Palmgrove Road Monkeys

Palmgrove road is a broad avenue with a large tree in the middle of the crossing at the beginning of Bangalore's 'Ding-town', Victoria layout. It has a four-storied apartment block of some Bank Officers’ Co-operative. I had rented the South corner flat on the top floor. Right in front of my balcony was a huge Mango tree which gave fruit round the year. My favorite Sunday afternoon, after a leisurely breakfast at Hotel Victoria was to laze in the balcony and read.

It was a winter afternoon and I was deep into Irving Stone’s Passions of the mind, when I saw a family of monkeys playing on the tree. One naughty little fellow jumped onto my balcony and sneaked away with my pop-corn. As he reached back, his mother slapped him hard. My maid said ‘Saab, these fellows are rowdies to be watched from a distance.’

Something happened that day. I still don’t know what. After my maid left, I spent the next hour carefully making a noose and testing it. I laid it on the balcony, threaded it from a loop on the overhang and pulled it into the kitchen. I left some stuff to eat on the balcony and waited. The Little fellow saw his mother had dozed off and ventured on to the balcony. As he stepped into the noose I pulled hard. In a second, he was strung by his hind leg and dangling in mid-air.

Soon the tree was rent with cries from the entire arboreal family. I had locked all my doors and windows. My balcony was thumping with the weight of over ten monkeys. They were jumping up and down, trying to reach out to the kid. Nothing worked. I watched from the darkened kitchen. At about mid-night I woke up, after checking if any of them were still around, I pulled at the tug-knot. The monkey went into a free fall from nearly fifty feet and fell to his death on the concrete floor.

I went on a tour next morning and came back after a week. I heard that monkeys had gone on a rampage for the next two days and residents’ committee had to call helpers from the Zoo to get rid of them. No one understood how the little monkey fell off the tree and why the clan kept jumping on to my balcony angrily.

I do not know why I did what I did, also why was there a subliminal spread of warmth and happiness whenever I thought about it. I tried to observe my behavior but could not find any anomaly. I was pretty normal, worked hard, was good at my work, loved playing with children, loved to go out for a beer. There were a few girls in office, somehow I had never gone out with any but was quite friendly with all of them. Like I said, I was pretty normal kind of a guy.

Since that day however, I occasionally hear the thump of the monkeys jumping on my balcony.

******

I distinctly remember it was the 15th of August. All children in the building were playing and making a racket in the corridor. I heard the thump of the monkeys again. I went out and bought a few kites and thread. I made it a point to walk through the swarm of kids. Then I left my door open. Around Five O’clock two little boys walked in. They must have been about seven or eight.

‘Uncle what is this?’
‘Have you never seen a kite before?’
‘Of course we have and I can fly one too’.
‘Do you both want to try your hand at it? I also have some Coke and pop-corn. We could go to the terrace and have a kite picnic’

Off we went. The building’s terrace was never used and the door to it was jammed. With a little bit of pushing the latch fell off and we were out. It took us all of fifteen minutes to thread the kites and they were away. I taught both of them to hold the thread taut, pull and let go at the right time. There weren’t too many kites in the sky but we were able to cut a couple and felt really happy.

I was silently watching time. It was almost dark now. I peered over the parapet and could see the children’s parents speaking to the guards. I opened the Coke bottles and brought out the eatables. Both of them were having a ball. Our kite was still up.

‘Mom will scream at me’

I ignored him and brought out my special kite. It had fluorescent colours and a string of LED’s along its spine, powered by a tiny battery. Its shimmering long tail made it look like a UFO in the dark sky.

‘Wow! Uncle where did you get this?’
‘Do you want to give it a try?’

With screams of excitement we set off our UFO. It soared immediately. Handing it to the boys, I went to the edge of the terrace and looked down. There was a Police jeep there now and I could see a lot of people milling about. I pulled my head back quickly. It was Eight by now and quite dark, the only light on the terrace was from other buildings. We were having fun.

‘If you all want to continue, I’ll go bring some Maggi noodles and Coke’
‘Yes. Yes. Yes’ came the chorus.

I went down to my flat and cooked some noodles, took out more chips and a large bottle of Coke. By the time we were done with all the food our kite was blazing across the night sky. It was getting cold now and I decided to call it a day. We brought the kite down, rolled up the thread, picked up the basket of food and empty bottles and came down. I had purposely left the TV on. Cartoon Network was showing Tom and Jerry.

It was nearly eleven when the two boys left. Their parents were at my door in five minutes flat. Their anxiety ridden faces were to be seen to be believed. Police came in another fifteen. We had been flying kites, there was clearly no case. I was asked to come to the Police station and give a statement.

I still could not figure out why I did it but the parents’ faces had at least put the thumping monkeys off to sleep.

