Aphrodite

“Possessiveness was not felt when it all began.She was obsessive and possessiveness gradually engulfed every sinew in her .Expressively she began to resent my absence. And imperceptibly it became no different with me. The annoyance that followed me transformed into a reciprocal feeling ” He said.

We had discussed on this phase of his life before. And I was privy to a considerable extent of  what I can term only as, “la affaire amour”. I suggested may be by his genial attitude to her preludes and subsequent displays of frantic passion, he encouraged and fanned her infatuation.                                  “May be yes, maybe not”, he said.                                                                          
“It was so, you even continue to retain the feelings that infected you”, I put in. He was silent for a while and drove looking ahead on the seemingly never ending stretch of the road through the plains, before it would hit the first bend towards the hills.

“Yes indeed, it was extravagant advance and I felt many a time towards the plateau of the ‘affaire’, the relationship, she was slipping into insanity. I was afraid that she was fast becoming psychotic. Gosh how one could infer otherwise, how one could explain her wailing moods, her uncontrolled passion, and her foolishly incongruous statements and intends?" "But...” He muttered eyes still transfixed on the road ahead. Again, a relapse of doubt, I wondered?

“Without knowing, you imparted your feelings for her. You pitied her mental state, her tenderness tripped you. Your affability, understanding and consideration to her, made her hold on to you like a limpet. And you flew around her like a mayfly oblivious of the enflamed amber that she was. Her physical nature that was the knell of  men who knew her, aroused you too, made you excited and servile. And she decided that she will have you, possess you and no one else should. You let her be the conductress. You danced to the calling of her intimate needs, you towed behind her. It was mad infatuation”. I added, once he stopped.

“And, you did slip, you were washed away  by the deluge. The twigs you clasped were tiny little drift woods, nay you clasped on her to be saved from the deluge that she was – she and her lonesome, selfish aim to arrogate you, your life. It was her selfishness”. I paused a bit and glanced to my right to see his expression. He displayed a asinine appearance - driving without exhibiting any other reaction to what I said. I continued, “And now you thirst for her and in your moments of solitude you want to hold her, possess her again. The roulette has turned a full circle. My friend that was a Russian roulette she played. Don’t you see? She needed you emotionally and physically, she masticated you, her purchase over you was emphatic, she won! It was nothing but amorous dance drama, a ballet that she conducted and you it was  bêtise of you to fall for it".

He swerved the car to the left to steer clear of a small flock of sheep that crossed the road as if from nowhere.                                                                                                                                            “Mad infatuation, that was what you said”. He began in a hushed tone and he cleared his throat to continue, “You call the passion that engulfed her, me, thus! Adults, grownups, people who have known the world, felt life in their palms .And like dimwitted teenagers take extreme steps, willing to go beyond what  that would gorge out life, ruin it forever, for us both. You trivalise it,call it Russian roulette? You do not understand. There are moments when sensibilities desert the sensible and the senses are numb, indifferent to conventions."

I was not quite prepared for his outburst. There was resentment and the longing, for “Aphrodite” has not exited him, I understood then. He was quietly ravaged within and he was disturbed by moments when he disagrees to believe that it was all over. The temptress refuses to fade away, beckoning him to her lair, often come calling in his dreams. Mercifully it is all over, but he longs....! Man, man has this inexplicable itch to take the extreme tread- to serenade with peril, to flirt with peril, socially, emotionally and physically. Trade like traders who cannot trade! Like horse men who straddle the stallion but cannot ride!

“But, yes that was so. It was illusion, illusion of paradise before tempest and destruction”. I said.

