These Are The Days

Like it or not, we live in the days of ‘Days’. Yesterday was Mother’s Day. Before that there was Women’s Day, Valentine’s Day, Earth Day and Blah-blah Day... and after this there will be Friendship Day, Youth Day, Chocolate Day and Whatnot Day. The problem isn't with having all these days crowding the calendar, but the hype, hoopla and air of expectation generated around them. People often ask me, “Do you believe in this stuff?” More importantly, I often ask myself, “Do I believe in this stuff?”

Well, let’s see.

There was a time when life was simple - uncomplicated by all these ‘Days’. Back then, I did believe in the few that existed – Teacher’s Day, for instance, was always special. But then, the whole world and its auntie started competing to have ‘Days’ earmarked for anything and everything. Now, it’s come to the point where you have ‘Jelly Bean Day’ and ‘Dance Day’ jostling with ‘Hug a Plumber Day’ and ‘Squirrel Appreciation Day’. Yes folks, come January 21, you must go out to your backyard and shake the paws of the squirrels you meet, and give them a handwritten card. And don’t forget to dish out the jadu ki jhappi to the plumber on April 25 every year, to be assured of free-flowing drains and a stink-free home...

(I do NOT exaggerate. In fact, this is just the tip of the proverbial iceberg. Doubters, please visit http://www.daysoftheyear.com/days/2013/04/)

Anyway, coming back to the point... with each growing 'Day', my belief wobbled and weakened.

And on went the wobbling, till the day I walked into a neighborhood novelty store just before Friendship Day, and saw youngsters buy ‘friendship bands’ and gifts - all in multiples of 50. While the man at the counter grinned gluttonously and counted the obscene amounts of cash being handed over by these kids. That day, my belief crashed completely.

It was nothing but crass commercialisation, the adult in me rationalised. But even so, the child in me wanted to believe. Fuelled, I daresay, to a great deal by the tamasha the world around me was putting up...

You see, till a few years ago, it was easy for me to turn my nose up at people who asked me about Mother’s Day or Valentine’s Day, with a “You really don’t think I believe in all this meaningless, commercial bullshit!” – in a tone that would have chilled a polar bear. But now the world around me is making this bullshit harder and harder to ignore.

Just look at what happened yesterday. I got up and unsuspectingly picked up the morning papers - to be immediately bombarded with stories of people with boundless love for their mothers, and outsized commercials holding forth on the virtues of various items as gifts for your dear Mater – from diamonds to Volini balm. The TV, and Friends On The Telephone or FB are no better. Whatever 'Day' be it, the world around you seems to conspire to remind you that celebrations are afoot... and you are not part of it. 

And it definitely does not help that half of my closest friends are teachers. It naturally follows that they have a gaggle of students fawning over them and deluging them with cards and goodies at the drop of a hat... and as for Rose-day, Chocolate-day, Teachers’-day, Valentine’s day, Friendship Day – I suspect they need to get special cupboards built for the booty they collect!

The rest of my friends are in the “Have Money. No Commitments - Except to Spend Money” age bracket.  And they just can’t keep their big mouths shut around Friendship Day or Valentine’s Day or Whatnot Day. They start talking about gifts and cards a month before D-day... and afterwards, follow it up with discussions related to the loot.

And the feeling of inadequacy deepens...

Meanwhile, this Mother’s day came and went just like umpteen others did before that - uneventful. Well, almost - if you don’t count the slightly drooping stem of lilies my daughter brought me. She and a friend had each swiped one from the decorations on the car of a newly wedded couple in the neighborhood – with the noble intent of gifting them to their respective mothers!

Well, what the heck! I guess I’ll have to make do with that for now - after all, she was willing to take a risk for me!

And meanwhile, the jury inside my head is still out, debating, “To believe, or not to believe, that is the question...”

Of Birds and Birdbrains

Last Sunday was a day of discoveries for us - one large bird, and a large number of bird-brains...

Just as we were starting our Sunday with an animated discussion on what was to be made for breakfast, and much more importantly, WHO was to make breakfast – the watchman informed us that there was a ‘chidiya’ stuck in our backyard, in dire need of being rescued from crows and stray cats.

An injured sparrow, thought we, and walked casually to the garden. Well, it wasn’t a sparrow. It was a full grown barn owl – a magnificent specimen! Not injured, but stuck in our garden and unable to fly away across the raised fencing in harsh daylight.

Hedwig, I presume...? Our Sunday guest

As we noticed the crows hovering overhead, we realised the owl needed help. And we could not do it ourselves, as it would just fly off the moment someone approached it.

Thus began Operation Owl Rescue.