******

There were to be many such escapades in my life. Each time those rowdy monkeys had jumped angrily in my head and each time there was a feeling of slow exhilaration afterwards. This one made me appear in court, only on suspicion mind you.

On Church Street, off Brigade road, was a pub called Pelican. It was a small place with narrow floor plates stacked up and a circular stairway. Their music always brought a very distinct crowd. My favorite was Jim Morrison. Beer was cheap and a pan-shop there used to sell Hash. Once you got in you were left to yourself till early hours. At Pelican, one Saturday night the monkeys became very agitated.

I noticed two blond girls smoking a joint. I sidled up to them and struck up a conversation. Lydia was German and Monica was Dutch. The duo was back-packing around India and had met in Delhi last week. They had just reached Bangalore. At about 11 PM, when I ran out of money, I offered to continue the party at my house. We tripled on my bike to my Palmgrove road flat. With two girls in my house, high and willing, you would have thought my evening was complete. But monkeys needed to be calmed.

I had by now figured that they did not know each other well and were on their own to explore India. We had a great time for the next couple of hours. I had taken out my cache of triple zero proof AK47 aka Maroc aka Afghani Hashish. All of us were semi-delirious when I suggested,

‘Y’all want to come to Pondy?’
‘Yea’, came back a chorus.
‘Right now’
‘Sure, I am game’ that was Monica. ‘How? On your bike?’
‘Of course but Lyd will have to catch a bus’

So it was decided to send Lydia on a bus, while I and Monica would come on my Bike. We left home at about 2 O’clock, went to Majestic. I asked Monica to go and put Lydia in the Pondicherry bus. I handed her a bottle of Fanta mixed Vodka and a cigarette rolled joint for the bus journey. I stayed out of sight while Monica came skipping back soon.

I kicked my bike and we took off, stopping on the way to buy Fanoos-rolls. Monica was hugging me hard and the wind was blowing on my face. Gradually the affect of booze and hash wore off. When I passed a sign, Mysore 90 Km, the monkeys were smiling.

Monica was disappointed that I had taken a wrong turn-off and landed up here instead of Pondy but she was enjoying the adventure. After a week, when she wanted to go on to Kerala, we exchanged phone numbers and I promised to let her know if Lydia called.

The game however had not gone as per script. Lydia died on that bus journey to Pondy. She was asthmatic and the excess of Hashish and liquor had been too much for her. I came to know two weeks later, when Police came looking for two foreign girls from the watchman in my building. The rascal had no hesitation in pointing towards me. I went with the cops and told them that she went to Pondy while I went to Mysore.

Its been two months and they have not been able to find Monica to refute my story. They suspect some foul play and can’t figure out what happened. In my mind I am clear it was just a prank. I did not mean for Lydia to die, even though I had seen her use the asthmatic pump and had emptied it before we left for the bus-stand.

Jimmy

Night sky in the mountains is spectacular. Its like a billion eyes are focused on you screaming for attention amidst quiet and stillness of deep sea. Still spectacular but it wasn’t like that in May of 1999. Not on Tiger Hill.

“Lieutenant Rajveer Tomar, reporting for alpha company sir. We have taken position in ‘Parion ka Talab’ sir. There is heavy arty fire from enemy lines”
“Rajveer, you have to move on. Tiger Hill is only half a kilometer away”
“Yes Sir. But the jawans are suffering, its really cold sir”
“The Pakis can see the highway from Tiger Hill and have stopped all our supplies lines. That position is really crucial. Do your duty to the nation soldier”
“Yes Sir.”

The night sky was lit with tracers and gunfire from the Paki bunkers. He had to scream to be heard over the radio.

Explosions all around them were enough to demoralize everyone.

“There.. These bastards won’t let up even at night”
“Tomar Sahib, now my water bottle too is empty and it’s getting really cold. What should we do?”

He had lost twenty men. As he sat their in the lee of a rock he smiled as Kenny Rogers came to his mind, ‘There’ll be time enough for counting when the dealing’s done’.

“Its only 400-500 paces now. Once we start moving you won’t feel so cold Harikrishan. This mission has come directly from the HQ. We must win this post for our country. Jawan stop whining. Get up, let’s rock this post”

They broke cover, dashed to the next rock, firing all the while. The bunker was now within RPG range. Rajveer loaded up and fired. He saw it bounce off the solid concrete bunker and explode without causing any damage. As they were loading it up again there was a massive explosion.

The Pakis had located their meager cover and blasted them off.
***
Jimmy, as Lt. Rajveer Singh Tomar, 8th Sikh Regiment, was known at home got up bathed in sweat in the middle of the night. It was ten years since Kargil. He still got these nightmares. Sometimes a bright light from behind his eyes, sometimes a feeling of warm fluid dribbling from his mouth and sometimes an acute claustrophobia would wake him up.

