In Strange Country

“Stop it!”

“Stop it!”

“What is your problem?”

“What is your problem?”

“Moooooooooommm....he is imitating me!”

“Moooooooooommm....he is imitating me!”

“Jack is an idiot!”

“June is an idiot!”

“Stop it you two. Jack, behave your age. And June, you should know better than to answer back.”

“But he ...”

“She said first ...”

“Not one word from either of you. BEHAVE!”

Both were interrupted sharply by Mom. Her angry eyes made them stay still. They sensed that she was on the edge this time. “If you two don't stop, prepare to be grounded when we get home.” Dad, he wasn't bugged yet. They had been fighting for only an hour. Jack, 10, pulled a face at June. June, 13, responded by tipping her nose at him. He folded his arms and turned his head, staring out the car window. She too turned to the window on her side and stared out. The scenery was whizzing past the window.

Jack started thinking of what his friend, Jonny, would be doing now - fishing happily in the great Mississippi river. He himself had never gone fishing, and when he had been invited these holidays by Jonny, he had had to miss it because his Dad had already made other plans. He remembered he had to go and check the world map to find out where this country, that Dad had mentioned they would be visiting, was. It was somewhere below Russia and near India. No amount of information given by their Dad had prepared him for the heat and the emptiness of land. Instead of blue skies and a flowing river and green trees, he had a desert land, plains and plains of scattered stones; more stubby hills, covered with boulders; no grass let alone trees; no sign of water anywhere and a bright glaring empty sky. His bad mood since the start of the trip had lasted till the end; he was glad that this trip was over now and they were heading back to the hotel. And they would be flying home that night. He was almost home.

Mom too was looking out the window. The kids were quiet now but she knew they would start again soon. Perhaps they could all go on a fishing trip when they were back at home. She looked over at her husband and thought, he will be glad to be home too.

Dad was not looking out his side of the window, but out the front. He was driving. His trip here had been a business one and his meetings had gone well. Meanwhile, he had expected the kids to explore and enjoy on their own; the hotel had even provided tour guides. But both kids complained of the heat and the "boringness" of the place. They just stayed in their room and watched TV. On the last day in the city, he had decided that they would go outside the city in a rented car, just the four of them. He wanted the kids to see how different a country can be, how different a people, how different a life can be - it was not baseball and malls for everyone. But of course, the complaints hadn't stopped and he had turned back towards the hotel, a little angry and disappointed in his efforts. He turned and saw his wife looking at him. He shrugged and smiled; she smiled a tight, supportive smile back at him. She looked ahead at the road and he too turned back to the driving.

“Mom he pinched me!”

“I did not! She's a liar. Liar - stop lying.”

Before either parent could scold them there was a sudden, very loud burst and the car swerved slightly. Dad, always alert, controlled it and pulled over at the roadside. That ended the bickering. They all filed out and went over to the back of the car. Sure enough, the rear left wheel was flat. Dad said they had a spare tyre and he got to work at fixing it. A big rocky hill was to the road’s left with a vast plain to the right, spotted with more hills on the horizon, again only covered with stones and pebbles and short stubby brownish grass. Everything seemed to be a shade of brown and ochre. Not a soul was in sight. The afternoon sun shone mutely at them in a blue sky. Mom went over to see if Dad needed any help; Jack and June walked towards the small hill.

Dad was almost done and was wiping his hands when June came running to him, excitedly. “Dad! There are two men coming, from over the hill. Can they help us?” Dad looked to where she was pointing and saw them. Two dark bearded men were running very fast downhill, towards their car. They stopped and yelled something at them, waving their hands in the air. Dad did not understand the local language, but he could sense that the shouts were not friendly. Dad acted quickly. “June get in the car, quick. Jack! Jack! Run. We're leaving. Run fast!” Mom, who had been sitting inside, stepped out when she heard Dad’s raised voice. Dad yelled at her now. “Stay inside. Thieves! I will get Jack.” June got in and slammed the door. Jack was running towards their car; Dad ran towards him and caught him. He lifted him and ran back towards the car. Somehow, he pushed Jack through the open back door. He lunged towards the front door and shot a quick look at the advancing men. One had reached them now! He got in the driver's seat, slammed the door, and turned the key with a shaking hand.

