The cooler climes of the north beckoned the pandemonium of parakeets. The rose ringed, the yellow backed, the plain green. All of them lived in forests and groves of the south, but the cooler climes just north and outwards into the urban jungles, as well, were tempting for them to fly away. The icy cool winds from the Arctic which is normal for this time of the year was blowing southwards from the circle and would usually have been shielded by the mighty fold mountain ranges in the north, but this year, the fog rising from the plains was weaker than in the previous years, and so the cooler winds had little barrier but to keep blowing over the ice capped mountain tops, and get cooler with the ascent and the glacial ice and then spread it south. And so beyond the Narmada, it blew and almost close to the source of the Deccan rivers of Krishna andGodavari. The winds were like an army. In this mighty army were scores of and scores of Mol-e-Cules of the Commander Natarajan (though the troops below would prefer to call him cool Nitrogen), ably supported by the platoons manned by General Axay (he used the x in place of ksh just like many Northern Hindus who would offer prayers to Goddess Laxmi instead of the Southern way pf addressing her as Goddess Lakshmi). He led a team of the easterners who sometimes pronounced the A as an O and so their General was often referred to as Oxay Gen. But the smaller crack teams controlled by the Captains Kariban were a smaller team compared those led by Natarajan and Axay, but quite useful in some situations (like those mentioned ahead). Their unit attire was black also referred to as Karban Black, but would then dress up in Ox Hide while in combat. (when in combat they would almost become invisible because of the Dyed Ox Hide they would wear – because of this they were sometimes called Carbon Dioxide). So this army moved quite swiftly into the lands north of the Krishna and south of theNarmadaand settled quite easily in the wooded orchards and groves of the chikoo, mango and even the summery lychee. The vineyards along theGodavaribanks were also occupied by this army and the crack teams were at their best.

As they very invisibly penetrated each leaf in this plateau region through the undercover route of the gates of the Stomata (not to be confused with the fruit that disguised in the garb of a vegetable to get into all Desi kitchens to sour up the food). And though the stomata had two very able guard cells around the opening, during warm sunshine, the gates would usually open up wider. And this was the opportunity that the Karbon Black Ox Hide (Codenamed CO2) wearing crack teams used to penetrate the innards of this green factory. And it was a perfect factory that used a lot of energy – solar energy. All the operations happened in little cells, no different form the guard duty cells near the stomata. The core of these cells was the nucleus, where all the chemicals were used that helped the factory in its production, the key chemical being the green coloured chlorophyll. But the walls of these cells were permeable quite easily by the CO2, as they sealed themselves into little spacious hollows that could float inside the factory and towards the Nucleus in airtight containers called vacuoles. These moved randomly and could collide with other vacuoles to get larger and thereby reach their target faster. Once there, the solar energy would react with the occupants of these vacuoles, especially trained to target the CO2 unit and with instructions from a remote controlled unit within the cell called the Mitochondria, they would start breaking up the team along with the H20 team and quickly reassemble them into final factory products of complex Carbo Hydrates and some excess baggage of  Ox Hides would get freed and be set up on the vacuoles to be moved outwards from the cells towards the Gates of the Stomata to be liberated.

The cool winds blew from the north intoD street. And the parakeets flew in their pandemonious abandon towards the green fruit trees lining the streets. The cooling down in the European and other such northerner states helped in bringing cooling winds to this street. And the D boyz used this opportunity in the sun to make some good dough. The icy winds with their abundance of carbon dioxide (normally associated with waste products from factory production) was used up quite rapidly in the sunny green streets. Thus providing food for the D Boyz helping their weak and sagging SENSEX to grow about 12 % to move up this month to a respectable 17233.

And the liberated Ox Hides would return back to General Axay’s platoon for their next instructions, while the crack team Karbon with their leftover Ox hides covered with light and Heady Hydra haired Generals (snidely called Hydrogens) would travel along other food vacuoles towards the venous system of the leaf to finally find its way to the Phloem transport system which would direct them to their next fruit. It could be the mango, or the chikoo or the watery, nectary grapes.

So such is life that is so amazing that one can find so much of industriousness and round the clock work in such sedate environments like a plant leaf. It is truly amazing and never ceases to surprise those who go looking for such knowledge. So have fun this week and try and explore more around you. You would be surprised at what you find. Do share with me some of those finds. I am sure I will be as amazed as you, if not more.

