Games People Play
The phone rang just when I was about to enter the bath for a quick evening shower. It was KM. “Hi! How was golf today?” I asked. “Oh! Today I played 9-holes for the first time”. A few minutes of golf talk and the conversation came to its purpose. “Not having any sessions today? SY had a holiday today and she’d thought that there’d be one”. I could hear Mrs. KM (SY is Mrs. KM) prompting KM to ask if something could be managed now. “I wanted ma’m to call as I thought she might have wanted to rest on a holiday. If you want to play now, talk to others and let me know” I said (all ladies are addressed as ‘madam’). “Where do we sit?” “Anywhere. It could be at even my place. I have no problems”. Soon AG called and it was decided that we all would gather at my place in 10 minutes.
Flash (teen-patti) is the new addiction among some of us here. The entire camp of 15 officers is divided by the games of choice – golf and flash! Golf for the elite and flash for the plebeians! Of course there are enough plebeians aspiring to become the elite (and not entirely succeeding in their efforts). Before flash made its debut I too had tried my hand at golf but gave up before the elitist bug bit me. Three families and a few bachelors (forced, otherwise) get together regularly (since late October) during the weekends (and sometimes on weekdays too during the evenings), play flash, gossip (nothing ‘official’ about it most times, to borrow the popular phrase of Pepsi during an old cricket world cup), have dinner together. Everyone – earlier only the families, now even the bachelors – gets what’s been made at home and generally forget the cribs that one has about the workplace, lack of work, et al in Thimphu. It’s fun most times (and a lot of bitching behind each other’s back).
When the senior-most officer (barring the Chief) learnt of the ‘flashy’ ways of the plebeians he wasn’t too happy (he himself being ‘elite’ he obviously could see things from ONLY his point of view or blindness). He called a conference immediately and warned every one of the consequences of playing cards (any card game) with stakes. “I shall not allow anyone to play for stakes. I have seen many Units crumbling because of cards. So gentlemen, remember that there won’t be any more long evenings planned for playing cards at anyone’s home”. The same evening we all gathered at my place to play flash. Some were scared of course (like Mr. HS) but others were devilishly defiant (and to ensure the boss learns of our session we created enough ruckus outside right in the midnight).
Though everyone wants to play, none would want to say it. Everyone would look to the other or only give such signals and make such statements that would make oblique references to not having anything to do and trying to say that the ‘others’ want to play it. The ladies are particularly hooked to the game (Mrs. KM despised rummy and would groan endlessly while we used to play it). Each person has a pattern in playing. Each person’s desire too fluctuates everyday. Mr and Mrs. HS would love to play continuously if they’re winning while the KM couple would want a break after a good winning streak. Also it’s a fair toss between gaining those extra hours of sleep over playing flash for them. Earlier the AG couple would take a lot of interest to organise the sessions but after the game’s become popular (AG is also called Tashi – Tash, for cards in Hindi and Tashi, the patron saint; but Tashi means Auspicious in Bhutanese and Tibetan) they only join in and show a feigned reluctance! SA (my deputy at the office) is a forced bachelor. He is always keen to play but would complain the next day that he couldn’t sleep because the game extended beyond 11! He also can’t do without his daily dose of daaroo. So, suddenly between 8 and 9, he’d disappear for about 15-20 minutes, have two quickies and join us back – the smell sometimes giving him away. There’d be jokes – invariably behind his back – as he’d vanish. Rarely there’d be jokes about his Assamese accent too (this, I thought was cruel, so I had to ask others to stop). Earlier while I was still a smoker, I’d sneak out for a quickie every time tea/coffee was served (AG and SA would join in AFTER their tea was over).
KM and HS are at loggerheads (both try to cheat by giving signals to their wives; HS using his eyes and KM with the advantage of his native language not understood by any but me; but KM would always be upset whenever this is done by HS!). There would be minor skirmishes too at times. HS would be smiling sheepishly (his wife sulking) and KM would be sulking (his wife smiling) during such skirmishes! The AG couple are fair and also the luckiest in the game. I’m the reckless one. “One can’t guess when he’s playing seriously” is a common refrain heard from others. Sometimes we are joined by SK, the youngster (who’s managed to write every rule very clearly and also his own analysis of ‘How to play Flash and Win too’ but always ends up losing) and RT (prim, proper and plain lucky in getting trails).