Jack had been surprised when he had seen the men appear from around the hill and run towards them. He had stood there wondering where they could have come from; he had seen no village or town. The men seemed to be waving too. By the time June had run back to tell Dad, he saw that they were yelling something in their own language. He had been unsure at first, but then they had come close enough for him to see them properly – both were tall, thin, with brown skin and black beards. They wore torn long caftans and dirty, white turbans. One man was lagging behind and Jack saw that he was limping badly. He had a suspiciously big bag. He heard their loud, hoarse shouts again, and it had scared him. That's when he had heard Dad telling him to run; he had turned back towards the car, running as fast as his legs could carry him. He had been sure he would not make it; at least the first man had been so close to him then. He had seen Dad dash at him and it was a relief to feel his strong arms around him first and not those of that man. Dad pushed him quickly at the open back door.

As Jack scrambled to get in, he saw the terrified look on June's face. He turned and banged shut the door but saw that the man had reached his window. He fell hard on the car - he had not slowed down as he reached them - and he now gripped the glass which was half way up. Jack noticed his dirty, black nails and broken skin on his hands. His face was up close- dark, bearded, with many lines. Those intense black eyes looked right in his blue ones. He shouted at Jack. Hekmat ! Hekmat ! . He sounded angry now. He shook the glass, trying to break it, and shouted again – hekmat!. The other man was still behind but would reach them soon.

“Dad, go! Go! Why don't you drive? Drive! He's here!”

Jack heard June yell. He was frozen to see that face so close, but June jumped across and started turning the glass up as fast as she could. Mom pulled at Jack when he didn't move and held him low in his seat. The glass was finally up, after what seemed like ages. The man's fingers were now caught; he yelled in pain and wedged them out somehow. He banged his dirty hand on the clear glass again, and they heard, faintly, the same words – hekmat, hekmat. Dad stepped on the gas pedal then and they drove off, leaving only a small cloud of dust behind them. June turned behind to see if they would be chased, but the men only stood there, looking at the fast receding car. The second man had reached the road too now, and if they had been even a second late in leaving, it would've all been over for them. June heard them shout again. She saw that Jack was shaking and she reached out, hugging him. She realized that she was shaking too. Dad kept asking, “Everybody okay? Everybody okay?” Mom couldn't believe what had happened in those few minutes.

“Oh my God! Who were they?”

“Thieves I'm sure. Or murderers, who knows? We're safe now. We're okay.”

The kids were too scared still to say anything at all and only hugged each other tight.

They drove on to the hotel in dead silence; Mom still turned around in her seat and gripping Jack's hand; June still holding him and crying silently; Dad tense and shaken by the narrow escape they had had. Not one word was said about the incident, all the long way back to the US. They were relieved to be back home and back to their familiar life. Next day, they visited Uncle's (Dad's younger brother) home for dinner. He was well travelled and loved to explore new places. He had not visited this East Asian country though and was much interested to hear about their experience. He added there was a chance that he might travel there soon himself. Dad told about his experience across through the city, the people and the culture that he had observed.

Finally, Uncle remarked, “Well! It was good you had a chance to visit such a very different country. And I’m sure you have some good memories of it; maybe even visit again, yes?”

Dad replied, reluctantly, “Well, we did have one unpleasant incident on the last day...”

He then recounted the whole story by the road side.

Uncle reacted, “But this is very shocking! It is lucky you all escaped unharmed.” Then, “But I’m curious. Do you know exactly what they were saying?”

Dad said, “Shouting you mean. Well I don't know their language so I cannot say.”

Jack added, “They were really shouting just that one word- hekmat”. June agreed with him. After much arguing, with Mom saying she had heard something else, they decided exactly what they had been shouting.

Uncle said, “Hmm, I have some knowledge of their language but this word is not familiar to me… I do have a dictionary of the language. Lets look this up afterwards.”

Dinner over, they moved to the library. A heavy dictionary was taken off the shelves and Uncle started flipping through the pages, searching for the word. They all looked at him expectantly. The kids especially were excited to learn what it might mean. Uncle didn’t look up for quite some time but they all saw that he wasn't turning the pages anymore- he was staring at the same spot on the open page on his left. Dad asked if he had found it and Uncle replied, without looking up, that he had.

He spoke again, softly. “Medicine. It means medicine.”

