Placating Papa

 

ಊಟದ ಗಮ್-ಮತ್ತು 

ಈ ಸಲ ನಮಗೆ ದೀಪಾವಳಿ ಹಬ್ಬದ ಆಚರಣೆಯಿಲ್ಲ. ಸಮೀಪದವರೊಬ್ಬರ ಸಾವಾದ ಕಾರಣಕ್ಕೆ.  ಹಬ್ಬ ಆಚರಿಸದಿದ್ದರೂ ಹಬ್ಬದಡಿಗೆಯ ರುಚಿ ಬಾಯಿಗೆ ಬೇಕಲ್ಲವೇ? ಅದಕ್ಕೇ ಅಪ್ಪ-ಅಮ್ಮನನ್ನು ಇನ್ನೂ ಕೆಲವು ನೆಂಟರಿಷ್ಟದವರೊಂದಿಗೆ ಊಟಕ್ಕೆ ಹೊರಗಡೆ ಕರೆದೊಯ್ಯುವುದೆಂದು ನಿರ್ಧಾರವಾಯಿತು. ಎಂದಿನಂತೆ ಅಪ್ಪ “ಯಾವಾಗಲೂ ಎಂ ಟಿ ಆರ್ ಹೋಟೆಲಿಗೆ ಕರ್ಕೊಂಡು ಹೋಗ್ತೀಯ. ಅಲ್ಲಿ ಏನು ಚೆನ್ನಾಗಿರುತ್ತೆ ಊಟ? ಬರೀ ಕೊತ್ತಂಬರಿ ಬೀಜದ ವಾಸನೆ ಆ ಸಾಂಬಾರಿನಲ್ಲಿ !“, ಅಂತ ರಾಗ ತೆಗೆದರು. 

Someone in the close family circle passed away a few days ago, and hence we weren’t supposed to celebrate the festival. Even if there’s no puja at home, there should be a feast for the tongue.  So, I chose to take parents and a few others out for a celebratory lunch.  Papa said, “You’ll take us to MTR as usual. The sambar smells so strongly of coriander seeds! I don’t like the food there”. He displayed how finicky his tastes are.  

ಅಪ್ಪ ಹಬ್ಬ-ಹರಿದಿನಗಳಂದು ಮಾಂಸದೂಟ ಬಡಿಸುವಲ್ಲಿ ನೀರು ಸಹ ಕುಡಿಯೋಲ್ಲ. ಸರಿ, ಅವರಿಗೆ ಎಲ್ಲಿ ಒಪ್ಪಬಹುದೋ ಎಂದು ಎಲ್ಲೆಲ್ಲಿ ಶುದ್ಧ ಸಸ್ಯಾಹಾರಿ ಊಟ ಸಿಗುತ್ತೋ ಆ ಜಾಗಗಳನ್ನೆಲ್ಲ ಗೂಗ್ಲ್ ನಲ್ಲಿ ಹುಡುಕಿದೆ. ಉತ್ತರ ಭಾರತದ ಊಟ ಬೇಡ ಅಂತಾಯಿತು. ಉತ್ತರ ಕರ್ನಾಟಕದ್ದೂ  ಬೇಡ ಅಂತಾಯಿತು. ಕೊನೆಗೆ ಹಳೆಯ ತಲೆಮಾರಿನ, ನೂರು ವರ್ಷಕ್ಕೂ ಹಳೆಯ ಹೋಟೆಲ್ ಆದ ವುಡ್ ಲ್ಯಾಂಡ್ ಹೋಟೆಲಿನ ಉಪಹಾರ ಗೃಹಕ್ಕೆ ಹೋಗುವುದೆಂದು ತೀರ್ಮಾನವಾಯಿತು. ಸಮಯಕ್ಕೆ ಸರಿಯಾಗಿ ಗಾಡಿ ಬಂತು; ಹತ್ತಿ ಹೊರಟೆವು. 

