The Talkative Indian

I ask the guard at the gate for directions to C 2/110. " You want to go to the shaadi ka ghar? I almost cry out- 'Sherlock Holmes'  in admiration but then a glance at my right hand clutching the ubiquitous envelope makes the statement elementary. I nod and  as a reward am informed that the bride came back  home at 5 in the morning ( in a new ' badi gaadi ') , that the chacha -chachi had left but the mamaji-mamiji were still there and ...  I am still waiting for directions but the fellow is in full flow. Apparently wedding celebrations started a week back. There was gaana -bajaana everyday and a never ending flow of the best liquor. Here , I interrupt his  flow and ask the way again.

A couple of minutes later I am standing outside the apartment. The door opens before I can ring the bell and a woman comes out ,talking loudly on the phone pressed to her ear. She sees me and ends the call abruptly. I tell her that I am Saurabh's colleague and would like to meet his mother. It turns out she is the mother."Why didn't you come for the wedding ?  " I open my mouth to tell her the reason but it is really not necessary- my opening my mouth. She continues, " Itni beautiful shaadi thi- all the guests were so impressed. And the food !  Chandni Chowk ka halwai tha - the same one  who had cooke for the unit of  Dilli 6 .." By now I am feeling this compulsive urge to hear my voice- just to make sure that I can also do it , talk that is. So, cleverly, I wait for the moment when mother dear will have to pause for breath , but it takes a long time in coming . When she does pause, it is the moment I am gulping down hot tea and laddoos, and so the golden opportunity is lost.Ten minutes later I teeter out . The last thing she says is, " why didn't you come for the wedding- you should have come". I don't even try to answer that one. A wan smile and I am in the elevator. 

I reach home and park the car. A bartan wali ( you know the ones who take old clothes etc and give you steel bartans in return) is sitting outside the gate. " Bibiji, take a look at my basket. I have got so many new utensils". I smile and shake my head-" don't have the time." She is made of sterner stuff and repeats her plea. I again shake my head. That is not good enough for her. I am made to hear about all the neighbors, apparently with truckloads of old clothes and an equal amount of time , who took shining new bartans and shared their plans for what to do with the new thingies. So, Mrs S ,three houses away, chose a sieve because her purani sieve had been stolen by her jharu-poche wali ; and that Mrs P took 6 new steel glasses because this will be her daughters first karva- chauth and apparently steel glasses are de rigueur. I tell  the woman that I can hear the phone ringing and rush inside.

Dinner is over and the husband and I are watching the news ( Rajdeep Sardesai - so totally adore him). Suddenly , this look of animation comes over the husbands normally stoic countenance. I am mildly startled and quite curious to know the reason for this post dinner transformation. I don't have to wait long. " Guess whom I met  in the bank today?" I wait for him to answer his own question. " I met Z- you know the one who migrated to New Zealand 12 years back? Well, he is now in Singapore and...."  I heard about Z , his life, his wife, his children , his business for a full thirty minutes. 

I am seriously contemplating joining Buddhism.

 Buddham Sharanam Gachcham.