The Moment of Truth

The dust rose as he kicked the ground. He was swinging on an old and creaky yellow swing. The play ground was almost deserted. Most kids were off to other exotic places for a vacation. Those here now were too young to play with. He got off the swing in a sudden jump. As he left the playground, a sudden gust of wind caught him, blowing the shiny black hair off his small forehead.

The dead leaves danced all around him as he walked towards his home. He missed his father. The visits seemed to have gotten more and more infrequent. And now he was gone on a business trip to some place which he didn’t bother finding out since he slammed the phone down as soon as he heard that he would not be coming for another 6 months at least. He saw Tommy on the road, playing catch with his Dad. He kept at a safe distance so they couldn't shout and invite him to join their game. She had told him many times to go play with them. But he wanted his Dad. Not anyone else. Why didn’t she get that?

He neared where his apartment was; looking up he saw the windows and the curtains fluttering softly in the afternoon heat. Suddenly, he hated that place, his home. That place - the complex, his nice neighbors, the tiny elevator, the green door, the smooth floors, the flowered walls, everything! He had to get away. The place which popped in his head immediately was the restaurant where she worked. It was her he missed now, though he would be seeing her in only an hour or so. He hated the place (why were there so many things he hated?), but he felt he just had to see her.

A small place, it was not exactly the most popular place in town. Besides her there were only two waitresses there. Today being Saturday evening, it would be crowded enough though to keep them all very busy.

The place was quite far away but he chose to walk. He noticed nothing and no one. When he reached there already the sun was starting to fade. He saw the big neon sign outside, and paused. Stupid place. He wouldn’t eat here if his life depended on it. He went around the back and peeped through a window. He could see the tables and the diners through the smoky air. The door opened for a moment and a sudden smell of boiled cabbage hit him. He twisted his nose in disgust and watched.

The door opened again and she came carrying someone's order. She was a slim lady with a soft face that had not aged at all. She wore her yellow hair in a neat bun on her nape. Still she managed to look like a college student who was only working part time. He watched her walk briskly with her small steps to a table, and lay the plates down deftly. With a brief smile that was hardly seen by the diners, she moved on to the next table - a group of old men playing cards. She chatted with them as she cleared their table of ash trays and mugs. One of the men said something, maybe a compliment and suddenly her face broke out into a smile. This time he knew it was real- it touched her eyes. She replied something, which made them laugh in return. She picked up the remaining trays and moved back into the kitchen. The smell of boiled cabbage came and went again.

He got up slowly and turned to go back. He did not remember the walk back, but surprisingly, he skipped the elevator and climbed the steps up to their home. He let himself in and instead of banging the door behind him, he locked it carefully. Instead of throwing his shoes on the carpet, he placed them neatly on the shoe rack. Instead of planting himself in front of the TV, he went to his room and cleaned it for the first time in his life without someone yelling at him. He came out and cleared the living room - putting everything in its right place. Next he vacuumed the whole apartment - their home. Then into the kitchen, he cleaned all the dishes from last night. From the fridge, instead of a coke he had a glass of cold milk. He felt really good inside.

There in the wooden cupboard was the expensive china that was used only for special occasions. He couldn’t remember the last time they had had one. He took it down and carefully cleaned it. The glasses were shined and the silver was polished next. He thought about what he would be the quickest thing to cook. An hour later, the cucumber and mayonnaise sandwiches were cut and ready. The table was set neatly with the china and silverware. He lighted two candles, set them in the center of the table and turned off the lights.

The door key turned and she entered. Frowning at the darkness, she called out to him,

"I’m home! Where are you? No TV today?!"

Then a sigh and she said again,

"Is it okay if we have sandwiches for dinner? I’m too tired to cook now."

No reply. Was he angry and shut up in his room again?

She reached the kitchen by now and she stopped, dumbstruck. She saw the clean shiny kitchen -the pans all hung clean, the bottles and jars all in a row, and the tiles all aglow. The two slim candles on the table shone warmly on the scene. He came and stood beside her.

He took her hand and said, "Dinner is served."

She smiled down at him and it was the most brilliant smile a mother ever smiled.

Whiteboard art

and

Red Blue Green Black

How I learned to stop worrying and love the game.

