A Place Called.......!!

Himachal Pradesh could well give Kerala a run for its money when it comes to the title of “God’s own country”. Not simply because every hill has its own home-grown deity (much in the manner of Ireland’s bountiful Patron Saints), but also because it is not uncommon at all to chance upon breathtaking vistas with staggering regularity. The drive to our orchard is no exception. We cross valleys that would put the famed Swiss landscapes to shame, and the upward climbs towards the distant mountain peaks, has one traversing forests of pine and oak redolent with the scent of resin and the sweet mountain breezes.

However, it is a sad truth that reality has a crushing way of crashing the party and ruining the most beatific of moments. And so it was with us. There we were, ascending the majestic slopes towards the perilous peaks, lost in our enjoyment of Iris covered valleys and towering cedar trees, when our eyes were rudely interrupted by the most jarring sight imaginable……we were passing a signpost that unceremoniously announced that the town we were approaching was called…….Lundsu!!

Lundsu? Really?! Who on this planet would take pride in naming their village with such an outright ridiculous name?! Lundsu! It sounds like someone was  delusional and decided, in a moment of temporary insanity, to look for the most unlikely label on the face of the earth. He/she put some deep thought into it and came to the conclusion that the moniker should a) have absolutely no musical lilt to it, b) zero elegance and c) not even an iota of meaning. And while casting about for a suitable nom de plume, came across the local alcoholic who was weaving his way home, muttering something akin to “a loon did sew” and, eureka, the name was born!!

Now, dear reader, I seek your indulgence in this matter. I beg you not to infer that it being impossible for anyone of sound mind to title their hamlet with the unlikely honorific of “Lundsu”, it therefore brings one to the inevitable conclusion that the claimant’s authenticity be doubted. I assure you (cross my heart and hope to die), the townlet was well and truly named….. Lundsu!

But one thing I must admit….saying the name aloud, repetitively, is a true source of delight. Just try it, my friend. Wrap your tongue around the L, then raise the ND towards your upper palate, and finally, explode the SU into the surrounding air. Satisfying, isn’t it?! Repeat it a couple of times and it just rolls off the tongue ridiculously! A true attention grabber!

I’m sure you’ve guessed by now that my husband and I are not exactly passive introverts. No sooner had the signboard been sighted that a series of exclamations ensued, closely followed by a string of derogatory comments that would have made a sailor blush! !

In the midst of this raucous commentary, another deeply interesting fact was chanced upon…..we found ourselves driving by what looked suspiciously like a miniature university! 

That was it!

Before one could say Batata Vada, my husband’s phone was in his hand and he was frantically dialing our beloved daughter. She made the biggest mistake of her life when she responded to that call. No sooner had she picked up, than we were announcing in deceptively dulcet tones, “We’ve found the perfect college for you sweetheart.”

“Really?!” came the excited response. “Where?”

“Oh, it’s so scenically located, small, exclusive and with a name to die for.”

“This is awesome!” came the unsuspecting rejoinder. “It sounds perfect!”

And then transpired the moment we’d been waiting for with bated breath, when the trusting soul walked straight into the artfully constructed trap….”What’s its name?”

With one accord, we hooted,”LUNDSU”!!!

And so began the family joke. The poor lamb dreaded going to the orchard because it meant she had to drive past her ‘beloved alma mater’ and invariably had to face the prospect of her favourite (and only) mother calling up and cross questioning her as to whether the treasured daughter of Lundsu University had been garlanded and feted as was her due as the sole luminary of the august institution!!

What added charm to the whole scenario, was that our innocent adolescent had no clue that the entire story was a figment of our imagination! So convincing were we in our description of the “university” that for years on end she actually believed it to be a living entity!! It was only several years later that the truth came to light and to her chagrin, she discovered that she’d been the victim of the world’s longest running con!!

In time, as is wont with truly deserving legends, the story began to take on a life of its own. One fine day, after the umpteenth battle royal between the siblings, her brother exacted his vengeance by airily declaring the long-suffering soul, the valedictorian of the year! Henceforth, the poor mite had to face detailed cross questioning by her ever loving (and only) mater, about whether due diligence had been done and whether the crowned queen (read our daughter) had blessed the land called Lundsu when speeding past it!

