My New Driver

I sat still with all the strangeness enveloping me like a blanket. I hate changes.

When I got used to the new country, we changed houses. When I finally de-sanitized my new house, we changed helpers. When I got accustomed to the whims of the new helper, we changed drivers. And when I got used to all the swashbuckling of our new driver, we changed again. And here I am, with this brand new stranger on the busy roads of a teeming city, smelling a faintly sickening smell of cigarette smoke and car-freshener, the FM radio blustering out gibberish, and my weird musings took on a sense of panic. I hate changes.

To break the ice, I said to him in my halting vernacular – “bisa ganti CD?” Can you change the CD?

He seemed overjoyed at the sound of my voice. I wondered how many panicky thoughts had raced through his head. He replied in a torrent which I was not even able to begin to comprehend, when he asked more succinctly, ending my misery, “CD?”

“Ya.”

“Nomor satu?”

I played the word in my mind. Nomor satu – number one. Number one what? It struck me all too suddenly that he might have meant which CD to play in our CD changer. Blast the CD changer, making difficult things impossible!

“Ya.” I replied quite predictably.

And then, the Om Shanti Om song – ankhon mei teri – filled our thin air, words flitting like butterflies mocking my verbal scarcity.

One minute into the song, I saw that my new driver was trying to grab my attention.

“Ya, Pak” – I said, again pretty predictably.

Again a torrent of words.

“Saya tidak bisa mengerti” – I can’t understand. I was apologetic. An intruder using their country, using their cars, using their drivers, and failing to understand them.

“Saya suka --,” and he pointed to the CD player. He said he likes the song. I smiled. A bridge is built on unknown waters. He again said a lot of things, a little of which I understood – he liked Hindi songs, he liked Hindi movies, he had this particular song at home, he listened to it every now and then. And then surprisingly, he sang along the beginning two lines. Wow! I almost wanted to clap. I didn’t know the words myself. But then I am very poor in Hindi. My new driver’s accent was much better than mine which my dear husband says sounds very French, also a language that I have no knowledge of.

“Anda tahu Hindi?” Do you know Hindi? I had to ask him.

“Tidak.” “Saya yanyi tapi tidak bisa mengerti.” I sing but cannot understand.

I thought of explaining the words to him, words of imperishable romance, of her breath being the wind that makes the singer’s heart soar like a kite, of moon being a shadow of her beauty, but I stumble on my lingual inadequacy and also something else, an invisible but taut line of cultural, social, and sexual inhibitions. I look out of the window, catch a glimpse of a sliver of a moon, point it out and say “chand.” He repeats, he is seemingly contented.

At least, we have music.

Ketaki

I am Ketaki – the cursed flower, the eternally doomed one, the one who fell from grace. There had been a time when I had adorned the crown of Shiva, my Lord and the Lord of this entire universe. There had been a time when I had hobnobbed with the moon and the ever-gurgling Ganga. There had been a time when my purity, my whiteness, and my subtle yet tantalizing perfume (yes, my mother had told me that I resemble a narcissus in character and not a screw pine!) had a meaning. That was then – this is now. I am not a flower anymore. After being trampled upon by devotees and discarded by priests, after spending eons and eons in oblivion, I now clutch on the faintest ray of hope at salvation – a human life.

To tell my story, it had been a warm summer day when Shiva plucked me out of my verdant abode and tenderly placed me in his matted tresses. Coming to think of it, if he had not been so tender about it, if he had just pushed me into his locks a little more firmly, there would not have been any story to tell (sigh!). But let me get on with my story. It was on this ill-starred day that Brahma got up from his lotus seat, climbed on his swan, and thought of making an inventory of his creations!! After covering the 100 billion or so galaxies and countless stars and planets and our own little nondescript earth, he came to the gates of Vaikunt. There, blissfully unaware of Brahma’s tedious chore, Vishnu was taking a siesta on Adi Shesha’s lustrous coils.

Brahma opened the gates, a trifle jealous at the obvious luxury of Vaikunt and more than a trifle angry at Vishnu’s seeming arrogance. How can a lowly god sleep when the creator is awake and, more importantly, working!!! Vishnu of course had his own ideas on who is higher up the pecking order and stated so quite clearly once the fog of his sleep lifted. Their argument which started with just a few name-calling and magic-bandying soon became so passionate that the other gods and earthly mortals panicked. However, before anything untoward happened, good sense prevailed and they agreed to seek out my Lord and ask him to be the arbitrator of this power dispute.

Shiva, forever magnanimous, set them up with a curious but pretty impossible task. Whoever spots his head or toes first is the winner. He would be the bigger, better god. He would be the higher hen on the pecking order. Both Vishnu and Brahma agreed to the test. They started somewhere around Shiva’s hip and Brahma traversed upwards while Vishnu took a downward route. Oh! The poor fools! Little did they realize that my Lord has neither beginning nor end. He is eternity.

Perhaps a little bored with an unending view of the torso, Brahma tried a little diversion. He poked Shiva on his ribs. A little jab, a little laughter, a sudden jerk of the head, and the damage was done. I fell down from Shiva’s hair and that despicable Gravity did the rest. I floated down…down…down, right into Brahma’s arms.

“Oh, you are Ketaki,” said the conniving phony. “Lie for me once and I will make you as pure as the driven snow.” My vanity led me astray. I consented.

He proclaimed to Shiva and Vishnu that he has seen Shiva’s crown. I was the proof. He said he plucked me from Shiva’s hair. Such a liar! I didn’t utter a word. Such an idiot!

Of course nobody believed. Shiva cursed us both, him to timeless obscurity and me to an eternity of worthlessness.

I have a human birth now. But I am still vain, I am arrogant, I am weak, and I still lie. Salvation still seems to be an eternity away.

(I have shamelessly stolen this whole reincarnation idea from my friend, mentor, guru, Janaki, who will have no other choice but to forgive me!)