He had led the initial company of brave soldiers in May ’99 who were naively sent up to Tiger Hill. He was the only one to come back alive. Severely injured, his hip shot and mentally scarred for life.

He started his car that morning from his Dad’s farm just off Jeolikot. He enjoyed the drive in the hills. He drove off in a cloud of engine revs and calming notes of his favourite, Kenny Rogers.
His Dad kept worrying for him even after ten years. Jimmy had refused to marry too, so he was only one to worry for him. Tomar Senior remembered Jimmy as a feisty young kid always full of beans. Their Chandigarh house was a bee-hive of activity; Jimmy’s friends would be in and out, at all times of the day.

“Hi Uncle, Is Jimmy at home?”
“Isn’t it time for your classes? What are you all doing here at this time?”
“There’s a strike in our college Uncle”
“So, now you all are going to be gallivanting all day then. Why don’t you spend time in the library?”
Gitu giggled loudly, skipped through the drive-way, entered from the side-door and went straight to Jimmy’s room.

She was a bright girl, always chirpy, and was very pretty. She was doing well in her studies too. Tomar Sr. and Gitu’s father were Bridge partners. He was very fond of her but always sensed a streak of recklessness in her. He also could see a little twinkle in Jimmy’s eye whenever she was around. He hoped, as these two grew older and sensible, they would settle in their careers and hopefully get married too.

They had both come rushing out. Jimmy started his bike and waved to his Dad.

“Bye Dad. We should be back by afternoon. We are going up-hill”
“Drive carefully. Wear your helmet. Give one to Gitu too”.
“Yes Sir” he said as both of them put on their helmets.

They both laughed and went off. You could hear their bike screaming with excitement.

Ten years on, he was driving from Jeolikot to Nainital. He was enjoying the warm sun-shine, as Kenny sang the Gambler. Now he saw a broken down Qualis and some people sitting on the road side. He drove past slowly even as Kenny Rogers moved to ‘Islands in the stream’ his duet with Dolly Parton.

Three years of Jimmy’s graduation seemed to have passed in a jiffy. His love for the Army was well known in the family. When he appeared for CDS exam, no one was surprised. He had done well and was selected for Indian Military Academy, Dehradun. He was to undergo one and a half years training at Dehradun and then would be posted somewhere.

When his first posting was announced as Amritsar, he was very happy. He was going to be an Infantryman.
***
Then he saw her. The same silky brown hair; the same little arrogant tilt to her shoulders; the same doe-eyed face; the same impish smile. She was standing there trying to shield her eyes from the sharp sun-shine. A tan leather bag was lying on the ground like her floppy Golden Retriever. She wore a light-blue Punjabi-suit with white churidar and a printed colourful dupatta. The same statuesque posture. Last ten years flashed though his mind. He had seen that figure so many times.

Jimmy had loved Gitu ever since he could remember. Those heady college days were a breeze. They had been a pair at college. When he had been commissioned as Lieutenant, the Bridge partners decided that their children should get married.

No one among their friends was surprised to hear of their engagement. It was a small, family and friends affair at Lake Club in Chandigarh. Gitu had worn a brocaded pale blue Lehnga and looked like a film star. She had a thing for pastel blue. Jimmy was his dapper self, tall and handsome. He had begun sporting a moustache at the Academy.

He was at home in Chandigarh when the call came. Forces were being mobilized. It was time.

***
‘Gitanjali?’ He whispered to himself and screeched to a halt. He slowly reversed his car, came abreast, took off his sun-glasses and rolled the car window down.
‘Gitu?’
‘Jimmy?’

There was an un-perceptible hesitation in her step but the weight of an avalanche of memories and images was too much. She stepped into the car.

‘Can you imagine, seeing you here after so many years’ she said. ‘My God! It must have been, what ten years? Tell me all about yourself. How has life been? You must be married. Children?’

She was flowing like a mountain stream. That’s how she had always been. Kenny Rogers changed tracks and began, ‘Ruby, Don’t take your love to town..’ He turned up the volume from the buttons on the steering wheel.

You've painted up your lips, And rolled and curled your tinted hair
Ruby are you contemplating going out somewhere
The shadow on the wall tells me the sun is going down
Oh Ruby… Don't take your love to town

“Yes I am fine. No never married. Live on my Dad’s farm. Help him out a bit. Tell me about yourself. You’ve clearly done well for yourself”
“Yes no regrets. I became a model, roamed the world, enjoyed my life. You remember Sachin?”
“Whose Dad was a shippy?”
“Yeah same. We were living together for a while. I just broke up..”

