by Shobhaa De
Miss La Di Da
and Other Stories
Lockdown Liaisons
Book 5
Shobhaa Dé
Miss La Di Da and
Other Stories
Lockdown Liaisons
A NOTE FROM THE PUBLISHER
June 2020
Cocooned in our small little worlds yet living through the most precarious and awful times - this has got to be a first in the collective memory of the whole wide world. Untouched by the footsteps of migrant workers in the hot sun we rave and rant on social media. And as always what helps us to retain our sanity in moments like this are words. Our own words and words from loved ones but even more than that, words from gifted writers who spin stories out of universal experiences, from thoughts and ideas half-formed in our minds.
Simon & Schuster India is happy to bring to you short stories by the inimitable Shobhaa De as she captures the fragile zeitgeist of the pandemic in her own unique way - through stories that don’t provide an escape into la la land but rather stories of love that will make you sometimes smile, sometimes frown but at all times understand the subterranean world of shifting human emotions. The author, and her stories, don’t shy away from the tremulous uncertainties of the world as we know but rather help us to confront and understand it all, just a little bit better.
In these pages of Lockdown Liaisons we have the touching story of a special little boy and how he negotiates his intimate relationship with Ganpati during lockdown. Then there are the deluded and feisty ruminations of a snobbish old lady who never understood why her husband left her for the woman that he did. In another story, entertaining and satirical, a single man struggles to manage life under lockdown with his young son and tries to forge a relationship with an attractive neighbour whose daughters go to school with his son. And then in ‘In Malibu Mansions’ we have a woman coping with losing her high profile job during lockdown and the news that a neighbour has died by suicide by jumping off her balcony.
I hope all of you enjoy reading the stories in this anthology and remember in these difficult times to be kind to yourselves, to the people you meet in the pages of this book and to those in your life and in the world outside.
GANPATI BAPPA MORYA
‘Baba, does Ganpati Bappa know about this Corona virus? Will he come to our home this year, or avoid us? Will he also have to wear a mask?’ What could I answer? I stopped what I was doing - basically nothing - and evaded a direct reply.
I answered, ‘Ganpati Bappa knows everything…’ My son Ameya (named after Ganeshji, our family’s most beloved deity), is just seven years old. But Ameya is too smart! I am not just boasting like those showoff fathers in our colony who think their kids are all geniuses. Ameya is smart in a different way - not in class. Not at studies. Not like their children. Maybe others don’t see him like that, because they don’t know Ameya. He has certain problems, which his mother and I are aware of, but don’t know exactly what those problems are. She is a school teacher in the nearby municipality school, where Ameya is enrolled. I work as a clerk in the Municipal Corporation.
Our life is simple. I go to work, my wife goes to work, Ameya attends a few hours of school, then comes home to his grandmother. No complaints. My mother is not a nagging type. She is kind and good and cooks our food very nicely, with a lot of patience and love. Ganesh Utsav is our biggest festival. Bigger than Diwali, even. Ameya starts getting excited about it February onwards… and begins drawing Ganpati Bappa in his drawing books. Ameya is very good at drawing. Much ahead of other children his age. Yes, it is true, he is slow in other subjects, and sometimes he doesn’t talk for days, if his mood is bad. But his mother and I know Ameya has other good qualities that other people may not understand.
He sings so nicely. Good sur, good voice. He can pick up any tune - classical, also! I listen to Bhimsen Joshi and Kishoritai from the moment I wake up. Ameya must have heard all those abhangs and raagas when he was in his mother’s womb. Which is why he has no difficulty humming even a complicated raag like Khamaj.
People we have asked about children like our Ameya keep using the word ‘special’. Arrey baba, we know he is special, we are his parents! But what they mean is different. What they don’t say is they think he is ‘abnormal’. Or ‘retarded’. Which he most certainly isn’t! Our Ameya is fine and precious. He was born in August - in the middle of the Ganesh Utsav - imagine! We were overjoyed and decided to call him ‘Ameya’, after Lord Ganesh. It had other meanings also - ‘pure’ and ‘boundless’ and ‘magnanimous’. But for our small parivar, Ameya was enough… he was our little Ganeshji. He looked perfectly normal as a baby. Behaved like all the other babies in the maternity ward. How were we to know… anything? We just loved him as he was. As he is, today.
