Man refuses offer for out of court settlement. Vows to continue legal battle over moustache.

2^nd April 2016, Bangalore

Man refuses offer for out of court settlement. Vows to continue legal battle over moustache.

Mr Vishwaroopam Venkatachalalapati has refused an offer for out of court settlement in the ongoing 4 month long Venkatachalapati vs United Feminists Federation legal battle. 

In what appeared to be a last ditch attempt by the United Feminists Federation (UFF) to avoid a full blown out legal battle in a case that is fast showing signs of becoming political, the UFF offered to allow Mr Venkatachalapati to keep his soul patch provided he shaves off his beard and moustache.

Ms Reshmi Taangowali the prosecution attorney for UFF is said to have made a counter attack against Mr Venkatachalapati’s allegation. Venkatachalapathi made a statement in the media earlier that his moustache is the most attractive part of his physique that makes him irresistible to women and that his wife is demanding him to shave off his moustache more out of jealousy rather than genuine concerns of skin rash. Ms Reshmi made references to Amir Khan’s soul patch in Dil Chahta Hai and said that women still found him attractive and that there is no reason Mr Venkatachalapati should feel that trimming his moustache to a soul patch would reduce his popularity among women.

Mr Venkatachalapati is said to have flatly refused the offer to cut his moustache and has promised to continue the fight for the freedom of men to decide the length of their facial hair. Shouts of azadi from large crowds of bearded men seemed to speak volumes about the public support that is gathering around Mr Venkatachalapati. Court was looking to fix another date for the next hearing while reports last came in.

17^th April 2016, Bangalore

Moustache battle blows into full face to face stand-off

In what appeared to be a well thought out strategic masterstroke by Mr Venkatachalapati and his team of attorneys, they have made a counter offer to United Feminists Federation that men can be legally asked by his wife to shave off his moustache to a certain extent. The amendment to the proposed marital household facial hair act is that men be allowed to keep facial hair provided the length of the moustache hair plus the length of the husband’s hair on his head is less than or equal to the total length of the wives’ hair on her head. These points seemed to be well received by the jury especially in view of the sound gender equality and follicle freedom policy towards equal hair rights arguments that were put forward by the defendants.

United Feminists Federation is said to have countered by claiming that this is an attempt by the defendants to divert the attention of the court from the main legal battle over the narrow discord between a husband and wife over the husband’s moustache and turn it into a wider gender equality battle over the length of hair that each gender is allowed to keep. Allegations were made that Mr Venkatachalapati is doing this to gain political mileage and is planning to start a political party. UFF has asked for an extension on the next court hearing while reports last came in.

21^st April, 2016, Bangalore

Man launches political party over moustache battle. Sections of women also come out in support of party.

Mr Venkatachalapati has finally confirmed the rumours floating around and formally announced that he will be launching a political party that will fight for the rights of people who want to sport facial hair. With the formal announcement made, support began to flow in from various quarters and fringe groups. A rally was taken out by dozens of women in support of the pro-moustache party most of them patients in the nearby St John’s Hospital for Hormone Replacement Therapy. Although not everyone seemed to be happy with the announcement as Bangalore Barber’s Association announced that they would never support this radical neo-Nazi ideology.

UFF has alleged that Mr Venkatachalapati’s party has polarized the society along lines of facial hair and follicle health. However, Mr Venkatachalapati has argued that his party has managed to bring out barbers in support of feminists. “These two groups that never had much interaction before, two groups that don’t have any ideological similiarities are joining hands against us. What does it tell you? They are afraid of our growing popularity” said Mr Venkatachalam.

The defendants have asked for an extension before the next court hearing in what appears to be a calculated move in view of the upcoming assembly elections to milk out maximum political attention before the next court battle in what has become a long drawn out legal war between Mr Vekatachalam and United Feminists Federation.

28^th April 2016, Bangalore

Parliament throws out fractured verdict. United Feminists Federation offers new terms for out of court settlement.

With the electorate throwing up a fractured verdict with no party able to muster an absolute majority, there seems to be a rush to turn to diplomatic maneuvers instead of open political mudslinging. United Feminists Federation has announced that are ready to allow the legal act to make a provision where men need not be legally forced to shave their moustache provided that they meet certain other minimum requirements.

