In retrospect, 2006-2007 in Mumbai was almost magical. Memories really age very sweetly, and random snippets of the Mumbai days form a collage, that floats tantalizingly before me, and makes me want to take a plunge into memory, with the hope that I find myself back in Mumbai.

The grass seems to be greener on the continent that I am not in. The glorious Mumbai days, were spent, making my own 'picture' of the American life, coloured by friendly inputs during weekend calls and skype and gmail chats, online forums of students going abroad, blogs of desi's in America, and yearning for the day I will land there.

And, now that I am living that dream, the Mumbai days seem so much more glorious, so much more beautiful, so much more desirable and so much like a dream...

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I also wanted to write a extremely long post titled India Trip - Review, but realized later that the India trip memories need some more time pickling inside me, because, much in the spirit of this blog, memories from the past are much much much more romantic, and writing about them, so much more pleasing, as I can freeze frame at every tiny incident that remains in my memory and savour them. Writing about trips while they are still fresh, is not so much fun.

The Singh's welcomed the latest craze, a 32 inch flat screen HDTV , into their apartment, and being the cricket crazy family that they are, the channel flip stopped at a re-run of India's performance in the 2003 World Cup.

The re-run was at the India-England match in Durban, and memories of the extravagant Sachin pull shot off Caddick whet their appetites.

As Sachin rocked back, and majestically pulled the ball into the stands, and Ravi Shastri, started his usual recorded commentary, Nardendra Singh, let out a sigh. His 20 year old son and 17 year old daughter, immediately started mocking him, "Papa, you could have been playing in South Africa na", they said, and started smiling, disbelieving that the middle aged Narendra Singh with a big moustache, spectacles, and a huge belly, would ever have been young and fit to play cricket.

Narendra Singh, however, had travelled back to Patna in 1976.

It was those days, much before Twenty20, ODI's was just trying to become popular, and BCCI was not the cash rich bully that they are now. Cricket Academies and Coaching classes were established in the big cities and exclusive to the rich. The Indian middle class was still sleeping. For a poor small town boy, international cricket was bought home by the radio and youthful dreams of MCG and Lords.

Cricket was still not a profession then. The national team players hardly made money out of the game, and the Ranji trophy types, played because, that got them a goverment job in the sports quota.

Patna then had a few semi organized league, cricket being played on weekends, which sort of feeded cricketers into a little less shady league, and so on and so forth to the Bihar ranji squad (which was not much of a team either). Narendra Singh played in one such league.

Evening college was much the rage then, seth-lings (young boys who would inherit their father's store) and aspiring bank job seekers, could then spend the day apperenticing and get their degree in the evening, earning some money while studying. Narendra Singh was doing his BCom in an evening college, and balancing the accounts of a big Sari dealer during the day. As was common with most of the middle class service families then, Narendra Singh's income would be transferred to the college as fees. He would surreptiously save a few rupees here and there, and pool it in with 11 other friends to afford the cricket kit and the leather balls and the fees to play in the weekend league.

He used to bat down the order, but was menancingly fast with the new ball. His team, of 5 accountants in the making, the wicket keeper who was a Chemistry major, 2 bachelors from the colony who had their dreams set on IAS and 4 12th drop-outs who juggled odd jobs, had somehow managed it to one of the knock-out games.

On an uneven ground, an overcast August sky welcomed the players, and unkown to them, sitting in the crowd was a Bihar Cricket Association biggie (the opposition team had a player whose father was well connected). Narendra Singh's captain lost the toss, and was asked to bat. The swinging ball accounted for a few early wickets, and suddenly Narendra Singh was out in the middle, his team 52/7 in the 18th over, and 22 overs left in the innings. Narendra Singh's previous batting exploits were nothing great, but somehow, that August morning, the ball contrived to hit the middle of his bat. In what was to be an explosive innings in those days, Narendra Singh managed 40 runs of 55 balls before he got out. And his team were left to defend 130 in 40 overs.

After lunch, Narendra Singh steamed in, and his first ball pitched on good length and moved away from the right handed opener, who tried to block it and missed it. The second one jagged back in and trapped him in front, but the umpire was unmoved. For four overs, Narendra Singh ran in hard, and mesmerized the batsmen, but was unlucky not to have had more success than the 2 wickets that he prized out. However the other bowlers were extravagent, and the match was quickly lost.

As he got his stuff together, and waited at the bus-stop to get back home, the BCA biggie accosted him on his scooter and offered to drop him back home. On the way, Narendra Singh was made an dream offer, a chance to play for Bihar in the Ranji. The biggie, turned out to be a selector in the BCA, and was much impressed by the fast bowling and brave batting. Bihar needs an all-rounder, India needs one, he commented.

