Janki and Mansoor (Chapter 3)

(Suryakant Tripathi)

I was telling you about Janki and Mansoor story. They call it my greatest hit. As if a case is a song. Maybe it is.

Ever heard the songs in local dialect that are popular among truck drivers from Uttar Pradesh? Each word is laden with so many bastard connotations that it is highly unlikely that you would have heard them. Unlikely, if you are the suave, city bred person you portray yourself to be. The tunes are worth a hum. Singing is bearable. But lyrics. Ah! Those lyrics! In the early nineties, when Gurgaon was an actual village, I used to be posted at the Border. By border I mean, Delhi Gurgaon border. Liquor used to be cheap at the border. Allowing people to go about their business has always been my policy, especially if I profit from it. I think I am a regular capitalist. In any case, those dhaba owners cut the chicken as easily as they cut the cop from a post of value, so better let them fry what they wish, and why not chomp on a free leg piece if I can.

Why am I telling you about the UP truck driver's favorites? Patience, you! Every story has its side-stories, without which an Indian story is going to be incomplete. Advice: Next time, pay attention. You must go and ransack a truck driver's collection of music. You will then understand why Altaf Raja, Ataullah Khan, Ila Arun and all the remixes as well as Himesh sell.

My first conversation with Mr. Agrawal was about a song we overheard from a truck. The saali (sister-in-law) sings to her jeeja (brother-in-law), "You have tasted my sister's, when will you taste mine", and after a pause comes the word "kheer" (rice & milk pudding). The chorus had a highly sensual sighing as the backdrop, the voice was nasal, and music was bummer, but lyrics made up for other shortcomings. Mr. Agrawal announced, "Saali! What a song!" I was in my uniform, and I guess Mr. Agrawal just had to know anyone in police and power to keep his books right. I smiled, and he beamed back, "Sit, sit. I'm Agrawal contractor. This truck is carrying cement to my site. Hey Raju! Get order from Sahib."

I was quite hungry and I was powerless in this situation. I'll tell you why I cut the chase and accepted the dinner. I could have said, "I have eaten." He would have said, "How can I ask you to sit and watch me eat alone. At least try the kheer." Now he hasn't asked me to pay for it, he just wants to order it. If I order it, and I need to pay for it, I don't want it, for I can't spend on food at restaurants, my meager salary cannot allow it. If I order it, and he wants to pay for it, he will have won half battle already for if I have eaten already, I can argue only so much about it. A newly made acquaintance has right to pay for the other, so I cannot call it bribery. It is a complex problem, so why go and scratch my head. "Get me a plate of Tandoori chicken, special onion salad, kadai paneer, raita and butter naan."

Agrawal was going to make it big was apparent to me in the very first meeting. The cement truck was loaded with ten extra sacks; he was saving not only on the taxes, but had obtained these for half price from the seller, who had no account of their existence in his purchase and selling history. My dinner was a long time investment Agrawal was making, and we both understood the concept of profit sharing. This was a couple of years before Manmohan Singh ushered his salvos against the license raj, and back then, it was people like Agrawal who greased the slow moving gears and motors of bureaucracy and could get any job done.

Agrawal was a stocky man of forty-five or so. He maintained a thick mustache and wore a red tilak on his forehead. Every sinner has his favorite God, the one he wishes to bribe with prayers, apologies, compensation and regular attention. Agrawal was a very religious man, and hence he worked with the blessings of late Chandraswamy as well as other political sadhus. After the dinner, Agrawal mentioned that he was holding a Satyanarayan Pooja at his house, and as a Brahmin, I could grace the occasion with my presence. You may say that I was walking into a trap by agreeing to the invitation, and I knew it quite well that Agrawal was setting me up. But I couldn't prove it, could I? If he gave 10,000 rupees to every Brahmin he fed on a Pooja, a religious rite, he gave maybe ten times the normal "gift" but that was religiously correct or acceptable. As it turned out, the seven Brahmins included a Junior Engineer in Delhi Housing Board Colony, two clerks from the office of Town Planning, one from Vigilance office, two clerks from the office of District Commissioner and me. We all agreed that Agrawal was a wise man with great future.