If one’s sitting for long hours, there should be snack-breaks. So, there’d be a flow of snacks (since almost everyone gets something from one’s house) and tea/coffee. Sometimes I wonder if we get together to play or to feast. So, you’d have puffed rice snacks, potato wafers, ‘murukku’ (“how come this almost melts in the mouth?” “Oh, it’s ‘benne muruku’ – it’s made with butter”), ‘avarekalu’ (“What is this?” “Ah, it’s a type of wild beans available only in parts of South. It’s of course related to your vegetable ‘sim’. We soak the beans, take out the outer cover, semi-dry it and then fry it, add mirchi powder and other spices along with chewda, peanuts, and dry coconut to make this namkeen. How do you like it?” “It’s yummy, mummy!!”) , boiled sweet potatoes, bujia, mixture, moong dal, pakoras, bajjis, chewda, biscuits and cookies, cakes and pastries (mostly baked by the distinguished ladies and sometimes the Britannia cakes; pastries from Bhutanese bakeries are exorbitant to be served as snacks), lime juice, filter coffee (ah, the pleasures of being a South Indian) and even scrambled eggs (“Saddam really makes amazing egg burji. I should send Sangeeta to learn from him”).
The lunch/dinner that’d serve as a break while playing would also be a rather elaborate affair. “What are you making today? I’ll get pulao”. “Main to aaj mushroom-mutter banaayee hoon”. “Lovely!” “Mr. Sudhir would you please ask Saddam to make jamoons; you’ve really taught him so well”. “No, Mr. Sudhir I’d prefer to have hesarubele payasa”. “Ma’m I should learn how to make Vaangi Baath from you”. “We use the ready mix of MTR. If you want take a pack from us. I have a few to spare”. Such lunches/dinners ensure that new cuisines and recipes are tried out, microwaves are constantly working, the helpers at home are busy and we get sufficient calories to exercise throughout the week (my trousers groan as I write)!
It’s not just the adults who look forward to the flash-acts. Children love these sessions too. They get to play without being supervised, particularly video/computer games. And, they’re disappointed when the adults decide to end the sessions before mid-night! “Why are we leaving early?” they groan! It also helps that they have annual holidays at the moment.
Regularly there’d be a rather ‘HOT’ discussion during dinner (a ‘flash’ in the pan) probably for two reasons. One, to vent the frustration of losing and two, to keep oneself warm in the cold winters! Surprisingly (or not) the ladies don’t join the discussion – unless it’s about astrology, movie-stars, daily soaps or jewellery (yes, these too are discussed). I’m the only one who takes the liberty of getting flirty with the women (don’t know if they like it, but their grins say they bear it nonetheless). I call them ‘queens’, even ‘Teen Deviyaan’. The husbands barely manage to stay quiet and keep their hands to themselves as I even talk about the ladies’ weights bringing some appreciative noises from them. They also reciprocate with things like, “You look best with your French beard; you shouldn’t have shaved your moustache”. “Ma’m I had to choose between looking ugly and looking old. I chose the former” I respond.
So, the session went well today, some watched KBC while having dinner (stuffed paranthas (stuffed with methi, palak, peas and cheese), pulao, raita, mixed vegetable curry, cabbage, chicken curry, dal, carrot halwa and chocolate cakes). Children were excited to have some new company in SA’s daughter. And, suddenly the talk veered to common ailments and health problems and their cures. “I’m now trying acupressure for my backaches” Mrs. KM, the wife of a qualified doctor, and a dentist herself, said. That brought us to the end of the day of flash, feasting, flood of intellectual thoughts (on acupressure, Baba Ram Dev, Yoga and backaches). I burped contentedly as everyone left home only to be offended by the smell emanating from the kitchen (apart from the burp itself) of all the soiled utensils, the morsels on the dining table, floor, carpet, and bed. Small pains for large gains – an evening well-spent!
