Ice Cream Soda

We had gone to the fair at the Traffic grounds. This fair used to be held every year during Kali Puja for a whole month. That’s where I first got fascinated with guns that shot at balloons; and developed a paranoia for the merry-go-round and those huge ferrous wheels – rather anything that went round and fast. Every year we would go to this fair at least four of five times during that month. The toy train was my favourite and I would refuse to get off even after our round trip was over. I would also buy those rice grains where they said they could write the whole Mahabharat. I would buy one, every year. And I would try to read a few lines of the epic through a magnifying glass. Obviously I could not proceed much and lost interest in it soon. Till it was next year and I would cry hopelessly till I got another one.

So, we had gone to the fair that evening. It was rather late. Baba got delayed with an emergency patient last minute and by the time we entered the fair, the stalls were already closing. I started looking around miserably. There goes the guy with the old lady’s hair, (the pink candyfloss had that peculiar local name); there went the photo shop that could take pictures of you standing in from of the Taj Mahal of next to Rajesh Khanna and the bamboo shutters went down on the lady who sold clay pots and pans for dolls. I liked licking the shiny purple paint off them and stick my tongue out at the mirror pretending to be Ma Kaali. My Baba was as disconcerted as me, since he realized it was really his fault that we were so late.

So we went looking for at least one open stall and after some time we did find one. It sold small chessboards with little black and white pawns. I had never seen a chessboard before and stood awestruck at the little figures of kings and queens and horses and elephants standing in straight lines facing each other ready for battle. Baba decided this was the right time to pacify me, so he declared it was time I learnt some chess. As soon as we bought the box I wanted to go home. I had lost all interest in the fair and wanted to open up the box and lay my soldiers down on the board. I wanted to learn how to make them move around the board and see what happens then. We quickly got home and even before my Baba could wash his hands and have his tea I wanted him to sit with me and start playing with our new chess board. I had my own ideas about how the little pieces should move around the board and very soon Baba realized that I had no intention of learning how to play it right. On his eleventh attempt to teach me a rule, I started howling very loudly. I don’t quite remember why though! But I remember that Ma intervened and the war that had moved from the board to the dining table was somehow impeded.

I was still crying. I remember there was a sense of huge betrayal that was welling up inside me and I reused to speak to anyone. Dinner was laid out. Ma and Baba tried coxing me to eat, but somehow, I cried and cried. Then Baba took out one of his favourite bottles from the fridge and poured all three of us a fizzy white drink. I knew this was a drink he liked a lot and every evening when he came back from his lab, he would pour himself one. I could smell the sweetness and stopped crying to understand what was going to happen now. You see, those days I was not allowed any soft drinks and I always eyed these drinks made for adults greedily at get-togethers. Baba said that since I was going to make my own rules for chess, I must have grown up while he was not looking. And so I could have this drink – Bijoligrill’s Ice Cream Soda, his favourite. I took a sip. The cold sweet drink fizzed right into me. I could smell the ice-cream in it, better than any I had ever had. I had stopped crying completely by then and gulped down the entire glass in a few seconds wanting more. I don’t quite remember how that evening ended but Ma tells me that I had refused to let the glass go and held it till I went off to sleep. From then on, every time Baba Ma and me sat together in the evenings, bottles of ice cream soda would accompany us.

Thirty years have gone by. Bijoligrill has gone out of business in the soft drink sector many years ago. Occasionally I have looked out for this drink “Ice Cream Soda”, but never found it on any shelf. The other day, I was looking for a bottle of orange juice at the local departmental store and quite accidentally found a pale blue bottle that I had not seen before. It read “Ice Cream Soda”. It was some new brand. I picked it up - a bit on impulse and the rest for the sake of nostalgia. Sitting alone at home I poured myself a drink from that blue bottle. Gosh…it tasted just like the ones I used to have thirty years ago. They say things from one’s childhood never smell or taste the same ever, but here it was in a pet bottle - a drink I so associated with the smell of my Baba’s hands when he came straight from the laboratory and opened bottles of ice cream soda for Ma and me. It filled me with a strange emptiness, a feeling that makes you want to touch something that you can remember very clearly but is not there anymore. I wish. I wish we had more time. And I could finally learn how to play chess. With him.

