Mango Candy

My prized mango tree adorns the fence on my backyard. When they broadened the road, they wanted to raze it, but I had fought them hard to save it. I fought everyone for all the years when it bore just flowers but no fruit. Not a single nail has ever gone through it. Though I did not plant it with a plan, now that it is big, it is all mine. And so are all the delicious mangoes which grow on it every year.

It is a matter of great responsibility to own a mango tree. More so if you vouch for all the juicy mangoes as well. Bastards of unknown origin are on the prowl, and they have an unusual preference for the hot afternoons. I have to sit beside my tree, in the sultry heat, to protect my right – my mangoes. This year has been a windfall – the tree is stooping down with  mangoes. I am so excited! They will ripen fully on the tree before the harvest. Organic mangoes are in vogue nowadays.

No, I am not planning to sell a single one. I shall distribute the fruits among my neighbours – as many as I know, as far as I can go. That will not exhaust even half of the mangoes. The rest will go into the making of the mango candy with my secret recipe. I will not sell that either. They will be distributed among my relations far and wide. All this so that everyone praises me, overlook my ills and odds.

—

The mango distribution ceremony is over and the candy phase has started. The tree is almost empty.

Something bad just happened. It is likely that the bitch which barks all night has licked my prized candy. Candies are drying on the backyard, in the sun. I have not spared it either and hurled whatever I could lay my hands on. I did not miss – it whined, and then limped away. Give her leftovers, from fishbones to chicken heads, and this is what you get in return – barking all night, and licking candy stealthily! Ungrateful bitch!

—

That foul smell had to be a carcass. And so it was: the same limping bitch, rotten, glossy and all bulged up. It looks like a murder committed with vengeance – its head has been crushed with a brick. The body was lying just outside my fence, in the shade of my tree. I have got it thrown into the canal. Good riddance nonetheless.

—

Somewhere in my big heart I am feeling empty. Only a lovely costly chubby pug can fill back my heart. This is also my chance to show off how to love a dog. I will give it costly packed food from the supermarket. Leftovers or, for that matter, cheap mango candy will not be apt for it.

 

Solemn Deals, Scripted Lives, & other stories

Considering reported rapes as a ratio of population will actually portray India as quite safe. The feeling fails the reality test, however, because only a tiny minority is actually reported. Rapes in wedlock fail the definition itself and those within families sometimes remain unknown even within the family. Even others will be hushed up to protect the victim’s chances of marriage, and family ‘honor’. More than three quarters of Indians are Hindus like me, and some of our customs indirectly sustain this horror. Dowry is the most prolific of them.

Dowry is not just greed – it is the most glamorous celebration of misogyny. Some kill to earn it, and the rest kill to avoid it. Though the custom was made illegal  more than half a century back, it is proudly practiced by Hindus in most parts of India.

I recall a meeting in the past with some (male) friends where we ended up discussing marriage. When someone claimed that Eastern and North Eastern India has lower instances of dowry, in came a remark: “Saale kanjoos“.  Don’t be amused – these are also the same regions which show some of the highest sex ratio, and lowest rates of rape (… and least religious fanaticism too).

Another instance I’d once overheard women discuss (chuckle) : A woman was explaining how her marriage was special. Her in-laws were nice enough to convert all the dowry into jewellery and present back to her within a week. The bragging of dowry was required during marriage. Or else the clan would have doubted the worthiness of the groom; or if she was already pregnant!

—

Matrimonials give an idea of how a vast majority of marriages take place. There is a prevailing rate for every type of groom – from a petty Government servant to Ivy League graduates. Grooms will vaunt their education or work in the caste classifieds, and brides their money. The strength of the new bonding will be solemnized by matching all the magical parameters of gotra, gan, rashi, numerology and most importantly potential for a  unidirectional transfer of wealth. And somehow the magic will start, after the deal takes place. A generation back it was compulsory too, but not as obnoxious as it is now. People throw down even their last retirals hoping to tame this bottomless greed. The extortion often continues even after marriage, sometimes till the hostage is alive.

