Dear Diary,
We’ve packed and Anjali is under the covers and wrestling someone in her sleep. I’m not sure I should be waking her up, though I have had Fish tell me to wake up people in the throes of a nightmare. I beg to differ. This, however, seems to be a so-so nightmare. So, I will stay put, writing, and keep my ears alert for juicy mumblings in someone’s deep sleep.
My bag is packed and I feel embarrassed. I have all manner of sweets and eats and Anjali has a backpack with almost nothing in it. I am embarrassed by my deep-seated materialism. But I am also worried Anjali will not fit into a normal world. She bought a silver kada for Genie from a shop near the Golden Temple. I got him sweets and a kurta. I found eats and a book on the Jallianwala Bagh massacre for Fish. Genie was silent when I told him about it. I plan to borrow the book from Fish after they are done reading it.
The Partition Museum was heartbreaking. We found the experience incredibly distressing but lingered to hear all the stories of the victims of the Partition. We watched the videos at the museum and cried. We bought books on Partition stories, I want to understand it better, even though I’ve read many of Manto’s short stories set during the period.
******
Our days in Amritsar were relaxed. We walked a lot – in the markets and around the main square. We met the lovers again (refer to FC 49) and this time we were on our best behaviour. We saw them in a restaurant and waved to them while leaving. Anjali spoke to the manager, slipped him money and shook hands with him.
“What did you do?” I asked.
“Tried to set something right.”
“How is bribing the manager going to help?”
“I was paying for Dharam and Simran’s meal, nutcase!”
“Oh!”
“Yes, oh! Come on. Let’s run back before they figure out what we’ve done.”
“Wouldn’t it have been better if you made a show of it?”
“No.”
“What if the manager pockets the money…”
“We’ll know when we meet the two in the morning.”
“We’re leaving at 5am.”
“Yes.”
“Breakfast starts at 7 – too early to grab a cup of tea with them.”
“That’s the idea.”
“But…” I lapsed into silence. I had been stringing Anjali along. Now I may have gone too far, because she marched ahead. After 10 minutes, she stopped by a road side seller. I caught up and ran my eyes over his tall stool, which held a tiny stove and some vessels and his offerings – black chana and some sort of bhajias, maybe moong, with chopped onions, tomatoes and chillies. She thrust a small plate into my hand and we ate the mix. It was definitely not moong bhajias and I wish I hadn’t put it in my mouth.
“It’s crap,” Anjali said with feeling, putting my thoughts into words, when we had walked away.
“Yes. Poor man. Trying to sell that in this chill weather.” We turned to look at the wiry, elderly man, who was now being buttonholed by two policemen. “Do you think we should help him?” I said before I saw him give the policemen some cash.
“You intend to give those two a karate chop? Look at the muscles on those arms and their height. They look like they drink lassis by the bucket.”
“Yes…” And they looked scary. We hurried away and eventually returned to the hotel.
Just before Anjali went to bed, she told me in an offhand manner that she was coming back with me to Mumbai. She couldn’t hide the smirk when I jumped and screamed and whooped. When I had settled down, she had another bit of information for me that had me ricocheting off the walls. As I write, I still feel feverish with excitement. My diary, my feelings. I can write anything I want… including stuff that would make me cringe saying it aloud. Anjali said Genie had big plans for us. He’d got us tickets for the U2 show. WOOHOO!!!!!!
“There’s only one problem,” Anjali said.
“What?”
“He’s got only four tickets.”
We laughed. Tickets for Roma, Anjali, I and Genie, probably in that order. For sure there would be fireworks. My cousin Roma’s husband Georgy would not want her to go with us. He wouldn’t have wanted Roma to enjoy herself in any way, but the prospect of Genie being at the concert with us, or her, would most likely push Georgy into an advanced state of hysterics. He would likely sputter and be unable to form coherent words. He would, as Anjali once suggested, assume a malicious conspiracy was in place. All hell would probably break loose – jungle ishtyle.
“Don’t you think Genie went too far?” I said, despite thinking otherwise and enjoying Georgy’s yet-to-come numerous moments of extreme discomfort. Georgy wasn’t one of my favourite cousins in law, whom I could count on one hand. An unfair comparison.
“Yes, but we are a group. And if Genie’s buying the tickets, which I gather are not cheap, he should be able to tag along.”
“Yes, of course. But he could have asked Georgy if he wanted to come.”
“That’s like a Stranger in a Strange Land.”
I giggled. “Indeed. But things could Boomerang!” Hell, we would all want to be flies on Roma’s wall. Fish included.
“Could be worse,” Anjali said.
“How?”
“She could remain “a mystery” to him.”
“His Sixty Seconds in Kingdom Come. I’ll have to go to YouTube and check out those songs again.”
“You have one week to bring yourself up to date.”
“I always imagined Genie to be a ghazal music kind of guy.”
“To tell you the truth, I never imagined him listening to music. There’s so much we don’t know about him.”
“Yes.”
“We’ll have a good chance watching him at the concert.”
“I don’t know.”
“Why not?”
“I’d rather keep both eyes trained on Bono and company.”
Anjali took a deep noisy breath, smiled, changed into her night dress and climbed into bed. Soon she was breathing evenly – Sleep Like A Baby Tonight. It had to be the fresh cold air of the mountains and all the milk and fresh cream she was imbibing. And no TV, she once told me.
Anyway, we had a date. I hummed a tune… where Georgy’s streets have no name…
******
We’ve packed and Anjali is under the covers and wrestling someone in her sleep. I’m not sure I should be waking her up, though I have had Fish tell me to wake up people in the throes of a nightmare. I beg to differ. This, however, seems to be a so-so nightmare. So, I will stay put, writing, and keep my ears alert for juicy mumblings in someone’s deep sleep.