The first call was to 101, because though an owl was a novelty, the fire brigade had in fact, in the past, helped us retrieve and rescue a snake that had got stuck under the inverter in our garage.

But clearly, this Sunday was not our lucky day. No answer at 101. It was 8 in the morning.

And then the hunt started in all seriousness – the hunt to find an animal welfare organisation that could help us out.

And oh boy... what specimens we found!

The first animal ‘welfare’ organisation we called informed us rather grumpily that they would not move their ass, or for that matter any other part of their body, until they received express orders to do so from the Navi Mumbai Municipal Corporation ward office. On a Sunday, we asked? Yes, said they. And off, went Sud. Leaving Ananya and me to watch over the owl like two protective mamas.

The NMMC expedition turned out, as we always suspected it would, utterly fruitless.

More calls, more specimens. One call, answered by a lady - in an accent that seemed to proclaim “I just live in Mumbai, but my heart belongs to Manhattan, you know” – informed us that while their organisation would not be able to help, we should try calling so and so...

There were others who we could almost visualise raising an eyebrow at having their Sunday disturbed for the sake of a mere owl... “Is there a leopard in your loft? A python on your potty? No? Then don't bother us!” their tone seemed to suggest.

(By the way, ALL these organisations had claimed in their online profiles that they did bird rescues!)

We even called up the Bombay Natural History Society, as some of the welfare organisations had suggested, to be told peremptorily – ‘It’s Sunday’, before having the phone slammed on us. So sorry folks, we will now revise the Animal School curriculum, to teach the animals days of the week, and caution them that they are NEVER to get injured, sick or stuck on a Sunday.

Operation Owl Rescue had turned into Operation Wild-Goose Chase!

On the verge of giving up (and resigning ourselves to the fate of guarding the owl till nighfall), we decided to try the fire brigade one last time. It worked! In 15 minutes, there were 6 strapping young men, dressed smartly in white bush shirts, shorts and gumboots chasing the owl from one end of our garden to the other, and back again. The distressed one was not ready to be 'rescued' so easily!

But finally, they did manage. The bird was captured and taken away to be released at an appropriate time and place.

And we returned, with a feeling of contentment, to our favourite Sunday pastime – arguing over who would cook the next meal...

Sarkar Raaj

A guest blog-post by Amartya Gautam

The Srinivas family, over the past few months has been hit by the shrapnel from the explosions of creative writing. The attack came from unexpected quarters as one of their own discovered the writer within, and thus through the ensuing blogs, reasserted her position as the supreme commander of the Srinivas forces, inspiring from all in her vicinity, the familiar feelings of awe, fear and respect all at once.

Battered and bruised, the victims approached the bravest soldier amidst them. And thus, I write this on behalf of all the unsuspecting victims, my fate as a martyr decided even as I typed the first few words.

(I must make my case as a brave youth, you see, for I am informed by reliable sources that the next post will seriously jeopardize my reputation as the same!)

The aging matriarch (this description alone carries death penalty), is often mistaken as a docile creature – my friends, for example, dismiss my accounts of our fierce battles. They insist that Suchi AUNTY is always smiling, extremely sweet and friendly. Little do they know that our clashes matched that of bhima and hidimba( she being hidimba, of course), except more intense perhaps. The skies and the earth have trembled (the rest of the family and neighbours too), as we fought tooth and nail, giving no quarter. Even my father’s harried attempts at being a peace emissary were of no avail. You think I exaggerate? Take another case, of her trying to teach Ananya maths. The mere mention of it sends the rest of us into fits of laughter, while the two of them exchange painful smiles, their eyes conveying to each other the burden of the tragedy only they must share. Typically, the maths lesson starts with utmost sincerity on both sides. The guru and shishya, ready to embark on their voyage of knowledge. Ten minutes into it, one hears a reprimand or two from the adjacent room, in a mildly exasperated voice. Ten minutes later, one can hear several more of these at a distinctly higher volume, accompanied with cranky protests from another voice. At this point, if there is no intervention by some peace loving being, all hell breaks loose and one is forced to consider that the apocalypse has perhaps, after all, arrived in 2012. The remainder of the family, while sensibly not engaging with this formidable force in battles of such epic proportions, are wary of poking the eye of the sleeping dragon.

Mrs. Suchismita Srinivas (Suchismita Sarkar, before marriage), is much like Hippogriffs – you’re in big trouble if you mess with them, but if they like you, they can be really nice too. The trick is to dodge the occasional moments of wrath, and has been so far mastered only by one person, and he is married to her.

There is one thing that we all agree on, though:

In our household, there is Sarkar Raaj.