To validate their point, Mrs Rekha was called as a witness. Mrs Rekha described how her husband had shaved off his beard and jumped into bed but in his enthusiasm forgot to remove his spectacles and poked her in the eye while thrusting his lips towards hers.

UFF has now asked for a separate committee that will research and study the physical hazards that should be taken care of before and during intimate moments between a married couple. Courts have decided to adjourn hearing on this case till the committee of physical hazards in the bedroom has submitted its detailed reports.

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Post Script

The above piece was written as part of a session at Write Club on 16th April, 2016. The prompts consisted of a number of newspaper headlines. Looking down at the list of prompts, I could see my moustache as well as a headline that read "Dad vows to continue fight over moustache".
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The Final Nail

“I am telling you, the coffin is too small, he won’t fit in”

“Did you trying putting him in sideways? He did gain a lot of weight in his final years”

“Yes, its not the width, it’s the length that is the problem.”

“Ok fine, go inform his son. It is almost time. We can’t delay this any more”

Ghalib went out of the room and onto the courtyard to look for the son in the large crowd that had gathered. He walked as fast as you can move in a funeral without attracting attention or arousing suspicion that something is wrong.

He found the son addressing a sizeable crowd. It was the same speech. Ghalib had heard it dozens of times. He was almost near the end. Ghalib listened to the speech.

“Father sacrificed his life for this battle and martyred for our cause. His flame has been extinguished but the fire will keep burning. We have to walk a great distance but we will walk together and walk far. I will be proud to walk with you on our quest, humble in the knowledge that I have big shoes to fill.” And the crowd applauded as loudly as it was decent to do in a funeral.

Ghalib never liked the ending. He just waited for the day someone would throw a size 6 sports shoe in response to the lines of walking far and big shoes to fill.

The Khans were big people. Literally, figuratively and politically. Big people, but not practical people. Like the people who buy a BMW and then live like kings in a village where the roads are narrower than the BMW. Wherever they went, it was difficult to fit them in.

But, Ghalib, their faithful servant for 30 years had never failed them. Not even once in their entire life. He had always managed to find a way out. He was not going to fail in their death. There had to be a way out.

“What is it Ghalib Kaka” the son finally asked.

“You have to come in now. I cannot explain it here. It is very urgent.”

“I just finished my speech. I have to spend some time with them. I will come in after some time. Why don’t you ask Ammi. I am sure she will help you out.”

Nazia was just tying her hair for the seventh time when Ghalib entered. He had entered without knocking. The last time he did that, she had to call an ambulance. So she let go of her hair, turned around and asked immediately. “What happened Ghalib? Is everything ok?”

“Khan bhai is not fitting into his coffin”

“What?” she said surprised. Ghalib always had weak English. He must have meant something else.

“The coffin madam. It is too small. We are not able to put him inside it.”

“What?” she said again. A little less surprised. But still surprised nonetheless.

“There is only 5 minutes left for the events to begin. We don’t know what to do madam.” said Ghalib and hoped that the mention of the time constraint would elicit something more than just another “what?”

Nazia flung her comb towards her dressing table and turned towards the phone. “I knew that the carpenter we chose was a thief. He must have stolen some of the wood. I told you that we should have tipped him more for my mother in law’s funeral”. And wondered how her mother in law continued to haunt her even after her death and dialed furiously.

“He is not picking up the phone, that scoundrel. Can you bring me my other phone Ghalib Bhai?”

“Yes madam” said Ghalib and rushed out of the room.

“Where do you think you are going Ghalib? Didn’t you tell the son about the problem?” he heard the voice shout at him from across the courtyard.

“He was busy, so I went to madam.”

“And what is she doing about it?”

“She is calling the carpenter”

“What does she want from the carpenter now? A refund? That is why I told you to go to the son. Not the wife. Women are never practical. The carpenter cannot make another coffin for us now. Come, let us talk to the son.”

The two of them walked into the house. Nazia was already talking animatedly to her son.

“I agree that it was my fault for not tipping him enough for Dadi’s death, but you have to understand that contacting him is not going to help us now in any way. Why can’t you be practical for once mom?”

Nazia tugged at her hair harder in her ninth attempt to tie her hair. She took a deep breath. This was not the time for these outbursts. Prioritise, she told herself. Her priority was always her husband, now it had to be her husband’s deadbody. 

