Two nation theory

Two nation theory

Hindu family
Grandmother….Dulari Parimoo
Grandfather….Lalit Parimoo
Father…..Vijay Parimoo
Mother ….Kiran Parimoo
Son…Aditya Parimoo
Daughter…Aditi Parimoo

Muslim family…
Mother….Tahira Malik
Father….Farhan Malik
Eldest daughter….Almaz Malik
Second daughter….Aalia Malik
Youngest daughter…Asifa
Malik
Son….Rehaan Malik
Son’ best friend….Maroof Mohammad

 

A few drifting clouds of haze painted the morning sky a silvery grey. Misty silhouettes against the dismal background paved in to a geographical configuration of white trails. The sudden dip in temperature in the Kashmir valley has prompted lethargy to hover around for a while.

The MET office has informed that the conditions would remain so for a week, accompanied by sudden spells of rain.

‘ Dulari’…the charming member in the “parimoo’ household takes stock of the situation and lends a brief sigh. The displeasure on her face accounts for her discontentment. ” Such a distorted display of weather” ..she thought to herself.
The chirpy grandmother always wearing a red bindi and an unblemished smile gladly compromised, though pitying the circumstances. Stealing a furtive glance from the edge of the window, she stumbled upon the snowy whiteness around. It looked divine! Tiny flakes of snow capping the tips of the towering trees overlooking the garden made it easy for her to accept things as they are.
The strong aroma of the kahwa served in a blue porcelain mug, adorned with peacock motifs cheered her up against the dampness. Instantly, she arose, chose a quiet corner in her Queen cot and closed her eyes for some time.

Kiran, her daughter-in-law, reputed for her wisdom and intelligence, smiled and put the triangular wooden tray on the cot. The tray boasted of crackers, kharis, roths, rusks and an almond pastry. She observed her mother- in-law in a meditative posture making the most of inner peace and serenity. An usual fluttering of the eye lashes and rolling of the eye balls from one side to another marked Dulari’s eye exercise programme every morning. There could not be any interference though- so the obedience and reverence.

Fidgeting her hands, Kiran paced up and down the Kashmir Marfil tiled floor. The glossy beige tiles needed immediate maintenance. Quickly she made a note of it in her memory pad.

Dulari opened her eyes and ears, beaming with delight, ready to preside over the general functioning of the house. She signalled at Kiran to watch over the Chinar tree, overlooking the boundary wall of the Kher’s, their immediate neighbours, majestic in its crimson and brown hues, embracing the bitter chill with warmth and ardent love.

Whimsically, she started humming….
‘ Kitni khoobsoorat yeh tasvir hain
Mausam bemisal benazir hain
Yeh Kashmir hain, Yeh kashmir hain ‘…

Kiran joined in too with not much perfection. But who cared? Sharing this moment with her ‘Mammo ‘ was more than enough to save her from depression and anxiety. She integrated her mind and body to fit in deliberately like her Mammo who simply adored R. D. Barman. The family had watched ‘Bemisal ‘ last night, minus the two kids who found it less exciting and happening. So the effect of Mr. Bacchhan and Rakhi’s camaraderie still played music in the remote corner of Dulari’s heart.
‘My Mammo is evergreen’
..exclaimed Kiran.

The vicinity of Kullan resonated with the energy of Dulari’s music , it seemed.
[25/08, 9:11 AM] Sahana Sundar: A few drifting clouds of haze painted the morning sky a silvery grey. Misty silhouettes against the dismal background paved in to a geographical configuration of white trails. The sudden dip in temperature in the Kashmir valley has prompted lethargy to hover around for a while.

The MET office has informed that the conditions would remain so for a week, accompanied by sudden spells of rain.

‘ Dulari’…the charming member in the “parimoo’ household takes stock of the situation and lends a brief sigh. Her displeasure on her face accounts for her discontentment. ” Such a distorted display of weather” ..she thought to herself.
The chirpy grandmother always wearing a red bindi and an unblemished smile gladly compromised, though pitying the circumstances. Stealing a furtive glance from the edge of the window, she stumbled upon the snowy whiteness around. It looked divine! Tiny flakes of snow capping the tips of the towering trees overlooking the garden made it easy for her to accept things as they are.
‘ Kiran, Kiran….’
The manly voice called out.
‘ Where’s my beige shirt? I cannot see it anywhere…’
The voice dims. The subtle state of helplessness in her husband’s voice shrugged her out of oblivion. Unwillingly and lagging, she responded…
‘ Wait…baba. I’m coming. Arre, I’m with Mammo.’

So saying, she made a quick exit from her location, trying to figure out her tasks for the day. Noorie, the house help had made her absence felt, which made things unorganised. She did not want to trouble Mammo a bit with the concern over the maid’s disappearance. But equally could not deal with it.There was breakfast to be prepared, laundry, Aditi’s school project, shopping for groceries, gardening, preparing lunch….and the domestic itenary was abound with mammothness.

