My Big Fat Non-Wedding!!!

A lazy Thursday afternoon in my home office.
I was sprawled on the couch, with the Times crossword in one hand, and, a De Bono, in the other.
I felt, and looked, like a super-sized Boa in denim, which, had feasted on one too many goats!

My rather heavy lunch, combined with the oppressive heat, only served to bring forth a chorus of sleep fairies, crooning soothing lullabies. I was desperate to stay awake. But, all my efforts to think of a four letter word for Black in poetry, of all things, only served to further weigh down my eye-lids !!!

Desperate situations call for desperate measures.
And so, I padded over the the refrigerator, for a fork full of ice-cream.

As I stood against the fridge, sucking the bitter-sweet chocolate-vanilla, swirl off the fork, savouring its icy cold smoothness in my mouth and, as it slid down my throat....The door-bell rang, bringing my moment of self-indulgence to an end.

A shifty looking man in uniform, from an unidentifiable courier service, stood at the door-step, fanning himself with a cover. Me, the languorous boa in denim, must have taken him quite by surprise, for, the glance he bestowed upon me, smacked of bewilderment, and, uncertainty.

To speak, or, not to speak?
To stay, or, not to stay?
To give or not to give?
Those, I could see, were the questions, which, were raging within.

And, a moment later, I learnt why.

" Mr. Satheesh....?? " He inquired hopefully, " A credit card from Citibank"
" Ok, give it to me..."

My casual response seemed to offend him.
Perhaps, he felt dismissed.
Or, maybe, it was my irreverence, towards the contents of the envelope.

" Give it to you??..You are?? "
" His wife"
" WIFE??? "

The incredulity in his voice amazed me. Never, in my whole entire life, have I had any identity of mine questioned with such vehemence. And, by a rank stranger, too.
I must confess, that, the situation was a rather novel experience for me. And, as much as I was tempted to box his ears, for his insolence, and send him on his way without much ado, I restrained myself to an icy stare. As I debated on the appropriate mode of action, I saw him surreptitiously glance at my hands.
And, start in surprise.
His search for the band of ownership on my ring finger, had proven to be futile.
I watched, in amusement, as his gaze tentatively rose to my neck, where the all important 'thali' was supposed to be. But, was not.
This time, he visibly recoiled in consternation!

Suppressing the smile that threatened to break out, I composed my face into an steely expression, as his eyes finally found mine.
" You are his wife???" He trilled at me, disbelief stamped all over his puny form.
" Yes" said I, daring him to refute my claim.

The poor man looked nonplussed.
And, unsure.
Evidently, he didn't think I was married.
But, the lights of war in my eyes, deterred him from stating what was in his mind.

" What to do? I have to give this card to him "
" Come on Sunday, then. He will be at home. Or, deliver to his office....In Sriperumbudur "

I could barely conceal the malicious glee in my voice, as his face, which had brightened with hope, fell once more. Sriperumbudur is a good hour and a half's drive away from Chennai city! And so, his dismay, was quite understandable.

" Err, Sunday is not possible..."
" Then, you will have to give it to me "

I was, by now, hot and sweaty, and, hankering for another fork full of ice-cream!
Which made me quite eager to send Mr. Shifty Man, and his precious credit card, on his way. But, unfortunately for me, persistence seemed to be a virtue he had cultivated carefully, and, practised with great diligence.
" You are really married to him??"

Momentarily distracted from the ice-cream, I glared at him. The man was begining to sound like a stuck gramaphone record. And, was threatening to stomp my nerves to pulp.

" Can I have identification? "
" I don't have his identification "
" No identification???...ration card? something? "
" We don't have a ration card. And, how do you expect me to have his identification? People normally carry their identification on their person, don't they??? "

And finally, my irritation got to him.
But, the man, was not to be easily persuaded.
Like the mighty Titanic, he forged on, cutting through the icy cold waters of my annoyance!

" Your identification? "
" Mine? "
" Yes please. I need your identification to give you the card "

As I rooted about for my PAN card in my bag, I wondered if I should make a quick dash upstairs, to fish out my scarlet letter from the cupboard. For, I knew, my identification papers, which bore my maiden name, would only confirm his worst fears. That I was a shameless harlot!
And, I was right.