“What is the next event lined up? She asked.

Your speech is up next. But we can cancel it if you are not upto it Ammi”

“No, I will do it” Nazia said and let her hair loose in all its untied glory, grabbed the mike and walked out towards the courtyard.

“What does she think she is doing?” the son exclaimed after her. “I tell you, women have no idea of the priorities. Do you understand how embarrassing this will be for my career? This was supposed to be my launch pad!” the son seemed to be telling himself rather than at Ghalib.

“The least you can do is stall the crowd till we think of a solution.” He finally screamed towards his mother who had already left the room.

Nazia’s voice echoed firmly across the courtyard. “Brothers and sisters, we are already behind schedule, so I will not keep you waiting. This will be a short speech. My husband cared for every section of the society and did not want any section of society to be left out. He was born a Christian, lived his life as a Muslim, but it was his final wish to have his final rites performed as a Hindu.”

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Post Script

 The above piece was written as part of a session at Write Club on 2nd April, 2016.

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The Negotiator

Image Source: Depositphotos

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Mrs Sharma cut the carrot with a little more force than necessary. She held the knife with a grip that always happened to be a little too tight. She thought of her husband and his late office hours. It was almost 8 ‘o’ clock. She set the cooking flame on a couple of degrees higher than usual. It was going to be a tight schedule if she wanted to meet all her deadlines tonight.

The phone rang. She ran out of the kitchen and picked up the phone.

“Hello. Teena beta, will you be coming tomorrow? Your dad has to go for the health check up and you know he can’t drive for long distances”

“Mom I told you that we are celebrating Alia’s birthday tomorrow. I haven’t even begun the preparations yet. And with Rahul’s year end targets looming ahead, the entire responsibility of organization has fallen on me. I will book a cab for you tomorrow. What time do you have to go?”

“Rehne do beta. Sahi kaha tha tumhare papa ne. Beti to paraya dhan hoti hai” and she heard a click which was a slightly louder than usual.

Was her mom really hurt or was it just emotional blackmail? Well this was the third time she used the "beti paraya dhan" dialogue. So chances are that she was just fishing for a last minute change of heart in her daughter. But then again, she said those words in Hindi. Whenever her mom spoke from her head, she used English. Hindi was reserved for matters straight from the heart. Her mom must have felt bad.

Teena looked at Rahul her husband, in the photo frame near the phone. She saw Rahul smiling back at her. She was also smiling. In the photo at least. No matter how high Rahul went up the career ladder, he still abused in Hindi.  Somethings don't change inside your heart. The smiles in the photo seemed years ago now. Well, it has been almost 19 years since the marriage. But still, the smiles felt like a more distant memory than just the 19 years.

“Mom can I take the car tonight” her thoughts were interrupted as Alia bounded in with barely concealed excitement. She took at good look at her 17 year old daughter and realised that her enthusiasm was not the only thing that was barely concealed.

“Go dress up first, give me some time to ask your dad if he needs the car when he is back”

“Mom please don't do this. You know dad won’t use the car when he returns. I will be back before midnight”

“Go dress up and comb and tie your hair first. Let me ask your dad”. Alia’s mom knew the answer but we wanted Alia to say it out.

“Mom, this is what I am wearing tonight. I straightened my hair just for this party.”

“Who gave you the frock? I have not seen it before.”

“Mmm, one of my friends gave it”

“Are you sure it is your size. Seems a little too high. Can't you wear something a little longer. You know, longer around the legs. Then you can have the car.”

 Bargaining and negotiations were her forte now. Whether it be her daughter or the vegetable-wala or the bai, she knoew precisely when to place her bargaining chips on the table.

“Ok mom, I will change and come” said Alia and sauntered up the stairs in her 2 inch heels.

Teena let herself feel a little proud of her negotiation skills. After all, her marriage to Rahul would never have been possible without her persistence. She remembered the day her parents finally relented and let her marry Rahul. She felt the adrenaline rush of freedom that day. Like a bird that finally flew out of its cage. She longed for such freedom again. Yes she made all the decision in the house. But someone always had a complaint. Why did every decision of hers start feeling like a compromise?