Once upon a time, in a land far far away, there lived a very strange girl. Well, the others thought her strange. Reason? She thought that a certain sport - cricket -was NOT the greatest thing invented by man since potato chips or the Swiss Army knife. The girl happened to be me.

My papa and brother obviously loved the game. Somehow I never took a liking to it unlike WWF or football. The never ending discussions of run rate and average and ODI rankings at home, school, shops, clinics, bus stops, marriages, et al. bored me to tears. A few of my friends were crazy about it, and whenever the discussion about last night's match came up, I just had to nod my head and listen. Or in case I was feeling devilish, make comments like "Hey why do they run back like scared crows whenever it rains? I’ve seen foot ball games that continue even in snow!" Or "Hey can u play a match without all this gear? Helmet and knee pads and stumps and cheerleaders...".[Typical obnoxious behavior on my part to argue about things I don’t care about at all].

Then it happened that some of my team mates were having a cricket tourney and invited me to play with them. So I said, instead of being an empty talker, let’s see what the big deal is about really. So I went to cricket practice for a week. Turns out, bowling has too much technique and all I did was chuck. Turns out, batting involves holding that wooden willow bat [duh], which is damn heavy. Turns out, fielding involved having extremely good reflexes and being quick in throwing long distance, and worse at the right side of the pitch[!] accurately. Hmmm, so not so easy after all. And surprisisngly, nowhere close to boring as it seems on TV.

Being pathetic at batting and bowling, I was told to just learn to do fielding.

“Like Jonty Rhodes!”, I exclaimed. We did fielding practice standing in a circle as is the fashion, and it was totally fun. I got sun burns on the first day, but then it was not considered wimpy to use sun screen.

Bowling was and is a very distant dream for me. I still cannot hold it in just between my two fingers and the thumb - too painful. Plus it creeped me out to touch the ball after so many had rubbed their saliva into it. Yuck.

Batsmen are the ones who get all the glory and the fame, but one should know to judge the incoming ball within seconds and the way to swing it at the right moment and the right angle - not something you can learn in a week or for some, even a lifetime. A Sachin is not born every day.

While practicing some memories came back to me. Having a brother meant I would play catch everyday from 4 to 7. He would throw the small cricket ball really high, sometimes I would lose sight of it in the blue clouds and the white sky. [I could never reach that height no matter how hard I tried :(]. I had to catch it right each time, no matter how hard it hit my palm; else he would get bugged and call me a stupid girl! Come to think of it, all of them here were kids somehow, these sportsmen too: big boys playing this silly bat and ball game, like it really was something very serious and important.

Still I was fascinated that they could play so well and so easily. But then as my friend said, it’s what they have been doing 24 hours since they could walk and talk. It’s second habit for any guy in India - eat cricket, drink cricket, sleep cricket.

We played two matches and lost both. But it was okay. Since I had never played a team sport before, I caught a fleeting glimpse of what it means to be in a cricket team.Who gets to open the batting, who fields where; strategy huddles even with just the last two overs remaining. Criticism, claps on the back, celebrations at the fall of a wicket, sledging even. Always the captain and the wicket keeper encouraged [now I know why they yell so much after each and every ball]. How to take 11 players and make one great team. And one hell of an experience.

Lesson learned: Maybe cricket isn’t so boring after all. [Next time I shall think twice before saying anything about any game or sport.I'm sure now that golf is a great sport and is very useful].

I just played two matches, and already I think it’s a pretty neat game. And one catch I took is still talked about with respect :). Someday I plan to watch a test match live for the full 5 days.

For the controversies on and off field, it might beat all games present hands down. From body line [my fave] to Cronje to Woolmer to Indian coaches to metal bats to sledging to racism to slapping-crying to streaking, it has it all. And now cheerleaders too.Though for me, a lot remains to be learnt. Like why Ravi Shastri would sit on the pitch and describe for full 20 minutes, the amount of dead grass and the cracks on it; or why people hate Monsieurs Duckworth and Lewis.

I shall definitely pay attention at the next discussion over cricket. Anyways, social acceptance increases if you can discuss something about last night’s game or any upcoming game. The best ice breaker between strangers in India is to discuss cricket. As easy as that. Now I shall stop writing. I have to go watch the one hour pre match analysis of India vs Australia ODI. Another cricket couch advisor is born \m/.