Have a nice week ahead… Cheers

My introduction to history happened a long time ago (just like how they described history lessons in my school books…. All the chapters started with “it happened a long time ago”) and I really liked what I was introduced to. Partly because it was something new compared to the reading, writing, (a)‘rithmetic rigmarole till then; and partly because our Class III teacher had quite an interesting way of teaching, by involving the class into playacting the chapters from the book. So the book had Mzee Safari who was like the sutradhar (story teller) who introduced each chapter and took us through history, almost like he had lived it (Mzee is a Swahili word for wise old man while Safari refers to the journey that he undertook, his journey through time). And the teacher for some strange reason chose me to play the role of Mzee Safari – so I had the privilege of living history through his words in the book. And my first lessons included how early civilization used barter trade instead of currencies. So the desert people would bring camel loads of salt to be exchanged for animal skin and grain from the cultivators and animal herders; while the hunters would exchange ivory and ostrich feathers for cowrie shells from the sea-faring fishermen. It was so interesting as we also play acted this class, bring along faux skins and cowrie shells, beads and feathers to exchange in a recreated old world market place. And these early forms of money or currency have been modified and reintroduced into many economies today. So a cowrie or Kodi which was precious still finds pride of place in our world as the Koti or the more familiar Crore. While the prized feather of the Central American bird is the currency of Guatemala – the quetzal. And before the metric systems came to place, many societies used different bases for their currencies – so twenty shillings made a pound; or three pies made one paisa while four paisa made one anna. And sixteen anna made a rupaiya. And these sixteen anna were considered a whole leading to phrases like “the sixteen anna truth” meaning the truth, the whole truth and the only truth (solah anna sach – in Hindi or Urdu). Such was the power of these sixteen coins.

The power of the Sixteen was back on D Street. The sixteen D Boyz were ready to take their pet, the SENSEX into the sixteens territory. Yes, they had to work hard on Monday to prepare for the grand entry the next day, but the hard work paid off. So on Monday the SENSEX remained firmly in the Sixteen Thousands and although there was reverse pressure to push it back on Thursday below the True Mark of the Sixteen, much resistance helped the SENSEX buck it and stay on course to grow 306 points over last weekend – to close at 16154. The D Boyz were last seen collecting their whole sixteen annas of profits for the week, before heading for some kite flying pleasure on the weekend.

Mzee Safari unfortunately did not last very long – he was with us in letter and spirit and playacting for 2 years. And then in Class V, we were taken to meet mummies in pyramidic tombs before going out of the dark continent and over the oceans to the new worlds.

This weekend, many cultures will celebrate the winter solar festival of plenty – so Punjabis will huddle around the bonfire to eat popcorn and rewdi (candied sesame seeds), singing songs in bonhomie; while the Tamils will boil and cook rice in milk with a dollop of jaggery on top, and perhaps dance a step or two around the decorated stove cooking the pongal. The Gujaratis will spend all day on their terraces flying kites and eating platefuls of that winter one pot meal – the undhiyo; while the Bengali will usher in the dawn on the banks of the confluence of the mighty Ganga with the Bay of Bengal at Gangasagar Island. And before I sign off for this week, may I use the standard Marathi greeting for this occasion – Til Gul Khaa aani God God Bola – Eat the candied sesame rolls and speak as sweetly.