Papa doesn’t even drink water on festivals and auspicious days at restaurants that serve meat. So, I searched for an appropriate place that served exclusively vegetarian fare. First, North Indian food was eliminated (too oily and masala), and then North Karnataka food faced the axe (‘I don’t want to eat Jawar roti’). Finally, we all chose to visit an age-old establishment of Bengaluru, the Woodlands hotel. The vehicle we had booked arrived on time and we soon started off. 

ವುಡ್ ಲ್ಯಾಂಡ್ ಹೋಟೆಲ್ ಬಳಿ ಸುಳಿದು ದಶಕಗಳೇ ಕಳೆದಿದ್ದವು. ಅದರ ಹಿಂದಿನ ವೈಭವ ಇಂದಿಗೆ ಉಳಿದಿರಲಿಲ್ಲ. ಹಳೆಯ ನೆನಪುಗಳ ನಡುವೆ ಒಳ ಹೊಕ್ಕೆವು. ಊಟದ ವೇಳೆಯಲ್ಲಿ ಬೇರೇನೂ ದೊರೆಯುವ ಆಯ್ಕೆಗಳು ಇರಲಿಲ್ಲ. ಎಲ್ಲರಿಗೂ ಫುಲ್ ಮೀಲ್ಸ್ ಆರ್ಡರ್ ಮಾಡಿ ಕುಳಿತೆವು. 

It had been decades since any of us had visited the Woodlands. It didn’t look as regal or resplendent as in the good old days. We reminisced our visits as we entered the restaurant. Meal time, and the restaurant offered only meals. So, we all ordered the same.

ಶೀಘ್ರದಲ್ಲಿಯೇ ಬಾಳೆ ಎಲೆಯಲ್ಲಿ ಊಟ ಬಡಿಸುವ ಸೇವೆ ಮೊದಲಾಯಿತು.  ಬಹಳ ರೀತಿಯ ಭಕ್ಷ್ಯಗಳು ಎಲೆಯಲ್ಲಿ ಕಂಡವು - ಕ್ಯಾರಟ್ ಕೋಸಂಬರಿ, ಹಲವು ಬಗೆಯ ಕಾಯಿ ಪಲ್ಲೆಗಳು, ಕೂಟು, ಹಪ್ಪಳ, ಸಂಡಿಗೆ, ಪಾಯಸ, ಮಜ್ಜಿಗೆ ಹುಳಿ, ಇತ್ಯಾದಿ. ಬಳಿಕ ಪೂರಿ, ತರಕಾರಿ ಅನ್ನ, ಬಿಳಿ ಅನ್ನ, ಹುಳಿ, ಸಾರು ಸಹ ಬಂದವು. ನನ್ನ ಎಲೆ ಬರಿದಾಗುತ್ತ ಹೋದರೂ ಅಪ್ಪನ ಎಲೆ ಹಾಗೆಯೇ ತುಂಬಿಯೇ ಇತ್ತು.  ಎಂದಿನಂತೆ ಇಂದೂ ಸಹ ಹೊರಗಡೆ ಅವರಿಗೆ ಊಟ ರುಚಿಸಿರಲಿಲ್ಲ. ಏನೂ ಅವರಿಗೆ ಒಪ್ಪಿಗೆಯಾಗುವಂತೆ ಇರಲಿಲ್ಲ. 

Soon the food began to be served on a plantain leaf. There was salad, several types of vegetables, curries,  fryums, sweet, pooris, veg pulao, plain rice, sambar, rasam, and more. The hungry me emptied them all, but I noticed papa had barely nibbled on the food.  As always, he hadn’t liked the food.  None of the dishes would meet his fastidious tastebuds’ standards. 

ಅರ್ಧ ತುಂಬಿದ ಹೊಟ್ಟೆಯಲ್ಲಿಯೇ ಅಪ್ಪ ಅಲ್ಲಿಂದ ಹೊರಟರು (ಅವರ ಮಾತುಗಳಿವು).  “ಬೇರೆ ಎಲ್ಲಿಯಾದರೂ ಏನಾದ್ರೂ ತಿಂತೀಯಾ?”, ಎಂದು ಕೇಳಿದೆ. ಬೇಡವೆಂದರು. ಮನೆಗೆ ಹೊರಟೆವು. 