He smiled- a wry smile and with rictus. He recounted from his tale, moments when she was overwhelming, blistering like a volcano, fiery, and unrelenting. At times she was like a nestling, a loner within. And then she needed him more. When she could not have him she glared like a feline, was filed with jealousy .  On one plane she knew that she was fanning a mirage, running after one, pleading. But something sometimes told her that she will grasp the mirage and clasp it close, like a child. And like a child warily looks at her clenched fist shut tight, hoping the clutched fingers are impervious, afraid to relax the muscles around the fingers, lest the glow worm fly away! She beckoned him, flagellated, cried piteously to take her away- unperturbed at his aghast, protestation, regardless of the social status and  life they have, She willed in earnest to elude the trappings that constricted her  and let her be in abandon. Go wherever, do whatever he wills, she affirmed, but she cannot be different. She will not sit and wait to see the clock inexorably move back.        Electrocuting! She exclaimed once and she longed for that, more of it, a life of it. Defiant, she desired to begin afresh. She did not hide the adoration for him and that was much to his discomfiture. And in a moment of desperate candour confided and beseeched him if he would accept her so that she willingly would confine to the status of paramour and even a recluse. In her unrestrained expressions of affection, chided him for forsaking her all these years.  She cursed the Gods in the pantheon for not bringing him to her, let him see her and run forth into her, but rather consign her to waste and live a woeful life all this while; let her languish her youth in wilderness of ennui and of uneventful marital confinement. Hang her, decapitate her, ostracise her, brand her whorish, she cannot be different, she is what she is.  

I felt, she was- because the wolf eats the lamb, will you hang the wolf, if that will make the wolf different so be it, hang her.

Many a monsoon has passed by since. I mused, as we drove on, turned the bend on the road and on to the mountains.

Flying Tales

The longest   period in time I stayed away from the country and most importantly, the longest time that I was away from home, happened with the day ending the past week. The first time it was 22 days, away in Rotterdam in the early 1990’s while on a seminar plus business prospecting tour. And now with the day ended yesterday, the unexpected swings in life have seen me away from home, for thirty days at the trot. Call it “the moving ridges” of life!

After literally cooling my heels in the UAE, I landed in Bahrain a day ago. During all my journeys by air, I have from the beginning been finicky and careful of my choice of the airline company that I fly with. One of my friends who was in a dilemma before his heart bye- pass surgery asked his consulting physician to suggest a cardiac surgeon he could approach for the bye- pass. The physician said you must go to the surgeon to whom you can "trust and give your heart". From there it was not difficult as he flew down to Cochin and the surgery was performed by an old mate who was the surgeon in a hospital there. So like the difficult and delicate choice of entrusting ones heart, I wanted to be confident about the airline I took as for a good part of the travel, not just my heart, even my life was pledged to their good will and skillfulness.

‘Puppet on a chain’ was an  Alistair Maclean thriller that became a movie in 1972.The breath taking boat chase though the canals of Amsterdam, the Schipol airport , the KLM air planes  and the Dutch locales placed a good imprint in me. And I dreamed and fantasised the fascinating chance that may one day come, to fly with KLM airline and boat ride through those canals and walk the streets of Amsterdam. The fantasy became true much later. And I was off to Holland for a pretty long time away from home. The flight was indeed out of coincidence the big white and blue KLM jumbo. The feeling of security and that the passengers are being cared for, was present all throughout the travel. And there and then began a good travel partnership with the airlines.

I garnered lot of miles on the airline and once even had a frequent- flyer platinum card. I used the miles I accumulated to travel with C to the USA and Canada, and to Italy. On an occasion, while on a journey to the North Americas, I and C had to cool our heels for seven hours in the Flying blue lounge at the Schipol. It was early morning 8’o clock, and till the connecting time which was a long time away, C sat in the lounge and polished off a bottle of “Bailey’s Irish Cream”. That was an astonishing feat! Thanks to the courtesy extended by the Airlines.

On another occasion on the flight from New York, KLM gave us a bonus- they upgraded us to Business class, and C again indulged in liqueurs and wine. Though I felt a bit embarrassed, she reveled. But believe me, the true hypocrite I’m there were occasions when I have had the most of spirits from the lounges waiting for flights even before sunrise. They were great travel times with the airline.

But the one hour flight from Sharjha to Bahrain was the first time ever that I flew with an airline that stakes more on the volition and whims of Providence than on the machine or the pilots who man them. It was an early morning wake up and travel. And I collapsed into slumber as soon as I took my seat. I was jolted by a haunting recitation and woke into an acoustic ambience that one would feel and hear in a medieval monastery; the monks invoking the gods with the haunting eerie chants of the sacred psalms!  Shaken jerkily, I looked out through the window and saw the aircraft taxing and about to take off."Allahu Akbar, Allahu Akbar.......” went the chant played through the public address system. The aircraft moved into the take off speed and began hurtling along the runway. The intensity of the chant seemed to be increasing spookily.