(To be continued.....)

Other chapters found here

Mujhe bhatakne do (मुझे भटकने दो)

कल का कलंक
आज का चिंतन
कल का स्वपन
मैं था,
मैं हूँ .

क्यों विरोध करती हो
मेरे बावलेपन का
अबोध नहीं मेरी सोच
सरल है -

इच्छाओं से त्रसित
वासना से सिंचित
धरती-सी
अभी सूखी है,

पर कुछ समय दो
इस तृष्णा की तृप्ति के उपरांत
पुष्प और कनक भी उपजेगी

बांधना चाहती हो जिसको तुम
उसी नियत,
नियति को
कुछ ढील दो,
आकाश में उड़ते सभी पाखियों को
यह पतंगा चूमना चाहता है
कुछ ढील दो
क्यों सोचती हो कि क्षितिज लाँघ कर
मैं हवा हो जाऊंगा?

हर एक भ्रमनकारी भ्रमित नहीं होता
बहता है जब तक,
निश्चल रहता है जल,
साँस चलती रहती नहीं एक नियम में
जब मचलती है, जब गरजती है
तो ही हो सुर बनती है,
गीत बनती है

और बनती है क्रांति का आह्वान भी

मुझे मेरी राह से भटकने दो

क्या रखा है यूं भी हमारे समाज की
भ्रष्ट, भीरु, रूढ़िवादी रस्मों में
और यदि यथार्थ की कसौटी पर
यही परिपक्व, यही उत्कृष्ट सिद्ध हुई
तो मैं भी इनको अपना लूँगा

सम्भव है कि संसार में, हर युग में
नई परिभाषाएं बनती है
और पुरानी मटकियाँ टूटती हैं
तो प्यास नई नलकियों से बुझती हैं
मैं हूँ अभी संसार की उलझनों से मुक्त
मुझे भविष्य की फुटकार दे दे कर
मेरे वर्तमान में क्यों कुष्टा भरती हो
सम्भव है कि इस रोक टोक से
मैं पिंजरे-का शेर हट्टाकट्टा हो कर भी
भयभीत भीरु शिशु ही बना रह जाऊंगा

मुझे सीख दो, संभावना की चेतना दो
मेरे संस्कारों की दृढ़ता पर विश्वास करो
हर चोट से निखारुंगा मैं
विफलता अपराध नहीं होती
श्रापों और वनवासों के परिबल से
राम कृष्ण पांडव करण परुशराम अवतार तक
अपने जनम का पुरुषार्थ कर पाये
योगी वह नहीं जो गुफा में
सब साधन सब सुख संग रहता है
योगी वह है जो जीवन क्रय में
विलीन हो कर
धरम करम का प्रतिनिधि होता है.


(सर्व मंगल हो)
विवेक शर्मा

Book review: Becoming jane

Becoming Jane is a collection of quotes from Jane Austen. As author of Pride and Prejudice alone, she would have deserved a place in list of one of greatest romance novelists of English Literature. She wrote six novels, and every novel deals with issues of love, marriage, relationship and friendship. While Elizabeth and Mr Darcy are most well known of her characters, Emma is my personal favorite. In these novels, the language is Victorian, sexual propriety is heeded to (as per the need of those times) and hence as love stories, these novels possess an innocence, a charm that has been hallmark of Austen's style, and has contributed to her popularity with people of all age groups about centuries. Becoming Jane collects her pearls of wisdom from not only her novels, but also from her personal letters.

The book is divided into various sections, each highlighting quotable lines related to say family, vanity, beauty or courtship. Anne Newgarden, the editor, introduces each section with some insight into writing, life and times of Jane Austen. Certain social practices and customs from Austen's time have faded away, and these mini-essays convey what background information is not available firsthand to readers to Austen. But Jane Austen was, like every good novelist, a creator of a world complete in itself; characters who exist outside and beyond their space and time; and hence are going to be always relevant and identifiable.