While we were overfull, papa was still not. “Would you like to eat something elsewhere?”, I asked.  He said no. We decided to return home. 

ದಾರಿಯಲ್ಲಿ ಮತ್ತೆಸುಮ್ಮನಿರಲಾಗದೆ ಕೇಳಿದೆ. ”ಯಾಕಪ್ಪ ಏನೂ ಸರಿಯಾಗಿ ತಿನ್ನಲಿಲ್ಲ?” 

“ತಿನ್ನುವ ಹಾಗಿದ್ದಿದ್ದರೆ ನಾನು ತಿನ್ನುತ್ತಾ ಇರಲಿಲ್ಲವಾ?“, ಎಂಬ ಮರುಪ್ರಶ್ನೆ ಬಂತು. 

“ಯಾಕಪ್ಪ?”

“ಸೆರ್ವಿಸ್ ತುಂಬಾ ಚೆನ್ನಾಗಿತ್ತು. ಸಹಾಯಕರೆಲ್ಲ ನಗು ನಗುತ್ತ ಬಡಿಸಿದರು. ಆದರೆ ಒಂದು ಪದಾರ್ಥವೂ ತಿನ್ನೋ ಹಾಗಿರಲಿಲ್ಲ.”

“ಬೇರೆ ಎಲ್ಲಿಯಾದರೂ ಹೋಗಬಹುದಿತ್ತೇನೋ?”, ಅಮ್ಮ ಎಂದರು.

While on the way home, I couldn’t stay quiet, and again asked, “Why didn’t you eat much, papa?”

“If it were edible, why wouldn’t I have eaten?”, he posed. 

“What was the matter?”

“The service was excellent, but I wish I could the same about the food. Not a dish was palatable”. 

“May be we should have gone somewhere else?”, remarked mom. 

“ಅಂಡಮಾನ್ ನಲ್ಲಿ ಎಷ್ಟು ಚೆನ್ನಾಗಿತ್ತು ಊಟ” ಅಂತ ವರ್ಷದ ಹಿಂದೆ ತಿಂದಿದ್ದನ್ನ ಮೆಲುಕು ಹಾಕಿದರು. ಹಾಗೇನೇ ೫೦ರ ದಶಕದ ವಿಷ್ಣು ಭವನ, ೬೦ರಲ್ಲಿ ಮದರಾಸಿನ ಊಟ, ೭೦ರ ಕೋಲಾರದ ದೊರೆ ಹೋಟೆಲ್ ದೋಸೆ, ಎಲ್ಲವುದರ ಪ್ರಸ್ತಾವನೆ ಆಯಿತು. 

“ಎಂ ಟಿ ಆರ್?” ಮತ್ತೆ ಅಮ್ಮ. 

“ಅದಾದರೂ ಎಷ್ಟೋ ವಾಸಿ. ಅನ್ನ ಸಾರಾದರೂ  ಚೆನ್ನಾಗಿರ್ತಿತ್ತು ತಿನ್ನೋ ಥರ”. 

“ನಾಳೆ ಅಲ್ಲಿಗೆ ಕರ್ಕೊಂಡು ಹೋಗ್ತೀನಿ. ಏನಂತೀಯಾ ಅಪ್ಪಾ?”

“ಆಯಿತು ಆಯಿತು”. 

ಅಮ್ಮ ನಾನು ಮುಸಿ ಮುಸಿ ನಕ್ಕೆವು. 

“The food in Andaman was so good”, papa ruminated what he had tasted a year ago. Along came memories from his visits to different restaurants and delicious fares over the ‘50s to the ‘80s. 

“And, MTR?”, asked mom. 

“That place is better. At least the sambar there is edible  I’d not have left the place hungry!”

“I will take you there then, tomorrow, papa. Okay?”

“Okay. Okay”. 

My mom and I laughed without making a sound lest it would annoy him.

Façade

There was fervor at home.  His brother-in-law was returning from the US after having completed his Masters.   His in-laws too were arriving from their bastion into the city, to receive him.  His wife had loved the idea of the party he had proposed to hold welcoming her brother, where even his engagement into another prominent business family would be announced.  

