Everything in this world is in a changing phase. Baby’s are being born every second. Our scientists are toiling hard for advanced technologies. Rules are being rewritten in the finance world which is in a turmoil never witnessed since ‘The Great Depression’. Bollywood is fighting tooth and nail to get back its down trodden popularity.
Meanwhile, far-far away from all this excitement, today morning, I am busy preparing morning cereal in a kitchen where little has changed since last two years. I take the milk-filled-till-the-brim bowl in living room and try to settle myself on the bed in a half sitting-sleeping position. Please don’t even try this doing ever. Milk spills on my T-shirt the moment my body has comfortably settled. I would have perhaps given a squeak if there had been an audience. But now I silently suffer. I decide to finish whatever is left in the bowl first before getting up to change the wet apparel.
Seconds later, the milk makes it presence felt on the skin on my stomach. ‘Milk is good for skin’ is what I cheer myself up with. Cleopatra also used to take bath with Donkey’s Milk. I read this trivia long back in a ‘Ripley’s Believe it or not’ book gifted to me on one of my birthday. I remember how disappointed I was to see it when I tore open the gift-wrap; was expecting a board-game. But that book did a lot of good to the kid who lived in a village and that too in an age where Doordarshan was his only eye to see the world. I cringe at the memories of watching ‘Sangeet ka akheel Bhartiya Karyakarm’ and ‘Krishi Darshan’. ‘He-man’ was the epitome of entertainment.
Anyway, back in present tense, while the skin on my stomach is getting the care that Cleopatra was used to, the door bell rings. I ignore it. It works quite a few times. But the possessor of the hand on the bell is adamant. I know this must be one of the aunties who employ the same maid. The “chann-chann” sound of bangles confirms the fact.
“Yes” I say opening the door.
“Did the bai come today?” asks Mrs X.
“No. I’ll send her to your place if she comes.” I say in a leave-me-alone tone.
“Ok. Pakka send her. I’ve to take my mother to ……” describes Mrs. X in a single breath.
A resigned “Yes” is what I manage. Mrs X. leaves after cribbing about the maid to her heart’s content.
I am not an antisocial lunatic who stays buried away from the big bad world outside. But this ‘Aaj bai nahi aai’ talk puts me off to no end. Simply stated, I don’t share the same fascination for this “Bai Topic”. Again, not claiming to be a man of sophisticated taste, I admit to watching reruns of Big-Boss or other shows on You-tube and discuss the game-plan with like-minded people. But BAI-TALK!!! Well thats just not my cup of tea. Have told the aunties so many times that I don’t care if the maid doesn’t come, please don’t bother me. Even scolded one of the persistent aunties to not to knock on my door every other day. But, as the great king Singh sings in Singh is King “ Taan Lo Dus Banduke, Koyale Fir Bhi Kooke”, to no avail. Once she even called me in the office while I was giving a presentation and even though I just said ‘Yes/No/OK’ during the conversation, the audience gave me a sympathetic look assuming me to be under some serious personal distress.
Well, such is life. Need to change my T-shirt now and move on. You know what they say: