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Pressure–cooker bonding

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A portly pressure cooker of the TTK Prestige stable occupies a pride of place on our kitchen counter. He is a good egg, and renders yeoman service to my wife. On Saturdays, she shows him greater attention because without his coaxing the potatoes in his belly will not cook, and my wife cannot make those crispy, yet succulent beetroot cutlets  for dinner  – a Saturday special! This Saturday, the pressure cooker guy acted surly . He was upset because the lock- pins had not been inserted properly into the grooves, and the lid got jammed. My wife tried might and main, but could not open the lid. Exasperated, she kept the cooker aside and got busy in getting the lunch ready.                         “ The cooker is jammed and the boiled potatoes are in it ,” announced my wife as I entered the house with the weekly shopping. “ Why couldn’t you be careful?” I admonished her . The day was unusually hot and I could sense the tiredness souring my mood. “I don’t know how it happened,” she rep
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Beastly tales of the infamous kind

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 Claws and beaks of every shape and size; horns and tusks of varying strength and sharpness, jostled for a seat around the Great Council Rock. As the owl hooted the midnight hour the King of the forest strode in, accompanied by his lackey, the jackal. Seating himself on the hide of a buffalo he had smote in the spring, the great king began:  “ Brothers who trod and sisters who fly, When the world began, the Great Spirit had driven Eve out of Paradise . She and her man felt so naked that they sewed leaves to cover their shame and embarrassment. From then on, man and beast never looked in the eye without fear and mistrust. Once again man is becoming naked and wild because of his obsession with sex! Our reliable scouts, the jackal and the wolf fear that mankind might invade the forest and dispossess us of our habitation, in their search for kinkier experiences. I’ve summoned this great assembly to discuss and deliberate on this impending threat.” “ Have you , Akela , ever made love to
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Two angels in the train

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The Kacheguda Express from Mysore Junction was rearing to go. “Three minutes,” flashed the overhead LED sign. Footsteps of late-comers hastened towards coach no: 7 and I kept snapping at their heels to board the train. Sea of heads stacked like books on a rack, occupied the berths . Bodies in double file stood in the aisle like sentinels on duty, and made the movement slow and cumbersome. Through the narrow channel in between these human walls, I tiptoed to my reserved seat. “ Seat no: 44 is reserved,” my voice rang out firm and clear in the din of chatter. Without murmur, the young occupant vacated the seat and I managed to squeeze my 38'' waist into the vacant slot. The rest of the berth was occupied by four women and a cute kid. The passengers occupying the edge of the berths were perilously holding on to their swaying perch as the train gathered steam. However, everyone was not engaged in a mortal combat with the galloping train. Right in front of me, on seats 45 to 47
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She Died in Beauty

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  Her name was Fatima. A petite woman with a gentle demeanour, Fatima reflected the meaning of her name, ”captivating,” all over her fair and pretty countenance. Her kindly eyes and easy smile radiated warmth and welcome like the winter’s fire, and evoked goodwill and sympathy in generous measure towards their owner. She needed the benevolence of these good fellows: Goodwill and Sympathy , as Fatima was widowed in her prime, and dwelt with an incurable companion, whom the doctors diagnosed as Parkinson’s . Travelling down memory lane, Fatima took us to the palace city of Mysore, where her golden memories were stored.”Life there,” she said” travelled in the slow lane.”The quiet of the city with its quaint charm blended well with her temperament.”The lazy afternoons,” she recalled” were spent in friendly gossip with her garrulous neighbours.” Those carefree afternoons made her earthy, light and lively. Marriage for her was beautiful. Her husband, a timber merchant, was years her se
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An Awakening Cry on the highway

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  The dreadful news arrived at 7:00: “There’s going to be a lockdown!” It was the unmistakable voice of Shyam’s best friend, Vishal, “....from 25 th to 14 th April.”   Stunned, Shyam rushed out. Mouth agape and eyes transfixed, he stood staring into the darkness. “Pull yourself up!”    shouted Vishal, shaking him violently. “We’ll get through it!” He knew the cause of their anguish and didn’t wish to add another ounce to it. Despair, like the silent night, engulfed Vishal. Slumping down on the bench, he cupped his face in his hands, trying to fight the cascading tears. They streamed down like the runnels on a mountain slope in summer’s rain. An occasional gasp, in between incessant sobs, disturbed the eeriness within. It was Arushi – sobbing! Unknown to the announcer, thousands of happy homes sunk into despair with that eloquent announcement, made with much deliberation, but little consideration! A cursory glance around that 10’x8’ cabin would reveal why the suddenness of that news
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The Lovable Biski

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    He was Biski--our local Labrador! We christened him Biski because he came to our door-step for a biscuit, and the name stuck to him from that day. Although a pariah dog, we honoured him with the   title of Labrador because he had a lovely coat, a biscuit-shade ,clean and smooth ,that   any Lab would be proud to own. He was unusually tall for a pariah dog. Long limbs, a handsome face and curious monkey-eyes made him stand out among the fraternity of pariah dogs that roamed the campus.                   Lovable and loving, it did not take him long to make his way into our hearts. The biscuit-trips soon turned to full-fledged meal- tours, at least twice a day. In a way, you could say, he earned them - the meal tickets! As we stepped on to the tree-lined drive –way in the campus, Biski would espy us. The next few minutes were spent in joyous greetings. He would stretch his front legs and pay obeisance by going down on them, skip like a gambolling lamb in the meadow, and make
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