Theirs was a love marriage - convincing her parents was not easy though.  They were landed and rich, while he came from a traditional, educated, but poor family.  However, the equations had only grown better with time; they appreciated his acumen, and how he had helped in recommending new ideas for their business, even though he had not formally joined in. He continued to build his career in the world away from the family. His brother-in-law - younger by several years - adored him. 

All the buzz had gone quiet with that one phone call.  The boy had been killed in a shooting incident at his University, just a day before he was to return to his motherland.  Squeals of laughter and mirth had turned into screams of pain and wails of sadness. Soon, the entire house became quiet as a grave, as relatives left, and grief hung like a cloud in the air. 

Days went by, and all the due rituals were complete.  He was sitting out in the lawns and contemplating over his drink.  His mobile rang.  It was manager of the hotel where the party was supposed to have taken place.  "Sir, I know you couldn't hold the party due to the loss in the family.  If you so desire, we will nominally deduct the reservation charges, and return the rest of the money to you.  Let us know soon". He said he would get back to them in a day or two. 

*********

"Wow, never did you host such a great do.  Love the spread, and the booze. Sheer class!"  His close friends admired the arrangements, and he beamed. 

"What is the occasion, M? Why this sudden party?" 
"I am just sharing my happiness..." he trailed off.
"And, that is?"
“You’ll know”. He winked and smiled. 

They were his best friends. But, he just chose to be careful.  Masks were important in the world.  After all, at home he was still the grieving brother-in-law. 

Justice or Closure?

(Part II of ‘the Rage of Angels)

He comes to his senses, after having been unconscious for over a day.  His state has given enough anxiety to his family.  He faintly hears the doctor saying, "looks like he is regaining consciousness.  Thankfully, the blow to the head was not threatening. He should be out of danger soon.  The orthopedic will now decide when the surgery would be carried out to fix his arm. Just physiotherapy is enough to fix the twisted ankle".  Slowly, the events that had resulted in him lying injured at the bus stop start coming back to him.  First hazy, and then more clearly.  He winces as he remembers the blows that he took as he had tried to save a woman being rammed by a bus.  

A week later - after surgery, recuperation and physiotherapy - he is discharged from the hospital, with advice to rest and recuperate and not work for at least another 3 weeks.  He worries about his job; his sister reassures him, showing the message from his manager, wishing him speedy recovery and the firm's approval of his medical leave. It is a relief. His paltry medical insurance plan has also helped in paying the hospital bills, and hasn't burdened any. 

His sister walks into his tiny room, and says, "The lady you tried to save? She has been visiting us at the hospital, and she wanted to come and see you". Rage runs through his body, even though he knows she didn't ask her husband to beat him.  "I can't handle that", he tells his sister.  "I will get you your medicines", she says and walks away. 

The incident plays on his mind, and the anger returns.  He knows he cannot do anything, and yet it rages on.  The next day, he heads for his physiotherapy session at the hospital with his sister.  He notices someone approaching him, and his sister going tense.  It is the same lady.  She is with a man.  He visibly starts shaking, both in terror and anger.  His mind knows that it is the same man who assaulted him, even though he hadn't seen his face.  The woman's husband.  They approach him; he's dumbfounded.  

"Please forgive us.  No, forgive me.  I was the one who caused it.  I let my anger take over me.  You suffered.  Now, I am suffering too.  Oh God, I am suffering", his voice becomes shaky, and he breaks into loud sobs.  The woman, places a hand on him, shushes, and says, "Sir, please forgive him.  He has been taught a lesson already by the police.  He has been put behind the bars, only released on bail now. Please forgive". His sister takes over. "Why should he forgive? Will you cure his broken bones and make them as before? Will you return his lost days, or bring back his courage?"

"Madam, please understand. What happened was unfortunate. Punish me, however you want.  Hit me.  But, if you don't forgive and take back the complaint, I will lose my job.  My family will suffer.". The nurse calls their names for dressing, followed by physiotherapy.  He breathes easy, and feels relieved to move away from the tension that he hadn't anticipated.