The shifty man held my PAN card against the envelope.
His eyes widened. The spectacles came off for a cleaning.
He peered, once more, at the name on the cover. And, then, again at my card.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he raised his horrified eyes to my face, before hoarsely whispering " This does not have his name"

" Yes, of course..That is my father's name there " I replied, trying to, helpfully, point out my dear departed parent's name on the card.

" You don't have identification with your husband's name? "
" Nope " I answered, blithely.
" This is why I asked.... "

And, that did it.
His whining had stretched my nerves to a frazzle, stirring in me, emotions which were rooted in the centuries-old social conditioning of the mighty matriarchal society I hailed from.

I was at my iciest best, as I drew myself to my full height, to demand an explanation.
" Asked what?...if I was married??..."
" errr...I mean "
" Actually, how does it concern you, if I use my husband's name or my maiden name??? How dare you talk in this manner to me? One more word, and I will come to your office, to personally complain about you"

An entire gamut of emotions flitted across his face, screaming to be voiced out loud. But, apparently, the sight of the ice-cream deprived virago in front of him, had rendered him speechless. Under my glowering eye, he hastily noted down my pan number and passed over the precious envelope, after obtaining my signatures on the necessary papers.

As he beat a hasty retreat out of the gate, casting reproachful glances back at me, I could almost hear him compose a mental narrative on his afternoon's experience. Without doubt, he must have had a lot to regale his colleagues with, at their late afternoon coffee break.

How I wish, I was a fly on the wall of his office!
A legend will be born, I think!!!
*evil wicked grin*

The Broken Dryer...

" Rain Rain Go AWAY
You make my days oh so grey
The pitter patter on my pane
Is driving me quite insane
My toes are wet, my clothes are damp
If you went, who'd give a damn ?
So, Rain Rain GO AWAY!!! "

As bad as my friend's poetic skills were, I found it hard to repress my mirth at the irony of the situation. Here I was praying for torrential rains to wash away the Diwali crackers while she desperately spouted bad poetry to bring back the scorching Chennai sun.

" V, why don't you just stay indoors with a steaming cuppa and enjoy the cozy weather?"

The withering glance my suggestion earned should have fried it to a crisp, but I was too ebullient to even notice.

"Considering that I am almost running out of clothes, I will have to do just that..Stay indoors downing cuppas after cuppas!!!"

"So, why on earth aren't you using a damn dryer?" I demanded crossly, every fat cell in my body quivering with exasperation.

"Because darling," She purred "WE LIVE IN A BLOOMING DRYER...& NOW IT'S BROKEN!!"

:) :)

Pop Goes The Ear Drums!

" Monday's Diwali" I announced gloomily. Next to me, kitty's face reflects the very same emotion, but with much greater intensity. Only DSK perks up, seemingly oblivious to the misery of his women folk who were huddled together on the couch.
" Maybe the depression in the Bay will hang around for a couple more days. If it continues to pour through the weekend, then not very many are going to venture out to burst firecrackers....Or would they?"

Hope does spring eternal in the feline breast though Ging looked anything but convinced. Her expression spoke volumes about the nasty loud bangers that was going to wreck havoc with our nerves, the acrid smoke which would sear the linings of our nostrils and throats before it encased our lungs in its vice grip and the deluge of store brought boxes of sweets which was coming our way.
Kitty's caustic glance, so pregnant with meaning, vapourised the tantalising glimmer of hope that had dangled before me just minutes ago. Even at my optimistic best, I could not imagine Diwali being a wash-out in Chennai.
As I muttered mutinously to myself about people's selfish ' Oh, I couldn't care less' attitudes, the endangered planet and the trauma that awaited hundreds of orphan animals in the city, another unpleasant truth struck me.... The rains were bound to plaster the cracker debris on to the dusty streets and tarred roads, escalating the city's litter quotient to unprecedented levels for the next couple of days!!!
All at once, a wet weekend did not seem very appealing!

" Well, at least you can crawl under the bed and hide....I can't even do that" I told Ging huffily.
Kitty groomed me a bit to soothe my ruffled fur. It seemed that, for once, she wouldn't mind sharing her hidey space with mommy. We were after all sisters under the skin, united in our dislike of all things loud and offensive to our senses.

