SWATI AND SASHA

Swati was about 3 years old, wheat complexioned,chubby and short. She was a neighbour's daughter in the Bhilai Steel Plant's township. What distinguished her from other children in the neighbourhood was the fact that she had a Russian boy friend called Sasha who was also of her age.

Swati and Sasha were inseparables. Swati spoke no language other than Gujarati and Sasha likewise could speak only Russian. This did not pose any barriers between them. They understood each other very well. In course of time, Sasha picked up a few words of Gujarati and Swati, a few of Russian. At Sasha's, both sat on the dining table for their repasts of Borsch soup or Kalabassa from ceramic tableware. At Swati's they squatted on wooden boards ( Patlas ) on the floor and feasted on Dudhpak or Dhokla from stainless steel plates.

Both were banished from time to time from their homes for such harmless acts as Sassabhai's ( his pet name at Swati's place ) presenting crabs to Swati's vegetarian mother as a token of affection or Swatka's ( her pet name at Sasha's place ) eating noisily, making slurping sounds, at Sasha's mother's table to show her appreciation of the food that she was devouring. At such times, my bachelor household provided them with a safe haven. Here, they could frolic, sing, dance or upset things without any demur on anyone's part. I was their Kaka and Dyadya Gujarati and Russian words for uncle.

All good things have to end sooner or later. So they felt when they learnt that I was to marry. They had seen my fiancee's photograph on my bedside table, so when she came as a bride to my house, she was grudgingly accepted. Luckily, my wife, unlike their mothers, had more time on her hands. She could therefore put up with their ways. On their part, they gladly ran errands for her. All went smoothly for some time.

Then, my mother came down to see how her son was coping with married life. For a week, Swati restrained herself. But then it was too much. One day, she cornered the old lady.
" Do you eat here everyday " ? she enquired.
" Yes " said my mother, somewhat amused.
" Do you bathe here also " ? was the next.
" Yes, why " ?
" You even sleep here " ?
" Yes, Of course !
"Well, when are you leaving " ? This with Swati's hands on her tiny but determined waist.

My mother was struck far too dumb at being told by a rank outsider that she was unwelcome in her own son's house. She could not readily muster a suitable rejoinder. Pressing her advantage further, Swati added,
" This is MY Kaka's house "
"Ha, MARA dyadyanun " ( yes, my uncle's ) supported Sasha in his best Russo - Gujarati tongue.

In the evening, on my return home, my mother mentioned about this tete - a - tete to me.
" Did you object to Swati's dancing on the dining table with metallic plates and spoons for musical accompaniment " ? I asked.
" Yes ", said mother.
" Did you refuse entry to Sasha when he was wearing snails for earrings " ? I probed further.
" Yes, Of course ", indignantly replied my mother.
" Well then, what else do you expect " ?

Comprehension descended on my mother like a ton of bricks. And she smiled. Needless to add that thereafter my mother became " Dadi " for Swati and " Babushka " for Sasha just as my wife had earlier become " Kaki " and "Tyotya ".

How old have I grown ? For, to-day I have on my hand, an invitation card for Swati's marriage. No, not to Sasha, you romantic fools !