As if that wasn’t bad enough, on a certain occasion, when my dearly beloved spouse had sallied forth to the orchard on his own, our mobiles suddenly took on a life of their own as they madly buzzed and beeped, signaling the receipt of numerous incoming messages. You can imagine our delight (and our female offspring’s dismay) when the missives proved to be a series of photographs. Evidently some construction had been undertaken in the area and our chafing child’s adoring pater had promptly taken photographs of the same and duly labelled them, “the Science Block”, “The Psychology Wing” and “the New Reception area”!! 

Time has since flown, as is its wont, and our little one has now joined the ranks of the working class. (She has also, since discovered that her deplored “alma Mater’ was simply a figment of her incorrigible parents’ combined, evil minds. But that’s a story for another day.) She is a veritable Pied Piper with the tiny tots and so she inevitably comes home full of tales and regales us with anecdotes about the antics of her young charges. We listen with pride as she details how she handled potentially explosive situations and then switches to telling us about the hug she received from another smallie.

We reach out to congratulate her on what an incredible human being she has become and then gently remind her that it’s all thanks to her beloved alma mater in…..Lundsu!!!!

 

3 Idiots!

COVID was upon the world and educationists were struggling to educate their reluctant charges who were reveling in the new found freedom of no school and no education. Creativity, or the lack of it, was posing its own set of challenges, as was the marked lack of digital knowledge (forget experience – that’s a different story) that the so-called gurus of the globe suffered from. Combine this lethal combination with a resounding reluctance to plunge into the new-found age of cyber technology, and one would have a glimpse into the chaos that was reigning

supreme in pedagogical places. Hysteria is mild compared to the agitation and palpitations that were on proud display. It is as if histrionics was the demand of the day and the teaching community was doing its determined best to out-drama the Oscarites of panic and frenzy.

Cue the stepping onto the stage of the heroes of the age…..the leaders of the institutions.   Bravely facing their own limitations in this new scenario of technology, they set about coaxing, pleading, cajoling, wheedling, flattering, inveigling (you get the idea) their mentoring community to set tentative foot into the confusing dimension of digitization. For those who doggedly dug their heels in, the pleas graduated to commands, warnings, coercions and finally, to downright threats! Learn or…..!! Do or die!

Be that as it may, the upshot of all the efforts to bring everyone on board, slowly but surely, was that academia graduated to becoming fairly competent in the electronic world. Classes were held with reluctant panache and ways and means found to meet the challenges of unwanted intrusions, indiscipline, looped videos (played while the student concerned was sleeping/playing video games/just wasting his time), lack of attendance, unacceptable comments etc. It was a veritable chess game at play. A full-on war between the students and the teaching community, with check and counter-check being played at every stage and at various levels simultaneously!!

Slowly but surely, however, the inevitable uneasy truce was finally reached and classes progressed with remarkable equanimity.

Until it came to the examinations.

Suddenly World War III erupted! Once again, the students were at their creative best, seeking ways and means to answer questions they had no clue about, by any means available. Values, integrity and morals took a hasty backseat and, in fact, hid under the said desks, in an effort to keep themselves alive. Even attempting to peak above the furniture they were cowering under, would result in a barrage of uncomplimentary verbiage and veritable physical assault! Vitriol, is putting it mildly. The scholars of the world were united in their cause to find suitable responses to the questions posed, without once perusing the pages of their text books! Pointing out to them that it would be easier to just read the prescribed publications, fell on deaf ears. The challenge of outsmarting their mentors was just too much of a temptation to resist.

Now it was the turn of the pedagogues to display their skillful countermoves. And did they flabbergast their freshmen! Their adroit responses stupefied their mentees and left them nonplussed. The list of rules put into play for each assessment grew steadily longer and longer, till it soon bore close resemblance to a thesis! One’s heart went out to the struggling sophomores who had to go through the endless commands prior to sitting for a simple test! One often found them cross eyed and close to jumping off a cliff!

However, never underestimate the artistic innovativeness of the student body. There came the day when one particular assessment had to be conducted. The boys in question had worked out an unbeatable strategy. To begin with, each one took up a strategic position in different rooms of the same abode, and stationed themselves before their computers. Each criminal had a particular chapter covered and would swiftly dispatch the response to his fellows in crime. They, in turn, transcribed the said reply, but took infinite care to ensure that the phraseology was changed, so that no accusations of replication could be made. Voila! As I said….unbeatable!

