Thursday, August 25, 2011

TWO FACES OF ADAM

" Men get naughty at four zero forty " is a line that I have recited times without number, while conducting the Tombola. The truth behind this saying was however realized by me when travelling by the Rajdhani Express recently. When one travels by this elite train's air conditioned chair car, it is unusual for one to look at the scenery outside. The windows are fixed type and can not be opened. The window glasses are translucent and in any case, the blinds are drawn. One is therefore inclined to concentrate on the scenery inside.

Opposite to me sat a lady who was much too serene for my mood of the moment. It appeared that she had made peace with herself. God bless her. A man sitting behind her had a " Teach yourself Spanish " book. A few moments of chit-chat with him on the subject exhausted all my stock of conversation on the subject of Latin Languages. Discussion on Cricket with a few young and not so ma young men, perusal of a journal, exchange of a few inane remarks on the weather and the like and I was left to my own devices.

It was then that I noticed this adolescent girl Marilyn Monroeing her way to the toilet. What struck me about her was the fact that she was well rounded in all directions and had a gyratory motion. Adumpling of tender meat. I mentally named her Miss Dumpling. i was anxious to make her acquaitance. My inhibitions about being a family man prevented me from following my natural instincts, which except from a freudian angle, were entirely honourable. I was trying to kill my instincts therefore. Fortunately, an opportunity presented itself.

Miss Dumpling, a younger boy accompanying her and a couple of young men started playing cards. After a while, I sauntered over that side even though the game was over. On that first trip, my courage failed. On the next however, I asked her younger brother, for that is what the younger boy accompanying her was. The question was rhetoric, for I knew that he had. By that natural instinct with which the female of the species is endowed, she understood that the question was addressed to her. It was she who replied in the affirmative. I lingered. She sensed my wish and also my inhibition.

" Would you like to play ? ", she asked.

" Yes, what games do you play ? "

" Rummy "

Rummy would have been too slow a game for me at the given time. i offered to teach her a new game, whose name is variously given as graduates or eights or five cards. I call it blow for blow. The fun of the game lies in playing a similar card as the other person till at an opportune moment, you trip him up after having roused his expectations. a management game. Or rather a political game.

The same group except a young Sardarji who had till then been her beau for the journey, gathered to play. Sardarji was perhaps feeling jilted. Can't blame him. Might have felt the same way, had I been in his place. A South Indian young chap, a rival to the Sardarji, was wiser. He joined in. Probably thought my age would bar me. He was partly right, for Miss Dumpling called me uncle. He was largely wrong however for she picked on me as her chosen enemy. All the penalty cartds were given to me only. That is ironically, the way of showing her preference.

After a while, she excused herself to make herhair, she said. Wanted to make herself presentable. I took it as a compliment. she took just the right amount of time to make her absence felt. Came back with a hair do which made her look even more rounded. Would have made a good model for Leonardo da Vinci.

She rejoined the game. It seemed that she had decided to like me even more than before, during her reflection in the toilet. she wreaked even more vengence on me.

" Here you are, uncle " she would say venomously as she gave me the penalty cards. I would retaliate with samples like,

" Take this Miss Dumpling ( Yes to her face ).

" Two lovely cards for my Rajdhani niece "

" A gift from a doting uncle "

" Come on, Tai "

" Well, well Akka Raje " ( She was a Maharashtrian )

" Just you wait, my dear Eliza ".... ( A touch of Prof. Higgins )

.......and so on. The game was exhilirating and I was feeling younger than ever. Ayurvedic, Unani, or Allopathic systems have not yet invented a better aprodiasic or rejuvenator than the forbidden fruit.

Good old New Delhi came. My spirits werte buoyant. On the platform, I wished to bid her a fond farewell. She averted her eyes however. Her proper looking parents were with her. I understood. She was mod in the train. Had to be a good girl in front of her parents. Two faces of Eve ! Why blame her ? I am myself like that.

A hippie at heart, I am a square by force of habit. My hippie seilm hero, " Good bye, Miss Dumpling, phir kabhi milenge ". Just then, I saw my wife. The gay mood persisted nevertheless. I ran, swept her in a torrid embrace. She was delighted. Poor wives ! If they knew the mental mischief, husbands get into, in their absence !

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