Obsessed with Gandhi, in spite of my future wive’s warnings, I opted for a Vedic no-strings-attached marriage. Only string attached was the ‘sacred hindu thread’ on my half-naked torso, and tonsured head. How would a DDLJ-obsessed Delhi girl feel if she sees a Chanakya-Gandhi cocktail as her groom? Her murderous eyes and my ‘non-violent’ blissful smile met, and we were pronounced life-partner forever. My refusal for marriage gifts were taken too seriously, and all we got were some wall-clocks from Chandni-chowk streetshops, candy-boxes from Amrikaa-waale relatives and a box of Kamasutra from nasty friends. It seemed impossible for her to become Kasturba, so I took a marathon course in romance and transformed from celebate Gandhi to head-bobbing, wooing Shahrukh kind.
Since I believe in re-incarnation, I many-a-times tried to digitally superimpose Nathuram Godse’s (man who killed Gandhi) face with my wive’s. After all, she exorcised Gandhi from me. What would it be like? Sleeping with the enemy! Heard of ‘ichhadhari naagins‘, the serpents who transform into women, and marry a man for revenge. Never imagined an ‘ichhadhari godse‘.
Thankfully, my wife failed the digital test, came out pure as ‘Sita‘, and we soon had ‘luv‘ and ‘kush‘ in female forms.
Whatever the talk about Gandhi and Ramayana, some dirty minds would still be thinking about, “What the hell happened to the ‘box of Kamasutra’?” Let me be clear enough that its not a Chetan Bhagat novel, that you drool and expect a bedroom romance, rather its boring me gearing up to begin his social rant.
Story goes back to an illiterate dalit fellow working in our village fields, when I was an avid-reader of gandhian philosophies, and wished to be a social-reformer. I began taking his lessons, the poor man learnt a bit, and graduated to ‘writing-his-name’ stage. Pumped up with power of literacy, he married a matriculate girl (matriculate means 10th standard pass).
My enthusiasm to reform continued and I gave him lessons on contraception, right before marriage, and handed him a ‘box of Kamasutra’. In next medical school vacation back home, I found his wife pregnant.
Furious I asked the guy. He innocently said, “Sir, it was tasteless chewing-gum.”
What??? Man took it as chewing-gum and chewed it up. Yuck!
Long before ‘Swachh Bharat Abhiyaan’, I was a small part of a similar campaign in rural Maharashtra. Government authorities installed toilets all over, and we saw people still going to fields. When we looked into it, they have garlanded the toilet and a priest was performing puja everyday.
The shape of the shining white indian toilet-seat, and the flowing water reminded them of Lord Shiva temple, and they were wondering when we would install ‘shivalinga’????
The ‘clean India campaign’ would need a gruelling task of educating masses with we all doing our bit. Just tonsuring the head and walking half-naked doesn’t make any fool a Gandhi.
Watching a news debate, sipping a drink, I look at my wife. She asks me to switch to some TV soap about Ichhadhari Naagin. Doubt if she is hiding a gun, would bend a bit and shoot me. Ichhadhari Godse!
Celebrate a Vamagandhi Jayanti if next post never arrive. What? Definitely, not a dry-day.