Have a nice weekend…. Cheers…

Joe Hardy and Frank Hardy were brothers but so unlike each other. While Joe was dark haired with sapphire-blue eyes, his younger brother was a blonde with grey eyes. Joe was into sports, while Frank liked the arts – especially music. He was the bass guitarist of his high school amateur band, and also did the lead vocals. But one thing these Hardy Boys had in common (apart from their surname) was their love for solving mysteries. They could crack mysterious disappearances of brief-cases stashed with a million dollars, or solve the case of the unseen girl who would steal from the local supermarket or that Ming vase that mysteriously disappeared and reappeared in the Nevada mansion. They sometimes had truck-ins with the bad guys, and yet helped the LAPD solve cases that could not be solved by the cops. Joe loved the mysteries that took him to sea-gull strewn beaches of California. It also gave him an opportunity to indulge in his favourite pastime – surfing. [And for those who logged in recently, this is just to clarify that the surfing that Joe enjoyed was not one that was done at internet cafes or at home PCs, but on the blue ocean.] The cool California currents that flowed southwards along the coast not only ensured that the ocean breezes were cool, and the lack of any strong wind system hampering this, the waves in these deep azure waters along the coastline, also raised among the best surfing waves. So Joe would go out to the sea in his black wet-suit, belly down on his surfboard and paddle his way out into the reef beyond the beach. And where the waves would started over at the reefs, he would slowly crouch into a knee crawl and slowly stand up, with arms stretched out to provide the much needed balance. And then the kinetic energy of the waves would take over, as it would take Joe sailing through at speeds of over 15 knots per hour. He would bend to keep his balance and ride the waves as it twisted him along the wave crest. The surf ride would last longer if Joe bent and slowly rose as the speeding wave would slowly lose steam as microbubbles under the surface of the surfboard would slowly merge into bubbles and foam their way to the front of the wave. And as the foam bubbles would slowly burst on reaching the surface of the sea, they would burst – and the wind coupled with the aerodynamic moves of Joe, would harshly spray onto his wet body suit and also pepper his black hair. And once a while, Joe would flick his head to shake off the excess water. If someone from the shore was filming Joe’s surfing on a slow motion capture film or video camera, then it would look like the ideal sporty moment that is highlighted in many macho after-shave ads. And as the foamy bubbles increased, the speed of the wave would slow, at times forcing it to buckle under its own momentum and crash into a convex downward spiral, either forcing Joe to switch over to the wave that emanated a few seconds later by its side, or crash with the wave to dive into the sea, and emerge back again to ride the next wave that would take Joe on his surfing expedition again.

The D Boyz were unlike the Hardy Boys, as they did not particularly like the mysteries that awaited them at D Street each day. They preferred a slightly more predictive lifestyle, but that was not to be. They has mysteries from all sources, that constantly spooked them and their pet SENSEX which at times had to duck to avoid any damage to it, or got into an unexpected blow that would knock it spiraling down the slopy streets. But riding the waves was what they did in the past 2 weeks, as in the last week of December, they rode the start of a wave pattern that crashed slowly but surely, and since they knew of this, they decided to quickly maneouvre onto the adjoining wave that helped them ride higher and with some smart body movements, they are hopefully able to stay surfing longer. (A picture of the waves is below)

The fortnight saw the SENSEX fall to 15500 before rising to above 15900, and steadying itself to 15867 today…

And as Joe would walk back to the pickup truck that Frank would have driven in with to the beach, his surfboard tucked under his left arm, the swimsuit clad young dames on the beach would not shy off giving him a second and third look back as he crossed them. Joe was the shy kind, and would toss the surfboard onto the back of the pick-up truck, open the right door, and just hop in. But Frank by that time, would have been busy chatting with another swimsuit model through the open window of the pick-up truck from his left hand side seat and not even notice that Joe was ready to be taken back home!!

So for those who have not been reading up their mystery books from yore or also from the current, this is the time to go back to your home libraries and fish out those simple books. Perhaps there is a mystery that still holds your interest. Anything actually, Monsieur Poirot or Mr Holmes, Nancy or Joe, or Jane or Julian, even a Byomkesh and Pradosh —- that is quite a collection to choose from, what do you say?

Have a happy and nice weekend… and in case I forgot, I also wish you a very happy new year.

Cheers

In the run-up to the dark winter, Hans got more busy in his lumbering job, than he would usually be as he headed to the woods that had been set aside for this year. His team of men had their tasks laid out as they snappily went about with their chainsaws cutting down the spruces. The fragrance emanating from the woods was getting heady as the trucks were being loaded with the trees to be shipped to the UK and the US. Hans always got the best deals from around the globe, and although there were fears that the global slowdown would also affect his business, he was a very busy man this season. There was no let-up in orders for the 8 ft, 12 ft and 25 ft trees. The men were busy slicing down the rows of cultivated forests and loaders were quickly labeling on the Forest farms and loading the ready trucks. The 100 ft specials were done a month ago, and they needed more manpower and special cranes to ensure that the trees were not damaged in the bargain. These trees would find a pride of place in the centre of many northern hemisphere towns and cities. Hans had shipped out the usual orders, but expected a slowdown in demand for the smaller house trees. But that was not so. He had his work cut out and the low lights and early dusk in this near Arctic country meant that he and his men had to rely on the artificial lights. The trees would find their way on ships across the fjords and the frigid oceans to markets and supermarkets.