Jimmy was slipping into one of his quite spells while she was going on and on about herself…

It wasn't me, that started that old crazy Asian war
But I was proud to go, And do my patriotic chore.
And yes, it's true that, I'm not the man I used to be
Oh, Ruby I still need some company

“You know its good that we didn’t hitch up” she was now analyzing their relationship. “Even though we enjoyed our time together, I don’t think we were made for each other”

Something gave way in Jimmy’s mind as he slipped into those days. Gitu had never visited him even once in the Hospital. He had been slipping in and out of consciousness for the first six months but after that he had asked his Dad many times about her.

‘She’s now a model and needs to travel a lot for her work. She’ll be here soon’ he had said.

Finally he came home on a wheel chair after a year. All his old friends came to see him, there were flowers and chocolates every day. It was Varun who finally spilt the beans one evening over a drink.

‘She has changed a lot man. She’s become a celebrity and behaves like one. I met her at Bombay airport last week. She just looked through me man. Can you believe it? I still went up and said Hi. She seemed embarrassed to see me. She was with a hunk who kept nibbling at her ear’.

I am sorry Buddy but I think you should forget her and get on with your life.’

That day his life had drained out from him. He had started drinking and went into a depression. It had taken six months of therapy to bring him back to normal. His Dad had decided to move with him to their farm in Jeolikot that day.

He turned up the volume further and increased the speed of his car. These were serious hills for driving but Jimmy’s eyes were focused as the car ate up hair-pin bends.

Its hard to love a man, Whose legs are bent and paralyzed
And the wants and the needs of a woman your age, Ruby I realize,
But it won't be long I've heard them say until I’m not around
Oh Ruby…Don't take your love to town

The car was now doing 70. The vehicles coming from the other side screamed past. Gitu too realized now that something was wrong. She became quiet. The loud notes of Kenny Rogers were the only sounds other than the swish of the cliff on their left.

“Jimmy slow down” there was a little bit of fear in her flippant voice. The car’s speedometer kept climbing slowly. They were now doing 80 Kmph. And he was quiet
“Jimmy, what are you doing? We’ll crash. This is dangerous”
“Jimmy please. Why don’t you say something?”

She's leaving now cause, I just heard the slamming of the door
The way I know I've heard it, Some 100 times before
And if I could move I'd get my gun, And put her in the ground
Oh Ruby…Don't take your love to town

The windows were rolled down and the cold April wind was biting at their faces. There was sheer terror in Gitu’s eyes as the car touched 90. They had just passed a small car whose passenger’s screamed at them. He was taking the bends at break-neck speeds.

They hit a straight stretch and car accelerated again. Then she saw the turn-off towards Kilbury. It was the highest point on the mountain.

“Jimmy no. Jimmy please. Jimmy stop, I am sorry Jimmy please stop.” Even as she was saying sorry, the car did not take the turn and leapt off the road into the ravine below.

There was complete silence; it was as if time stopped. Kenny Rogers notes echoed in the valley..

Oh Ruby… for God's sake turn around.

Mephistopheles

Nazi patrol had been especially active that night. It was now a week that the dreaded SS had been looking everywhere for members of the French resistance. Little boys had been bringing news as one after the other of his comrades was picked up.

He heard the screeching noise of trucks stopping in the street below. Jaque looked down from his sixth floor flat and immediately blew the candles. He saw soldiers spilling out of the back of the truck on to the snow lined street, like black ink being poured on a white sheet. He knew then and quickly tried to wake her up,

‘Yvo.. Yvo get up. We have to move.’

Yvonne had been suffering from consumption since last winter; she had seemed to recover a bit in the summer. Petain’s betrayal in June had destroyed all their hopes and future. It had been six months now. Nazis controlled everything in Paris. Jaque struggled to get food-tickets and her medicine.

He would have moved her to the hills but Nazi pressure had forced Jaque to hide in Paris itself. Winter had set in now and Yvonne was struggling to even breathe. They would stay up nights as she sucked in short sharp gasps and spat out blood.

Now the Nazi vampires had reached their door-step. He woke her up and covered her with warm clothes and a blanket. They escaped from the fire-ladder and dropped to the street. As they moved from the shelter of the building, a gust of icy wind hit her and Yvonne collapsed. Jaque lifted her in his arms and ran. He crossed the back alley and came out behind the park. He carried her on his shoulder and moved towards the Seine.

It had been snowing. He saw flakes floating down to settle on the ground. It seemed like a dream painted by Delacroix with Mephistopheles clouding over France. As he gently put her down on a bench overlooking the river he called out to her,

'Yvo, Yvo, we are safe here for a while. These devils will not come out to check here in this weather. But we must move soon, this cold is not good for you'

She nodded and coughed once.