" It appears that your wishes may come true..at least in part" Dsk pops his head out of the paper long enough to give us a quick update "The papers report that crackers are not only more expensive this year but they are also in short supply due to the rains..."
Another ray of hope glittered before me....
Who would have guessed that inflation would prove to be an ally in our war against the bangers?
Barely able to supress my glee, I peered out of the window to mumble a few more fervent entreaties to the dark rolling rain clouds....And at that precise moment, the sun chose to smile down on me
*deep sigh*

Priorities!

Yesterday evening, the Government in Tamil Nadu exploded a Diwali pataka on the unsuspecting electorate....By unveiling its " Use Less, Pay More" policy for power consumption.
In about 2 weeks from now, domestic consumption will necessarily have to be reduced by 20%, failing which families will have to shell out 50% more for every additional unit consumed.
The same holds good for shops, restaurants and other such low tension commercial & industrial users.
Heavy Industries and Software firms are to cut consumption by 40% and also, delink from the grid for the prescribed 4 hours in the evenings.
And the icing on the cake? The state will continue to experience scheduled power cuts as well as those of the unscheduled kind. Of course, hospitals, educational institutions, media houses, telephone exchanges, railway connections, milk processing units are all exempt.
And rightly so.
Also among those who will escape the axe are Embassies, Fertiliser Factories and.......*Gasp* Government Buildings. To think, I actually believed darkness provided the perfect cover for nefarious activities.....
But surprise of surprises!..... Temple festivals are also exempt...
Religion is indeed sustenance for the soul. And community celebrations, fun unlimited.
But since when did it sustain economic development or put food on the tables of the masses?

The Tailor Up My Road

I must admit that dividing time between Bangalore and Chennai most definitely has its advantages.....I get to catch up with old friends, eat my favourite cuisines and above all, continue patronising my tailor who has been outfitting me these past many years. In fact, I sometimes think I have the best of both worlds....A thought, which I confess, does not go down very well with Dsk.

The sight of me carefully packing bolts of fabric for a trip to Bangalore never fails to irk hubby dearest and provoke eloquent speeches on the skills of the Chennai dress makers. No small wonder that I have taken to packing my bags in the dead of the night, long after the household has retired to bed.
But despite the best of my efforts at subterfuge, a few days back, Dsk managed to stumble on a pile of fabric beside my Bangalore bound bags.
" I really don't understand why you have to carry all this to Bangalore? When will you wake up to the fact that there are good dress makers in Chennai as well? You don't even give them a chance"
" But I am comfortable with the tailor I have. We understand each other and I just don't want to change something that is working well"
*Sticking my thick lower lip out mutinously*
"Where is your sense of adventure? I mean, you might just find a tailor here to be so much better..Why not try? There is that boutique up the road. Why don't you check it out?. ..."
I would have liked to argue further to and resist Dsk's efforts to prise me out of my comfortable rut. But his dig at my sense of adventure hit home. What if there was a better seamster round the corner, just waiting to be discovered? And what was more, the boutique up the road did offer to undertake embroidery as well, something my current dressmaker did not.
So the next morning, armed with my fabric, I marched purposefully up the road in search of the Ladies Tailor and soon was stepping into the cool confines of Chitra's Boutique.
The boutique was quite unlike anything I had seen so far. The walls, shelves and the windows glittered and gleamed with a variety of sequined, gilded creations in all colours of the rainbow. As my eyes adjusted to the kaleidoscope of colours around me, I spotted a diminutive, short sighted gentleman with a manic grin and a measuring tape slung around his neck.
Clearly, this was not the Chitra of the name board fame....Unless she had undergone a gender change.
I contemplated retreating with my precious fabric but his hunter's instincts proved to be greater than my survival instincts and I was soon effusively escorted to his work desk.
" Err, I want to stitch salwars....I have drawn designs...." He peered at the proffered scrawls with a frown. "I would like some embroidery on the salwars as well..Can I see some embroidery designs?"
Embroidery, it appeared, was the key. For all at once, his brow cleared and with puppy dog enthusiasm he responded "Madam, don't worry... I do and give"
" Okieeee, but what will you do? Can I see patterns?"
" Patterns? No patterns...I do and give"
I had half expected him whip out half a dozen design books and his thread palette but instead he seemed to expect me to blindly trust his creative genius, of which I had had no experience what so ever.
" What will you do?" . I persisted, not willing to be swayed by his infectious enthusiasm. And perhaps he sensed my doubt. With a grand flourish, he waved at the dazzling creations all around " Madam see...All I do...I make beautiful dresses for you"
Little did he realise that his marketing spiel had only sent madam's spirits plummeting faster that the stock markets!!!
" No, I do not want anything like these...I don't like shiny gold all over my dresses...I have to wear these dresses for meetings and office....Not in Chennai but in other cities as well....I need sober, smart clothes...Can you do that???"
" Madam no like chamki?" he asked me incredulously, his eyes wide open.
" No"
" Sequins? Gold Ribbons?"
His hopes were being bludgeoned to death by my icy glares. "Do you understand what I need? I don't need clothes for a wedding...I need to wear them to work"
My blood pressure was rising to dangerous levels and yet, he wasn't giving up
" But madam, how will dress have GET-UP??? At least I use gold thread? I put design here and there, OK ya?"
His dogged determination wore out my resolve and I decided to stop arguing and entrust my precious fabric into his care. " OK, I have explained my likes to you..Now, let me see how good you are..After all, I am the customer and I need come back if, and only if, I like the dresses you make"
Having said my piece, I was about to sweep out of the store with my head held high, when he stopped me in my tracks
"But madam, after I finish, you cannot tell me that you did not like the dress or refuse to come back.........."
I back tracked just to check if he was joking, but his steady gaze indicated otherwise....The man was dead serious!!!
Wonder what Martin Luther King, Peter Drucker and the Gurus of marketing would have made of this one???