Seamus lived on a farmhouse on the outskirts of Edinburgh and he had promised his family a special Norwegian spruce this year. He had placed his orders just after Guy Fawkes Day and was asked to collect his tree a week before Christmas. Seamus too was surprised because he too, thought that the recent news about a possible withdrawal of the UK from the Eurozone and the crisis brewing on the continent would have slowed down demand of goods and services, and he would not have to wait for over a couple of days for the tree – but this long, he had not waited for some years. And the day he visited his supermarket, there were at least 100 people waiting for their spruces and firs. He had to literally push through to “grab”  his tree and get home. His son, Sean, was so excited when his dad brought in the 8 ft tree and he wanted to be part of the decoration exercise. He had already kept the candy canes and tinsel balls ready to hang on the tree. But the most anxiously awaited part was the hanging of the red socks that he put up on the fireplace mantelpiece. He had placed the largest sock with his name scribbled on a note to the centre so that no one would miss it. Sean chased his mother to keep the mug of milk and plate of American cookies for the Santa that night.

The last month was a busy month for the D Boyz. They were busy trying to keep their street ready for the festive season. Just as they had started getting their tree ready for the “Naatal” festival, they had to also try and protect the tree from the marauding hordes of bears and bulls that were running along the D Street – causing mayhem along the way. Someone also spotted some people setting up red carpets on the street and the D Boyz were trying to clear the squatters but with little success – as one squatter was replaced by another (there was news that it had spread to other parts of the city as well, like an old unused textile mill by the beach in Central Mumbai being taken over by some blue scarved marauders). The Boyz also feared that the crowds would gather for another agitation like Occupy D Street – except that it was aimed at the political institution but could impinge upon their rights to  their Street…. And so in this entire frenzy, their favourite SENSEX rose high like the tall Xmas tree and also fell to kiss the red carpets. So during this month its journeys took it to as high at 17000 and as low as 15300, but finally looked like it was just skimming the surface by falling only 75points from November end levels – at 15738….

Sean hardly slept that night, all excited about the visitor who would drink the milk and chomp on the cookies. He too had a shortbread before falling asleep and he could hear the bells tolling as someone shouted out ho, ho ho, that sounded like a distant sound. He blinked his eyes and excitedly rushed to his window. He looked out at the clear dark sky and saw the twinkling stars and could almost hear them chiming. The church bell was tolling in the distance as the midnight mass was to begin. And then he saw an unusual sight – a shooting star that left a trail of stardust in its wake. He was so excited that he squealed and shouted with joy. His dream had come true – Santa had just visited him. Seamus came rushing into Sean’s room, and seeing his excited son, he rushed to pick him up and give him a tight hug. The happy and content Sean shut his eyes and went back to dreamland…

Wishing you all a very happy Christmas and wish you a great new year ahead….. and I take some rest before I return next year with more tales and stories from the D Street and beyond….

Cheers………….