My bag is packed and I feel embarrassed. I have all manner of sweets and eats and Anjali has a backpack with almost nothing in it. I am embarrassed by my deep-seated materialism. But I am also worried Anjali will not fit into a normal world. She bought a silver kada for Genie from a shop near the Golden Temple. I got him sweets and a kurta. I found eats and a book on the Jallianwala Bagh massacre for Fish. Genie was silent when I told him about it. I plan to borrow the book from Fish after they are done reading it.
The Partition Museum was heartbreaking. We found the experience incredibly distressing but lingered to hear all the stories of the victims of the Partition. We watched the videos at the museum and cried. We bought books on Partition stories, I want to understand it better, even though I’ve read many of Manto’s short stories set during the period.
******
This is a fictional series about a 30-something Mumbai woman. She is wrapping up a trip to Amritsar with her best friend Anjali. Anjali shares some news with her that makes her ecstatic.
******
Our days in Amritsar were relaxed. We walked a lot – in the markets and around the main square. We met the lovers again (refer to FC 49) and this time we were on our best behaviour. We saw them in a restaurant and waved to them while leaving. Anjali spoke to the manager, slipped him money and shook hands with him.
“What did you do?” I asked.
“Tried to set something right.”
“How is bribing the manager going to help?”
“I was paying for Dharam and Simran’s meal, nutcase!”
“Oh!”
“Yes, oh! Come on. Let’s run back before they figure out what we’ve done.”
“Wouldn’t it have been better if you made a show of it?”
“No.”
“What if the manager pockets the money…”
“We’ll know when we meet the two in the morning.”
“We’re leaving at 5am.”
“Yes.”
“Breakfast starts at 7 – too early to grab a cup of tea with them.”
“That’s the idea.”
“But…” I lapsed into silence. I had been stringing Anjali along. Now I may have gone too far, because she marched ahead. After 10 minutes, she stopped by a road side seller. I caught up and ran my eyes over his tall stool, which held a tiny stove and some vessels and his offerings – black chana and some sort of bhajias, maybe moong, with chopped onions, tomatoes and chillies. She thrust a small plate into my hand and we ate the mix. It was definitely not moong bhajias and I wish I hadn’t put it in my mouth.
“It’s crap,” Anjali said with feeling, putting my thoughts into words, when we had walked away.
“Yes. Poor man. Trying to sell that in this chill weather.” We turned to look at the wiry, elderly man, who was now being buttonholed by two policemen. “Do you think we should help him?” I said before I saw him give the policemen some cash.
“You intend to give those two a karate chop? Look at the muscles on those arms and their height. They look like they drink lassis by the bucket.”
“Yes…” And they looked scary. We hurried away and eventually returned to the hotel.
Just before Anjali went to bed, she told me in an offhand manner that she was coming back with me to Mumbai. She couldn’t hide the smirk when I jumped and screamed and whooped. When I had settled down, she had another bit of information for me that had me ricocheting off the walls. As I write, I still feel feverish with excitement. My diary, my feelings. I can write anything I want… including stuff that would make me cringe saying it aloud. Anjali said Genie had big plans for us. He’d got us tickets for the U2 show. WOOHOO!!!!!!
“There’s only one problem,” Anjali said.
“What?”
“He’s got only four tickets.”
We laughed. Tickets for Roma, Anjali, I and Genie, probably in that order. For sure there would be fireworks. My cousin Roma’s husband Georgy would not want her to go with us. He wouldn’t have wanted Roma to enjoy herself in any way, but the prospect of Genie being at the concert with us, or her, would most likely push Georgy into an advanced state of hysterics. He would likely sputter and be unable to form coherent words. He would, as Anjali once suggested, assume a malicious conspiracy was in place. All hell would probably break loose – jungle ishtyle.
“Don’t you think Genie went too far?” I said, despite thinking otherwise and enjoying Georgy’s yet-to-come numerous moments of extreme discomfort. Georgy wasn’t one of my favourite cousins in law, whom I could count on one hand. An unfair comparison.
“Yes, but we are a group. And if Genie’s buying the tickets, which I gather are not cheap, he should be able to tag along.”
“Yes, of course. But he could have asked Georgy if he wanted to come.”
“That’s like a Stranger in a Strange Land.”
I giggled. “Indeed. But things could Boomerang!” Hell, we would all want to be flies on Roma’s wall. Fish included.
“Could be worse,” Anjali said.
“How?”
“She could remain “a mystery” to him.”
“His Sixty Seconds in Kingdom Come. I’ll have to go to YouTube and check out those songs again.”
“You have one week to bring yourself up to date.”
“I always imagined Genie to be a ghazal music kind of guy.”
“To tell you the truth, I never imagined him listening to music. There’s so much we don’t know about him.”
“Yes.”
“We’ll have a good chance watching him at the concert.”
“I don’t know.”
“Why not?”
“I’d rather keep both eyes trained on Bono and company.”
Anjali took a deep noisy breath, smiled, changed into her night dress and climbed into bed. Soon she was breathing evenly – Sleep Like A Baby Tonight. It had to be the fresh cold air of the mountains and all the milk and fresh cream she was imbibing. And no TV, she once told me.
Anyway, we had a date. I hummed a tune… where Georgy’s streets have no name…
******
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| Partition Museum, previously the Town Hall of Amritsar. (Photo: A. Peter) |
Loved this one too! How you wove the trip's various facets and the concert. The papads stink, right from the start. Even after they're roasted. Ugh!
ReplyDelete😀😀😀 oops. I planned to buy them too. Maybe they are meant to stink?
ReplyDeleteI had to throw away the rice I bought in Assam. I forgot it was there and it turned green.
ReplyDelete