His only passion other than France was Yvonne. They had loved each other since they were kids. He had enrolled to become a doctor before the war broke out. He knew that TB was an even bigger threat than the war. Even though BCG had been developed, it was still not widely available. The disease had killed hundreds of thousands in Europe. The sanatoria were full of patients waiting to die.

'Yvo... Yvo! Wake up Yvo. Wake up'
He was now shaking her hard. Not believing that on this cold winter Paris night he would save Yvo from one devil and lose her to another.

The Shoemaker

Nakamura San was an old and frail man with hundreds of wrinkles on his face. He walked about very slowly and rarely spoke. No one knew how old he was. For the people of the tiny town near the ancient city of Kamakura he was known as Kutsuya Shinjin, a mystical cobbler. No one had ever seen his wife but he had two daughters Kimiko and the beautiful Miha. Some old-timers said that he had brought the girls one by one from the ancient Shogun temple at Okura as children.

He made women's shoes. Each pair was a unique piece of art. Some had pointed toes; some left most of the foot exposed. He lined some with fur, some had high heels. Each pair was unique for its colour. It was rumoured that he infused the soul of the lady in the shoe and it showed in its color.

There were strange stories about Kutsuya Shinjin’s shoes. Some said they were divine some called them boats of evil. This mysticism made them the most sought after accessory from Tokyo to Osaka and Kyoto. The belief among rich ladies was that the shoes would make them irresistible, there would be a glow on their face and they would feel lifted.

In the basement of his house was his secret chamber. No one was allowed to enter. Not even his beloved daughters. Many nights Kimiko and Miha would feel a strange hum in their wooden house and could easily discern some kind of an energy emanating from the basement. It was to be felt, couldn't be explained or even described.

They were used to his being gone for days at a stretch. Early one morning he told them, 'Have to fetch the right spirit. Tamashita-san's wife Izanami's feet will be here soon' and left. He returned after ten days with a small package under his arm, his face was glowing and he was humming a tune. He was always like this before making a new pair of shoes. He locked himself in the basement for days and came out only at night to go for a walk.

Lady Izanami arrived a month later and Nakamura-san had still not emerged from the basement. The daughters saw that she was an exceptional beauty and told her that their father was expecting her. She was shocked but decided to wait for him.

It took Nakamura-san another week to emerge from his basement. Lady Izanami was there when he came out. The shoes were exquisite. They covered her entire foot with translucent scales like that of a fish, there were dainty thongs to tie the shoes behind her ankles. They had high heels made of some silvery-shiny material. The translucent scales immediately took on the colour of her kimono.

Immediately after Lady Izanami left, Kimiko and Miha saw an anxiety on their father's face. He would go to the library and wait for Sunday newspapers. After nearly a month one Sunday morning he walked back from the library with a dark, scary expression on his face, but he seemed somehow satisfied. He left the paper on the shelf and went down to the basement.

Later that night he called both his daughters the beautiful Kimiko and Miha to the basement. For the first time they saw that it was laid out like a laboratory. Various tubes and burners were lying around and many books too. There was a cobbler’s bench with many of his tool neatly tucked away in convenient slots.

He was sitting on a sofa. He called them closer, gave both of them a pair of exquisite shoes. Miha’s were dainty, deep red with high heels, the shoe kind of rose upwards to the shin like a wave. Kimiko got black shoes, flat with the inside seeming even darker. These had a dull shimmer like the fading stars of pre-dawn sky.

‘These belong to your mothers. Whatever you may have heard about how you came here, you know I that have brought you up as my own children. I have loved you like my own heart and soul. These shoes have very old souls and today after twenty-one years they have been completely purified. I am happy to give them to you’.

He then waved them away and drifted off to sleep

Both of them came up from the basement completely perplexed. They sat in the living room looking at each other. Kimiko moved to the shelf and opened the newspaper Nakamura-san had left. She read something and tears started streaming from her eyes. Miha went across and took the newspaper and saw a small obituary of Lady Izanami. She had fallen from the tenth floor while sleep-walking. There was a strange pair of shoes on her feet.

Nakamura-san never woke up next morning.

Are you lonesome tonight...

There was a shuffling sound at the makeshift stage and soon the mic switched on. Someone strummed his guitar for a bit, cleared his throat and in a deep resonating voice began Elvis’

'Are you lonesome tonight..'

Josephine's cigarette slipped from her fingers on to the red-checked table cloth. She put down her wine glass and turned her head slowly. James meanwhile was continuing to speak urgently,

“Then my ship docked in Bali. What a pretty palm-fringed place I tell you..”