Chinxua’s father was an honourable businessman. He was respected in the village and his expertise in putting together gunpowder, oxides of copper and mercury was unrivalled. He had learnt this from his father. He had also travelled to the court of the Emperor to present some of his masterpieces which were used in the Moon Boat Festival as well as the New Moon Year of the Rabbit. The foreigners had already started making inroads into the Emperor’s Court, by then, as advisors and tutors to the young Emperor. The Spanish also brought along a lady teacher to keep the Dowager’s palace members engaged in a new dance technique, which was so different from what the concubines danced to, tuned to the lilting shamisen. An Italian who traced his origins to a certain Signor Polo also tried to re-introduce the complicated wheat pasta into the royal kitchen. Chinxua’s father saw this as a negative influence on his people, as he had a hunch that trouble would not be far behind. He had grown up on the Confucian style of living, where foreigners were to be treated as guests, but if they made your home theirs and their food yours, it would be with no so good consequences. And he wanted to tell the court minister who had brought him to meet the Emperor and his Prime Minister. But little did he know that a traitor lurked behind the curtains. His horse was killed in what looked like an accidental explosion of fireworks, and his battered body could not even be transported back to his village. Di Hong had accompanied to Chinxua to Beijing for the funeral. And after they had returned to their village, just as Chinxua’s life had turned turtle, the Little Emperor’s life turned turtle, too. The turncoats had done him in. The Dowager’s drinks were poisoned and she was leading a life of a vegetable, with little ability to control and protect the Little Boy Emperor. The Europeans had started battling amongst themselves for the Golden Throne. The Prime Minister was murdered on his way to the Temple inside the Forbidden City. The countryside had started turning red, as the Red Uniformed army of the English started sailing upstream the Pearl River and pillaging villages, destroying crops and houses, leaving bloodshed in their trail. Chinxua had another battle to handle – that of Ni Bao vs Di Hong; but that could wait for now. And as Di Hong got to hear of the neighboring village being attacked, he rushed to the house on the Southern Bank of the Pearl River. He gathered some valuables, tied them up into a bundle, slung it over his back, and quickly asked the women of the household to follow him into the mountains nearby. They would have to leave the sheep and horses behind. Chinxua said a prayer, lit some joss sticks, and stuck them in the sandbowl in courtyard in front of the house. She bolted the red door of the house (not knowing why, as she was sure that the marauders would break every lock and every door). She took a pearl from her precious belongings and prayed facing the gushing river opposite her house, and after the whispering prayer, turned around and threw the pearl over her right shoulder (for good luck) into the river. The pearl went back to the same river from where it had been fished. It was a sort of gratitude she gave back to nature. And that night they disappeared into the mountains with Di Hong as the protector.

The Italians and Spanish have been playing a different game on D Street this week. Apart from dancing their flamenco and cooking some spaghetti, they had also been plotting to turn the D Street Red (behind the curtains). So this week saw a series of reds for the D Boyz as they tried very hard to protect their SENSEX, which was stained red all week long. The D Boyz tried to run for cover and hid as they saw the pillaging and marauding on their Street helplessly. They could not even take flight as the kingfishers on the trees had fallen off due to clipped wings. The D Boyz just hid behind the SENSEX and hoped that they would not be harmed. The hammering on the street saw the SENSEX fall 800 points to 16371. Last seen, a few of the Boyz had managed to rush into the makeshift shrine of their beloved Elephant God to seek solace and protection. Will the Elephant God protect them? Will He rid them of their troubles?

Chinxua had so longed to meet Ni Bao before she fled her village, but without saying any words, Di Hong had conveyed his objection through his dark eyes. Chinxua had collected an old silk painting of her grandmother, one where she was a young woman with a young child on her knees. Her father swore that it was not him, but Chinxua knew. She had never met her grandmother, but knew that she was still around protecting her family, like all dead souls. She would light an oil lamp for her once they were deep in the mountain forests, but did she carry any oil with her? She had no time to worry about this, as she had larger worries that bothered her. Like the sound of the hooves she could hear in the distance, and a shriek or scream that interrupted the otherwise silent night. She had to flee from the village, at least for the night. Di Hong wanted to stay back with the women in the mountains to protect them from the wild animals (in the mountains as well those that were in the village now). But he had to protect the factory and the village folk as well…

Although the shenanigans of the Europeans and stock markets were not so good this week, life is not so bad. So take this weekend break and enjoy yourselves with your families and friends. Indulge in your interests especially those that make you happy. All tense phases in work or financial markets will pass….. like an Old Chinese Proverb – After every night comes a dawn…..

Have a nice weekend…. Cheers….

To know more about Chinxua and Di Hong and the Pearl River - kindly refer to Red Firecracker Green Firecracker

