Headhunters

 

One Sunday morning, while I was in the midst of solving my favourite crossword, I was asked, “Where is your head?”

The voice was my wife’s and she sounded slightly agitated. So like most men in that situation, the first thought that ran through my mind was “What did I do wrong now?”

I resisted the temptation to indicate that my head was above my neck. I have learnt how to correlate the tone of her voice to her readiness for what my children refer to as “Dad jokes” - and this was clearly not the appropriate time. I merely inquired, “What head?” 

“Your head and my head are the same now”, she muttered, as she frantically looked for something around the living room.

My initial reaction was joy - that after two decades of matrimony, in which we almost always thought in diametrically opposite directions, she had started feeling that we were of the same mind. But her next comment revealed that it had nothing to do with such collaboration of thoughts. 

Noting my puzzled expression, she exclaimed, “Gosh, you are so slow! Your mobile charger’s head — where is it ? My mobile also charges super fast with the same head. I need to recharge urgently”.

Two emotions ran through me at that moment. Relief, that I had not done anything wrong. And an unfamiliar sense of pride, that I was being solicited to help on a domestic matter. 
“I will search for it right away”, I responded with a steely resolve, and sprang into action, the morning energy at its peak after my strong filter coffee session. I began flinging the sofa cushions all over the place with a child-like exuberance to further prove my determination to find “my missing head”.

Meanwhile my wife had arrived at the bed of our Thirteen year old son who was fast asleep. Furious that the sleeping angel was blissfully unaware of the latest domestic crisis, she shook him up, pointed her mobile to his face, and asked, “Where is your father’s head?”

At that particular moment, the hapless boy faced a major challenge. He had never witnessed such an early hour on a weekend, and was totally confused. In his semi-awake state, he replied, “Amma! It was on his neck last night when I went to sleep”. Having distributed this dose of daily wisdom, and appearing quite annoyed, he curled up under his blanket and attempted to regain his serene Shishuasana pose.

My exasperated wife then turned to our Seventeen year old, who was - according to unconfirmed reports - awake that morning since 6am in preparation for an upcoming examination. Delighted to be excused from his study schedule, he reassured his frantic mother that he would find the absconding head. This kind of confidence usually meant that he was somehow responsible for its disappearance in the first place.

Within minutes the dying mobile device was reconnected to its saviour, the charger. The finer details of how and why it went missing began to be investigated but I did not get too involved in the probe and was able to return to the comfort of my Sunday cryptic crossword. 

Later that evening, as we laughed recalling the day's events, my wife quipped, “We really need to get another head to avoid this situation in future. Two heads are definitely better than one!”

June 2022

The Invisible Walkers

 

The omnipresent parks of Bangalore have always been a favourite walking destination for those who follow that early morning routine. Just into my Thirties, I was undoubtedly the youngest of those regulars in the park, but by no means the most enthusiastic. Each one of those early birds had a distinct style and characteristic, which I remember even today.

Yoga Uncle inevitably brightened our morning with his vociferous breathing and elastic poses. Next to him was the group of ladies led by Guffaw Aunty. Her loud laughter and clamorous clapping often led me to wonder if I had ventured out forgetting to wear my track pants, Of course, they were merely in pursuit of some happy therapy, and not focused on any individual.

Gossip Chacha was of the most popular inhabitant of that park, never failing to update us with the spicy news his milkman had delivered every morning along with the equally fresh dairy produce. But Army Sir hated all the gossip, and ensured he maintained social distancing from the hearsay, while walking at lightning speed. I reciprocated by keeping such distance from him, fearing being run over by his pace, or accidentally knocked off by his swagger stick.

One could however not resist the herbal tea collection of Pekoe Madam, who managed to reach the park everyday just as the walkers were finishing their exercise. She sold fourteen varieties of therapeutic teas, although I never figured out any difference between the flavours. 

The park had a small area for a flag hoist and every Independence and Republic day, Army Sir ensured that we all gathered exactly at 9am in celebration of the country’s freedom and democracy. Gossip Chacha usually avoided chatter on those occasions but Guffaw Aunty and her troupe ensured that their session of merriment and cacophony finished up just minutes before the more sober patriotic activities commenced.

It has been almost two decades since I moved away to a different part of the city - and a few weeks back I wondered if any of the usual characters still inhabit the park in the mornings. I took a drive towards the park and discovered that a sprawling apartment complex had taken its place. So just as many of us confine our walks and exercise routines within apartment societies and gymnasiums nowadays, the happy scenes of that vibrant group of fellow walkers, now invisible in this modern city, are well confined in my memory.

