1.1 V R Family
The door of the flat opened slowly, revealing only darkness. The five shadowy figures standing in the doorway stepped forward slowly, hesitantly.
One of them did something with a gadget on the wall and with blinding suddenness, every light in the place came on at once.
"That's much better," said Sarla Vatsal, smiling at her husband. At 43, she was still beautiful and elegant. In fact, Virendra Vatsal thought as he walked back to her side, she seemed to grow more attractive as she matured.
Perhaps the fact that she had maintained her figure so well, even after three children, and had a fine sense of grooming and immaculate taste in dressing also made a difference.
Looking at her right now, he thought idly that even Dilip De would envy him!
Mikey, a precocious 12, and currently going through a Yankee phase, groaned and slipped on his Ray-Bans. "Dad, next time you try to blind us, give us some warning, please?"
His short stature was accentuated by his wide girth; too many hours of sitting before computer and television screens had made him softer and heavier than his parents would have liked. But even putting on weight was a kind of rebellion for Mikey; and despite his excess(ive) bulk, he still looked cute, especially when he tried to look mean with his mohawk punk haircut and multiple earrings on the left ear.
"Shut up, Mikey," snapped his older brother Vaibhav. "And don't wear your sunglasses indoors. It's bad luck."
Vaibhav was as lean and tall as his younger brother was short and fat. He had his father's dark good looks and masculine intensity. At 17, he was already starting to fit into the intense 'hero' slot. Except that he was much more laid back than his looks suggested: Vaibhav was the quintessential 'chalta hai' guy.
"That's only for hats, stupid," Mikey retorted.
Their older sister Viveka sighed. "Will you two stop fighting for once. This is important, okay. Try to focus." Her Indian dressing-she was in a khadi churidhar kurta that showed off her slim but full figure beautifully-was deceptive. She was more foreign-savvy than either of her brothers.
A graduate of Michigan State and diploma-holder from Columbia State University, New York, Viveka was the consummate NRI returning to her roots. And like all NRIs come home, she was far more ethnic and desi in her tastes and language than either of the boys, with an international outlook. A young Shabana Azmi could have played her in a film version of her life!
Looking at his family, Virendra Vatsal felt his chest swell with pride. He had worked hard to climb to the position he was in today, and his family made him feel it was worth every midnight deadline and overnight office stay over.
Overwork had added deep circles beneath his eyes and brought his severe eyebrows closer together in an intense stare; but these only made him look more ruggedly attractive, in a way that his wife Sarla described as "Bachchan+Tommy Lee Jones+Al Pacino = mature hunk!"
Now, he put an arm around his wife, squeezed tight and gestured casually at the brightly-lit flat.
"So?" he said softly, almost romantically. "What do you think?"
Raising his voice, he repeated the question loud enough for everybody to hear. "What do you all think? Is it home?"
The five of them looked around the flat.
They walked through the corridor, looked into each of the five bedrooms, the spacious attached toilets with gold-trimmed porcelain fittings and kingsize bathtubs.
The balconies, every one of which had a great view of the ocean and half the city's coastline from Juhu on the right all the way to Cuffe Parade on the left.
The furniture which was almost all wooden and designed in that Scandinavian way that looks elegant but is functional too.
The electrical fittings designed to meet the needs of a millennium Net-connected family: designer lighting with computerized settings.
The gizmos in each bedroom: 34" colour TVs with cable, DVD players, 1200-watt stereo systems with hidden speakers, PCs with cable modems, and every other gadget an urban Indian family could possibly desire.
When they met back in the huge living room (35 by 42 feet, with a sea-facing glass enclosed verandah at the far end), they all looked a little dazed. Except for Virendra Vatsal, who had spent the last 11 months getting the apartment custom-interior-designed and fitted in complete secrecy, and was now as nervous as a first-time applicant for an H1B US Visa.
"I thought you just bought an empty flat," Sarla Vatsal said, staring at her husband.
"Yeah, dad," Vaibhav said. "You didn't tell us you were getting it all done up and furnished and all."
"I thought he was up to something," Viveka said smugly, smiling at her father. "I told you guys he was up to something. That's why he wouldn't let us come and even see the building till now!"
Mikey chewed his gum and adjusted his Ray-Bans and lounged on a beanbag sofa and looked around for the remote to the 54" Thomson TV. He found it but decided against it after a warning look from his alert mother. He shrugged and switched on his Discman instead: The scratchy, tinny sound of Bon Jovi's "It's My Life" escaping from his headphones was audible to everyone.
"So?" Vir Vatsal asked for the tenth time in as many minutes.
"Say something! I spent 11 months and almost every rupee of our savings to put this place together. Was it worth it or not?"
Sarla frowned at him: "Every rupee? You said you wouldn't touch the Grindlays account."
"You know what?" Vaibhav said slowly, turning around as if trying to absorb the essence of the whole flat from where he stood. "I think it's the coolest place I've ever seen in my entire life." He added: "Not just homes. The coolest place. Period."