Having completed their papers to their personal satisfaction, they clicked pictures of each page of the same and uploaded their answer scripts. A round of congratulations followed and they swaggered off to their respective residences, wallowing in the supernatural success of their inventive endeavours. They chuckled with glee, slapped each other on the back and indulged in a veritable orgy of self-congratulation. They had finally beaten the system and were one up on their instructors.

2 days later……….

Each one of the miscreants received a call from the front desk of the school, bidding them to report to the institution by a given time. Non-plussed, they called each other up to ascertain whether they had also received the identical summons. On learning that they had, a sense of dread suddenly overcame them. An immediate council of war was held and each minute of the said day replayed moment by moment. A slow-motion rehash of each nano-second then ensued, with each culprit carefully grilling the others in an attempt to find a flaw in the system.

None could be found.

Their confidence soared.

Ergo, they had probably been summoned for some other reason.

In a state of complete perplexity, but a high degree of sanguinity, they sallied forth to meet their inquisitor  who was disguised as a sage of academia. They strolled into the complex, casually greeted the guard, sauntered down the corridors and came to a crashing halt outside the coordinator’s office. The abruptness of their halt can be understood, dear reader, when I reveal the sight they beheld. Have you guessed? No? Well, permit me to enlighten you…….they had glimpsed their honoured patriarchs lined up like sitting ducks, in front of the dangerous dragon who was posing as a mild mannered coordinator.

Consternation now reigned supreme. Anxious glances were exchanged, quizzical looks abounded, and an impending sense of doom slowlysettled upon their young shoulders.  As if by magic, there was a dramatic redefining of demeanour. Gone was the relaxed slouch of over confidence. In its place stood 3 ramrod straight backs that would have done a marine proud and melted the heart of the sternest sergeant major. Stiff as 3 corpses in a highly advanced state of rigor mortis, the 3 delinquents slow marched into the jaws of death (read..their fathers’ murderous glares).

I will say one thing for Johnians though. They don’t go down without a fight.

Before a word could escape the authorities’ lips, they were in full flow. “Ma’am, we did not do it. We swear on our fathers’ that we have not done anything wrong”. (I must mention in passing that at this point the said fathers, wearing hunted looks, started looking over their shoulders for the angel of doom to descend, as they had no illusions about their offsprings’ integrity). Deniability was the theme of the day and our bravehearts were defending it with their dying breaths.

A pall of gloom gradually settled as the protestations faded away in the face of the stern, sustained silent wall (read Coordinator) that their disaffirmations fell upon. In the ensuing quietude the statue that sat behind the desk, slowly came to life. It reached into a drawer and gently placed a mobile on the table. Turning to the meekly lined up, by now cowering parents (let me inform you, dear reader, that these poor men were, in the normal course of events, in the world of commerce, giants and lions in their own right), she dropped her bombshell……”The papers have no similarities whatsoever, but if you can each call your homes and ask your mothers to bring in the identical bedsheets as the one in the photograph, I will apologise.”

The 3 idiots had photographed their papers on the same bed!!!!

 

 

                              

                                     A Weighty Matter

A Golden Jubilee is always a time for a huge celebration. When our school was approaching the grand ‘old’ age of half a century, a similar conclusion was reached. Meetings were held, ideas thrashed out, parleys and heated discussions undertaken, till slowly but surely, a consensus was reached by all regarding at least one of the suggestions…..to stage a play.

But how can St John’s High School stage an ordinary drama? No sireee. It has
to be different. It has to be grand. It has to have colour and pageantry. It must be awe-inspiring, impressive, majestic, stately, monumental, spectacular, stunning…….I think you’ve got the idea. So there we were deciding on the next step, keeping in mind that it must be awe-inspiring, impressive, majestic, stately, monumental, spectacular, stunning …….SIGH.             

After much discussion, debate (and a couple of minor fisticuffs…among the students) it was finally decided that we would stage a…..musical!

So we girded for battle. We set about holding trials for the cast, allocating responsibilities, organizing information, collecting material, practicing dialogues, choreographing steps, selecting the choir……..just recalling it all is exhausting enough, so you can well imagine our state in reality, dear reader. ‘Frazzled’ is putting it mildly!