The Wrath Of The Spider Woman

"Maids, can't live with them...can't live without them" I announced to Ging, who looked as harried as I did after taking in the mess on the floor. Our maid Shanthi, in a fit of rage, had just swept jars of our favourite pickles off the counter on to the floor and was now glaring most defiantly at me. And the cause for her ire? That I had dared to draw her attention to the gossamer laced shelves in the kitchen!!!
" I wonder why we suffer this....I am so tired of living with a gazillion spiders and the most truculent maid in the world!"
This most definitely was one of those moments when Ging and I balanced ourselves precariously on the edge of reason, and contemplated drugging and packing Shanti off to the Durrell Wildlife Conservation Trust .
Yes, I know...I shouldn't be cribbing and I can almost sense eyebrows being raised by my sisters all over.
But face it people, those of us who are privileged and can afford daily help cannot help but bewail their carelessness, unreliability and a gazillion other flaws. And those who go without, would shake their heads and perhaps with a little frown creasing their brows, wonder what the fussy haves are ranting about.
All through my decade of independent living, I was fortunate to not have experienced much maid trouble. Which probably was what decided the powers above that 10 years was too long a run for anyone, especially when it came to domestic help. The eleventh year brought into our home, Ms. Shanthi, the local spider conservationist and the Defender of Arachnids......Life has never been the same ever since.
To start with, our mornings became a never ending game of Catch Me If You Can with our very own Spider Girl. Every single day, the three of us would jolt into wakefulness at the crack of dawn just so that we could catch her in the nick of time. For you see, Ms. S had this strange habit of silently scuttling away faster than her beloved spiders, if we failed to catch her within minutes of her first ring. And to make matters worse, punctuality was not one of her finer points. Shanti could put in an appearance anytime from 6:30am onwards...It could be 7:15 one morning....7:45 the next...6:45 the third and 8:30 on the fourth. Strangely though, on Sundays or any other holiday for that matter, she would not only be at our doorstep with the lark but would also insist on leaning against the buzzer until allowed in. In vain have I wished her away or pretended to not hear the insistent ringing of the bell just so that I could sleep in. But on a holiday morning, Spidey always loomed large like a nemesis of sorts

Like every other maid in town, she would ever so often disappear for a day at a time, only to resurface with extraordinary tales of disease,death and all things morbid.....Her mother was bitten by a dog...her sister-in-law died...her sister's in-laws fell ill in turns and then died....We figured that over a period of 10 months, she must have decimated 3/4ths of her clan many times over to justify her disappearances. But eventually, even Shanthi ran out of relatives to consign to the grave and much to our relief, progressed to weddings and events associated with birth - the next spoke in the wheel of life.