 Driving along the 6 laned highway, which had clear lane indicators and signages was quite a refreshing change for me in Mumbai which is otherwise known to have roads that are wide and narrow at the same time and with no specific lane indicators. Traffic Signs, if any, are obscured behind large illegal hoardings greeting some fat, burly politician for a birthday, or just for a visit. If not that, the traffic signs are hidden behind lamp posts that almost suddenly erupted from no-where to block its view; almost as though it was intentionally put there, so that an errant driver or rider could be caught just after it “breaking the law”, by an ever ready cop. But let me not digress. Let me get back to this almost surreal stretch of road, which made me take notice of the smooth road, white lane markings, the visible traffic sign that warned me not to overspeed. And I am not trying to be pompous here, but over 2 decades of driving in Indian metropolises has taught me to be a cautious and safe driver, especially when I know that there are road devils lurking all around. Like on this road. The road that would otherwise at least gain some respect from drivers (like me) was being given the exactly opposite treatment by the road monsters and devils that I encountered. The famous and now infamous autorickshaw drivers of Mumbai. Till not long ago, this breed of public transport-men, were considered the most honest as far as the fare collection was concerned. But ever since their profusion in the suburbs (what a redundant statement, don’t you think? Given that they only ply in the suburbs), they have been overcharging, getting choosy about their passengers and travel destination and even being offensive with commuters.. This breed behaved like the little black smoke box that I once used in my physics class to study the Brownian Movement – the absolute random movement of particles.. These vehicles that resembled black mini elephants from the backside were zigzagging across the road like the Smoke Particles in the Smoke Box of a Physics Laboratory. They also virtually collided with each other as I almost saw feet jutting out and kicking the other vehicle away – or was one foot power being used to push forward the other one who was saving on his fuel, I could not fathom. But they were in front, by the side, behind me, threatening my white German car, which just cowered under the attack from the three-legged demons (or three wheeled), almost like a scene out of a Hindu Epic where the Devas (Gods) are attacked by the Asuras (demons) and they pray to the Omnipresent Lord (incidentally I share a name with him), or the Destroyer or the Creator to get them out of these attacks. Maybe my current choice of books is making me see these day dreams or rather day mares (since these were daytime “nightmares”), and I should quickly wrap up the story about a Young Prince from a state by the Sarayu ….. (must remember to quickly read it up this weekend).

On Days like those that passed by (and quite a few have since I last wrote on this blog), what would have seemed like a well laid road, with good signages and all; was there for the D Street Boyz to travel on. And Travel they did, but with no warning or even an inkling, they were attacked by demons of various forms and sizes from multiple directions. And don’t get me wrong, by attack, it was not as though the demons were after the poor D Boyz. It was just that the demons chose to use the time tested Brownian Movement principle to zip along D Street. So some demons sounded as tragic as what a certain William wrote (Greek Tragedy), while others could not be banked upon (Indian Banks being downgraded), or some demons who terrorized the Monkey God and his car factory; there were enough demons to choose from who just randomly got into the D Boyz ways and hurtled them from one side of the Street to the other. So although the SENSEX is currently at 17192 – which looks better than where we left it last (October 14), it did swing quite a bit….. during the month that passed.

Talking of feet that jut out of the auto rickshaws, what sometimes gets me off guard is that, these are not mere stretching of legs of a tired auto rickshaw driver after a long day, but may actually be a signal to the vehicles behind that the rickshaw is turning in the direction that the foot is out – so left out means a left turn and right foot out is a right turn. But this is not as confusing as the trip I once took on an auto rickshaw in a southern city where the notorious drivers are known to fleece people who don’t speak the local language. The driver pretended to not know the directions to my destination and kept asking me whether I had to turn right or left a junction or crossing, but the most hilarious part was when at one such crossing, I told him to turn right. He turned back and pointed both his hands in the opposite directions and asked “This right or that right, saar?”  

Wishing you all a very happy weekend and if you encounter the black mini elephants on the roads, do share any small vignettes about them with me.  I would love to hear your stories too..

Cheers…………

And this how the story wound forward…..

In Bangalore

She was known as Ujwala and Prakash’s daughter.

He was known by the road named after his grandfather.

Her legacy was a tennis.    …. His legacy was an empire.

At 17 she started her career as an unknown face in a notorious industry.  ….   At 17 he was appearing for his O levels.

She introduced him to a fab and fitter lifestyle.  …… She upped his glam quotient. ….. He gave her the tag of a GF.

He is rumored to have picked the tab on her plush house.

She was devoted to him. He made no attempts to curb his flamboyant lifestyle.

She was born abroad and lived in India all her life. …….. He was born in India and lived abroad all his life.

She was demure grounded and simple. ….. About him everything was larger than life and opulent.

Yet they stuck together much to the wonder and  amazement of their detractors.

It had to be a past life connect they said. …… They both scoffed at such silly comments.

Until that noon at the Ouija Board by the infinity pool. …….. What was supposed to be a fun game took a turn for the serious

She was a head turner in a stunning  white Cavalli tankini. …….. The wine and breeze had made him heady.