But Jo was lost. That haunting voice was pulling her attention; she was straining now to make out the figure on the stage but the lights were dim. All she could make out was a tall, bent guy with a guitar slung across his shoulder with flowing long hair. That Elvis song was like a magnet, she could not resist getting up from her table.

“..and you should have seen the beautiful girls running the curio shops in the main street.. uh Jo? Are you ok?” James realised that she had got up.

'Does your memory stray to a bright, sunny day,
when I kissed you and called you sweetheart..'

Jo was standing now and squinting her eyes, her heart had begun beating real fast now, her head was throbbing but she was still unable to break through the mist of age, time and memories.

'Is your heat filled with pain, shall I come back again,
Tell me dear are you lonesome tonight'

She was now walking towards the stage from the back of the restaurant. The light chatter on other tables too quitened as people stopped to look at the frail, graceful lady in her seventies, her eyes transfixed to the dim-lit stage moving, as if in a trance.

‘You know someone said that the worlds a stage
And each must play a part.
Fate had me playing in love you as my sweet heart.
Act one was when we met, I loved you at first glance'

She was now moving quickly and tripped over someone's shoe and quickly righted herself. Her eyes sparkling now and a strange smile on her face. ‘Ch..Charlie?' she whispered to herself hand quickened her step

'Honey, you lied when you said you loved me
And I had no cause to doubt you.
But I'd rather go on hearing your lies
Than go on living without you'

'Oh Charlie, Charlie, Charlie..' She was panting and talking to herself as she passed tables of diners who had all stopped their forks and knives over their plates. Dozens of heads were following her. They could now hear her too 'Charlie, Oh my God'.

'Now the stage is bare and I’m standing there
With emptiness all around
And if you won’t come back to me
Then make them bring the curtain down'

She was now standing next to the stage, her face bright from reflected floor-light, tears streaming down her cheeks. Charlie extended his hand and pulled her up to him and both finished the song in a chorus of sobs and tears, while everyone in the restaurant stood up and clapped.

'Is your heart filled with pain, shall I come back again?
Tell me dear, are you lonesome tonight?'

Blurred shadow

It’s probably the only city in the country that had come to be known for its young warrior Queen. The whole population of Jhansi seems to be thriving on the sacrifice of its beloved Queen. I think, even more than the Queen’s amazing bravery, it was the rousing poem written by Subhdra Kumari Chauhan that has made the city and its Queen a household name in India.

Bundele Harbolon ke mukh, hamne suni kahani thi
Khub lari mardani, who toh Jhansi wali Rani thi.

Bundel balladeers sang us this paean,
Of a gallant fighter, that Jhansi-Queen

Finally, I managed to reach the last frontier in UP. Jhansi. I had sent an sms to Galatea if she would like to visit Jhansi. She was even more excited about it than I was. One of her friend’s family came form Jhansi. The famous Subodh Mukerji, who made films like Paying Guest, Munimji and Junglee.

She wanted to reach there directly from Delhi as it is a much easier connection, than from Lucknow. Like everywhere else.

I took a night train. It was two hours late. Gal in the meanwhile was on an early flight to Gwalior. She took a 90 min cab ride, reached the 100 year old Hotel Jhansi and had settled for breakfast of Khasta-Kachauri, by the time my travel ordeal ended.

She was humming, ‘Chhod do anchal zamana kya kahega’

As I reached she asked, ‘Sushmita or Ash?’

‘Hello! I am dog-tired from a horrible journey; you are eating poisonous Kachauri, singing a song from ‘Paying Guest’ and asking me to choose between Sushmita and Ash’.

‘In your litany you forgot that we are in Jhansi’

‘Ok?’

‘Dummy. In a new film to be released later this year Sush is going to be our JKR. You think she will be better than Jodha ‘Ash’ Bai?’

‘Who is JKR?’ I asked.

It came to me half an hour later when I was in the shower. Jhansi ki Rani. When I came down for breakfast, I noticed that Gal was dressed in a cool mauve and white Salwar-suit.

‘Unlike most other cities we have visited, Jhansi evokes a very soft, calm, passive feeling. So the conservative look’ she explained.

May heat in barren Bundelkhand is unbearable. We decided to stay in. Gal had already made friends with another guest. Some Eduljee, a Parsi whose ancestors had lived in Jhansi since nearly 200 years. We asked the waiter to buy us some Gin and Limca from a nearby shop and settled down to hear from Mr. Eduljee. Apparently in the early 1800s some intrepid Parsis had ventured here and were selling stuff to the travelers on the highway.