Flash (teen-patti) is the new addiction among some of us here. The entire camp of 15 officers is divided by the games of choice – golf and flash! Golf for the elite and flash for the plebeians! Of course there are enough plebeians aspiring to become the elite (and not entirely succeeding in their efforts). Before flash made its debut I too had tried my hand at golf but gave up before the elitist bug bit me. Three families and a few bachelors (forced, otherwise) get together regularly (since late October) during the weekends (and sometimes on weekdays too during the evenings), play flash, gossip (nothing ‘official’ about it most times, to borrow the popular phrase of Pepsi during an old cricket world cup), have dinner together. Everyone – earlier only the families, now even the bachelors – gets what’s been made at home and generally forget the cribs that one has about the workplace, lack of work, et al in Thimphu. It’s fun most times (and a lot of bitching behind each other’s back).
When the senior-most officer (barring the Chief) learnt of the ‘flashy’ ways of the plebeians he wasn’t too happy (he himself being ‘elite’ he obviously could see things from ONLY his point of view or blindness). He called a conference immediately and warned every one of the consequences of playing cards (any card game) with stakes. “I shall not allow anyone to play for stakes. I have seen many Units crumbling because of cards. So gentlemen, remember that there won’t be any more long evenings planned for playing cards at anyone’s home”. The same evening we all gathered at my place to play flash. Some were scared of course (like Mr. HS) but others were devilishly defiant (and to ensure the boss learns of our session we created enough ruckus outside right in the midnight).
Though everyone wants to play, none would want to say it. Everyone would look to the other or only give such signals and make such statements that would make oblique references to not having anything to do and trying to say that the ‘others’ want to play it. The ladies are particularly hooked to the game (Mrs. KM despised rummy and would groan endlessly while we used to play it). Each person has a pattern in playing. Each person’s desire too fluctuates everyday. Mr and Mrs. HS would love to play continuously if they’re winning while the KM couple would want a break after a good winning streak. Also it’s a fair toss between gaining those extra hours of sleep over playing flash for them. Earlier the AG couple would take a lot of interest to organise the sessions but after the game’s become popular (AG is also called Tashi – Tash, for cards in Hindi and Tashi, the patron saint; but Tashi means Auspicious in Bhutanese and Tibetan) they only join in and show a feigned reluctance! SA (my deputy at the office) is a forced bachelor. He is always keen to play but would complain the next day that he couldn’t sleep because the game extended beyond 11! He also can’t do without his daily dose of daaroo. So, suddenly between 8 and 9, he’d disappear for about 15-20 minutes, have two quickies and join us back – the smell sometimes giving him away. There’d be jokes – invariably behind his back – as he’d vanish. Rarely there’d be jokes about his Assamese accent too (this, I thought was cruel, so I had to ask others to stop). Earlier while I was still a smoker, I’d sneak out for a quickie every time tea/coffee was served (AG and SA would join in AFTER their tea was over).
KM and HS are at loggerheads (both try to cheat by giving signals to their wives; HS using his eyes and KM with the advantage of his native language not understood by any but me; but KM would always be upset whenever this is done by HS!). There would be minor skirmishes too at times. HS would be smiling sheepishly (his wife sulking) and KM would be sulking (his wife smiling) during such skirmishes! The AG couple are fair and also the luckiest in the game. I’m the reckless one. “One can’t guess when he’s playing seriously” is a common refrain heard from others. Sometimes we are joined by SK, the youngster (who’s managed to write every rule very clearly and also his own analysis of ‘How to play Flash and Win too’ but always ends up losing) and RT (prim, proper and plain lucky in getting trails).