These of course,were, the least of our worries. What drove us stark raving nuts was her grim determination to convert the moggie household into a spider farm. Yes, indeed....Most people had to deal with careless maids and the dust and grime remained after a vigorous cleaning. We had spiders and cobwebs to contend with.
The arachnids were all over - in the corners, floors, windows, beams, ceilings, around paintings, on objects, amidst my crystal, in the kitchen and even the bathrooms! For the life of me, I could not figure out Spidey managed to keep the house sparkling clean without disturbing the cobwebs. On occasions where the house was in danger of turning into a giant cobweb, Ging and I would nervously retrieve the broom from her sullen hands to evict our unwelcome tenants.....Only to be rewarded with broken jars of our favourite foods, crockery and even our trinkets, if Shanti did not find utensils to wreck in her rage....Very much like the present moment which had us stressed, cross and ever willing to throttle our spider girl.

Fortunately, reason prevailed and Spidey lived to work another day. As she stomped out of the door at the end of her day's work, I tentatively suggested that she start her next morning's work clearing out the cobweb covered ceiling of our porch. "After all, just how much damage can she do out there?" I smugly asked Ging, brushing aside her panicked glances at the car. "Surely, even she would not try damaging the Verna, would she?"
" No mommy, she wouldn't...But remember, she comes inside right after...what then?"...And outside, as if to reiterate Ging's concerns, Ms. S rattled and banged the gate ominously on her way out....
With a sigh, I got up to gather the breakables in sight & burn some incense at the altar. After all as Murphy's adherents would say, even if destruction is seemingly is not possible, good old Spidey would eventually manage it!!