Note - this article was published in the middle section of Deccan Herald in March 2021 

At the Crossroads

The act of crossing a road in other parts of the world may be quite simple, but it can be quite a harrowing experience in Busy Bangalore. It can also provide one with some deep insights, as I realised a few weekends ago. I was the pedestrian, merely trying to get across the road outside my home to buy some groceries.  

Pedestrians here seem to be perceived as a nuisance for motorists, especially by those on two-wheels. The riders always appear to be hurrying to catch a train or a flight, or perhaps to even perform some urgent life-saving activity. Whatever be their exigency, my modest walk to the supermarket always ranks lower in importance.

One can explore multiple ways in which to cross the road. Running across solo at Usain Bolt speed may provide instant gratification, but the risks are too high. One could also buddy up with more skilled road crossers, always positioning oneself so that the incoming vehicular missiles are likely to strike the buddies first. 

I normally test the waters by putting one foot forward on the road and immediately withdrawing it. Sometime that litmus test is followed by a zooming biker near-missing me and calling me names which are unparliamentary. But if after the test, an uneasy sense of calm prevails that no harm has as yet occurred to me, I proceed with the adventure. 

Despite these preparations, a motorbike happened to bump into me while I was committing the crime of crossing the road on that eventful day. There was no major injury, only a small scratch on my leg. Unlike my previous experiences, the biker was extremely courteous and apologetic. He offered to take me to a doctor if required, while I assured him it was nothing major. We shook hands and he was about to take off again, but I couldn't resist asking him why he was riding so fast.

"I am late to get to work, Sir", he responded.

When I enquired what kind of work he does, he replied confidently, "I am a driving school instructor".

The irony escaped him, just as fast as he disappeared into the snarling traffic. And after that incident, I crossed over to online grocery purchases, where I only have to deal with internet traffic. 

July 2023

Payment Queue

Its early in the morning at the neighborhood supermarket where only three customers have made their way into the shop. Quite a contrast from the busy hours later in the day and in the evening when the outlet would be buzzing with many shoppers.

The store normally has 6 checkout counters but only one of them is open at this early hour. The first customer finishes his purchase, makes his way to the counter and prepares to bill and pay. He's around 75 years old, walks in slow, short strides and leans slightly onto the counter frame to support himself. I feel I might have seen him around the area - he's the retired banker who also ventured into selling life insurance products a few years back. Yes, I have definitely seen him around. Perhaps even talked to him about some insurance needs a while back.

Next to him in the line is a young boy, probably around 12 years old, and just as I finish picking up what I want, I line up behind the boy and complete the queue. The boy is also familiar, seems like a resident in my apartment society. Bespectacled and beaming with energy, he says to me "Good morning uncle"! I wish him back with a smile and make small talk about how his school holidays are progressing.

Meanwhile ex-banker has been billed for 129 Rupees and even as the counter clerk asks him "UPI Scanner Sir?", he whisks out a crisp 500 Rupee note and says proudly, "No, I have cash. Give me change". A minor but familiar argument ensues about how the store clerk is expected to have change first thing in the morning while the ex-banker insists on paying with cash and does not miss the opportunity to remind everyone that he has been shopping in this store for over 20 years.

Energy boy looks at me and rolls his eyes as if to say, "Gosh these old people are so annoying". When the kid's turn to pay arrives, he nonchalantly points his smart watch at the QR code and looks at me as if to say "This is the way Generation Alpha does it, bro". 

Its my turn to roll eyes but I hold back. I just offer an admiring smile wanting desperately to say "Your watch will save the world, lad".

Just then the store clerk gives out a frustrated sigh. The smartwatch payment has somehow not worked out and there seems to be a network issue. The clerk brings in another payment machine and Junior Einstein does his smartwatch swipe again, only to find it facing a similar fate as the first attempt.

Now the store manager gets involved and tries to resolve the issue. He looks down the queue and asks me how I will be paying and I tell him "UPI" with so much pride that it seemed like I wanted an award for paying digitally. He gives me a smirk filled with anguish, and all of a sudden, the 75-year old ex-banker seems to have made the best payment option choice on this intriguing morning. Uncle is probably already at home sitting on his easy chair sipping chai, while Young Sheldon and I are grappling with technological challenges during our morning shopping routine.

By now another four customers join the line and it gradually evolves into payment pandemonium, but thankfully it all gets resolved very quickly after that. I imagine that someone on some cloud reset the internet switch and everything was working again. 

The Techno whiz kid completes his payment and so do I. As we exit the store I ask the young chap why he was coming to a store when he could order online instead. "Isn't that what Generation Alpha prefers?"

"My mother wanted me to get some exercise", he says cheekily and with a wink, "so I am earning my TV and gaming hours for the day by doing some errands for her".

Smart watches making them smart kids ? Only time will tell.

May 2025