A MILD TSUNAMI

“If you hurry we can go to Bangalore Central and get some wine for the night” said my

hurried husband. He should have been named Mr Hari, always in a hurry. I thought unkindly.”OK,Ok coming” I muttered and came pelting down the stairs at 50. Imagine 50 years old and pelting down the stairs.The alternative to being subjected to how slow I was, couldn’t do a thing sensibly …blah blah……I smiled hugely at him and frowned when he asked if I had a handbag. Oh dear, I would have to pelt up the stairs for one now…..usually he pocketed all the money…. of course would generously give me a bundle to keep like pacifying a child with candy not to eat only to keep sort of, but would end up paying by card . It was the same procedure today .But thankfully he agreed to let me take my daughter’s sling bag which was in her room in the ground floor.

I heaved  a small sigh of relief….little knowing that I would soon regret not pelting up the stairs to get my secure purse….. He held out a bundle in the car. I said “you could have avoided taking out so much cash outside the house. You never know whose burinazar can strike.” He gave me one of his famous sniggers and we set off for BC.

It was jam packed. Naturally New year’s eve and all that… BC always enthralled me. I roamed around as Mr Har….sorry Mr Menon made a beeline for the liquor counter. I also browsed there reading out aloud ‘Riviera, Sula, Madera. Wines from South Africa, Australia, Black dog, Teachers (whisky? I thought teachers taught) , Blue label…..the list was exhaustive. Mr Menon was absolutely lost in his search for the finest wine and whisky.After some time , bored I went roaming towards the food stalls , grocery stalls , vegetable stalls and juice stalls . I selected a few items but did not bill them as Mr Menon would have the final say.You see I was the typical Bhartiya nari who believed the husband was the lord and master!

 Soon he came up beaming ,terribly pleased with his purchases. The line at the billing counter was depressing. We hung on and as we neared the end of the line, I heard a man humming an old hindi song just behind us.It was a GuruDutt  number ‘ya dil ki suno duniya valon…..’I had  a good mind to hum along with him but shut up just in time. But I turned round once to get a look at  him. How many talented people get lost in the crowds while others not so talented are chosen via Indian Idol and whatever. Sigh, if I had been lucky I also would have been a singer better than the Bhonsle sisters….

.My husband’s yell brought me back to earth… “In which world are you? Come on push the trolley we have to go straight to the car park ….”So down we sailed. The lift took another ten minutes and was like the proverbial achar jar. We just about managed to get out in one piece as did the others. I checked to see if my bag was safe , and found it slung on my shoulder. Thank God ,I sent up a prayer….

“Let’s lunch at Nagarjuna Nakshatra”I said

“Buffet?”asked Mr Menon. He loved eating out.

“Yup,” I agreed and we somehow managed to come out of the maze that was the parking.

The whole of Bangalore seemed to be out that day. The valet specially chosen by my husband because he didn’t trust all valets brought our car after a good 6 minutes. My stomach was growling and I could almost taste the moist biriyani at Nagarjunas…..

After the car was in safekeeping we settled down at the blessedly empty Nagarjunas and had to order ala carte as buffet wasn’t there! Oh never mind, as long as biriyani was served. We sat and looked at each other and went over the day and the purchases and then we did a flash back of the past year.It had been a year of plusses. Our second daughter had got married, our first daughter had settled down in Australia….all in all a good year.. I was scared to tempt fate and quickly touched wood. And we were left with each other. It was like the early days of marriage but without the youth. A major loss …My sling bag was now settled comfortably in my lap the sling draped across the armrest. I pressed it to make sure that the bundle was there. I felt a lump…was it thinner?...naah couldn’t be since I hadn’t spent any. I tucked into the Biriyani. Yum…

Soon it was back to the parking lot and into the car. I settled down and pulled my bag towards me and saw that the zip was slightly open. My heart plunged…I had zipped it fully….. who….when… a twinge of fear hit me in the solar plexus, oh my god…I quickly unzipped it, felt around the insides and came up with a sanitary pad. I didn’t need any at 50 but it was my daughter’s bag remember?..Frantic by now I searched in and out,all over and whipped out the inner lining too but hit a zero. “Mr Menon” I screamed “the money is not here”

“What the hell, Ten thousand rupees not there? look ,look again” He grabbed the bag from me .I zipped inside Nagarjunas and asked the bearers if any money had fallen below my table. As if they would give it to me if at all they found it. It wasn’t an honest world… I zipped back to the car. “found it ?”   we asked each other and then the shock hit us. We had lost Ten thousand rupees on the 31^st of December. Fate had been tempted after all….Dejected and depressed we drove back home. My mind was in a turmoil. Who could have plunged his/her hand into my bag and removed the money? I would have felt something….Mr Menon said “pantham kanda perichazhi pole nadanal ingane irikim”which translated means I was like a bandicoot blinded by light!  I felt I deserved the slight.

Could it be at the wine counter? Or the food outlet ? No wait, that singer at the billing counter? Or was it the valet? Maybe the money had fallen in the car before we went in… and he had pocketed it….the bearer at Nagarjuna? He must have noticed it fallen on the ground while I was busy savouring the moist yum  biriyani….

I went over the entire day again and again but couldn’t come to any conclusion. The B…..d he wouldn’t be able to enjoy our hard earned money I cursed…Let him have a blast with our money let him blast….

When my daughter came home I told her, I told everyone about our misery. It was a terrible end to the year. If only I had checked …if only I had held the bag in front…if only I had taken my regular bag….if only I had pelted up the stairs at 50….

In a situation like this what do you do?I would never carry loose cash . I would never go to BC again….

Later, after  a subdued dinner we switched on the TV. They were showing the ravages of last year’s Tsunami..The loss of lives, property , morale , the intense grief, the wall of photos for identification, the tsunami memorial ceremony on Patong beach in Phuket…in Chennai ,in Car Nicobar where an entire air force station vanished….. The anniversary of last year’s tragedy…the wall of water , the killer tsunami triggered off by an underwater earthquake.I remembered teaching my  students about the tsunami in disaster management classes.I never knew it would soon be a reality…how Tilly Smith knew it was a tsunami because her teacher had taught her. We watched in silence as the grief of the masses from Indonesia to Sweden swept across the TV screen.

of fear of the sea touched me so much that I cried. The resilience of the young made me bow my head in respect for them and shame at us. In front of their loss what was our meagre ten thousand rupees? I looked at Mr Menon sure he also felt the same. He pressed my hand and I knew all was forgiven…..We had been hit by a mild tsunami….

In a house in downtown Ulsoor a short bearded man counted the money that he had pick pocketed that day. It was quite a haul. BC was the right place for pickpockets. You found all types there. And it was so easy. Most of them were lost in themselves. Specially he remembered the lady with that quaint innocent expression on her face. She would surely be shocked to find her bundle missing.He felt a prick of remorse but quickly shook himself. He couldn’t afford to . The money was going to help his family back home in Nagapattinam. They had lost everything in last year’s Tsunami………He did not feel in the least guilty……