When The Gods Smiled Down

I must confess that there are times when Chennai and its denizens stretch my nerves to its snapping point. And there is no point cribbing to the my moggies because Ging almost always sleep through my rants while DSK takes offence at every single vituperative I utter against his beloved city and being a true blue cancerian, remembers it for posterity. Unfortunately for me, it is rare for him to be at the receiving end of the special Chennai attitude, so when those rare incidents occur, it is with much enthusiasm that I seize the moment to communicate a multitude of gleeful ' I told you so' s.
So when yesterday evening proved to be a goldmine of many such moments, I could only thank the the Gods for beaming down at on me and grin away as the events unfolded in front of me.
The first signs of DSK's woes for the evening appeared soon after we settled into 'The Boat' to go shopping at a well known city mall. The boat, by the way, is an Hyundai Elantra which now transports DSK to work and back & which I sometimes meanly refer to as The Titanic. DSK hasn't had the time to explore the Boat's workings and was faced with his first challenge when I, being a music aficionado, switched on the CD player in eager anticipation of listening to some vintage rock but ended up flooding the car with songs in an alien language. In response to my raised eyebrows, poor Dsk fiddled with the knobs, checked all radio and CD channels but all his efforts to find a non alien non Tamil channel proved in vain as did his efforts to change the CDs. The Alien Song CD's staunchly held the player captive, refusing to come out and in sheer desperation DSK called his driver for an explanation
" Ba, what language CDs have you put in the car? .....Ohhhhh, Korean aa???...ok ok ok......I see....Ok, ok now tell me how to change the CDs? hmmmm....... mmmmmmm....... Whatttt??? I can only change one CD inside the car??? What about the other 7??? Whatttt??? I have to change from the back??? What back?? You mean from the boot????...no no....boot means Dickie...not shoe"
The look on Dsk's face is priceless. And as hard as I try, I cannot suppress my giggles. DSK looks extremely perplexed about his driver's explanation of having to change CDs in the boot. And considering that we were hemmed in by traffic there was nothing he could do other than try make sense of his driver's gibberish.
" Where in the Dickie should I change the CDs? ...But I can change one Cd inside the car, no? I have tried all the buttons but it is not coming out...What should I do?.....hmmmm.....mmmmm......No, I didn't understand....hmmmm.....Ok, forget it, we will change it tomorrow morning"
Obviously, the effort has been too much for Dsk or perhaps, he didn't want to provide more grist for the laughing mill beside him. So we listened to Korean music of all genres - slow, fast, classical, romantic, rock, club......all the way to the mall. And this was just the start.
At the mall, while browsing through goodies on display, I spied a set of cookware I had wanted for quite a while and honed in for the buy. After much frowning and gesticulation, the sales boy finally deigned to take notice of my rather obvious interest.
" How much for those pans? On that range?"
" Big pan?"
" Big and small"
" Madam, that set....all together"
" No single pieces???"
" I go check madam..."
" Yes pleassseee.....And tell me the price if single pieces are available"
And he scampered away for what seemed like eternity during which time I paced the entire floor many times over. Just when I was going to report him at the Store's lost and found, he emerged sporting a rather bemused expression
" Madam, 850 Rs. Small no price"
" No price? Means what....its free?"
" Madam, no box for small pan....no price...come tomorrow"
Is he stark raving nuts??? To even imagine that I would drive all the way back across town the next day for a teeny weeny saucepan!!!...I march purposefully towards the cash counter holding a crock pot in one hand, using the other to drag the puny open mouthed salesman, who by the way is clutching on to the small pan and a large box.
" Your salesman tells me that he does not know the price of this pan because he cannot find the box???? Come on...Don't tell me that Shopper's Stop does not have prices on its system???" My voice has risen a few notches inviting curious glances from fellow shoppers and rather apprehensive looks from the salesperson. But this really is the pits!!!!....
" No box...no price" That's the gawky salesman at his plaintive best, looking for allies.
" How can it be???? I really would like to speak to the store manager because this is the first time in years that I have heard anything so ridiculous in Shopper's Stop...How are you all running this place? Like a Kirana shop??"
All at once, the counter is abuzz with activity as the sales boys jump to the task of finding the price of my small pan. Anything, just anything, to shut up the indignant virago !!! After a team huddle, a slightly more confident salesman approaches me with trepidation.
" Ma'am, the small pan is 850...we do not sell the the larger pan as a single piece...it is the part of a set which comes with that cooking range and a dish"
After all that melee, now this!!!....I am at my wits end and hell hath no fury like an alpha denied. As I turned on the wimp salesman, I could see a bemused DSK making his way towards us.
" but he told me that it was available as a single piece"
" I say set...." The wimp gets his two bit in!!!!
" what's happening???"
As I apprise gamma moggie about the situation on hand, the plaintive bleats of the wimp salesman are shushed into silence by the rest of the group who seemed to have realised that their only hope was to pacify me and get me out of their floor. But not before they have dealt with Gamma Moggie....
" What is this??? You guys cannot sell us a set of pans because you do not know which are available as single pieces...And can't find boxes to figure out the prices???..I can't believe this!!!...."
I think the disbelief in his voice permeated every one's thick skulls because the salesmen suddenly transformed into models of efficiency, writing out bills for the crock pot and the small pan. Clutching my prizes in the elevator, I contemplated performing my little ' This would happen only in Chennai' victory song and dance routine but the grim expression on Dsk's face stays my feet. I have to exercise extreme restraint to not gloat but then, I decide to take the higher road and not rub salt on raw wounds.
On our way out, I check out some dark glasses and decide to buy one. A nice salesman presents me with my warranty card, a sleek care case and asks in all seriousness
" Madam, you will wear this now or I shall package it"
And that cracked me up....Even DSK, the faithful son of Tamil Nadu soil, can barely conceal his mirth at that ...As we zipped back home in the boat listening to Korean music, it struck me that life in Rajani-land does have its lighter moments!!!

This Small Matter of Semantics..