As the physio moves away after therapy, his sister whispers, "I don't trust them.  I don't want you to forgive them.  It won't be justice." She too is trembling in anger. 

He remembers the faces of the husband and wife as they had begged at his feet before entering the therapy room.  He remembers his own predicament just before the accident/assault.  He was threatened by the manager with dire consequences of losing his job if he didn't deliver on the sales results. He remembers the manager's face while delivering the threat - that weird glee. The perverse expression certainly emanating from the knowledge that he knew he had complete control over another person. 

He understands he too has the fate of another human - and his family - in his hands.  He mulls over the outcome he would desire.  He knows he wants justice and closure.  As he makes up his mind, he calmly asks his sister to take him to the police station before they head home.  

Secrets

 

“Happy Birthday, Ashu”, she says as he delivers the bouquet to him, and enters the house. She is one of the earliest to arrive for the party, an impromptu celebration - an afterthought of the wishes that poured his way since midnight - of him reaching a significant milestone number in life. 

She busies herself with helping him around the house; arranging the crockery and cutlery, getting snacks prepared, and even ordering some flowers to decorate around the house. While wiping the plates and wine glasses, he says, “Pri, you have never missed wishing me on my birthday ever since we know each other!”

She raises her head, smiles at him and busies again in wiping away the traces of water from the plates. 

“What is the secret of your memory? Do you remember all the dates, or do you keep an alarm?”

“I remember most of my close people’s birthdays. It’s a habit from childhood. From days when there were no mobile phones or e-reminders”. 

“Wish I had as good a memory!”, he remembers he had forgotten to wish her on her birthday; he realised it only when he received invite to attend her birthday party over the weekend after her special day. 

“Sometimes, memory is a curse too”, she quips. “I remember things from days when I was three. And I am yet to reconcile with all those memories”. 

“I barely remember anything before I turned 12! I can’t believe anyone could remember from their earliest childhood days”. 

She lapses into reminiscing her childhood days. Her crush on the boy whose birthday too fell on the same day as Ashu’s. And, that’s how she remembered. “Where are you lost with the wiping cloth on your face?” 

She comes back to the present. 

“I just slipped back into my childhood”, she says, her face flushing red. 

“Remembered your childhood crush?”, teases Ashu. 

“How did you guess?”, she blurts. 

“So, I was right! Tell me tell me please”. 

“Ah come off it”, she tries to wriggle away. 

“Please. You can’t say no. It’s my birthday!” Ashu even makes a puppy face. 

She relents. 

“I had a crush while growing up. He happened to be the brother of my classmate”

“Wow! And, then? Did he also reciprocate your feelings?”

“Nah! He was just very nice and all that. Also, soon, my dad got transferred from there. We moved to a new place”. 

“You didn’t ever try to meet him again?”

“I did. After I started working. I went to attend my classmate’s wedding, just with the hope to reconnect with him”. 

“That’s interesting. I’m sure he would have been bowled over seeing you!”

“He was civil, even bordering on being chivalrous, but…”

“But what? He was already taken?”

“He didn’t remember me at all”. The pain in her voice is palpable, as though the hurt was from yesterday. 

“I’m sorry!” Ashu draws her into a tight hug. She doesn’t tell him they share birthdays. Some things are best hidden, she resolves. 

Random Rant in a Political Group

 Excerpts from a conversation in a group I’m part of  

SAK:

I think every person has a right to his views. I personally feel that encouraging homosexuality is detrimental to the society.

What two individuals do privately is entirely upto them and no body has the right to snoop on their private lives. But normalising it and insisting on the acceptance by the society is not in the interest of the society and strikes at the root of family which is the basic unit of civilisation.

I personally would be very uncomfortable if my children had to be brought up in a society which encourages and normalises homosexuality.

Me:

One, civilisation is always an evolving concept. What was civilised back then is considered uncivilised today. Like, beating one’s wife or children. Or slavery. Or many other ills. 