Maybe this fact, that he was born during the festival, stayed with Ameya, because he made such a big connection with God. At one point, when he was three years old, he started thinking he was Ganeshji. My mother, his mother and I do daily puja to Ganeshji in our small temple. We light a diya, once in the morning, once just after sunset. When we manage to pluck fresh hibiscus from the bush in the compound, we offer a few flowers to Ganeshji.
Ameya would tell us to do his puja also, saying, ‘I am him and he is me!’ Ameya knows all the Ganesh Artis and Sanskrit shlokas. He recites them with me, during worship. No other child of his age has this skill or knowledge. He can create a Ganesh moorti with clay, mud, sand, dough… any soft substance. When his Aaji kneads the atta for chappati, she always gives a ball of dough to Ameya… we know what he will make from it - Ganpati! She gives him mustard seeds or chauli for the eyes, I give him small twigs for the tusks. Within a few minutes, Ameya makes a beautiful Ganeshji… always a little different. Sometimes the trunk is to the left, sometimes to the right, sometimes it is up. I have taken many pictures of all this on my phone, even though my camera is not so good.
I show these pictures to the teachers in his school. But they take no interest and tell me, ‘This is all theek hai… but who will teach him 2+2? He still doesn’t know ABCD. Writes everything ulta.’ Once I asked the lady teacher, ‘Madam, have you ever seen any seven year old who can paint the sky like Ameya?’
She laughed at me, and said rudely, ‘Painting sky won’t fill his stomach later in life. How will this boy get a job, painting pictures? Which office will he join?’ I felt sad, but kept quiet. Sometimes I hear Ameya talking to Ganpati Bappa, as if Bappa is a person sitting next to him. He has a full, proper conversation. I don’t interfere or interrupt him. All three of us at home understand Ameya very well. Ganpati Bappa is his friend. His only friend. Because in school nobody wants to be his friend.
I heard him asking Bappa, ‘Will you come to Mumbai this year? Tell me honestly… don’t lie. Are you also scared of the Coronavirus? It is a very bad thing, I know that. But you can come and it will get scared and run away. So please come and save us. I will make a special garland for you, better than the one I made last year. It will be my birthday… we can cut a cake together, and share modaks. Okay? Bye!’
He must have been happy with what Ganeshji told him because he was smiling away and eating all the palak bhaji up - he doesn’t like eating vegetables otherwise. His mother and Aaji looked pleased as Ameya finished everything in his thali and asked me, ‘When are we going to make sure our Ganpati Bappa is ready in the workshop?’
Each year, we make at least three visits to the Parel studio where most of the Ganesh moortis are made. We always book with the same kalakar, the same sculptor, year after year, because Ameya likes the way Satish Bhau painted Ganeshji’s eyes. Ameya also asks Satish Bhau to paint Bappa’s throne, and the mouse at Ganeshji’s feet, in blue and gold colours. S
atish Bhau listens to Ameya and they have become friends over time. They share their love for Bappa, that is why they get along so nicely.
This year, so far at least, we have not been able to go to the workshop because of the lockdown. It is hard to explain all this to a child, but I keep trying. His mother told him everything will open by the time Ganesh Chaturthi is celebrated. He stared at her and said, ‘But I asked Ganpati Bappa yesterday, and he just kept quiet…’ I also told Ameya not to worry so much. There was still time. By August everything would be much better.
See… I cannot lie. I work in the Mumbai Municipality, so I know what we are facing. Who can say what will happen by the third week of August? We are still struggling like anything to control the situation. Every day very very sad, worried and tensed up family members of Covid-19 patients are coming and complaining. They are saying, ‘Will our father die like a dog in these dirty, filthy wards? So many people are dying and you people are lying and saying, “They are alive. . . they are alive.” Some bodies are thrown into gutters. Some are taken away just like that and cremated. All this is not good. It is a “paap”.’