If you are an Austen fan, and you have read all her books already, you will like this book, as it will bring back the memory of certain passages or personalities from your earlier reading. You will also find additional quotes from her personal life, which are equally enjoyable. If you haven't read Jane Austen, and happen to read this book first, you will see why Jane Austen is so popular.

Here are a few quotes as example, collected in this book:

What dreadful Hot weather we have!- It keeps one in continual state of inelegance.

Friendship is certainly the finest balm for the pangs of disappointed love.

"It is such a happiness when good people get together and they always do." Miss Bates, in Emma

"The ladies probably exchanged looks which meant 'Men never know when things are dirty or not,' and the gentlemen perhaps thought each to himself, 'Women will have their little nonsenses and needless cares.'" from Emma.

".... there are certainly not so many men of large fortune in the world, as there are pretty women to deserve them" from Mansfield Park

"a lady's imagination is very rapid, it jumps from admiration to love, from love to matrimony, in a moment." Mr. Darcy in Pride and Prejudice

"If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more." from Emma

'A large income is the best recipe for happiness I ever heard of. It certainly may secure the myrtle and turkey part of it." Mansfield Park

"The person, be it gentlemen or lady, who has not pleasure in a good novel, must be intolerably stupid." Northanger Abbey

Googlies: Darr, defeat, history at Lord's

India won the test series, England won the one day series. "Hisaab barabar" Accounts closed.

When England were about to win in Lord's last month, rains helped. Today even rain God was away, watching either the Rugby World Cup or maybe US Open. Ganguly was made to look silly, Uthappa and Yuvraj were contained nicely, Dhoni ran out of partners and Gambhir wasn't third time lucky. But in the end I think it was Dar, as Indians you might think I am talking of darr i. e. fear, and that could be correct to some extent, but it was the umpire Dar whose one finger rose and killed Dravid and Tendulkar.

What is a batsman in front of an umpire? An errant ant on a page, that can be finished by an index finger. As England captain said, to err is human. I guess he wanted us to be ok with the errors, and adopt the policy of forgiving as divine. But the real rule is "To err is human, to forgive divine, and to err again and again, just shows the errant is asinine." How I wish the same errors had repeated when Pieterson and Collingwood were batting.

I am not too disappointed by the outcome though. We were 3-1 down, and 6-1 could have been possible. Thankfully Flintoff turned a lame duck at the right moment, and Tendulkar and Ganguly put their hundred run partnerships, Yuvraj, Gambhir and Uthappa fired at the right moments. We cannot have have a 2002 Natwest like win at Lord's always.

If you ask me great thing about the one day series was how Piyush got Pieterson out more than once for cheap. Uthappa's quickfire assault in second last One day. Yuvraj's hitting in more than one match and how Dimitri handled him during five sixes climax. The greatest moment of the tour: when Kumble hit a four to get his century. Kumble, after 118 test matched and in his 115th innings, plays like a top order batsman to come really close to a well deserved hundred. He has bowled in tighest of situations before, he has all the experience and expertise an Indian can have in handling pressure. He is well set. Out jumps Kumble, with determination to hit the ball out. The bat makes contact with the ball, and takes an inside edge, misses the stumps, misses the keeper and runs to the rope. Kumble, in those few minutes must have said, "Shit! Miss! Shit! Yaaaaaay!" When he raised his bat for applause, he appeared at once human and divine. Here to him, lets raise our hands and clap him out of what could be his last tour of England as a cricketer. I am sure Ganguly, Dravid and Tendulkar will be there another once. Lets give our greatest bowler the applause and recognition he deserves. To you, Anil! Our greatest Googlies came from you:)

Googlies: Uthappa, Ganguly, Tendulkar and Five sixes off Yuvraj.

He was almost caught, but our kid Piyush went over the rope. Then the ball went higher and higher and higher and in a span of five balls Yuvraj had conceded five sixes. Thankfully, it was the last over of England Innings. Dravid could have opted for Agarkar, but no sir, he had more faith in Yuvraj. Since Yuvraj is a part time bowler, so I guess we will forgive him. The fact of the matter is that Dimitri could have scaled any bowler. So I guess Agarkar will be all smiles tonight for escaping unscathed, as a mere spectator. Sometimes I worry that Agarkar will unleash a self everyone expects from him, and then we will all watch shamefaced. After all, he hold the record for getting to fastest fifty wickets and one of the fastest fifties as well. He is among the top five wicket takers in Indian One Day history, and yet, we cannot ever seem to trust the dude.