He had to make her his ………………….today …………now  ……………….right here at this very moment.

As if on cue she turned her head towards him acknowledging his urgency. …… And then the crowd went quiet……………..

As the board spun the compelling tale of the couple by the chrysanthemum patch near the Chandrabhaga river.

Of unfulfilled desires………..and a crushed youth…………of dreams and passion and desires………

Being the largest orange farmer in Vidarbha………….there was no way Patangarao bhau would have agreed to Chandrakant’s wish.

It was just a whim………….a flight of fancy……………. he would soon get over her.

But he took his very life at the spot Kanta was buried alive, hanging himself  along with the oranges ripe for picking.

A farmer’s suicide…………is all that the papers reported.

And this is how the story moved forward…..

They were like chalk and cheese. She of the “prim and propah” British upbringing ……….., he the quintessence Bandra brat.

She, demure and poised …………………and he practically wore his heart on his sleeves.

She the queen bee of modeling……….. he the big bad boy of Bollywood Everyone smirked at their pairing - it was just a matter of time before they announced their breakup. But they proved their detractors wrong, who knew naught of their past life connect (well not even they themselves) – until that noon.

……. Beside the Chandrabhanga River ……… When her hear melted and tugged and swelled at his outpouring of love and longing and passion……. She gently tried to dissuade him…….. the futility of it all………… she would be a fling for him after all……….. And after all ………….. she was betrothed to…………….. Atmaram from the neighbouring Ralegaon Siddhi village. He was the brave sipahi posted atop the Arunachal border. She had to wait.  She was his hope and joy and happiness………….. and reason to return from the Indo China war.

……………And then it was too late; the die was cast – the decision made……for both of them…………… As anger began to flow through his veins and flood his brain, his heart and his very being.

“Then so shall it be…………….if you are not mine “……………………

“you will be nobody else’s…………….”  and held her in the final embrace.

They searched high and low for days, and I guess the spate had flown away the bodies;  their fate was sealed.

When at the premiere, he gave her a single long stemmed blood red chrysanthemum; She smiled ……. he knew after all………………

and this is how it concludes ….

Kat gingerly sipped her chrysanthemum infused tea as her hand caressed the National Award Trophy……………..

She had finally got her revenge and it smelled sweet…………..vindicating her victory over her detractors………………and left her mark on time.

Tall lissome  with a killer smile, who would have thought of her as the same demure and innocent Kanta.

How could she ever forget that noon, heady with confidence of first love and the full burst of orange blossoms. It was almost magical!

As if Kamdev and Rati had descended onto their fields …. and the sight of the handsome Chandra, Oh! the one who filled her heart day and night.

She would have done anything for him. He only had to tell, such was his sway and the appeal of youth.

Draped in her best outfit she waited with bated breath all day for a word from him. “Come after 4″, said his note, signed Chand. He was her sun, her moon, her stars, even her planets. And now also her galaxy………..She was the Fiza (the ambience / atmosphere) to his Chand (moon) ……….. Veena (string instrument associated with Indian Goddess of learning) to his Murali (flute)………….Chammak challo to his Jhamure (dashing /dynamic to his street smartness)………….. kaneez to his aaka (slave to the master – like a genie to his master)……….oh what a delight!

But as usual, fate had a cruel smile on her lips as Kanta’s feet practically flew to the fields, a full 3 hrs earlier. Oh! who cares? I will wait for my beloved, she thought.

 Only to find

 Shanta! Oh! her darling sister! One who followed her all over as a child; she was the tai (elder sister in Marathi) to her natu, as shanta was fondly called.

When did this child woman grow up? Kanta was flummoxed. …… Numbed by the scene…………

Agreed! Shanta was the prettier of the two, golden skin with that thick black swinging plait, naughty cognac eyes, pillow lips, cleft chin and an innocence to die for. Infact she was the darling of the village, the apple of everyone’s eye. Clearly! There was a mistake!!

Unexplainable, but the scene unfurled as in super slow motion. ……………The two of them ………………

Kat’s reverie was rudely broken by the noises on the door of her trailer. Her body guards were trying to shoo away a persistent fan.

Clearly the Sheila number had swelled her fan base totally. Broken her free from ignominy.

“Aane do (let them in)” she said in her accented Hindi………………………