"I don't know about cool," Viveka said, arms crossed over her khadi kurta, frowning intently. "I think it's way beyond cool. I'd go for awesome. What say, mom?"
Vir Vatsal, grinning with relief at his children's comments, looked anxiously at his wife.
Sarla Vatsal frowned in a way that was exactly like her daughter Viveka. She tilted her head to one side, exactly like her son Vaibhav often did when thinking. And she pretended to chew her lower lip, the way her youngest son Mikey always did when concentrating.
And then she raised both her hands, the silk saree's pallu draped over the left, and brought her palms together with force. Producing a sound that echoed like a bullet through the flat. And then repeating it over and over again with increasing frequency and impact.
Her older children joined her in the standing ovation.
Sarla Vatsal gestured to her husband between rounds of applause.
"Author! Author!" she said, the way an audience does after viewing a great play or concert.
Vir Vatsal, the author of the performance in question, grinned with relief.
When they stopped clapping, they all came and hugged and kissed him warmly.
"Dad, it's phenomenal," Vaibhav said. "It's really amazing. You're maha cool!"
"Great work," Viveka said, planting a lipstick mark on his left cheek. "Now this is what I call great design sense."
Sarla Vatsal pinched his right cheek and punched his muscular shoulder. "You rascal, Vir," she said. "I can understand keeping it a secret from the children. But how could you not tell me what you were up to? For eleven months? I was beginning to think you were having an affair!"
He looked at her solemnly. "I was."
She blinked.
"I was having an affair with you," he explained. "But I was married to this flat!"
They all laughed at that.
Vaibhav said, "Hey, where did Mikey disappear to?"
They looked around. Their youngest brother was nowhere to be seen.
Vir laughed. "I think I can guess where he is."
He led them down the corridor to the bedroom with the black door and the skull-and-crossbones sign with the words "Enter At Your Own Risk" painted in bleeding red paint. He opened the door and went in. They all followed him.
There was Mikey. At his new PC, already on the Net, surfing through an MP3 site for clips of the latest Billboard hits.
"Hey, dad," he called out without looking back at them. "This cable modem is okay. But can't it go any faster?"
Vir Vatsal looked at his wife and grinned. "He likes it too," he said. "That makes it official!"
And that was how the Vatsals got a new home.
And would probably have lived happily ever after.
But then the e-mail came.
One of them did something with a gadget on the wall and with blinding suddenness, every light in the place came on at once.
"That's much better," said Sarla Vatsal, smiling at her husband. At 43, she was still beautiful and elegant. In fact, Virendra Vatsal thought as he walked back to her side, she seemed to grow more attractive as she matured.
Perhaps the fact that she had maintained her figure so well, even after three children, and had a fine sense of grooming and immaculate taste in dressing also made a difference.
Looking at her right now, he thought idly that even Dilip De would envy him!
Mikey, a precocious 12, and currently going through a Yankee phase, groaned and slipped on his Ray-Bans. "Dad, next time you try to blind us, give us some warning, please?"
His short stature was accentuated by his wide girth; too many hours of sitting before computer and television screens had made him softer and heavier than his parents would have liked. But even putting on weight was a kind of rebellion for Mikey; and despite his excess(ive) bulk, he still looked cute, especially when he tried to look mean with his mohawk punk haircut and multiple earrings on the left ear.
"Shut up, Mikey," snapped his older brother Vaibhav. "And don't wear your sunglasses indoors. It's bad luck."
Vaibhav was as lean and tall as his younger brother was short and fat. He had his father's dark good looks and masculine intensity. At 17, he was already starting to fit into the intense 'hero' slot. Except that he was much more laid back than his looks suggested: Vaibhav was the quintessential 'chalta hai' guy.
"That's only for hats, stupid," Mikey retorted.
Their older sister Viveka sighed. "Will you two stop fighting for once. This is important, okay. Try to focus." Her Indian dressing-she was in a khadi churidhar kurta that showed off her slim but full figure beautifully-was deceptive. She was more foreign-savvy than either of her brothers.
A graduate of Michigan State and diploma-holder from Columbia State University, New York, Viveka was the consummate NRI returning to her roots. And like all NRIs come home, she was far more ethnic and desi in her tastes and language than either of the boys, with an international outlook. A young Shabana Azmi could have played her in a film version of her life!
Looking at his family, Virendra Vatsal felt his chest swell with pride. He had worked hard to climb to the position he was in today, and his family made him feel it was worth every midnight deadline and overnight office stay over.
Overwork had added deep circles beneath his eyes and brought his severe eyebrows closer together in an intense stare; but these only made him look more ruggedly attractive, in a way that his wife Sarla described as "Bachchan+Tommy Lee Jones+Al Pacino = mature hunk!"
Now, he put an arm around his wife, squeezed tight and gestured casually at the brightly-lit flat.
"So?" he said softly, almost romantically. "What do you think?"
Raising his voice, he repeated the question loud enough for everybody to hear. "What do you all think? Is it home?"
The five of them looked around the flat.
