Each evening my parents invade my room and subject themselves and me to a few hours of the most convoluted, stupid and bizarre creations of evil EieKttaae KKapoor. I must find things to do for those few hours. Most often I just stare blankly and follow the life of Saloni as she moves from being divorced, pregnant, killed, reborn, lost, replaced by a duplicate, killed again, and reborn without memory of previous life and as a five year old. But then sometimes all the stupidity gets to me and I take to reading. Hmm the setting doesn’t allow for any sort of serious literary foray – all I can manage is flipping through recipe books.
Cooking, now that’s something. I can now make a really mean Lal Maas, a decent replica of Mutton Belli Ram, subtly tangy Galouti Kababs, the caramelized rice part of Dhansak and a host of other things. But today I am too tired to do any fancy cooking.
Restlessness, acute boredom and a few other things are causing me physical uneasiness currently. It’s a bit like nausea – like someone is softly pinching my nose. Plus I am tired; the last few days have been spent working the markets like a mad man. I have visited exotic places called Fatwa, Kacchi Dargah, Bakhtiyarpur, and Naxal-infested Masaurhi. Add to this the endless saga of Saloni and the fact that my parents won’t let me turn on the fan and you get a young man on the verge of going completely insane.
I have a theory. If one ensures each day is exactly similar to the previous 24 hour cycle, one might find, beyond a short phase of slow monotony that time actually goes by more quickly. Experiments in this seminal sphere of science are underway and results are eagerly awaited. But one thing is for sure at the end of one such batch of x number of exactly similar days, one might find that the memories of the x days make them look more like a single day.
My days are turning out to be complete repetitions of the same thoughts, actions, feelings etc. It was a little boring to begin with, but now there is cold comfort in the numbness that comes from such an experience.
******
Sir, Society main crimnilty jo hai na, sab kuch hotch potch kar diya hai.
As I spend more time here, among these people I knew nothing of before, their thoughts, actions, aspirations and dreams, I find myself growing increasingly fond of them. I guess its also because I have no option since by and by old pillars I could comfortably lean on have either moved too far away or grown too weak and hollow to support me.
The way they speak is one of the many things I love about them. It makes me crack up like nothing else.
Suniye na! MP main baarh aa gaya hai, ee maal aur kahin nahin milega. Le lijiye na. (Reply – Dhut behanchod, MP main mera sasural hai, wahan koi baarh nahin aaya hai!)
Eh Anil, yeh Deepak kahan ka hai?
Deepak, Sir?? Deepak – oo toh Ara jila ka domicile hai.
LOL. They have strange affection for some really intricate words from the English language.
Kya Gopal Sunday ko kya kiye?
Sunday, Sir?? OO misej ko le gaye teh marketing ke liye.
Marketing is Bihari for shopping.
Sir, ee jo distribution main gappage hai na galti dikha raha hai.
Clear kut baat hai – ekdum.
Theek ba. Hamar baat manva toh theek ba.
Sir, aaj mat boliye kuch, mahaul bahut tensile hai. Tensile, LOL.
Paulitics na Sir, ganda khel hai.
Saharsa main na sir, fooding ka bahut problem hai. Lekin lodging ka A-one vyavastha hai. Really main first class!
Goodastuff.
Sir yeh backet stock kab aayega?
Backet?
Haan Backet..
Backet??!
Sir, oo Bucket mean kar raha hai.
Gems – these guys. Yesterday I was invited to a mutton-party. They cooked for me and bought me Old Monk!! *sniff* It was great – I got foolishly drunk and began to thank them for all their love and support and promised them all sorts of things and spoke to them about more sale and all that. I guess as their boss I should be behaving in a more prudent fashion, but what the hell.
I don’t think I will ever get over the fact that these guys are elder to me, married with kids and all. That I’m Sir to them, such a big deal, someone they fear and respect. When I go to their weddings I am the most pampered after the groom. It’s all a little difficult to digest.
The other day I had to fire someone. He held my feet, cried and begged, it was his sister’s wedding in a few days. But it was something I had to do, to set an example against stealing. I don’t know what I felt most, sympathy for him, disgust at having to make or being able to make such decisions or simply fear that he may send me a death threat.
******
Cookie took her first bath in many months and has now stopped smelling like rotten eggs. She is the biggest beneficiary of my love for cooking and has developed a Rajput’s stomach for fiery Lal Mass curry. Other than that she continues to live a life that consists of aimless wagging of her crooked tail, hiding in obscure corners of the house to avoid drinking milk, throwing herself at me when I return from work and finding some way of sleeping on my pillow at night.
******
Radiohead continue to be a source of solace and save me on the long drives across Bihar. The only trouble is that my version of Talk Show Host ends abruptly. Isn’t it the most beautiful song ever?
******
For more than a week now my life has been taken over by this stupid game on my cell phone. Those of you who ever owned that defining gadget of the Indian 90s – The Little Master video game, that epitome of technology and creativity, will remember the game Tetris. In my phone it is simply called Blocks. I play it first thing in the morning, when I go to the loo, over tea, before taking a bath, after the bath, in between changing clothes, on the way to office, in office, while overseeing the day’s order, through my smoke breaks, after office, at home, while Saloni weeps, before I sleep.
It’s a simple game – blocks of various shapes fall down at some speed, you have to give them direction and twist them around to fall into place. Every time you get a row without any gaps it disappears. The game ends when the no. of incomplete rows rises one on top of the other and covers the full screen.
If you think of it, a pursuit as mundane as this can pose significant challenges. Now the game starts at speed level one and the levels rise for every ten complete rows, that are removed. But the evil game makers have ensured that speed level 7 is unplayable so basically the maximum no. of rows you can remove are sixty. If you take away a single row you get hundred points. If two are blasted you get two hundred and fifty points, and if three are removed you get four hundred and if you take care of four rows in one single ingenious stroke you get six hundred points. So assuming you reach sixty rows all in fours you can make six hundred times fifteen which is nine thousand points. I bet that’s the maximum anyone can make, and I think the people at Nokia feel so too, because the scoring happens only in four digits!
My progress from an amateur only a few days ago to now has been truly remarkable. I have moved from a high score of 4800 on Sunday to 7300, achieved today on the way back home. In the process, I have kept myself from thinking too much, and lost a few million brain cells.
******
Did you know – leopard slugs mate in mid air while hanging from a thread of mucous?
I think Mucouse sounds like a nice palatable dish. Mucouse Pastries. Or Mucouse de zu belah blu blu bleh.
Posts