If one’s sitting for long hours, there should be snack-breaks. So, there’d be a flow of snacks (since almost everyone gets something from one’s house) and tea/coffee. Sometimes I wonder if we get together to play or to feast. So, you’d have puffed rice snacks, potato wafers, ‘murukku’ (“how come this almost melts in the mouth?” “Oh, it’s ‘benne muruku’ – it’s made with butter”), ‘avarekalu’ (“What is this?” “Ah, it’s a type of wild beans available only in parts of South. It’s of course related to your vegetable ‘sim’. We soak the beans, take out the outer cover, semi-dry it and then fry it, add mirchi powder and other spices along with chewda, peanuts, and dry coconut to make this namkeen. How do you like it?” “It’s yummy, mummy!!”) , boiled sweet potatoes, bujia, mixture, moong dal, pakoras, bajjis, chewda, biscuits and cookies, cakes and pastries (mostly baked by the distinguished ladies and sometimes the Britannia cakes; pastries from Bhutanese bakeries are exorbitant to be served as snacks), lime juice, filter coffee (ah, the pleasures of being a South Indian) and even scrambled eggs (“Saddam really makes amazing egg burji. I should send Sangeeta to learn from him”).
The lunch/dinner that’d serve as a break while playing would also be a rather elaborate affair. “What are you making today? I’ll get pulao”. “Main to aaj mushroom-mutter banaayee hoon”. “Lovely!” “Mr. Sudhir would you please ask Saddam to make jamoons; you’ve really taught him so well”. “No, Mr. Sudhir I’d prefer to have hesarubele payasa”. “Ma’m I should learn how to make Vaangi Baath from you”. “We use the ready mix of MTR. If you want take a pack from us. I have a few to spare”. Such lunches/dinners ensure that new cuisines and recipes are tried out, microwaves are constantly working, the helpers at home are busy and we get sufficient calories to exercise throughout the week (my trousers groan as I write)!
It’s not just the adults who look forward to the flash-acts. Children love these sessions too. They get to play without being supervised, particularly video/computer games. And, they’re disappointed when the adults decide to end the sessions before mid-night! “Why are we leaving early?” they groan! It also helps that they have annual holidays at the moment.
Regularly there’d be a rather ‘HOT’ discussion during dinner (a ‘flash’ in the pan) probably for two reasons. One, to vent the frustration of losing and two, to keep oneself warm in the cold winters! Surprisingly (or not) the ladies don’t join the discussion – unless it’s about astrology, movie-stars, daily soaps or jewellery (yes, these too are discussed). I’m the only one who takes the liberty of getting flirty with the women (don’t know if they like it, but their grins say they bear it nonetheless). I call them ‘queens’, even ‘Teen Deviyaan’. The husbands barely manage to stay quiet and keep their hands to themselves as I even talk about the ladies’ weights bringing some appreciative noises from them. They also reciprocate with things like, “You look best with your French beard; you shouldn’t have shaved your moustache”. “Ma’m I had to choose between looking ugly and looking old. I chose the former” I respond.
So, the session went well today, some watched KBC while having dinner (stuffed paranthas (stuffed with methi, palak, peas and cheese), pulao, raita, mixed vegetable curry, cabbage, chicken curry, dal, carrot halwa and chocolate cakes). Children were excited to have some new company in SA’s daughter. And, suddenly the talk veered to common ailments and health problems and their cures. “I’m now trying acupressure for my backaches” Mrs. KM, the wife of a qualified doctor, and a dentist herself, said. That brought us to the end of the day of flash, feasting, flood of intellectual thoughts (on acupressure, Baba Ram Dev, Yoga and backaches). I burped contentedly as everyone left home only to be offended by the smell emanating from the kitchen (apart from the burp itself) of all the soiled utensils, the morsels on the dining table, floor, carpet, and bed. Small pains for large gains – an evening well-spent!
posted by Quintessential Critic (Sudhir Narayana) @ 3:43 PM
2 comments
2 Comments:
Hi Sir,
Nice writings. Really liked this one. Its different, a la "kisan tomato ketchup".
I think by the time you leave the mountainous abode, you can come out with something like, "The Travails of the Financer in Himalayas" .... :)
What say?
I agree with the ladies,you sudn't have shaved off your french beard.....it looks GOOD on you....neither does it make you look old nor ugly.....SAMJEH!
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