Narendra Singh was esctatic, and immediately started day-dreaming about millions of people tuning in ther radios after the afternoon lunch to listen to Narendra Singh rock the English batting in Lords. The dreams were short lived, as his dad Devendra Singh took no time in rejecting Narendra's dream. As with other 17 year olds in the 1970's, Narendra Singh understood the importance of a steady income, and the vagaries of Indian Cricket Team, it's selectors and BCCI. He gave up the dream of bowling at Lords, to more practical dreams of having his own scooter, his small apartment, wife and kids and fan and television etc.

Much to the dissapointment of the BCA biggie, Narendra Singh, remained content with college and weekend matches for his motely team, for the next 3 years. Since then, he passed the Bank selection exam, and has moved up the ladders efficiently, and lived his modest and practical dreams.

But for a few hours on that August afternoon, after that almost magical conversation with the BCA biggie, Narendra Singh was almost an India player in the making.

A smile came on the middle aged Narendra Singh's face, and he continued watching the rest of the re-run. As the TV channel cut to a break, and Pragya Sen, started jigging in the latest Bollywood movie trailer, Mrs Narendra Singh let out a sigh, and the children started, "Ya, We know ma, you could have been the biggest Bollywood heroine".

Arun Raman was like every other young man, tried hard to get into IIT, and settled for a mediocre engineering college, in a god-forsaken corner of the city, tried to differentiate himself in college, but settled to being one of the thousand Infosys recruits, and posted in another god-forsaken corner of another city. He had the IIM dreams too, and diligently traveled a hour to the coaching class every weekend, and discussed strategies and fundaes with other indistinguishable members of his club. CAT too, was a distant dream, but the hard work was rewarded as he ended up with a painfully expensive MBA from a decent place (as compared to the engineering college), and a job as Business analyst for 7lacs per annum.

He was also like every other young man, for he had resigned to the fact that his dreams of an exotic love story, woud be exactly just that: A dream of an exotic love story. He hardly met any girls in his line of work, and the few that he met, were always 'friends'.

Since starting the job two years ago, he has been getting to the 'oh-he is successful' quip from random uncles and aunties in the family. The short trip to America on business, and the car that he purchased was enough to convince Arun's amma, that he will pass the test (of having a stable job and an assured income to take care of a family) in front of prospective in-laws. He was pushing the upper age limit for successful marriages, and will be 28 in a couple of months. She convinced Mr Raman, that it was time to look for the 'bahu' of the house.

And, so they went, in Arun's new car, to the highly reccommended horoscope reader. Shanti, their next-door neighbor never forgot to mention this horoscope reader, who had found her daughter the perfect husband.

The jyotishi, was a retired bank officer, and based on a couple of perfect matches, that he had made, was becoming popular, and earning a lot of money, consulting people, who think all their lives woes are because the stars are in the wrong places in the whole vast universe, and who fool themselves to believe that this is true, because these stars have great gravitational powers.

Mr Raman, dutufully produced the date, place and time of birth of his only son to the jyotishi. The jyotishi then retired into his bedroom, to start the process of calculating where the stars and planets were, on the day of Arun's birth. The Raman's, were sipping the sherbet that Mrs. Jyotishi had offered them.

Mrs Raman was sitting passively, Arun, was on his phone, sms'ing and following the cricket (NZ vs Bangladesh), and Mr Raman, had read today's paper, and was re-reading parts of it. The calculation was taking just too long.

Finally, the jyotish comes out of the room, shaking his head, and sending shivers through Mrs Raman. She had been silently praying that the planets do not play a cruel joke on her son, but the look on the jyotish defied her powers of prayer. The jyotish, imagined himself to be the stern faced doctor in hindi movies with the task of breaking the bad news to the overly sentimental mother in the white sari. With the saddest look that he could make, he broke the news. What to do, he said, the planets have decided. He asked them to do certain pujas to please the Gods, but said that what is written cannot be un-written. Arun's life has been destined to be not-so-pleasent. Mrs Raman, did not want to assimilate the long sad life of her son, but chose to discuss the immediate ramifications of the foretelling, Arun's chances in the marriage market. And that news was not any good either.

The jyotish explained that the probabilities that the planets being placed in a way that will mitigate the cosmic joke on Arun are very less, but asked them to pray, and hope in the large population of the country.