Homosexuality is a sin when seen through the myopic lens of religion, or thru personal biases. However, it’s a normal behaviour seen across the entire animal world. 

You cannot encourage homosexuality. Nobody becomes a homosexual because you encourage (or discourage). While the jury is yet out to determine if it’s genetic, it certainly is not a learned behaviour (except in confines of a jail, or a long-sailing ship, where desperation leads to a lot of anormal behaviour that would disappear once the confines are removed).  Whether you like it or not, homosexuality has been declared normal by most ‘civilised’ nations and societies, despite opposition from religious nut heads. 

And, lastly, homosexuals are also part of the society, just like you and I. Discriminating against them is the similar to discriminating against left-handed people. You don’t make them left-handed by encouraging them, nor do you make them right-handed by discouraging. Hope you understand. It doesn’t matter what you personally think. Things will change.

SAK:

There are too many nuances in defining civilisation.

However irrespective of such definitions to me civilisation is that people are free to protect their private lives but to insist that the other recognise his right to be openly homosexual would interfere on my right to bring up my children teaching them that homosexuality is unacceptable. 

As they say the liberty to swing my hands is unfettered provided it does not go near the other ‘s nose.

Why should a homo sexual have right to force me to recognise the normalisation of his quirks. As i said nobody is interfering in his private life.

As far as the so called developed ‘civilised’ world is concerned the results of this disregard for the rights of others to bring up their children as they choose is showing up in their falling birth rate frighteningly below the replacement rates putting their very existence in danger

Panini:

My dear friend you are fighting against the cult of wokeism. Its interpretation of ‘diversity’ is to include the cults at the margin even at the expense of excluding what is known as mainstream culture.

Me (to Panini):

Whatever you don’t agree doesn’t become woke. Because queer people are at the societal margins, it doesn’t make them any less human. Nor does it make their fights and struggles any less a cause to be not supported. 

If you lived in the 19th century, you’d have called Raja Ram Mohan Roy also as woke.

Me (to SAK):

You should found your own nation to ensure you teach what you want to, to your children. 

Also, sexuality is not private, if you look around. We boast about the families we have, and declare proudly of the children we have created. What’s private then? 

Falling birth rate has nothing to do with homosexuality. Please get your facts right. Just because you get 32 when you add up 3 and 2 it doesn’t become right.

SAK:

This is brilliant. I find my own nation to teach my own children and i am a bigot.

I am sure homosexuals are ensuring that there are 2.1 children which is replacement level and they are also encouraging others to have children at the replacement level so that we are able to maintain the country’s economic  and military power.

Me:

Yes, you’re a bigot.  Glad you said it yourself. 

You don’t find anything wrong in your children learning about a thousand wrongs in the world, but have problems only with homosexuality. Possibly because that is what religion says. Not because it’s a rational thought, or a deduction arrived through logic or application of scientific temper. And, then you use invalid data templates to justify your stance.

SAK:

Thank you so much. I thought reasonable people can have views which the other person does not like but would recognise that the other person has a right to have that view without calling him names. I will leave it at that.

Me:

There was nothing reasonable in whatever you’ve said so far.

SAK:

I disagree with you but i recognise your right to have your views.

Me:

Using some great man’s quote will not make you a liberal. Thankfully we are not living in a totalitarian country. 

Note:

I haven’t altered anything said (including mistakes or grammatical errors, if any). I have just copied stuff and pasted it here from the actual conversation. 

Scratch the skin of the so called progressives in this country and you’ll find homophobic, transphobic, and misogynistic people under that. These two are such samples. There were more who were giving thumbs up to what was being said by these two. Not another soul rose up to tell them off. Each of them identifies as a liberal, secular person! 

After this, I’d rather trust a rabid Sanghi than a liberal - at least you know what he’s thinking! 

Festi-wall!

