she loved it..More than the rupee she lived her day for.
High on liquor and very high on assumed authority he hated any kind of disobedience. Manju never had the guts for dissent and any rebellion from the younger lot was worshipped with the belt, promptly and ruthlessly.
Disobedience from the mother was a different issue though. It was dealt differently. I saw it happen twice..Once that night when Manju came thumping at our door and then on that ugly evening from the rooftop.
My father was home that night when Manju came knocking hysterically at our door.
Aunty ,.Aunty come quickly..see what is he doing ..Uncle..come quickly..we ran to her house..all of us..
He was standing in his underwear..He was wet and he was stinking of kerosene. Aunty was holding on to him..not letting him reach for the kitchen door where the two younger brothers had locked themselves up. Everything that could have ended the drama for ever was inside the kitchen..
All the matchsticks and all the lighters in this world couldn’t have incited the fury that I saw in my father’s eyes that night.
My dad entered the scene and the no flame drama was over in a minute. He saw my father and I could see him get scared..He stopped pushing for the kitchen door, his body language turning defensive. He was a coward..He could never stand a man..
Sorry uncle ji ..galti ho gayi..I am sorry..he was blabbering in his incoherent tongue while we ploughed buckets of water on him. My dad standing in front of him, he didn’t have the guts to say anything else..I wanted my dad to hit him..Punch him right on his nose and let all the wicked demons fly out of him..once and for all..My dad didn’t.. He just stared at him and we saw the ‘would be martyr’ melt into sobs.
“Your son is dead”, the son shouted at his mother and went straight to his room. He emerged out in a minute..dressed up ..with a suitcase and barged out of the house.
He came back in the night itself ..aunty told mama the next day.
You should write to his dad..mama advised..He is away ..he would be worried..once he returns I would tell him..replied aunty.

How is he behaving these days.. mama asked her, a month after the incident..A lot better ..she told..His grandma wrote about a good match for him..we might get him married by year end..responsibility will teach him better, she said.
What if he continues to behave ill even after marriage, mama asked..wouldnt it ruin the girls life..
No No I am sure he will be all right..I trust him..she said.

That very evening there was music in the air..somebody was playing his music for the whole 'mohalla'. I was playing alone in my backyard when the ball I was playing with, climbed the roof of my house. I would have fetched the ball later but I also wanted to see who was playing the music this loud. So I climbed the roof. From the roof I could see aunty’s drawing room and I could see why they had to play their tape recorder this loud.. He was home and he was mad..I didnt know how things went so bad but when I saw his full fist waving in the air and hitting his mother on the shoulder I knew they have gone horribly wrong..He wasn’t facing much resistance .The tiny tots were scattered around the room .. all crying.. they had done their bit and taken their share of blows. The eldest daughter would get up and cling to her mother but he would slap her away. She would get up again and cling on to her till he slaps her away again. He was after his mother .. Showering punches .. not knowing which was landing where..Waving for the sake of madness or for the sake of denying his cowardice, only he would know. His madness was prompting him to beat any sign of rebellion out of his mother. She wouldn’t heed. Her ego wouldn’t take it. She would take a blow, turn back and spit on him and get slapped in return, harder every time. His madness was infuriated by her every act of rebellion. His cowardice wouldn’t attain manhood till the traces of revolt die.
He slapped his way to manhood that day. She would not respond any more. The resistance was gone. She went numb ..He was relieved..He wouldn’t have to punch his mother anymore..His ego was healed..His madness subsided..He took his bicycle and banged out of the door..I saw him leaving and hid myself behind the pillar on the roof..I was scared of him..I climbed down. Mama was getting ready for her evening walk with aunty..
Mama don’t go today, I said…. Why son …. I am not feeling well, please stay home today..for me. She stayed home..I got high fever that night and I slept almost the whole of next day..
Did aunty come to see me, I asked mama in the evening
No son, she slipped in her bathroom this morning..she got a fracture in her hand..

Aunty didn’t tell mama or Mama isn’t telling me.. I would never know the answer..A man would never understand a mother..

We all saw the big grin on aunty’s face on the day of her son’s marriage..She sang and she danced..Her tiny little six year old in one hand and a dirty three month old plaster in the other..