Uthappa is the obvious talk point for the day. But wait. We must remember that Ganguly reached his 11th half century of 2007 today. Lets hold grudges against him, for we know he is capable of scoring at faster pace, and he could have converted at least some of his half efforts into three figure scores. Lets throw all the mud we have got at him, for we would have done that if we had lost the game. Or maybe, for once, lets just thank the bloke for batting sensibly enough, and bringing the ship close to the shore. Tendulkar got the man of the match, cramps, another missed hundred (he has 41 already, so what?) and universal cheer. Even though his name is Gambhir, no one takes the guy seriously. Second time this week, he came and batted wisely and nicely. But then came the great Indian collapse and chaos. Unbelievable it was, when India won the match, and how!

Enter Uthappa. Asking rate rising. Wickets falling. Dhoni goes. Left with Agarkar, Powar, Zaheer and Piyush. Uthappa's first match of the series. A failure here means more bench time. India watching. Most have given up hope already. Only die hard fans and diseased optimists hoping for a miracle. Most certain that their prayers will be wasted. One run out. Thank God Uthappa survived. Another run out. This was cruel. Zaheer was just doing the right thing, had run out of the crease a little and ball hit by Uthappa went straight to the bowler. Two more batsmen left. When Uthappa walked across, and guided the ball to the boundary rope, scooping the ball as if with a spade, and throwing it back, to the boundary rope, a hundred million smiles flashed. Maybe more. Then came the next ball, but after some talk between the bowler and England Captain. Each second exploded like a tense wire of the nerves across the nation. Finally the bowler starts running. Uthappa strikes the ball clean. A fielder dives. Ball escapes. Boundary. Win. Uthappa, only 21, jumps and so does the nation overjoyed!

Cricket, on days like this, is nerve racking, intense, exhilarating. Making it 3-3 after India was 3-1 down was sweet. Doing it with this style: Priceless.

Hail Uthappa! Hail Ganguly and Tendulkar! Hail Cricket!

The End of The Affair by Graham Greene

The End of the Affair has Graham Green's trademark brevity. Short sentences. Short chapters. Simple narrative. Deep insight. The chief protagonist is a writer Bendrix who has an affair with Sarah, the wife of a civil servant, Henry. One day Sarah stops meeting Bendrix. Two years later, Bendrix comes in contact with Henry and comes to know of Henry's suspicion about his wife having an affair. Driven by jealousy and hate, Bendrix hires a detective, Parkis to investigate Sarah and her affair.

As the novel progresses, we come face to face with Bendrix's love and hate for Sarah and the jealousy and risk that such an affair involves. A strange camaraderie between Parkis and Brendix as well as Brendrix and Henry is the highlight of the story. In many ways, the novel is also a story about the belief and disbelief in God, a question all protagonists face in their own way. The novel weaves a complex and very heartfelt story of adultery and hate, interspersed with romance without sentimentality, and spiritual contexts without the need for discourse.

Since the protagonist Maurice Bendrix is a writer, the novel has an erudite and expert discourse on art of novel as the backdrop. The ideas about craftsmanship, inspiration, need to have first hand experiences and information, the fickle fame or lack of it, monetary hardships, the drudgery of writing as a daily task and the humane side of author are all explored as an undercurrent.

The End of the Affair is a great read for it manages to convey so many aspects of human relationships and how the emotions evolve and inter-mesh with rational and irrational events and emotions. It is a great book about the nature of atheist and how a belief system knocks at his door in times of guilt, sorrow, melancholy, love or the inexplicable. It is as much a story of bonding and unbonding between people brought together by the carnal needs, as is a story of men joined together by shared pain and memories. The heroine Sarah is very likable, the writer Bendrix is very believable, Parkis is unforgettable and entertaining and Henry is a nicely crafted character. The book is fairly short in length and is recommended for all it encompasses.