 

The day is about to get over and he finds that he’s still waiting for some of the reports that should go aren’t yet on the table. Instead of calling up his deputy over phone, he decides to walk to her cabin. As he nears the cabin, he realises she’s on the phone with someone. He hears her say, “Well, because of the death of a relative in the village, the in-laws had called to tell us not to celebrate the festival. It doesn’t matter to us, but little Varun will find it difficult to understand, as he was looking forward to keeping Ganesha at home”.  She notices him through the glass, pauses her call, steps out and tells him, “boss, the reports will be on your table in the next ten minutes. Sorry, a family call I couldn’t refuse”. He nods his head understandingly and heads back. 

He and the deputy share a good rapport. He decides to invite her and family for lunch on the festival day. “Heard you saying you aren’t celebrating the festival. Why don’t you guys join me at home?” She confirms after consulting her husband and son. 

The lunch is a simple affair, mostly. Three different varieties of rice, a couple of vegetable curries, plain rice with tiLi Saru, curd, and carrot halwa with ice cream for dessert. No meat, keeping the sentiments of believers in mind. The young boy’s moods too appear better as he indulges in playing his favourite video game and an entire tub of ice cream, without parental disapprovals. “We planned to hit the beach for the evening. We will get going”, she says and her husband nods his head. 

As they’re about to leave, he calls the little lad, and says, “here is something for you”, and hands over a bag, with a box inside. “What’s this, uncle”, Varun asks. He is still at an age where one is happy to receive any gift. “Open it and see”, says the mother. The boy rips off the wrapping paper over the box and opens it to find a wooden idol of Ganesha inside. 

“Now, you have your own Ganesha. You don’t have to ask for one each year!”

“Wow, it’s beautiful, uncle! Thank you”, he hugs the benefactor. 

His deputy asks him, in hushed tones, “But, aren’t you an atheist?”

“Does that go against your faith? To gift a little one what he desires?”, he ribs her, good-naturedly.

“The answer to Varun’s disappointment was right in front of us, but only you saw it”, she squeezes his arm in gratitude as they all file out of home. 

#tinytales 

#veryshortstories

Outcomes!

 It was that time of the year when the performance awards were announced by the firm. She was waiting expectantly too. She knew she had done well, had better numbers than most, and should make it. 

The last time round, she had missed out on winning even though her performance was strong. The Management had called her and said, “We are extremely sorry; we somehow weren’t given these figures of yours, and we couldn’t consider you because of that. Please continue with your performance, and we are sure you’ll be the topper”. The awards came with bonuses and other benefits, and she was flummoxed as to how her numbers didn’t reach the Management. Glitches in systems! Technical or human, she wasn’t certain.  She was compensated by a minor promotion and some cash benefits, but they weren’t the same as recognition. 

This time though she had ensured her numbers had reached the Top Brass for consideration, and she didn’t want to miss out on what she felt was hers, deservedly. These awards weren’t sent as mails or messages, but announced at a glitzy dinner each year.  As the evening warmed up on a rainy day, the Boss was on stage to do the honours. 

She felt rage flowing through her as this time  too she hadn’t made it to the list. Someone from her own team - her underling - was chosen over her.  As though to drive home the message, she was asked to deliver the honour! She had to endure a further painful hour before she could head home and vent her frustration. 

The next day, the Boss had requested her to join in for tea. She thought to herself, “Is it to tell again they messed up, or is it to let me know that they are fixing it this time?” She practised mindfulness for an extra five minutes to soother her nerves, and to tell herself that she wouldn’t overreact during her meeting with the Boss. Her resignation letter was feeling all the pressure of her hands. 

As she entered his cabin, she found that there were two others - her immediate superior, and another person she didn’t recognise, a regal looking woman. She was introduced to her as the CEO of the firm that was planning to acquire the firm she was working at. “How in the hell do I matter in this?”, was her question in mind. She smiled instead. No drama in front of an as-yet-outsider. 

The Boss started, “As our merger happens soon, we needed someone who would be heading the change management team. We would like to offer you the new role”. Was this a joke, she seethed as she heard the words. No explanation or apology for leaving her out of awards! It took a while for her to gather her wits and ready a response. Just as she thought she would blurt out, the Boss said, “And a seat on the Board of Directors. With stock options. Your performance was not worth a mere recognition with the rest”. 

For once she felt good about having kept quiet.