As Vijay went on cleaning his study table laden with books, papers and files, Kiran looked at him with infatuation of a certain kind. Her husband, whom she admired for his competence and meticulousness, does behave like an immature adult sometimes.
But who says that all adults are mature and ought to be?
The candid Kiran chuckled!

Spreading the newspaper on the table, Vijay settled down with a cup of coffee, his regular beverage. Taking a sip of the caffeine and eyeing the contents as intricately as possible.
‘The Kashmir Times’ has recently acquired massive popularity , so much so, that it’s circulation has doubled and tripled beyond expectation. Almost everyone, he knows, is discussing and raving about the daily. Media is abuzz with reports of its association with the Mafia and political honchos. The bold outlines are indicative of purposeful sensationalism.
In the extreme corner on the third page is an important notification by the University Grants Commission (UGC) regarding appointment.

Vijay fondly reminisced his college days. His father never let him travel alone , although it was safe and roads were good. Everyday, without fail, he would wait for Vijay, outside the gate, all set to cycle and drop him to his college.It would be embarrassing for Vijay, seeing the girls laugh at his state of affairs. It would be torturous. To and fro trips were a pain. Everyday he had thought of conveying to his father about this, but would inevitably fail when he stood in front of him.
That did leave him dejected and sad.

Times have changed. So has he.
His teenage son, Aditya, lovingly called Adi, is so expressive and vocal about his needs unlike him.
Vijay could never utter a single word in the presence of his father. Many times he searched for a reason. Was it out of respect or fear? he could never find an answer. But , whatever, the reason, he praised the young generation for their frankness and clarity.

As a Professor of Philosophy, he was completing ten long years of service in Government Memorial College at Poonch. Everyone revered him and that was a defining milestone in his career span of 18 years. Prior to this, he was attached to Gandhi Degree College , but had discontinued after 6 years owing to the exhaustion caused by the distance and long travel.He just quit.

To his surprise he followed that philosophy was catching up among students . They adored his lectures and the man himself. Though he specialised in ‘Ethics’, he also taught ‘ Classical and Contemporary Indian Philosophy, Philosophy of Religion, Contemporary Ethical Theories, The Philosophy of M. K. Gandhi, Dharma, Social System, Education and the likes.He was even compelled to take private tuitions at home , but Kiran had vehemently objected . ‘ Madam never wanted too much money’….he recalled.
‘ Have some time for me and the children at the end of the day’- The wife’s command turned into a participation. There were frequent and distinct discussions on varied topics over biscuits and ginger tea – politics, music, movies, government and the children . But fortunately, no one liked to talk about war and hatred. Love was the only shelter.
Coffee got over too soon, too quick and too fast in contemplation.He raced towards the kitchen in an attempt to fill his empty cup.
Kiran smiled at him.
He could make his own and that sorted out many things.
Today, he had classes late in the afternoon and was actually planning to take leave. So, Kiran did not know what to do.In case, ‘ Professor Saab’ decided to ‘bunk’, both could afford a stroll nearby. Romance had fizzled after the birth of their daughter, Aditi, now in primary school. The walks, the talks, the assortment of dry leaves, the munching of peanuts were dwindling episodes of their love life.
Mammo was always keen and supportive, here and there-
‘ Both of you go out nah! Go and have some Ice-cream, will you?’
She would literally throw up a smile and wink at Kiran , for being lazy at times. Seriously, Mammo was so considerate.
The old man of the house, the Senior Parimoo, Lalit, was a storyteller of sorts.His cap bore the wisdom of years and experiences of a lifetime. The ‘ dramatic’ Aditi was his doting princess and saviour. Adi had trouble shooting with his grandfather masquerading his love solely for his grand daughter. ‘ It is discrimination ‘ he had retorted number of times.
The innocence in their childish rivalry was amusing to both Kiran and Vijay. A treasure trove for Lalit and Dulari.
It is these joyous moments that the name plate ‘ Parimoo’ was synonymous with – life, laughter and celebration.
Nurturing and caring for one another, upholding the good values and letting go of conflicts identified their stand in the society.
How the same would unfold in the coming years remain a mystery to the ‘ Parimoo’s’.

Shrabanti Ray
Shrabanti Ray

Shrabanti Ray is a teacher, trainer, facilitator, mentor, script writer, poet, thinker, and crafter, possessing about seven years of corporate experience and thirteen years in the educational sector. A progressive thinker who dwells on the art of life and the several strings of life that create music. Looking out of the window is a pastime that she relishes to seek an insight within. She believes in living life to the fullest as there is no second one.

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