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My son works from Hyderabad
as a Project Manager for an American Company. And most Americans prefer to work
(if that) during the day and sleep soundly at night. And they have these 4 time
zones and a weird thing called Daylight Saving (which means that they
are day-birds and don’t want to get up from their cozy beds before dawn).
And India has just one time
zone and no Nightlight Saving. So my son drives to his workplace every
afternoon by about 3 and returns home by midnight. I asked him what he really does during those 9 hours. He said that
from 3 here till daybreak in America he gets things ready to pass on to the
sleeping Americans till they arrive at their office. And then during a couple
hours of so-called Web-Meetings, he
passes their office work on to them. And they work on it during their day and will get ready to pass on
to the Indians their homework when
they open their laptops the next evening at 3.
Crazy arrangement.
It means that my son has to
drive back to his home at midnight in the droopy boozy traffic of Hyderabad…that
is when all the thousands here who work for their bosses in America ooze out of
their offices in the Hi-Tec City and drive like hell to hit their beds. And I will be daily waiting for my son to
arrive at midnight. Then we have our grub and gossip of the day.
A couple of months back in
the peak of monsoon here, he arrived duly with a grin lighting up his face and
a cramped right wrist. I could guess something was up and asked him what was
it…get it out!
And he said that in the pouring
rain with a power outage as an add-on, his car on his return trip was involved
in what he cutely called a Chain Collision which reminded me of the Chain
Reaction we read about in the atom bomb.
He said he was driving at 40, like the dozen odd cars before him and the
dozen odd behind him…bumper to thumper.
And then the first car suddenly stopped
without slowing down. And you can imagine the rest. There were front and back
dents on each car in the chain.
Apparently the driver of the
second car flew out of his enraged seat, ran down in pouring rain to the lead
car that stopped abruptly, pulled its driver out and slapped him. And the
driver of the third car joined the circus. And so on and so forth. And then the
rain started howling and they all got back wet as so many hens, and the chain
started moving again.
My son said he could start his
car somehow and it reached whining at his car park in our apartment block. He
then got out and tried to assess the damage. And found that the front fender
went inside, like the nose of Battling Billson when he took it on his nose
instead of his chin. And the back fender imitated its front. And my son managed
to escape with a swollen wrist since he was wearing his seat belt (a thing I
never do).
After much coaxing and cajoling
he scaled up his estimated speed before braking to first 60 and finally 80…kids will be kids. We agreed that both of us would drive down first thing the
next morning to the Tata Motors Workshop
in his wounded Indigo. And that I would be ready by 8 AM.
When I found him at 8 AM next
morning, he was returning from his mother-in-law’s apartment (which is just
across ours in the same block) with a red tilak on his forehead and a blue grin
on his map. And Ishani was by his side, all joy and merriment.
Without my asking her,
Ishani narrated what happened. Apparently my son’s in-laws got to know of his
midnight devilry early next morning and they were racked with mixed feelings…fright
at what could have horribly been, mixed
with relief that he escaped with a minor crick in the wrist.
And at once, according to
jolly ishani, my son’s father-in-law
(who unlike me knows what to do at such times) went in and fetched a
coconut, smeared it with vermillion (kumkum) and turmeric (haldi), stood
my son in front of him, uttered several mantras, turned the coconut clockwise 3
times and counterclockwise 3 times, went out, broke it into 2 halves, fetched the water within it in his cupped
hands and sprinkled it at the feet of my son uttering some more mantras.
That was what Ishani
described to me happened as she watched it merrily…
And she said this mumbo
jumbo is called:
“D(r)ishti Removal”
I guess in English it is
called Warding off the Evil Eye…
As planned, we two drove down
to the Tata Motors basement and met its Bodyshop Manager (lovely designation). And he inspected the damage cursorily and
announced that the repairs could cost anything between Rs 30,000 and Rs 80,000.
And, as he saw me faint, he consoled us:
“Don’t worry…the Insurance
guy will inspect it and pay most of it”
A week later we got back my
son’s Indigo all dressed up as good as new. And the bill was on the lower side
and 70% of it was borne by the Insurance Company. So we were much relieved and
delighted and celebrated the event by adding some accessories to the car.
The car was back in its
parking lot and I went up into the bathroom for my Bodywash. And emerged after
10 minutes…only to find that there is no one at home. And it was half an hour
before Ishani returned, all smiles, and said:
“This time it is the Indigo
that was subjected to the D(r)ishti Removal Ceremony!”
And I went down and found
the Indigo smeared with kukum and haldi copiously…
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