by Ratnakar Tripathy
Break bridges: arrange boats
Because disasters have an affinity for us? No, even though many of us resignedly believe so. Or we are prone, as some of us shamefacedly but boldly admit?
No, and I don’t mind revealing for once the moral of the story, even before telling the tale.
The moral is plain and simple and deserves to be put in caps [capitals], but I am putting down the moral without them since too many caps and underlining and highlighting simply allow and enable us to ignore.
First, we create a disaster through laziness and inaction. Then faced with the consequences, we wake up. Days, weeks and decades pass but we never admit personal responsibility for it, preferring to blame the weather, luck, a professional competitor or a family enemy [a pattidar] as the scapegoat.
We become heroes for managing disasters caused by us and subsequently also managed by us. Heroes of the day? Yes and even our halo wears a second layer outer halo.
Wow! Can you ask for more?
Thankfully, we don’t blame the CIA or the KGB as was the common practice in my youth.
So when hordes of Northeasterners leave our metropolises for their homes under the belief that they are unsafe, we are left plucking at the empty air for reasons. And then go arrest the first two available drunks yelling in the streets at 2 AM as prime suspects, making the next day’s headlines too.
When the river floods ravage Bihar because of a broken dam, we run helter skelter delivering water where people need solid food, offering medicines where people hadn’t yet fallen sick, and truckloads of biscuits where people had their bellyful but were asking for clean water.
When we plan flyovers for 2015, we base our information on data for traffic movement from 2003 and successfully meet the target for 2006. People admire our flyovers till they discover they are getting stuck even longer than before.
But now the main story:
In the year 2001, my otherwise stingy father, late since 2003, wanted to organize a grand dinner for his morning walker’s group and family, a bunch of around 56 people, altogether. A cerebral Sanskritist that he was, he discussed the scheme in the manner of a logistical Shastratha with one of his above-50 former students who instantly promised to take matters in hand.
Armed with cash from my father, he said he has already arranged the best of food the very next day.
Just that on the appointed day and time, the goddamn feast was not arriving. I served cold drinks to stretch the evening. I served snacks and various appetizers till the point when my father’s friends began to suspect foul play. Usually an introvert, I even began to chat up my father’s friends and went around serving Limca and saying all the wrong things with a demented grin on my face.
My father’s friends thought my old man was pulling a scam! And me the partner!
Just then my father’s student, the party-popper walks in exclaiming volubly like a loudspeaker to my mother ‘who will feed the feeder?’
The dirty look my mom gave him made him wince and notice the empty tables and plates.
‘What happened?’
My father was not even aware of the disaster, discussing the health benefits of garlic with a friend on the right and the obscure etymology of the Sanskrit word ‘Som’ with the friend on the left. Both the left and right looked bored and hungry, worriedly watching their famished grandchildren.
Suddenly, a big van came and stopped in front of the house. My father’s student’s office boy and the caterer leaped out together. And the food followed. Yes, it did.
The next day it was my father’s student’s distant acquaintance Ajay who gave me the real spiel. Nirmal Bhaiya, my dad’s student had left Patna Doordarshan phone number with the caterer, which is where he often freelanced. The address for us he gave was also wrong. Instead of Mahendru Mohalla, he put Mahendru Ghat which is miles away from my home. Wisely, he had left his business card with the office address, which is how Ajay the DD employee, found himself faced with dinner for 56 people just as he was about to call it a day at 9.30 PM.
‘So how did you find us at all?’ I asked Ajay. This was Sherlock Holmes stuff, really!
‘Because of this slip he left on the office table at end of the day’, he extended the original note my father had made for the food items. Even though a cerebral Sanskritist, he did not forget to add the exact address and the phone no for our home.
‘He is the master of the show’, I remember my father introducing Niraml Bhaiya to each guest, as they left caressing their full bellies and letting out the mandatory burps on their way out.
Nirmal Bhaiya was the hero of the day! Amen!
Namo devam disasteram!
hilarious piece the best was “When we plan flyovers for 2015, we base our information on data for traffic movement from 2003 and successfully meet the target for 2006″.