Adding to everyone’s woes, the Principal (yours truly) decided, in her infinite wisdom, that we would “do it ourselves”!! So there were the poor staff in charge of makeup, yanking in a professor from the university and shanghaiing him into giving them lessons on body painting the ‘animals’ in the cast! The music teacher was pulling out her hair trying to find kids who could hold a tune. The dance in-charge was giving her strong competition in the hysteria department as she was finding it nigh impossible to find any lads who did not have 2 left feet. The gentleman handling the props gave a whole new definition to the Indian ‘jugaad’ (improvising), in his efforts to create the stage accessories. Identifying a suitable costumer was yet another headache in the making, whilst the plight of those responsible for casting was definitely in a league of its own! Do remember….they had to find female leads in an all-boy’s school! In short…..everyone was at sixes and sevens.

The only concession the Principal made was to get assistance in 2 fields….mask making and directing. In that as well, she was able to enlist 2 amazingly talented gentlemen who also happened to be the husbands of teachers in the school! Now it was an all-family affair!

Of course, needless to say, the larks that were happiest, were the ones who would actually be finally onstage…the boys. It was a grand adventure for them
and they rose to the occasion, to the manner born. Suddenly they were the stars of the school. Everyone gazed at them admiringly as they passed by, teachers greeted them affectionately and granted concessions when it came to Homework, their classmates made way for them….and they took all the adulation in their stride. With slightly altitudinous chins, tilted at just the right angle, they strolled casually along the corridors, stopping occasionally to address a lesser mortal or bestow their lordly gaze upon an adoring smallie. Talk about 7^th heaven!

After a great deal of confusion, numerous shouting matches and the odd nervous breakdown, we were finally ready enough to try out our very first practice….with props. In walked the lead characters with their incredible masks in place (many thanks to the mask artist-husband), the choir burst into song, the dancers gyrated in a truly professional manner. Everything was actually progressing smoothly, thanks to the brilliant direction of the husband-director. And there we were, congratulating each other on how well we had done.

But, dear reader, if there is one lesson life teaches us, it is the evergreen adage, “Don’t count your chickens before they hatch.” Just as we settled comfortably into our seats, preparing to enjoy the show, the symbolic chickens not only hatched, but abruptly flew the coop as well, en masse! So at what point did this happen? Well….the lion climbed onto Pride Rock, accompanied by his lioness, with his cub closely following in the arms of the orangutan. All 4 main characters traipsed to the very edge of the projecting precipice (as they had been instructed to) and said orangutan turned to raise said baby above his head for all the devoted animal subjects to behold.

Allow me to digress for a minute here, dear reader. Do you recall what I had said about the props-in-charge being a truly remarkable ‘jugaad’ expert? Well, the greatest challenge in his long list of tests, was the creation of the humongous Pride Rock. Do remember, this juggernaut had to take the weight of at least 5 people, without collapsing, be portable (so we could roll it on and off the stage) and yet compact enough to fit between the wings and not take up the whole backstage. The permutations and combinations that had to be kept in mind while constructing this masterpiece were truly mind boggling! It was a genuinely genius creation.

So how did he design it? Elementary dear Watson - He created a metal skeleton, with a ladder at the back, to make it easy to access the top. The projection was a mini ramp. Wheels on the base allowed it to be rolled back and forth and then the whole shebang was covered with tarpaulin and sackcloth and painted to look like a gigantic rock! How proud we were of it!

That is – until said hero-lion walked the ramp arm in arm with said heroine-lioness and said mini-hero cub and orangutan. Have I mentioned that they were accompanied by one or 2 other extraneous creatures?

So back to the “ The lion climbed onto Pride Rock, accompanied by his lioness, with his cub closely following in the arms of the orangutan. All 4 main characters traipsed to the very edge of the projecting precipice (as they had been instructed to) and said orangutan turned to raise said baby above his head for all the devoted animal subjects to behold

..” And that’s when all hell broke loose. Suddenly the entire Pride Rock started to emulate the Leaning Tower of Pisa and did a slow tilt forward, as Father Gravity took over, thanks to the sudden weight of the combined actors closely congregated at the very tip of the projection! We watched with horrified fascination as Pride Rock did a slow motion nose dive whilst the motionless crew suddenly galvanized into action figures and attempted to either spring to safety or counter the forward descent by desperately trying to scale the Mount Everest that had magically appeared behind them.

