Quirky Indians 36-40

Naksh’s only goal in life was to get under the kitchen sink while Daman Joshi drove a Maruti 800 that was older than himself.

Day 36

Mohan hated driving his car after he got married because he preferred when his wife drove them around. She was a better driver than him anyway and far more entertaining.

It was a month after their wedding when he taught her. He came out one day to see her already sitting in the seat and touching the steering wheel with fascination.

They had to drive for half a day, and he gave her the controls as soon as they left the city. Bare roads were perfect to teach her for the first time. Apart from some mishaps, running off a milkman from the road and scaring another car driver with death, she was a good student and a cautious driver.

They reached their destination a day later, giddy with the exhilaration of doing something they were sure their friends and family will frown down upon.

The couple didn’t care, and it became normal to see them driving around teh city.

Mohan loved being a passenger, even if he didn’t rest for a minute. He observed his amusing wife instead. Renu slowed down for quick interactions with passer-by but always had sarcastic quips for slow drivers. They talked and laughed with each other. Yet the best time was when he couldn’t help staring at her beautiful face making her blush from neck to ear.

“Will you ever drive the car again?” She teased him once.

“I will.” She raised an eyebrow, “The day you want me to.”

She burst out into laughter, shaking her head, “You would have to wait a long time.”

Day 37

Vasu stayed up all night to fill up water balloons for Holi. The water war with his neighbors was no joke.

He waited the whole year for the festival and recruited his most loyal followers to help him in the task, his younger siblings.

His uncle gifted them with packets of colorful pieces, and his father taught them the best technique to tie the necks when the work is done.

The station was set on their terrace. Their mother lent them three buckets and a small tub for the occasion, to be returned as soon as they were empty. They were filled with water for a better chance of survival for the full balloons, another trick his father told them.

The tap with the narrow mouth was chosen. It ended with several rubber bands from the pieces that couldn’t handle the weight of water. Vasu filled up five in the time his younger siblings did one with their small pichkaris, coming to him to tie them up.

They soon left after their little arms got tired, but he went on till all was done. He slept on the terrace too, waking up as battle cries rose around him.

His younger siblings were behind him soon with their bodies and hair oiled.

“Holi hai!” They went off in v formation to launch their balloons as their parents colored their enemies’ families with gulaal.

Day 38

Naksh’s goal in life was to get under the kitchen sink as a one-year-old. It was the perfect area in the house. The floor was usually wet, perfect for him to play with, and he could keep an eye on everyone in the house while going almost unnoticed by them.

But there were three hurdles, or rather people. His mother, aunt and grandmother. The ladies fed him, burped him, and even took care of him after he did his business. He even let them bathe him daily. But they were stubborn about him not going into the kitchen.

Hypocrites, if someone asked him. Since they spent so much time there.

As soon as he was ready for the day and put in his walker, he zoomed to the kitchen in hopes of getting through. But his Dadi was the first one to stop him. She would sit at the entrance on her chair and play with him, not letting him through. He could see his mother and aunt playing with so many colourful things but Dadi would not move.

He even tried distracting them by running around the house in different directions on his vehicle and then running towards his goal while they gave chase. But they were faster.

He soon realized that night time would be better when his father and Dadu would be home and everyone sat around for dinner. The kitchen was unguarded and he had the opportunity. But alas, they soon started putting him with them in a high chair once they got to know his intentions.

And all for what? Just because he drove his walker in his mother’s legs once while she was in the kitchen. She had dropped the wood roller that missed his head by a few inches. And he was the one punished for it. They didn’t even take him inside when he was in their arms.

“He isn’t here.” Dadi couldn’t find him after she returned from the market. His mother had gone to get his soft shoes after putting him in his walker. He had vanished in a minute, scaring the two women.

His aunt went straight to the kitchen as soon as she came out of the bathroom, having heard the ruckus, “Come out, you monkey!” She took him out from under the sink as he laughed loudly.

Day 39

Nanda hated roses. Her husband gifted a bouquet of them to her every week without fail since they got engaged.

Karan was advised by a married friend. Her cousins laughed when she received the first one at home. The blushing bride to be shook her head with a smile and thanked him over the phone while coiling her finger through the cord. She received a similar one on her wedding day a week later, and it continued.

Karan felt a rush whenever she gave him that sweet smile as he brough the flowers home. A sweet peck on the cheek and off she would go to put them in a vase. He made sure to always tip the seller well for the fresh and consistent supply.

When he forgot one time because of the sickness that took hold of both of them, he bought all the available bouquets from the surrounding areas and filled up their house before she came back from the office. That day she fell in love with the flowers since she couldn’t possibly love him more.

The fragrance grew on Nanda. Their home always had a lingering scent of roses, and their children loved the Rooh Afza she made in summers from the dried-up petals.

“You know, I used to hate red roses.” She thumbed the soft petals as he hugged her from behind. It was their twenty fifth anniversary and she had just put her bouquets for the week in the vase before they had to leave for their party.

“I know.” He smiled in amusement as he turned her around in his arms, “Your mother and I had a bet if you would tell me.”

She laughed, “Guess she won.” Albeit a bit late.

“No. I did.” He kissed her finger over the wedding ring.

Day 40

Daman Joshi drove a Maruti 800 that was older than himself. Yet, he was not ready to let it go.

The car was bought by his parents in 1989, a year before his birth and given to him on his eighteenth birthday. He learnt driving from his father and became the designated driver of the family.

He lugged the relatives back and forth from train station when his elder sister got married. Windows were down to let the cool air in. His uncles praised him over his ability to overtake the slower vehicles while his aunts kept handing him chapatis rolled with homemade achar. Daman stopped the car to let them stretch their legs for a bit even if the house was only thirty minutes away. They liked people to see them standing beside the car. He had heard his grandparents boasting about it. He didn’t mind as long as he got to drive the car.

Daman took out his wife in the same car on their first date. He opened the door for her with a flourish, turned on the freshly installed air conditioner and drove them around while her younger brother, their chauffeur for the day, happily licked the ice cream in back seat.

He brought his children home from the hospital, and dropped them at school on their first day. He taught them to drive in it too after his failed attempt with his wife.

When Sumit asked him for a new car, he simply shook his head in negative, earning a sigh out of his wife. Stubborn in letting go of the car, he let the family burn in silent anger for a week after the argument before he surprised his son with a new car.

Sumit was still shocked as he ran his hands over the new steering wheel after the ladies had done their pooja on the vehicle, “You really sold your old car?”

It earned him a playful smack on the back of his head as Daman pointed behind him, “See there. It’s not going anywhere.”

Sumit leaned out of the car as his father stepped back from the door, and shook his head with a small smile on his face.

The Maruti 800 was sitting prettily behind the house, to be taken out at a moment’s notice by Daman.

---

For The Indian Story subscribers, there is news. My other publication Story has been merged into this one. So, you will get more fiction. It would be dark, magical, and fun. Happy reading!

Read more Quirky Indians.