As they were getting to leave, with resigned hearts, the jyotish, suddenly sprang up with a suggestion. Much later, he tried to analyse as to why he made that suggestion. And, he could come up with no reason. Instinctively, he asked the Ramans, to change the time of birth. The planets will be much favourable then, he said. Surprised with such a suggestion coming from the jyotish, they walked away, muttering something about considering it.

Later in the evening, the family got into consulation, calls were made to relatives and friends, soliciting advice. Ethical and religious questions needed to be answered, and the self needed to be convinced of the cosmic stunt that was being planned. Finally, Jaipur mama, was able to convince them to forge the horoscope. A marriage can be made by telling thousand lies, he said.

Mr and Mrs Raman, now found a new passtime, sifting through the profiles of prospective matches, jaunting upto the jyotish to match the horoscopes. Initially, they secretly wanted the original horoscope matched, but gave up after they realized the improbabiltiy of it. Mr Raman, decided to organize the search, and used his newly learnt computer skills to good effect. And, in good time, dinner time discussions were about the merits and demerits of different girls, their profiles, and wild imaginations and theory of why she is the one, or why not!

Soon, Arun, was asked to send emails to a few girls, and asked to talk to them and decide. He juggled dates for a while, and sped around town in his car from a coffee day meeting to a dinner date, to movies and stuff, with different girls. It seemed it was all a blur and dream for him. But, then the pressure increased too, with his parents on his tail everyday, forcing him to decide. All he wanted, was more time with each of them.

But, slowly, he rejected some, and others rejected him, and Arun got back to dreaming exotic love stories. Then, on New years eve, as he headed for a party with his friends, Mrs Raman, showed him Pooja's photo. She said, that this was a good match. Arun, took a look, and instantly, instinctively, took a liking to Pooja. Amma asked him to drop her a mail, and he did it the next day.

The next few days, Arun checked his inbox continuously, checked the 'to' address of the mail he sent a million times a day, and saw his hopes drained, with no mail coming from her. This must be the sad fate that the jyotish talked about, he thought.

Fate had other plans, and Pooja mailed back, after a week, apologizing in every sentence. She had been on a holiday with friends. She said, she liked his photo that her mother had given her, and was 'interested' in trying to see if this can work out. Arun, added her on gtalk, and waited patiently for a green bulb next to her name. They chatted along, on gtalk for a while, about this and that, and decided to meet.

The meeting was magical, and instinctively, Arun and Pooja were dreaming about their marriage. And over the next few meetings, the love blossomed, and they were behaving like a couple out of college.

But, this gave Arun a headache. The small matter of forged horoscopes was eating him. He liked her, and did not care about it, but, he felt that such matters could be fatal later. He did not want the original horoscope to dictate his life, and decided that, it is better setting things straight in person.

On a balmy friday evening, he went to Pooja's place, and confessed about the forged horoscope and about the depressing life, his true horoscope predicted. Pooja's face lost her smile, and her mother, let out a gasp, and a shocked 'WHAT', but instantly, she calmed down, and a wry smile sprung on her face. The smile then became laughter, and Pooja and her dad joined in. Arun looked bewildered.

In a sigh of relief, Pooja's mother admitted to forging Pooja's horoscope too.

Indeed, it was a match ordained by fate, and the marriage preparations began.

As kids growing up in Calcutta, Diwali was of-course loads of fun, but it presented a strange dichotomy.
Any 2nd,3rd,4th standard kid would write "Diwali is the festival of lights. It is the celebration of good versus evil. It is celebrated by wearing new clothes and exchanging sweets with relatives and bursting crackers".

And for us, Diwali was just the new clothes and crackers. In Calcutta, till '92, when we lived in Bhaktiarshah road, we would wake up early morning, for the Ganga Snanam. Amma would then call out to Radhika Aunty across the road, and ask that question : "Ganga Snanam aacha". At 6, we will go to Vichcha Thatha's house (he was thatha's cousin) and wish them Diwali and have breakfast there. Later, when we moved to Vishal, it would be the ganga-snanam, followed by watching Kannukudi Vyadinathan play the violin on Sun TV, and then hot idlis for breakfast, and then spending time chatting up before going to Vichcha Thatha's house.

The highlight was, quite unsurprisingly, the evening, the cracker time.

Growing up, as kids, we never understood the charm of visiting relatives and exchanging sweets line that we never failed to forget to write in the exams.

That was to change with '98 Diwali.

As with everything appa, it would be a surprise. He comes back from office in the evening one day, and proposes a visit to Madras for Diwali ( something, that surprisingly, we had never done, the whole time we had been in Calcutta, around 15 years then). Vids and I, obviously supported the idea. Amma, was being practical, and thought about the expenses and the tickets and all such things, that never bothers us kids.