As they scrambled to safety, the support staff on the stage also miraculously transitioned into a super-hero rescue contingent. 2 dived for the stairs and hung on for dear life, in an attempt to counter the weight in front. 2 others levitated (I kid you not) and grabbed the newly instituted mountain climbers, urging them ever onwards and upwards (in keeping with the school anthem….Onwards and upwards shall we strive…..but I digress). Sundry others transformed into the St John’s cricket team, with one difference….each and every member was now a fielder, bobbing and swerving, arms extended, dangerously attempting to grab a flying figure that had launched itself into the air from the ramp/diving board. Inevitably, all successful attempts ended in both parties sprawled in a rather ungainly fashion, on the stage, with groans and cries adding suitable sound effects to the horror movie unravelling before our eyes. The icing on the cake was the baby lion who had somehow managed to slip off the landscape, but had grabbed onto the very edge just before plunging off, and was hanging perilously from the offending structure, even as it gradually descended in an attempt to kiss mother earth (read Stage).

All that was left to us to do, was -  pray.

Well, dear reader, you will be glad to know that God does answer prayers! To date, I firmly believe that the combined prayers raised skywards that day, led to a miracle…..Pride Rock suddenly stopped it’s downward motion, stayed suspended for all of an eternity (actually, it was more like 10 seconds, but then do remember the Theory of Relativity that was in full play at that moment in time) and then ever, ever so gradually, reversed its direction and creaked its way back onto the stage.

What a sigh swept through the auditorium! More fervent prayers of thanksgiving and gratitude have never been sent heavenwards! And we all raced for the stage, gathering our little ones (and not so little ones) into our motherly arms, carefully checking each one out for any bruises or broken bones!

I always maintain that the eagles that somehow always seem suspended over St John’s are the guardian angels of the school. It is the only explanation I can find for the fact that not a single child or staff member was even bruised!

All that remains to be said is that the final show/s were a smashing success. Our boys did us proud, the audience was loud and enthusiastic and – most importantly – Pride Rock stayed firmly in place! I may mention in passing, that this was thanks to the addition of 6 staff members (including the Principal) who were very strictly designated to charge and stolidly seat themselves on the steps of the prop, each time the baby cub was hauled into the air!!!

Double Trouble! 

She was born straight out of an Indian matrimonial advertisement. Petite, with white, flawless skin, paired with sparkling eyes and wild, curly hair, both dark as night. In perfect contrast to her ethereal complexion. Pert and cute with a smile to melt the sternest heart….the stuff dreams are made of.

Until one looked deeper into her eyes.

And did they spell trouble - with a big T!

Fierce and independent, they warned of a will that did not and would not ever pay adoring obeisance before the altar of a lord and master (read Husband). She had a mind of her own and no mother’s son was going to tame her.

And that’s how it has been. She has lived life on her own terms from the word go.

She was all of 1 year old when I married her Mamu (maternal uncle) and consequently acquired the mantle of ‘Mami’ to her. It was at our wedding itself that I witnessed with awe her conducting the choir from her father’s arms. She was in her own world, supremely confident that the universe was her oyster and saw no incongruity in a tiny tot dictating the music to a bunch of adults. She waved her arms with perfect synchronicity, a beatific smile on her face, only to have it change to a fierce frown when she felt a note was out of place. All the while, the merry twinkle in her eyes, spoke of mischief personified. It was love at first sight for me.

Have I mentioned her fierce attachments and loyalty? Family was a given. And then there were the familial canines! I recall her one fine morning, deep in thought as she travelled in our (in)famous Jonga, her arm around the neck of our dog (appropriately named Shaitan, which means “the devil”!). After more than an hour of fierce concentration, she announced, with the air of a prophet who had arrived at an epiphany,” So Mami’s niece is my cousin by marriage, but Shaitan is my brother by blood”!!! 

Needless to say, my husband and I gravely nodded with one accord.

They say it is imperative to understand the protagonist in order to enjoy the tale. So, having set the stage for our saga, let me proceed without delay.

As we all know, every Indian female child goes through a rite of passage…..the piercing of her ears. It is a time honoured tradition and usually proceeds seamlessly when one is just short of one’s 7^th year. And so, we thought would be the case with our young heroine.

On the day of reckoning, off she set with her Masi (mother’s sister) to the jeweler’s, to have said auditory organs duly punctured. She hopped, skipped and jumped all the way, as was her wont, and merrily toodled into the hapless man’s store. Hapless you say? Patience dear reader. All will soon be revealed.

As they sauntered in, the jeweler readily came forward and expressed delight when informed about the task at hand. Promising to complete it in a jiffy, he grabbed the gold wire, picked up our bairn, sat her on the counter, reached for her ear and jabbed the wire through.