Parsis, Eduljee told us were the original Railway engine drivers in India. They came to Jhansi basically when the trains came here and later settled to become suppliers to the British Army Cantonment. They were really prosperous but mixed well with the locals. That’s why they escaped the ire of revolutionaries in 1857 despite being very close to the Britishers. They have a history of cricket and rich social life in Jhansi. While most of them have migrated to Bombay or Gujarat, still some old timers have stayed behind. There maybe about 30-40 families still around in the Old Sadar Area in Jhansi Cantt. Eduljee had come to see his uncle whose daughter Diana had been the captain in Indian Women’s Cricket team.

After this fantastic initiation into a unique facet Jhansi history we had a light lunch and spent rest of the afternoon sleeping. We had planned to visit the fort only next morning so we went in the evening to Sipri Bazar. It was buzzing with activity. We were told that this is the hub of the Railways community, while Sadar Bazar is for the cantonment. The old city is called simply Shehar.

Literally everything in Jhansi is named after its famous Queen. Whether it’s a park or a hospital or building complex they all proudly associate themselves with the valiant Laxmibai. 400 hundred years ago when this fort was built by the King of nearby Orchha, he once asked his queen if she could see the fort from there. She replied, ‘Jhaeen si dikhe hai’. ‘I can only make out a blurred shadow’. The King announced that the new city should be called Jhansi.

Gal began boasting of her knowledge to our poor guide before he could even begin. But the guy was good. His narration of the events transported us to those tumultuous years in Jhansi.

‘Mi mahji Jhansi nahi dehnar’ (I will not give up my Jhansi).

How much determination and courage would she have needed to utter these words? Her gumption to adopt a son so that Jhansi didn’t Lapse was amazing; Her educated attempt to fight the British in the court of British Queen was ingenious; and finally her sheer bravery to ride horseback through guns and canons and die fighting for her land.

As forts go, this one is not very large. It’s on an abutment of a small hillock. Our guide pointed out the ground where soldiers practiced riding; it remains a play-field till date. You could still see the lake and the other land-marks of where the British had laid siege.

He also shared some tales of gore and blood as well as some others of secular bravery. The two main canons of the fort were manned by Muslims. While firing at the British, they ensured that a temple was not damaged.

The fort-walk did not take long but it was humbling. The girl, all of 25 years showed such immense presence of mind and bravery to take on the might of Britishers. Of course she lasted only a few months, but she will be forever.

As we drove down, I saw that Gal had her fists clenched.

We caught the Sabarmati Express at 5.40 PM. The infamous Godhra incident train.

I was in a quiet mood and dozing off occasionally and I think about two and a half hours had passed when Gal jumped up and dragged me to the door of the carriage. The train was slowing down. I saw Orai station come up. She pushed me off,

‘Go buy Gulab Jamuns and Khasta. Orai station platform no.1 is world famous for these’

As I jumped out I remembered the scene from Jab We Met. Kareena Kapoor jumps off the train to get his guy back on board and here was Gal pushing me off the train. Her information about such strange places is by now legend, so I ran to the shack. There was a crowd of people there, obviously others knew about it too. Eight-pack GJ’s neatly packed in double layer plastic and placed inside mud-kullars. Delicious stuff.

Zero Road

Belonging to the Densa community I steer clear of intellectual debates with women. But, when Galatea mentioned that Allahabad is not really on the Indian Time Meridian, I said, ‘Heh heh, Gotcha baby! This one I know for sure. Since ages Allahabad has been the centre of our country. It even has a Zero Road where exactly the 82.5E meridian passes. Why not go look’.

Though how going there would have proved anything I did not know, but it was an opportunity to test out my new car.

More about Allahabad in a bit. She wanted Gulab Jamuns on Saturday morning.

Gal was dressed to kill at 9 in the morning. A bright yellow, off-shoulder top with swan-white, tight, knee-length Capri and those six inch heels. Her wet-look, shoulder length hair were framing those sparkling, naughty eyes very well. I was still in my boxers trying to wake up, when she walked in like the winter morning sun peeping through a sheet of early fog and announced that we are going out to have Gulab Jamuns.

‘There must be some sweets in the fridge’
‘No. We are going out. Get dressed fast’. It was kind of final.

In fifteen minutes we were out in my car. She had even packed some sandwiches. I was intrigued by this Gulab Jamun expedition, but kept quiet.

‘Go towards Wave cinema and take the Delhi highway’
‘But where are we going?’
‘You’ll see’

The drive on NH24 was not bad. The traffic was not heavy and I enjoyed the drive in my new Civic AT. Deep mango groves on both sides soon gave way to raked empty fields like well combed, oiled, and neatly parted hair. After about an hour I realized that we must have come some 80-90 kilometers out and asked her where were we headed?

‘I think its another 50 odd kilometers. Better to stop and ask for Megalganj’
‘Megalganj? What’s that?’

