Life can’t get better than this. My brother got into engineering today, my sister…slowly but steadily… carving out a name for her as a criminal lawyer.
I always knew my brother would be an excellent electrical engineer one day. He opened up our TV, tape-recorder, radio, watch, computer, even washing machine just out of curiosity. When he was small, he used to wait eagerly for a new gift. Whenever he used to get it, he would disappear in some obscure corner. Half-an-hour later he would return back the gift with thanks. Piece by piece.
As for my sister, she is a born lawyer. I know, it will take a Taliban to pacify her argumentative zeal. Criminals and lawyers, mere mortal that they are…do not stand a chance to her arguing prowess. I realized it first hand when we were very young. She used to perfectly pass on her folly on my name. I was always on the receiving end of my father’s ear-boxing experimentation. For no fault of mine.
My father, after fulfilling a Herculean enthusiasm to expand our house is now happily concentrating on his second and third wife…a 1970 Lambretta and an equally old Fiat.
We have a huge army of people to keep our old mothers running. To run the scooter, you need a battalion of children. It’s a scene. Father alights in the seat with all his macho ness imprinted on his face (he still thinks he is a shorter version of Vinod Khanna…the one and only true hero, embodiment of ultimate MAN ever to set his sacred foot in Bollywood). Platoons of children, turn by turn, then pushes the antique for about one kilometer to get that first pumped up revving sound….grrrrrrr….the vehicle then repeats the same growling sound for one more kilometer. Finally when it start off, it alarms all its future servants…those who are still in their nappies, because all of them in our locality hails their future master with a perfect cacophony…all of them wake from their lazy sleep. Since they are not very advanced in their language skills…they start off with loud cries.
Same treatment with my second mother. Only this time…we have a squadron of dedicated adults.
My father every week take my beloved mechanical mothers (I guess he does not remember his first wife’s name by now) for a medical checkup and come back all smiles emptying his pocket. True love.
His first wife, my human mother is now happily basking on the glory of being a mother of two jewels (they never considered me as someone to talk about, you know. Anyway, I was always the black sheep in my family, a blot in illustrious Roy-family). She spends most of her time in the custom-made designer worship-room.
If the last report is true, my ailing dog Bonny…who was suffering from occasional paralysis can now lift his right hind leg and thus pee on his own natural style. A marked improvement from last when I took him onto my lap.
As for me, I am having a blast these days. I am assigning stories to newcomers. Occasionally threatening them with an authoritarian aura (I am one year senior now). I don’t shout and assign stories. I walk to them and ask, “Are you free?” they had to say “Yes”. Yes, I get a kick before assigning them stories.
Weekend, I slosh myself in Karnataka Club. Hail to the man who invented whiskey. Especially ‘Signature’. Signature and Sprite goes together. Almost like perfect lover. Poetry. I immerse myself in this poetry for the next two days. Mirza Ghalib…ahem. Hick…
Life can’t get better than this. Perfect. Amen.