And that’s when all hell broke loose.

No one had informed our rug rat that the piercing of ears involves a modicum of discomfort. In her tiny brain, the said task was all accomplished with great elan and the wave of a magic wand. So you can well imagine her unmitigated horror when she realized that the magic was missing altogether….and there was more suffering to come! As you can well envision by now, said sprog was not one to take things lying down! (Actually, when I think of it, she did take it lying down, but in quite inverse measure to what the famous phrase usually implies.)

Before her poor Masi could say “Willie Wonka”, our young babe had hopped off the counter and flung herself down on the floor. Once in a suitably supine position, she proceeded to let loose the hounds of war. Even Mark Antony could not have conceived of what followed. 

First came the blood curdling wail. (5 shops away, a customer lost his hearing.) Then came the thrashing of arms and feet. So fierce was the flailing that one tiny shoe was flung loose and went zooming across the room, narrowly missing the offending shopkeeper (and that was only because the braveheart was, at the time, cowering behind the counter in full ‘fraidy-cat mode). The climax was the deep puce shade that the convulsing tot acquired. Such was her rage, that even Mars, the God of War, swiftly hopped off his throne and sought shelter behind the imposing structure, peeping out in consternation at the carnage below that he was quite sure he had not ordered.

And in the midst of this chaos stood the bewildered Masi, closely resembling a tornado hit victim.

Between wails, the said lady seized her opportunity and scornfully said,” Oh come on Mia (the name has been changed in the interest of anonymity. The lass is now a married woman), get up and get the job finished!”

Now one would think that such scathing words as these would dry up the flow and lead to a meek conclusion.

Au contraire, dear reader. Be not fooled. Our babe is made of sterner stuff. Without missing a beat, she let loose her second missile (read shoe) which this time around found a hapless pedestrian who happened to be peeking in to witness for himself the 3^rd World War raging within the confines of a 10 x 6 foot space! The last we saw of the said on-looker, was a pair of shoes rising upward, attached to a hurling body flung backwards, thanks to the force of the said projectile.

Swiftly changing tactics, Masi tried coaxing, moved to cajoling and finally resorted to full-fledged pleading,” PLEASE Mia. Let him pierce the other ear!”

But a mule is nothing compared to my niece’s militant mutiny. Turning her face towards her hapless aunt, she let loose the final volley from her fully stocked arsenal…..a tear trickled down a woe begone countenance, followed by a hiccup.

Enough said. The battle was won. Without more ado, the routed aunt picked up her charge and began marching her back home.

With one ear pierced.

I will not sully your ears, dear reader, with the threats that ensued all the way back. Suffice to say that ‘closely resembling a thundercloud’ was putting it mildly when it came to the long suffering relative who had quite clearly reached the end of her long suffering tether.

On reaching their joint abode, the door was flung open, the offending minor rudely propelled into the room, closely followed by her fulminating relative. Into the thunderstruck silence came the climactic declaration, ”I shall NEVER take this &@#$%* child out ever again, so help me God”!!!

As for Mia….righting herself with agile dexterity, she flung herself pathetically into her father’s ever welcoming arms and declared in tones that parallelled her aunt’s in direness, ”She hurt me!”

And that’s when yours truly ambled into the room. Taking in the awful silence and the dueling duo, my eye fell upon the earingless ear, and without missing a beat interestedly inquired..”Where’s the other earring?”!!!

Hell hath no fury than a thwarted aunt. The silence gave way to a litany of complaints and out poured the heartbreaking story. Or that’s what she thought. Unfortunately for the self-proclaimed victim, the family she belongs to is not known for its sympathetic strain. Bring up or be one of 5 children and you quickly become inured to the most heart wrenching of tales. So instead of a balming, soothing clucking, said aunt found herself at the receiving end of a hail of laughter followed by a series of interrogatives demanding details of the entertaining escapade!

Now when it comes to the youngsters in our family, for some unfathomable reason, my husband and I are the final court of appeal. Once all the intricacies of the episode had been fully gleaned, hashed over and enjoyed to the fullest, the head of the family (my dearly loved and respected father-in-law) turned to me and instructed, ”Beta (daughter), get it done”.

You can imagine my consternation!