For a man who has earned this easy money, it is a no brainer to loathe a liability when he can choose the sex of his own child, so cheaply, in the private of a clinic.  Though, I will be surprised if a ‘hormonally active’ female (which do not  include Saasu-maa-s) will ever support killing of a foetus, just for greed.

“With all due respect, sir, if you still like that dreamy deal your parents and relatives struck for you, you should have allowed them to sleep with your bride first!”

Arranged marriages leave more holes for dowry; though not all arranged marriages will involve it. Choosing a partner leaves very little option for the family to perpetrate this greed. Why can’t we convince our parents that it is neither their marriage, nor their lives, nor their times ? Why not just marry the girl I love ? Live in a new home ? Where does mideaval voodoo come into picture at all ?

Candle lights have protested a ghastly rape. But how many of those male flames will choose to burn down the dowry deal struck by their parents ?

—

Religion (unfortunatey) is one of the first piece of learning which gets imprinted in the mind. The roots of this custom lie in the deep male chauvinism seething in some of Hinduism’s holiest texts. Puranas and Epics slaughter the character of the Vedas and the Upanishads. Women, even godesses curl up around the feet of their husbands; polygamy, and rapes run abound. Honor is protected and liability disposed.  The religion has become a confused mess – women are objects of desire and worshipped as mythical magicians at the same time. And there are still some who will ‘explain’ all that for you. A half literate society fed with these from childhood, and rehearsing these everyday can hardly be expected to think straight. Dowry is not even perceived as a problem. So is rape seen as a disgrace and not as a crime. And the birth of a girl child casts a gloom.

When it comes to greed, inspiration cuts across communities. Others have been learning fom us.

Government control of ultrasound machines will never improve sex ratio. People will kill a newborn by packing salt into her mouth, or simply dumping the live baby in a garbage bin for dogs to eat. They do these already. Or they will burn brides.

It is high time we, those raised as Hindus, introspect. Conscience must supercede outlandish beliefs. Let us fix ourselves first and not point at what others, say, Muslims do. Look in the mirror dude. And look yourself in the eye!

A little rain cloud

Three years ago …

A ring on my mobile phone woke me up in my Noida apartment. It was four in the morning and I was alone. My wife had been staying in Kolkata, with my in-laws for the past two months.

…  A strange fear crossed my mind, before I answered …

It was a short call, and keeping down the phone I called a cab. By the time the cab arrived, in 15 minutes, I was ready, with my baggage of bare essentials. And I cruised to Delhi Airport in the next 30. A mild drizzle followed me …

That was my  first instance of  buying a ticket from an Airport counter … There was a long wait for the flight – actually about an hour – but it felt way too long. Two quick phone calls followed – making me more nervous as I boarded. And I switched my phone off at the command of that overly made up hostess …

… I had not bothered to choose a seat … so check-in counter allotted the worst of the lot … a middle seat just in front of the emergency exit … one with a fixed back … A very long 30 minutes later …. stooping to my front I tried looking out of the cabin window…  Little patches of clouds stretched out from beneath the aircraft … all the way to the mighty Himalayas on the  left …  It was the rainy season … but I was flying over the heavens … watching a perfect sunrise over the highest mountains on earth … live …

…. A sudden jerk brought me back to reality … from the painful, neck-stiffening doze … the flight had just landed …

I tried turning my phone on … and it was the longest  I have known for any phone to turn on … now signal was playing truant … I tried calling a few times …. in vain …   that same hostess had come down to me by then … lecturing on the how unsafe my act was. I felt like throwing that worthless phone on the her painted face.

I deboarded … and finally, on the pick up bus …. the phone crooned, receiving a message … and … I opened it …

… I felt a lump in my throat, my vision blurred  … and I realized I was crying! My fellow passengers inquired… consoled … patted …. my haggled, unbathed, unshaved, uncombed self …

“A little rain cloud has showered bloom in our lives.”

“Mehuli is born: I am a father!”