The numbers are going up and up. Doctors are fully fed up! Nurses have gone back to Kerala. Sometimes, even the ward boys stay away. Conditions are very bad… but we cannot say that openly. This ward and that ward… they are saying bring this into containment zone, take that out of containment zone. Clean the garbage on the road. Make the beaches safaa safaa. How we can do all this! Public should also think and understand our difficulties. See… Mumbai is too big. And we are too small. Nowadays we are stuck at home and all that. No trains. No buses. Nobody on the roads. No people. No traffic. No noise. Nothing! But Ganesh Chaturthi celebrations can never stop - lockdown or no lockdown. I told Ameya not to worry.
I requested his mother to distract him. She was also very tired, with no clear future in sight. Her classes and exams are in disarray. There is no proper communication and co-ordination. It was a good thing she was just a junior teacher, taking lessons for fourth and fifth standards. Some of her colleagues in higher classes were complaining non-stop and saying there was no hope for their students getting into college. Ameya hears all these conversations and starts laughing.
He says, ‘See… I told you… school and college is all bekaar. I want to stay at home and play catch-catch with my Bappa.’ His mother has done a lot of research on why Ameya is so different. She said he will remain like this only, forever. There is no treatment as such. But she also said many great people in the world were born like this. And they still managed to come up in life like anything. I also feel confident that Ganeshji will protect our Ameya. That is why, no matter what happens, I still take the boy to see Lalbaugh Chha Raja every year and place his head on Ganeshji’s feet. It is one ritual I perform without fail. For Ameya, too, this is the biggest moment… the darshan! He doesn’t sleep the previous night, and keeps asking, ‘Shall we go? Shall we go? Ganpati Bappa is waiting for me… Bappa is saying, “Come soon, come soon”.’
I had never ever disappointed Ameya. We would leave for the pandal in Lalbaugh, after taking tea and eating poha. By the time we reached, there would already be a huge crowd - baap re! Devotees from all over come and take their place in the queue from the previous night.
Thousands and thousands of people visit the Raja, for that brief darshan. See… it is about belief. Raja always blesses those who come to him with a pure heart. Ameya has the purest heart - that much I know. And so strong is Ameya’s love for his Bappa, he refuses to see the visarjan. Forget about travelling to Girgaum Chowpatty to say goodbye to all the Sarvajanik and family Ganpatis who stay on earth for ten days, only to go back to their Mother by allowing devotees to immerse them in the sea, Ameya does not let us watch this beautiful and sentimental and touching ceremony even on TV. He gets furious and starts throwing things everywhere - anything that he finds - could be glasses or thaalis or even a wooden table lamp. He shouts, ‘Bappa… don’t go! Don’t leave me!’ After that drama gets over, he cries and cries. Ameya does not like goodbyes at all.
But this year it is a different story. We have to worry about Covid-19. How would the crowds be managed? Who can control worshippers? I was feeling nervous. Even with masks and all that, who was to know which person has it, who doesn’t and all that. But how could I tell all these things to Ameya? He would stop eating - this much I can say for sure. Then his mother and my mother will pounce on me for upsetting Ameya.
I tried to hint at the problem, saying lightly, ‘Oh… this Coronavirus is creating big problems for everybody this year. So many requests are coming to the office from Sarvajanik pandal people asking our help for proper bandobast. Police wallas also saying, we can’t control. Social distancing makes no sense when thousands gather to offer prayers. How to say “no” also?’
Before I could continue, I heard Ameya let out a piercing scream. He rushed to our small little home shrine and complained loudly against me to Ganeshji. Nothing could console my boy. I felt very bad also. It is nobody’s fault that this has happened. Who knew last year that there would be so much gadbad in the world? When we went to pay our respects to Ganpati Bappa at Lalbaugh, we also shouted and joined the chorus, ‘Ganpati Bappa Morya… Pudhchha Varshi Lavkar Ya. . .’
Ameya danced and sang in the gully, ate prasad, came home happy, wearing his new clothes. That night he painted a very large Ganeshji with the colours in the paint box I had given him. This time, Ameya had chosen to paint on the inside of our front door, explaining, ‘Bappa said he wants to keep an eye on us… in case we are being naughty!’