But all’s well that ends well. In complete counterpoint to the hell that had been let loose, our little one came along with me like a lamb, hopped up onto the counter herself and presented her unpierced ear to the terrified  shopkeeper with perfect equanimity. It took quite a bit of assuring, but he was finally convinced to complete his task and reaching very, very tentatively for the young lady’s shell shaped ear, he gingerly proceeded to spike it, following which he stepped smartly backwards and adroitly placed the counter between himself and the  mighty mouse. To his confusion, the terror of an hour before, thanked him prettily, about turned and trotted back home with me peacefully, where she proceeded to proudly present her ear to one and all!

I shall leave you, dear reader with a picture of the offended aunt looking suitably aghast at the compliments being showered on the chirpy heroine. She then looked at me and asked, “How did you do it?!”

But I think you will agree with me that one should never give away one’s secrets. So I sauntered out of the room in silence and to this day no one is privy to the threat of a sound thrashing that was issued before we departed for our destination. 

The fact that our little one is never quite sure what I am capable of, has its own advantages!!

 

 

  

                                        Almost There!

I have travelled the world. Literally.  Flown over vast spaces on holidays and sailed the 7 seas (with my Merchant Navy husband). But never have I ever seen any place as beautiful as the orchard we own

This stunning piece of property lies nestled in the Himalayan Range at a height of about 8000 feet. Unlike the usual stepped horticulture of the region, it undulates along the top of a mountain ridge and stands bathed in sunlight all day long. If one were to take a few steps beyond the front gate and settle down with a hot cup of tea, one would have the most marvelous, uninterrupted view of the valley as it gently slopes down to the legendary Sutlej River. The tiny “chappad” (pool) adjoining the wall to one’s left, attracts creatures from all around, who pause on their way up and down the mountain, to slake their thirst and rest in the cool shade of the overhanging trees.

To the right, is an open plateau. The sunsets are particularly picturesque here, because as Indra sinks down to sleep, the horses, sheep, goats and cows gather to graze and rest for the night. A peaceful, serene spectacle to calm the soul. Have I mentioned that the silence is so surreal that one can hear a bird calling from the adjoining mountain?

The piece de resistance, however, is the majestic cedar (deodar) forest that encircles the entire rear of the orchard, framing this tiny fragment of farmland and turning it into a magical masterpiece of stunning, unparalleled beauty.

It goes without saying, that it transforms into a winter wonderland when the snow blankets it all in pearly white.

Is it any wonder that everyone wants to visit?

Well, my revered father was no exception. Staking his claim to seniority, he booked a berth in our vehicle, demanding that he be transported to this famous fairyland the next time we journeyed there. He brooked no argument and overrode all appeals.

And so it came to pass.

Permit me a brief digression here, dear reader, to paint yet another portrait….of our
transportation (in due course, you will understand the significance of this). They say the mountains are ancient. Well, our beloved Jonga belonged to the same era. One of the fabled 'discards’ of the army, it had been refitted with a truck engine and was inordinately powerful as a result. However, thanks to Father Time and the vicissitudes of rough travel, this conveyance had reached a stage where the adjective ‘decrepit’ was nothing short of a compliment! Suffice to say that break downs were not a norm but a rule, and that I had gradually transformed from a wife into a mechanic’s able assistant as the years had gone by.

To continue with our tale…..

The day dawned and we set off in the month of November, bags packed, our faithful canine ensconced behind and my dearly beloved patriarch seated next to me. Do bear in mind that these were the days of yore when bucket seats and seat belts were still unknown features of the future. The Jonga had a single, straight bench in the front, which constituted the sole seating of the vehicle. And so there were the 3 of us – yours truly squashed in the centre with my husband behind the wheel and my pater on my left.

The initial bit went well. We cruised along gently curving, well tarred roads and soon the elder amongst us relaxed and became quite chatty, entertaining us with stories of hair-raising adventures he had been on. Needless to say, he starred in each episode and emerged the triumphant, rugged hero. Like well-trained offspring, we dutifully congratulated him each time
a tale reached its conclusion, admiring his tenacity, strength and courage. Unfortunately, this only served to inspire him to serve up yet another embellished fable and so there we were travelling up the mountainside being regaled by our daredevil.

Until a sudden silence fell upon us. This was followed by an unrelenting pressure on my left that sent me crashing into my spouse on my right. He, in turn found himself hugging the door on his right and thanking the Almighty for the said resistance, or else we may well have found ourselves sans a driver with yours truly literally in the driver’s seat! Of note – those were the days when I had still not learned to drive.