But as with everything appa, he had made his mind. The next day, he got the tickets (both ways) on the Diwali Special Train to Madras.

And, there it was, out of the blue, a Diwali with relatives.

But the excitement began a whole long time earlier. There was Tatha, Patti, Seetha patti, Ambi Thahta, Chitti, Chittappa, Periappa, Perima, Bharath, Lakshmi, Vivek, Athai Patti, Ramu mama, Visalam Mami, Delhi Patta aka Thathi, and Vinitha in Madras. And, we were getting new dress for each one of them. All this means, huge doses of Shopping. And, it was ultimate fun.

Train journey in October is loads of fun. And, that time, I always liked spending time in the train, and secretly wished that the train got late, so that I could enjoy more time in the train. As a sign of the perfectness of the visit, the train got 6 hours late, and pulled into Madras Central at 1 AM in the morning. Periappa was waiting for us, and I got to see a cell-phone for the first time.

We had reached, probably a couple of days before Diwali, and the next day, was spent planning for the day. Mama came one of those days, and took us to TNagar, to get us new dresses. The day before, we went to Koyambedu market to get vegetables and stuff for the Diwali feast. Later in the evening, Appa took us to the Cracker shop for buying the crackers.

Appa generally has a budget for crackers. Every year the prices increase, but the budget does not increase proportionally. In '98 however, it seemed he had infinite pockets. I would have never imagined that he would get us that many crackers. That, he was definitely in a different mood altogether was when he got us Rockets, something that he steadfastly refused to get us for the past so many years.

In the evening, we presented the new clothes to everyone. Kept it before GOD, and amma and chitti and patti, put small dots of haldi and kumkum on the clothes. And we went to sleep excited beyond words can describe.

Next morning, after the bath, Thatha and Patti gave their blessings and the new clothes, which we wore and promptly went to the terrace for the cracker session. This was the first time we were bursting crackers at the crack of dawn.

The highlight of the cracker bursting session was Appa and Chittappa, fighting like kids on the best way to send a rocket skywards. After procuring, a bottle from downstairs, there was a heated discussion, on the exact angle at which the rocket has to be placed inside the bottle, to attain maximum elevation. That fight, is a standing joke even now, and we never fail to laugh out loud, whenever the Diwali of '98 and that fight is discussed.

Later, we went to Justice Sundaram road, to Periappa's house for breakfast and lunch. Some more crackers were burst then. The Diwali bhakshanam was devoured. Appa, Thatha and Chittappa and Periappa got to watching TV, reading papers and discussing stuff. Amma, and the ladies got working on preparing the feast, and us cousins, got to playing cricket and other games.

Later, after the sumptuous meal, we had a photo session and then we went to greet Athai patti.

The whole day was magical, and special. Although, the sequence of events were the same as every other Diwali, we had discovered the "magical ingredient", the essence of the festival. Of being together with the family. Of sharing jokes sitting together eating. . Of Thatha's stories and Appa and Chittappas effort to better each others joke. Of sharing Calcutta school stories in exchange of Madras school stories.

Of the whole three generations in the family, being at the same place.

And the other thing magical thing was forgetting life, suspending reality for day. Things were not real happy in Madras. There were some family troubles brewing and tensions raising all year in Madras. But for that one day, everything was forgotten, happiness was summoned and Good times were ordered.

And, that, to me is the magic of festivals. Family. Food. Happiness (even if for just a day).

The answer that we wrote in 4th standard was now complete.

Later, in the evening, we went to Nanganallur to Ramu Mama's home. Mami had prepared pulav and other such delicacies. Mama, had gotten an amazing array of fancy crackers, that light up the sky, and the 10000 wallah, that continues and continues for half an hour.

It was the perfect evening to finish of the perfect day.

As it everything perfect, it stays, for a long time as an ideal. Something, that gets increasingly hard to achieve. Thatha passed away in '99, and patti was bed-ridden since then. Seetha Patti and Ambi Thatha moved to Mysore. I was stuck in Engineering College in Bangalore, and then when Appa, Amma were in Bombay, Vidya was stuck in Chennai, and now I am stuck in a place that does not even celebrate Diwali. And, the perfect Diwali has never been repeated.

But the memory serves the festival's purpose, as I sit here in Madison, after spending a fun evening with friends, and the great food that Janani's mom made.

The memories, bring back the happiness and the promise of hope of future special Diwali's to come.

Wish you all a Fantabulous and happy and safe DIWALI.

Enjoy!!!!!


With Thatha and Patti as Tiny-tots!


With Thatha, Patti and Cousins on the Perfect Diwali