Mumbai and Ganesh Utsav… the whole city waits for those ten days. Ameya is confident nothing will stop Ganeshji from visiting our city. He said, ‘Ganpati Bappa is stronger and bigger and greater than this Corona. He told me just now, he will come and drive out that horrible, ugly, mean monster. Tell your office… our Raja is on his way.’
LOCKDOWN FUNERAL
‘This side… this side… ladies, this side please.’ There was no need for the priest to intervene in such a crude way. After all, we were only eighteen people at the funeral. We were there to say our final farewell to ‘M’ – the man I had been married to for thirty-two years… till… . well. What’s the point of that ‘till’. He was dead. The police had said no more than 20 people at this electric crematorium near the sea - my first time at a crematorium, electric or otherwise. Our religious practices were different, you see. But let me not go into that. Even though ‘M’ had not died of Covid-19, and could have followed our faith, he had left instructions about his last rites as soon as he knew the end was close.
Besides… we had not spoken to each other in 22 years. Not exchanged a single word! Not even when our beloved son got married. Then our lovely daughter. ‘M’ had left me by then. Just like that. Left! For that one. I never used her name. ‘That one’ was good enough. I had not seen her after ‘M’ walked away that awful afternoon, when the three of us sat in the living room of what was ‘our’ home - mine and ‘M’s’. The children were visiting their grandmother. And our staff knew when to disappear. ‘M’ had come to plead for a divorce. And brought ‘That One’ with him.
Why??? I had screamed and almost pushed her out of the front door. ‘M’ had stood like a shield in front of her - and told me to step aside, so they could come in. What could I have done? I had let loose my tongue and called her names, called him names. Obviously! I had pointed to the painting on the wall - our portrait! Painted by an English portraitist of renown.
‘See this…’ I had shouted. Then pointed to another portrait, of ‘M’ and me and the two children, when they were toddlers. This one was painted by one of India’s greatest artists.
‘You are breaking up our beautiful family… our beautiful life. Have you no shame? What sort of a woman are you?’ I had said, my green-brown cat eyes flashing, as I gathered my silk flowing caftan around my slim body and stuck out my breasts, allowing cleavage to peep through the deep neckline. I wanted her to
see what ‘M’ had seen in me for all these years. I was a beauty! Admired by society and respected for my lineage. I had my position, money, talent and looks - the very reasons that had made ‘M’ pursue me till I said ‘yes’. Granted, ‘M’ came from an even wealthier family. And his lineage was impeccable, too. And what was ‘That One’?
A nothing! A nobody. No family background, no legacy, and frankly, no looks. She was what we called ‘common’. ‘M’ was such a snob! What had he seen in her? I was baffled and livid! ‘M’ and I represented the upper crust in our small community. We were the couple, envied and admired by all. Our homes, cars, art, soirees… yes - we had it all! ‘That One’ was an upstart. No background to speak of. And he had fallen for her. What did she have to hold a man of such taste and refinement?
Just to give you a small but significant example, ‘M’ liked me in pearls. ‘That One’ preferred diamonds - the bigger the better. You know… the kind NRI women wear to impress other NRI women. I found that vulgar. At our home, ‘M’ liked Western style dinners, three or four courses, a change of service, silver flatware, English crockery… that sort of thing. He enjoyed Bread and Butter pudding, Crème BrÛlée… maybe a little Cointreau, a puff or two of his favourite Cuban.
‘That One’ was more a butter chicken type, who probably served gajjar halwa for dessert. What can I say? I still don’t understand what ‘M’ saw in her. How could they have attended concerts together? Could she even pronounce ‘concerto’ or know what it was? Zubin was our family friend. He used to stay with us in our London home, and we always hosted a dinner for him and his lovely wife when they came to Mumbai. ‘That One’ didn’t go beyond balle balle, bhangra and at the most some ghazals!
I was horrified when a friend of ours from London sent me a video of ‘M’ dancing with her at some hideous sangeet, with everybody wearing the most garish ethnic clothes. I couldn’t get over ‘M’ dressed like a band master in some embroidered ethnic outfit, with a shiny stole draped over his shoulders! This man, who wore a black tie like a proper English aristocrat, was making an idiot of himself shaking his hips to trashy Bollywood songs! I was so embarrassed.