Alia bounded down the stairs in 4 inch heels. Amazing how Alia could lower the frock 2 inches and yet make her legs look the same length. Smart kids are a conundrum in a different league, Teena sighed.

“What happned to the upper part of your frock” questioned Mrs Sharma.

"Mom you told me to lower it. I am wearing it off shoulder now."

“Go back and change it. That's final. No car if you don’t change the frock.”

“Mom, it is just a party at the restaurant next block. What’s the worst that can happen?”

“I met your dad at one of those parties”. She shot back.

“Mom please” protested Alia one last time and walked up the staircase in her 4 inch hels.

"Wait let me call your dad" said Mr Sharma and pciked up the phone.

There was no response. She dialed again.

A gruff and hurried voice said, “What is it Teena? Is it important? I am in a meeting”

“No, it is ok. I will call later" said Mrs Sharma and put down the phone softly.

The contrast between Rahul’s present voice and tone and his voice 19 years ago was evident.

Alia bounded in and said “Mom, look at this ankle length dress. Now, no one will be jealous of me. I hope you are happy now. Can I have the keys now?”

Alia was wrong. Her mother was already jealous of her. Always had been. After all, Alia was yet to meet the her final man of her dreams. Is that why she resented Alia’s parties so much? She signed, took the keys out of the drawer and tossed it at Alia and said “Ja, jee le apni zindagi”

Yes, everyone in their family resorted to Hindi when they spoke from the heart.

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Post Script

The above piece was written as part of a session at Write Club hosted by Pavan. The theme was to write a piece featuring an antagonist while simultaneously portraying the reasons behind the antagonist's actions.

A New Year's Holiday

Image Source: Shutterstock
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The Haj is a journey that many choose to undertake at a specific time of the year. There is also the Kailash Manasarovar Yatra. I am mentioning both just to remain secular. There are subsidies provided by the government for these mass tourism packages. A significant number of people (not all!) are driven to visit these places by a deeply entrenched belief that there will be a magical transformation in their fortunes after the first visit.

There is another place that people visit every year in the hope of magical transformations after the first visit. It is called the gym. But the government does not provide subsidies for these yearly visits. With no subsidies in place and people with deep pockets ready to pay for the fulfilment of their equally deeply entrenched beliefs in magical transformations, there is great business potential in this domain.

So, I close my travel agent shop every year in the month of January and turn it into a gym. It is not much of a hassle if you plan it properly. Every time someone goes on a tourism package to Goa, I request them to send me their holiday snaps. The beach photos of the reasonably fit people go up on my wall. So you see, I don’t really have to change the interiors during the January gym season.

Moving the furniture and gym equipment every year is also easier than you think. End of every year, in the Christmas week, I put on a false beard and a dhoti (real, not false) and conduct a one week workshop titled “Power Yoga Using Furniture Props”.

By the end of the week, all the stuff is in place for the grand opening of the gym in New Year. I don’t get to sit back and relax and take things easy anywhere else except when I am in my gym in January. There is something innately satisfying about just sitting back and watching people sweat and toil and struggle. It is like having my own private sports cum entertainment arena.

Nothing brings me into the yearly holiday spirit like a room pregnant with the air of exhausted breaths, well worn out deodorants and freshly prepared protein shakes. Oh that rhythmic clang of metal against metal, powered by tired human muscle. Tired human muscle that is driven by the extra dose of will power that is distributed every New Year. It is music to my ears.

As the month draws to a close, the crowd thins down. The nerd crowd that visits every year from their library hangout across the street slowly starts hanging out at the library more often. The regular gym goers who decided to visit the library as a New Year’s resolution start coming back to the gym.

The most common complaint of the New Year gym goers is that they find the grunts, snorts, snarls and in general, all gym noises, intimidating. The most common complaint of the regular gymmers who visit the library is that they find the silence too intimidating. One of them got thrown out when he shouted “Eureka” after finishing a Chetan Bhagat novel.

Anyways, as the will powers return to their pre New Year levels and the year draws to a close, I have to go and prepare for the “Power Yoga using Furniture Props” session again. These tourists are going to leave me soon and new ones will be visiting me in February.
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Post Script

The above piece was written as part of a Write Club session held on 9th January, 2016 hosted by Deepshikha. The theme was to describe a place that you visited like a tourist. Needless to say, I did not manage to stick to the theme in my piece.