Ayodhya

News flash, flash, flash (madras cut): As per the reports of ASI and the faith and belief of the “Spent My Life Pining Over My Lost Love” Trust, it has been proven that the village of Kanfala in Murshidabad in West Bengal is the birthplace of Devdas. Keeping in mind the sentiments of millions of rejected, dejected and desperate (but cowardly) lovers the High Court has granted permission to the Trust to build a temple at the disputed sight in Kanfala, dedicating it to the iconic Devdas. Since Devdas was a Hindu, the RSS has allowed Valentine’s Day to be celebrated there too. Mr Omkaarhumkaar has told the press that this should be treated as an exception. The 2-1 majority verdict upholds the fundamental right of rejected lovers to drown their misery in high spirits. However, not much attention is being paid to the sole dissenter since she is an atheist single woman considered not having much knowledge of divine and carnal love.

As strange as it may sound, the above is true, or should be, given the Ayodhya verdict that has been received with much pataka bursting fervor in many segments of our society. A few others are calling it the most pragmatic decision and thanking their stars that the aftermath war rather bloodless. There are just so many things wrong with the verdict which is slowly being discussed by the media and some publics, but let’s deal with the bloodless aftermath first. I think it’s only because the verdict is so pro-Hindu. If this was a pro-Muslim verdict then we would have seen cities burn. Surely, I am not crediting the Muslim fanatics to be more sensitive than their Hindu counterparts; however, their numbers are small – or at least smaller than that of Hindus. In any given city, there are lesser Muslim ghettos than Hindu ones for example. The Diaspora of Muslim fanatics will surely rise to this, as they have before. And so, to all my friends who are sleeping tight, beware that this may not just be the end of the aftermath.

Now to begin our enquiry into the verdict. I am at a loss of direction here, not because I have none, but because I can enter it in so many ways. Do I enter this as a liberal, leftist, atheist, feminist, rationalist – well, each could gift me an entire article. So here I will choose to just talk about those issues that irk and exhaust me the most.

History: Historians across the country are seething. To quote one, “This is a verdict of theology, not history”. History says that a Masjid was built 500 years ago, over the ruins of what most probably was temple. History also says that this was most probably built by Babar or his deputy Mir Baqt. Sometime before 1949, an idol put installed in the space that was ‘thought’ to be Ram’s birthplace and the whole Pandora’s box opened. Some crazy people are talking about correcting history. Since Babar destroyed our temple, let us destroy his mosque. Well, for one, historically there is no proof that Babar ‘destroyed the temple’ but of course we did destroy his mosque! Secondly, correcting history this way may well be a dangerous thing and can become extremely convoluted – so are Aryans outsiders and not from this land, and did they write the Vedas, because if they did, then the Vedas must have come from Persia or Iran – and write now Iran is a Muslim country. What would our gurudevs of Hinduism say to that? Correcting history this way would enable one thing only – all of us hang our tails and sit on branches chewing bananas – because that is the one thing we have in common – our ancestors.

ASI and Faith: When ASI was asked to study/ excavate the disputed site, it seemed strange to me. Excavations could prove that a temple might have been there, but how would it prove that it belonged to Ram, a fictional character from an epic! So after all of ASI’s the verdict never even refers to it. Why? Is it because bones were found there which could not have been in a Ram temple or because broken pottery with Muslim motifs engraved in them could suggest that this was a Muslim neighbourhood? So finally our judges latch on to faith and belief of Hindus in claiming this as the birthplace of Ram. I wonder why PC Sarkar could not demand a railway station anywhere he wanted since he could make thousands of people believe they saw a train where there was none. The verdict is populist and political to say the least.

Pragmatism: What does pragmatic really mean/ Does it have to be cowardly too? Does that mean that in reverse any act of courage is foolish? While some people may think this was a pragmatic verdict, I disagree. What if the court said that the dispute cannot be unraveled since neither side can quite satisfactorily prove their claim. Because, that’s what really happened if you see the long list of ‘discoveries’ published in The Hindu. Could they not have then given the site up for a secular facility – park, hospital, bathrooms, whatever? That would have been very foolish? Ok, so what about one third to Hindus, one third to Muslims and one third to the idea of secular. At least let it be known that there are people in this country who have concerns different from whether they are Hindus or Muslims.

I do not want to get into the whole presentation of the verdict to the media on behalf of the lawyers of the Hindu side which was patronizing to say the least, nor how the country came to a standstill that day – but I would like to mention that there is an eerie silence that I feel right now. A silence that is not content, that feels betrayed, moreover, a silence that says “We knew it, how could we have expected anything else”. We need to deal with that silence. Soon.