Guestricken

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I heard people say he is a cynic and that's why he didn't get the Nobel. But I guess sometimes Maugham speaks the bitter truth. The opening sentence of what he says is his best novel, Cakes and Ale, goes something like this:

"When someone calls you and leaves the message that it is very important, rest assured it is important to him"

I for one never got a missed call offering me a million dollars, Bill Gates apart.

Anyway, I get cynical when I recall that I have been uniformly unlucky in my casual guests, or for that matter, casual hosts.

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Decades ago, one day at KGP, I got a letter from an old classmate of mine at Vizagh saying he needs my help despo. His only daughter, who never left AP, never stayed in a hostel, and lacks social skills, was arriving by Mail in the evening to appear in a PG Entrance Exam; and that I should receive her at the station, put her up at our home, take all care of her as if she were mine own daughter for auld lang syne bla bla bla...

When I went to the KGP Station in the evening and was looking for a girl of my (nonexistent) daughter's age, there was a tap on my back and there she was, smiling and ringed by half a dozen body-guards, all looking severely at me. Somehow she teased herself away from her boy friends and we reached home in a rickshaw. By the time she took her bath and refreshed herself, there were those body-guards of her in our verandah; and she asked my wife if she could just go over to the Library for last minute preparation. My wife offered her tea and since she can't bloody well sip tea alone, my simple wife made so many cups of tea.

I had to take my pushbike and pedal towards the Library a couple of minutes after its closing time; and by the time I returned home empty-handed and heavy-hearted, there she was, smiling and saying tata bye bye to her bodyguards...my wife told me she refused to eat since she was not hungry...Nair Canteen dosas were too heavy...

You can imagine the rest...I asked her next day how her exam went and she smiled guilelessly and said: "What exam? We all wanted to have a lark!"

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One day at KGP, my brand new wife announced that her very fond Uncle (it is always her Uncle) was arriving with his wife, on their way back to Delhi from a wedding at Balasore and that I shouldn't be groucho with them.

I did my best to please them and pump them and feed them and show them around Cal which they said they were dying to see. After a couple of days of severe hospitality, I gently asked my wife when they were due back at Delhi since I was unable to prepare for my upcoming QM Course. She inquired and said: "Wednesday next"

Since my wife was new and I needed her then badly, I put up and shut up.

And my wife said how nice it would be to gift her bloody Uncle a pant and shirt and his wife a silk sari. And while stuffing them into their suitcase and preparing to board the rickshaw tearfully, her fat Uncle embraced me and made me promise I would call on them and stay with them for a whole week when I next happen to be in Delhi which was not often.

It just so happened that I was forced to accept an official assignment to IIT Delhi within a few weeks of their departure. And was put up by IIT Delhi handsomely in their Nalanda or whatever Guest House.

A day before my leaving Delhi, my wife called me and insisted I look up her blasted Uncle at his R K Puram Flat. And I took an auto and climbed three flights up and rang the bell. A disgusted-looking lad of 20 opened the door and let me in.

A dozen of the apparent neighborhood were sitting everywhere around a new TV and watching a Cricket Match (for money I learned later). My wife's lousy Uncle looked at me, smiled wanly, and his lovely wife offered me a glass of water and a place on the floor...Kapil was just then hitting what would have been a sixer but for a dolly catch at the boundary line...there were sighs and chea-cheaches...

After ten minutes by when a couple more wickets fell like ninepins, I got up and oozed towards the door, when my wife's sighing Uncle turned round and asked if I should really go...and I said I better...and banged the door shut and ran down the stairs.

When I reached home at KGP and asked my wife what is wrong with her bleeding Uncle she said she forgot they used to call him: "Kanjoos Makkhichoos Mama"

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Before I got married, for a year my younger sister was staying with me at KGP while she was doing her PG Diploma in Physics. She declined to stay at SN Hall and so I took the Qrs C1-97 and bought a gas stove and bare minimum utensils to cook us through.

One evening when we were sipping coffee in the only Southee Restaurant in Gole Bazaar, a couple of lads arrived, recognizing my sister, joined us in our coffee and insisted they pay the bill. Apparently they were her classmates in her M Sc at Tirupati and were doing their PGs in Chemistry.

So, I and my sister invited them for a high tea next evening at our C1-97 and they tilted their shy heads at an angle of 45 degrees of arc and nodded them in SHM. We took it for a Yes.

The whole of next day, myself and my sister were planning what to feed them in our humble kitchen; and zeroed in on Thick Payas laced with cashew nuts. And after consulting one another a dozen times along the way how to go about it, we finally got the vesselful of steaming Payas.

And we waited and waited for our honored guests, till we despaired far into the night.

I had a cup and she had a cup and we had another each and we were too full for more.

And there were ten more cups in the vessel and we didn't have a fridge.

I then recalled that I always wanted to feed our backyard dog till he is fed up and says 'no more'

We switched on the backyard light and I made the familiar dog-call...and he rushed in leaps and bounds wagging his happy tail.

And we dumped the semi-solid Payas on the cement floor and he devoured half a cup and slunk towards the fence...responding no more to my: "chu chu chu..here here..."

Both of us agreed the chap must be diabetic...


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