I stopped us for a cup of tea and re-confirmed what she always knew. It was another half an hour away. We took off immediately and reached Megalganj cross-road at around 11.30. You couldn’t have missed it. Like all highway towns, this one too has typically about twenty odd eating places, some more shacks selling cigarettes and a few selling music cassettes and CDs. The stark difference however was that all the eating joints were Gulab Jamun shops.

Amazing! I had never seen such concentration of shops nor so many highway tourists focused on eating Gulab Jamuns.

There is one shop which claims to be making these GJs since 1940. I wondered what the place was like back then. Anyway we ate a hell of a lot of Gulab Jamuns. They are delicious and definitely worth the drive. You are supposed to drink some milk to wash it down.

I wanted to carry some back. Gal shook her head.

‘These can’t be carried back. Eat more if you want’

As we got back into the car, I asked, ‘What’s this about not carrying them back?’

‘These are special to Megalganj and are made out of potatoes. So they loose their texture and taste once they go cold’
‘It’s quite a long way to travel for Saturday morning potatoes’.

Next day we left early for Allahabad, our wager beckoned. It’s about a four hour drive from Lucknow. We stopped on the way at Rae Bareily for breakfast. The Naresh-Dinesh Restaurent is quite famous for the various people of Gandhi family who have stopped there over the past twenty years. Even though the best-selling stuff is Bread-Pakora, I just had a thick Lassi. Gal ordered a Gujarati Dhokla.

We reached Allahabad at around noon and went straight to Hotel Milan. It has a great chef for Indian food. After a brief siesta, we were off to Zero Road to complete our wager. There is indeed a street called Zero Road. It’s an old, narrow street made of concrete and crammed with rickshaws and bicycles.

‘See’ I stepped out of the car and raised my hand to point out the road sign that said, Zero Road. Before leaving the hotel we had asked some locals, they all believed that Zero road was the time meridian. It was as we were wading back through the traffic that Gal exclaimed,

‘It’s parallel to the Railway station!’
‘So?’
‘You see, if it is on a Meridian it must be North-South, but the railway track in Allahabad is definitely East-West. Zero Road is parallel to the Station. I win. Q.E.D’

I was flabbergasted.

My dejected mood was lifted much later when we hit the bar in our hotel. It has one of the best laid-out bars in the entire region. It has a long circular bar-counter, with a well-stocked bar, a small dance-floor with a DJ too. Even has flashing lights to set the ambience. More so, was playing The Doors, would you believe it. We had a good time. Gal went a bit far when she asked the bartender for a glass of Merlot.

As a community people of Allahabad used to have an attitude. It was like poor man’s Calcutta. Like the Bengalis, people here considered themselves cerebrally superior. In fact till about twenty years ago Indian Civil Services used to have a cadre-within-cadre of Allahabad University Alumni. Even today if you walk along the corridors of the University hostel you can see graffiti saying who all passed the IAS exam from which room. The attitude’s all gone now. It another small town of UP, though much more civilized.

Allahabad has another very unique distinction, the number of lawyers per head. There are Twenty thousand of them in a population of just over a million. Every eight household has an Advocate’s name board. Understandable, since Allahabad High Court has been one of our premier courts since nearly two centuries.

Next day morning we were off to the river. It is probably the most scenic sight that I’ll ever see. It’s a huge mass of water, of different hues. Yamuna is much deeper and is green, while the Ganges is relatively shallow and yellowish. We slowly rowed past the massive Akbar Fort. It’s an immaculate large structure well maintained because the Indian Army is using it.

As our flat bottom row-boat approached the Sangam there was so much energy flowing from the devotees that it was palpable. Boat loads of men and women mostly rural were chanting songs of the Ganges, the notes flowed like the river itself. Right at the point of Sangam about fifty boats were anchored the scene could have been out of Kevin Costner’s Waterworld. It was the Bhajans with Dholaks and Manjiras emanating from there that reminded us of how life has been along this holy river since ages.

Both of us were quiet on the drive back and almost missed the silvery, shimmering, spanking new suspension bridge which connects the main town to Naini. It is Allahabad’s Golden Gate. We stopped over at the ‘Gora Kabrastan’, White Cemetery. This smallish place has real history buried here. You just need to go over the epitaphs to be transported back to our first war of independence.

Then we drove past the Chandrashekhar Azad Park, where he was killed. The Brit police was not sure he was dead and shot him in the leg to check. We were hungry and landed up at El Chico. This place has the distinction of being visited by so many dignitaries that you will lose count. It actually claims fame for continental food but Chinese is edible. It makes good chicken sandwiches too.

Finally we were ready to bid adieu to Allahabad only after buying a few boxes of ‘Khatta Samosa’. Don't leave Allahabad without them.