Sometimes, working out of the house sucks!!! Its uncanny how a domestic problem crops up every time I sit down to work with a steaming mug of coffee - sometimes its unannounced guests or a shortage of sorts or perhaps just some forgotten chore which rears its ugly head at the most inopportune moment. Thankfully, life in the big city comes with certain perks and prime amongst these is the dial for anything under the sun option. Be it food, laundry, payments for telephone and credit card bills or groceries and movie tickets, all one needs to expend is a phone call and some sound byte!!! And for things that cannot be rung for ,say like Ging's kibble, well there is always Gamma moggie to fall back on.
So today, it was with much enthusiasm that I decided to get a head start on my weekend chores by ordering in supplies from the grocer round the corner.
" Hello Murugan Stores. Calling from # 20, Arundale Beach Road"
" Madam. ..solingo" [ Tamil for please tell me]
My chirpy smile wanes and the enthusiasm goes down a notch... Just my luck that I got the Tamil speaking delivery boy, who never seems to be able to make sense of my pidgin tamil!!!
" Owner illa? No Tamil..English peshanam"
I enquire hopefully but the silence which follows is deafening!!!...He must have been trying to figure out the safest way to hang up on the crazy cat lady who lives down the road, without invoking her now legendary wrath, and probably thought I would hang up on my own accord if he kept quiet. But the optimist I am, I decided to feign ignorance at his predicament, and give it one last shot. And this time with an extra helping of feminine charm.
" English? Hindi? No Speak?"
And I hit pay dirt. The boy who speaks pidgin English seems more than willing to accommodate me and responded with equal enthusiasm:
" Illa Madam..konjam konjam English speak...little little..u solingo..I give home"
I suspect he was trying to improve his English but what ever was his reason, I had to hand it to the boy for his puppy dog effervescence and interest. Emboldened by the fragile communication link we had established, I proceeded to reel off from my list.
" U write..ok?"
" Madam?"
" 1 Bread, 20 eggs...umm...egg mean motta, ok?"
" Madam?"
I must confess, his madam pronounced with a question mark was beginning to grate on my nerves...What could it possibly mean - yes, no, I didn't get u....What???. Gritting my teeth, I forge ahead...
" tomato 1kg, onion 1kg"
" Tommaaaaattttoooo...approm..err, nexte madam?"
" Onion....err, savala? " [savala = Malayalam for onions]
" Savola...madam?"
" yes, yes..Savala...onions...pyas..."
Hey, this is going better than I thought it would...despite all those questioning madams which I now assume is 'ok' or 'gotcha' in some unknown alien language, we are actually communicating!!!
" Jaggery 1/4 kilo"
*silence* Ok, I get it...this one's flown right over his head but hope springs eternal in the moggie breast and I once again resort to my mother tongue.
" Sharkara?" [Malayalam for Jaggery]
" oooohhhh, Sharkara..seri seri..approm madam?" [ Seri = ok, Approm = next]
" approm, Potato 1 kilo....Tide soap..Phenyl...Pril "
" Madam?"
" Yes, podum...finish...home delivery? Time solingo?"
" 30 minutes madam"
I rang off with a grin which would have given the Cheshire Cat a few moments of self doubt. Congratulating myself on my efforts and resourcefulness, I settled down in front of my laptop awaiting my groceries, which incidentally put in an appearance a good two hours later. Not that it fazed me a bit. I was still beaming widely as I retrieved each item from the shopping bag for storing away. Soap, Floor Cleaner, Eggs, Bread, Tomatoes, Dish Cleaner....err, Saffola brand Vegetable Oil????....And Sugar???
This wasn't even remotely funny. Where were my onions and jaggery?
I tried calling the friendly neighbourhood grocer but just couldn't get through. The delivery boy must have taken the phone off the hook, in the vain hope that the crazy cat lady would give up and make do with what was given to her, rather than undertake a walk to his shop in the scorching heat. But, he sadly underestimated the crazy cat lady who can be quite a demented soul, when on a mission. After umpteen futile calls, I grabbed the offending articles and marched over to the grocer.
" ithu enna...." I demand huffily
" Savola Madam!!!..Sharkara..." *round eyes* He obviously thinks I have lost it!!!
" No, no..Ithu Saffola..I want Savala...Onion!!!....And I want jaggery..."
*blank nervous stare *
I look around me desperately, hoping that a good Samaritan would materialise out of thin air. But no such luck. Suddenly, I spy a sack of onions tucked away inside the shop and hop around gesticulating at it.
" That onion....I want"
Before I can go on a rampage within the shop, the owner appears and commands the boy to bring forth some' Vellom" and lo behold, the jaggery materialises miraculously out of thin air. Well, I presume it was thin air because I was so excited to see the jaggery and onions that I did not bother to check where the loot was stashed.
Clutching my prizes in either hand, I trotted home wondering why every other person I met, outside this state, automatically assumed that my knowledge of Malayalam would help me breeze through conversations in Tamil!!! Seriously, isn't it amazing how the most brilliant of ideas can so easily be rendered redundant by this small matter of semantics???