They walked through the corridor, looked into each of the five bedrooms, the spacious attached toilets with gold-trimmed porcelain fittings and kingsize bathtubs.
The balconies, every one of which had a great view of the ocean and half the city's coastline from Juhu on the right all the way to Cuffe Parade on the left.
The furniture which was almost all wooden and designed in that Scandinavian way that looks elegant but is functional too.
The electrical fittings designed to meet the needs of a millennium Net-connected family: designer lighting with computerized settings.
The gizmos in each bedroom: 34" colour TVs with cable, DVD players, 1200-watt stereo systems with hidden speakers, PCs with cable modems, and every other gadget an urban Indian family could possibly desire.
When they met back in the huge living room (35 by 42 feet, with a sea-facing glass enclosed verandah at the far end), they all looked a little dazed. Except for Virendra Vatsal, who had spent the last 11 months getting the apartment custom-interior-designed and fitted in complete secrecy, and was now as nervous as a first-time applicant for an H1B US Visa.
"I thought you just bought an empty flat," Sarla Vatsal said, staring at her husband.
"Yeah, dad," Vaibhav said. "You didn't tell us you were getting it all done up and furnished and all."
"I thought he was up to something," Viveka said smugly, smiling at her father. "I told you guys he was up to something. That's why he wouldn't let us come and even see the building till now!"
Mikey chewed his gum and adjusted his Ray-Bans and lounged on a beanbag sofa and looked around for the remote to the 54" Thomson TV. He found it but decided against it after a warning look from his alert mother. He shrugged and switched on his Discman instead: The scratchy, tinny sound of Bon Jovi's "It's My Life" escaping from his headphones was audible to everyone.
"So?" Vir Vatsal asked for the tenth time in as many minutes.
"Say something! I spent 11 months and almost every rupee of our savings to put this place together. Was it worth it or not?"
Sarla frowned at him: "Every rupee? You said you wouldn't touch the Grindlays account."
"You know what?" Vaibhav said slowly, turning around as if trying to absorb the essence of the whole flat from where he stood. "I think it's the coolest place I've ever seen in my entire life." He added: "Not just homes. The coolest place. Period."
"I don't know about cool," Viveka said, arms crossed over her khadi kurta, frowning intently. "I think it's way beyond cool. I'd go for awesome. What say, mom?"
Vir Vatsal, grinning with relief at his children's comments, looked anxiously at his wife.
Sarla Vatsal frowned in a way that was exactly like her daughter Viveka. She tilted her head to one side, exactly like her son Vaibhav often did when thinking. And she pretended to chew her lower lip, the way her youngest son Mikey always did when concentrating.
And then she raised both her hands, the silk saree's pallu draped over the left, and brought her palms together with force. Producing a sound that echoed like a bullet through the flat. And then repeating it over and over again with increasing frequency and impact.
Her older children joined her in the standing ovation.
Sarla Vatsal gestured to her husband between rounds of applause.
"Author! Author!" she said, the way an audience does after viewing a great play or concert.
Vir Vatsal, the author of the performance in question, grinned with relief.
When they stopped clapping, they all came and hugged and kissed him warmly.
"Dad, it's phenomenal," Vaibhav said. "It's really amazing. You're maha cool!"
"Great work," Viveka said, planting a lipstick mark on his left cheek. "Now this is what I call great design sense."
Sarla Vatsal pinched his right cheek and punched his muscular shoulder. "You rascal, Vir," she said. "I can understand keeping it a secret from the children. But how could you not tell me what you were up to? For eleven months? I was beginning to think you were having an affair!"
He looked at her solemnly. "I was."
She blinked.
"I was having an affair with you," he explained. "But I was married to this flat!"
They all laughed at that.
Vaibhav said, "Hey, where did Mikey disappear to?"
They looked around. Their youngest brother was nowhere to be seen.
Vir laughed. "I think I can guess where he is."
He led them down the corridor to the bedroom with the black door and the skull-and-crossbones sign with the words "Enter At Your Own Risk" painted in bleeding red paint. He opened the door and went in. They all followed him.
There was Mikey. At his new PC, already on the Net, surfing through an MP3 site for clips of the latest Billboard hits.
"Hey, dad," he called out without looking back at them. "This cable modem is okay. But can't it go any faster?"
Vir Vatsal looked at his wife and grinned. "He likes it too," he said. "That makes it official!"
And that was how the Vatsals got a new home.
And would probably have lived happily ever after.
But then the e-mail came.
posted by Ashok K. Banker at 12.10.05
2 Comments:
you have a De fixation ? and BTW dilip de would envy anyone , what so great abt madam de?
My anonymous friend, where does it say that this is an autobiography? Not only do I not have a De fixation as you call it, I don't even like the woman. For that matter, I may not like mutton or beef (I don't) but that doesn't mean that every character in a fictional story I write won't like them either! If all my characters had my likes and dislikes, it would be very boring, wouldn't it?
It's a story, read it as one. And next time, do us all the courtesy of mentioning your name.
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