I felt a sort of fright, for the first time. I have heard that passengers fervently pray loudly when the state of the flight was disastrous or the likely hood of a crash loomed large. But this was an awfully disturbing moment even for a person who did not subscribe to any faith for absolution or comfort.

The aircraft was soon airborne and the chanting eased out. I tried to get back into the sleep that was spolied, thinking, thankfully the invocation did not end with the statement,(Insha Allha.......), “God willing we will land in Bahrain”.
I wish to state that no disparaging intent is intended here but, it was awfully too far from comfort to me to hear such desperate sounding prayers(sic) on the public address system and at a crucial moment before being airborne. I understand that the phrase is recited by Muslims in many countries in many different situations. They, when they are happy, to express approval to praise a speaker, or even as a battle cry and even during times of extreme stress.

I slid back into sleep recollecting with some amusement the prayers and hymns that were sung in school, “Father we thank thee...:”; “guardian angel from heaven so bright...” and then later at the Government run schools, the pledge, “India is my country...”.But nothing like this in an aircraft about to be airborne.

"Holier Than Thou" - a musing

 I was trying to figure out the kind of attitude in people that I cannot avoid scowling at and see as a very hard choice of character to deal with. But I also felt that if I phrase it that way, the holier ones would allege that a plebeian like me is obsessed with self styled air of infallibility. That, I do not want, because I do not intend to stake 

claim to flawlessness.

There are an awful many distinct imperfections in my person .I, though not intolerant, may throw it in the face. Diplomacy would have seen me in a far comfortable life than I managed till now. Would have certainly increased my circle of acquaintances but not friends! I may not even practice to the near last letter what I pontificate. But I do not necessarily claim that I do and in reality hold a little different course. So I’m a student of the “Art of Imperfection” and a practicing hypocrite. Is anybody out there willing to be comrade in arms?

The biggest threat a man can be to another is to be an offensive person in character, countenance, and bound by rudeness. It is also when words of appreciation for the good in him or her, be it the persona, artistic or literary creative excellence, manifests as a malignant ego  and fed by that, the qualities of offense, rudeness and intolerance sets in. A discernible contempt towards everything and anything, disdainful attitude and intolerance towards all that is different from his/her professed (not practiced) ways. The decency in the culture of argumentative tradition is found to be at the nadir in such people. They fume, frown, and even abuse in their own subtle ways.


The only matter that threatened to affect dangerously even my wedlock was orchestrated by the folks who were eagerly acquiescent to my proposal to C, twenty three years ago. A junta of people who then were commoners but with some goodness!  C has an inexplicable quality of unrequited love and affection especially to people who are from her immediate clan. My unenviable lack of tact and diplomacy when up against insolence, diabolism and manipulations has made me severe all sorts of links reinforced and kindled by the nuptial cording. Whilst C bends head over heels, eyes glistening with affection and immense love at the sight of even a lowly (literally) a wiggler from amongst the clan. That confounds me exasperated, anguished and angry.

However I have never forced her like a fascist despotic spouse to tag on my outlook without any demure. Coercion, emotional or otherwise is not my forte and liking. Even with the children, I contain to expressing my strong displeasure and disapproval, but I seldom let my annoyance plummet into insolence and physical reactions. C will vouch for that, I’m certain.The annoyance is when people who are privy to my personal life begin to pontificate, whilst they adept themselves in doing all that I do, and even sorrier.

To talk disparagingly about a person and  slander him,only to get even with him is silly and mean as it can get. I saw this happen. And as since the people concerned were known to me, it was embarrassing and ridiculous and the matter was trivial.If jest cannot be taken as such among friends,and triggers a one sided diatribe it is only a pathetic reflection of  penury  of ,not wealth, but .....! To personally abuse and rake up a friend’s self confessed personal infractions, with the desperate intention of satisfying and covering one's faux pas! There is only one word to describe, ‘miserable’.

So, let me also for a moment try to revel and exult in the feeling that “I’m, holier than thou”..