Janki and Mansoor (Chapter 2)

Chapter 2

Janki

When I think of myself, of Janki twenty years back, I see myself as this other person. What a year was it! Two murders that changed my life forever. When I told you the story, I kept myself detached from it. Even as I told you the gist of what happened, the scenes, the events played before my eyes. I saw myself in Janki, and yet all those scenes appeared fictional. Unlike what writers proclaim in novels, the past does not show itself in crisp digital technicolor quality. Memory puts a lot of dust and smoke on our past. If you send me back in time, I will neither recognize myself, nor Mr Agrawal and least of all Mansoor bhaisahib.

I was thirty five back then, my sons were thirteen and sixteen years old. Rajesh was quite fat back then, and his younger brother, Rakesh, was exceptionally thin. Now both my sons are married, have the typical Agrawal pouch and have their own sons in the image of Mr. Agrawal. Are they really like their grandfather? Can a fifty-five year old widow see clearly? If a widow had no photograph of her deceased husband for twenty years, would she remember his face? The smell shows up at awkward places; even in places like toilets, which is no place to remember them who you revere so. Yet toilets seem to be the only places where you can sit, relax and think these days. Ever since the Industrial Revolution (a manufacturing sector boom) started in 2009, India has turned into a high speed, fast paced nation. It is hard to even think of India of 1992, when cable TV was just coming in, software sector did not exist, economic liberization was considered a bane, Ram mandir issue was daily news, and I was a dumb housewife who knew nothing about business, politics and marketing.

A death alters everything. A husband's death is typically a wife's death too. No wonder they used to burn the wife alive as Sati during the nineteenth century. I could not let his dream die, and so I had to live. Yet it is one thing to dream, yet another to have your wife realize it. To tell you what happened in last twenty years, requires me to talk about things in a greater detail. Don't blame me for inconsistencies in my story; if I were good in memorizing stuff, I would have scored a distinction in my twelfth exams. I married a month after I turned eighteen. So I never got the college education, factually which holds the same value these days that fifth grade graduation had in my time. Most people think I am a graduate; Mr Agrawal had bought a BA (Bachelor of Arts) Hindi Honors degree for me from Dehradoon. Mr. Agrawal was very enterprising in that way.

When Mansoor bhaisahib was in jail on corruption charges, I was the one who bailed him out. When my first son was born, we were tenants in his house. Our financial situation was awful back then. Rakesh was ten months old when my breasts refused to comply with his hunger. We had barely enough to eat. Mansoor Bhaisahib had waived off rent for two months (secretly of course) to let me have extra money for buying milk for my son. When Rajesh broke his leg few years later, it was Mansoor Bhaisahib who took him to the hospital, and paid for the cost of X-ray, plastering and medicines. It was his love for my sons, and the love of his wife for them, that I never forgot. The God was so moved by their affection for my sons, that he gave them gift of child after ten years of barren marriage. Mansoor Bhaisahib was always helpful to us, and always said that Rakesh and Rajesh brought him good luck. As if! He was like a Mama to them and always had good advice and gifts for them. Mr. Agrawal could afford to forget, a mother is different.

Things are not easy to explain when there is so much to explain. Mr. Agrawal was one of the millions who had to leave Pakistan during partition. He was only a year old when his family left Pakistan, and you cannot really expect a baby to know of a homeland, let alone have an attachment to it. But he inherited a hate for Muslims, for his father lost two of four sisters and Mr. Agrawal lost his mother to the lust of Muslim pigs. The fact that another Muslim family had hidden other sisters, fed Mr. Agrawal as a baby was somehow washed out of the memory that bore scars of hate since then. Yet whenever he spoke to Mansoor, Mr. Agrawal maintained a demeanor that never reflected what he really felt. Things were simple till we had lived in Mansoor's house on rent. Things were fine before the Housing Board building collapsed. Things were alright till Suryakanth Tripathi came into the picture.

To be continued...

Previous chapters found here