Seizing the wheel firmly, my husband applied a strong counterpressure and soon we were all once again back in our original spaces. Curiosity however, made us look towards the originator of the near catastrophe, only to find said perpetrator gazing fixedly out of the window whilst firmly holding the fixture in front of him in a white knuckled grip. Further exploration revealed the cause of this ungainly posture – we were on a narrow mountain road with his side close to the edge. From where he sat, he had a bird’s eye view of a steep 800 foot drop straight down to the rocks below and might well have felt he was suspended over the said precipice, with no life-saving seat belt to prevent the plunge. Suffice to say that most of the rest of the journey consisted of overt demonstrations of Newton’s 3^rd law, with action and reaction being the game played all the way up the mountainside!

Evening fell and we were close to our destination. One more road to traverse. When disaster struck. We found our way obstructed by a truck that had broken down in the dead centre of the road. Every manoeuvre to pass it failed miserably and then – our beloved Jonga decided
to emulate the deceased roadblock. As befits a vintage vehicle, it too decided to exercise its freedom of choice and, with a mighty gurgle, gave up the ghost. No amount of coaxing would resuscitate it. Like an old codger, it refused to budge and we were now faced with the grim reality that there was no way up except on foot, even as the sunset fell upon us.

Now, dear reader, do permit me one last digression. I promise it is relevant to the proceedings.

The final stretch of road that led up to our orchard had been built by us personally. In an effort to preserve the forest as well as our pockets, the shortest route possible was decided upon - obviously. Unfortunately, this also meant that the gradient of the said passage was extremely steep. To walk up it was nothing short of participating in an extreme sport.

So there we were, as the day passed into the night, boldly venturing forth where no man had gone before…..up our extreme sport road, in the biting cold. That the moon had chosen to hide behind the clouds was of no help whatsoever and that leopards came out to feast on such occasions, only served to add flavour to the already over-spiced dish of trauma.

By the way, have I mentioned that my dearly beloved papa had grown up in the mountains of Nainital? I haven’t? Well…he did. And I have lost count of the number of times we kids were told how unhealthy we urban progeny were as compared to the mountain goats like him, who had been bred on clean mountain air and steep, challenging slopes. So when we started on the ascent, it was a brave and bold man who swung into action. Our intrepid hero sallied forth with vim and vigour, scathingly beckoning us slow coaches to catch up.

Until he hit our road.

In the dark.

20 short steps up the incline, he decided to declare his close kinship with the Jonga and emulated it by abruptly coming to a halt. Inhaling mightily (read – huffing and puffing), he magically transformed from a swaggering sailor (he is from the Indian Navy) into a plaintive geriatric, declaring pitifully, “I’m old, I’m asthmatic. I can’t go on”, and that said, he plonked himself down on the nearest rock.

Imagine out plight! We were faced with the herculean task of getting our self-proclaimed champion up that impossible road in absolute darkness.

Now you may well ask - why do I keep stressing the lack of light? Elementary dear Watson – what one can’t see can be transmogrified. And that is precisely what happened. In the most
soothing tones imaginable, I coaxed said dying duck up onto his feet with the complete fabrication, “It’s not too far and the incline is a truly gentle one”! With that I hauled him to his feet and quite literally heave hoed him up the offending ascent, all the while cajolingly assuring him about how magnificently he was doing and wasn’t it an easy stretch of road to traverse?!

Unfortunately, the 8000 foot high rarified atmosphere, combined with the physical strain of the slope soon brought about another collapse. This time he flung himself dramatically onto our dear frozen mother earth and from that supine position pathetically declared, “Leave me behind sweetheart.”!!!

And that, ladies and gentlemen, was when I truly rose to the heights of mendacity. Keeping in mind that we had the steepest part of the steep slope dead ahead, I magnificently declared, “No worries Baba. We are over the hill. From now on, it’s level ground”!!

God bless the blackness. Such is the power of suggestion (and prevarication) that, sighing a weary sigh, our relieved conqueror rose to his feet and staggered up that slope, fully convinced that he was on level ground. To keep the fable alive, I followed, crooning,” See, I told you – the worst is over.”!

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how we got our triumphant victor home!

I will leave you to imagine what happened the next morning, when the literal light of day, revealed the truth. I leave you with a hint……I suffered from extreme frostbite for the remainder of that holiday, thanks to the cold waves emanating from our offended lionheart. As for the rest of his days….my credibility rating lay in negative figures!!