Tension, toll and more ...
This ‘n’ that
By Renee Ranchan
I wanted to talk about Elizabeth, the movie. Actually, no it is not the movie that was what I wished to chat about ... have not seen the movie so how can I go ga-ga over its story or unchoreographed grandeur (so I hear!) Elizabeth, at the moment means Shekhar Kapur to us, no? And it is an elating experience to know an Indian has directed a British film, with his own vision, giving his own interpretation of their Royal history and is well on his way of winning an Oscar! Makes you want to break into a happy jig. Elizabeth... the actress who played her has already won a Golden Globe award. Have heard that our Shekhar brought into the movie the rich, intense and chewy mushroom meatiness you associate with our ‘colourful’ Bollywood philums. (By the way, till yesterday, the critics were using the term gharish instead of colourful. Yes, nothing succeeds like success...)

Anyhow, cannot stop to speak of Shekhar Kapur.... some other day may be. Hopefully after having seen the movie as well. But, yes there is one thing. Would someone please, or should I say puh-leeze, tell our famous director saab to grow his beard back without the brooding beard he just does not look the same... I also thought Republic Day should be spoken about.... you know, how it has become seriously fashionable to say you had made it a rule to keep the tele switched off till the parade was over.

The complacent rationale: what was the point, the country was tearing from the seams so why the forced jollity? One parent in an indifferent, how-does-it-matter voice told me that her 10-year-old did not know the National Anthem!. And a day after January 26 while lunching, in a packed-to-the-gills restaurant, with a work-associate am informed that watching the parade had been ‘rough’. Why, was something wrong with the man’s TV set?? No... he had gone to see the real thing, had vantage-vision ‘passes’ so he could not have asked for a better view. But throughout the event he was experiencing hair trigger jumpiness... never know when a bomb would go off.

Why then, for heaven’s sake, had he gone at all I asked, while trying tensely so to catch for 20th time, the waiter’s attention. Tell me is it just my imagination or are more and more people lunching out nowadays?? The colleague glumly informed me that his foreign guests were the reason he had put himself through the nerve-jangling tension. They had insisted on being taken. However, Republic Day perhaps for another day as well.

Had also wished to touch upon this obsession with beauty pageants. No, did not catch the Femina Miss India contest on TV. Have not watched it for years.... ever since one ‘beauty’ went on to become Ms Universe, the other Ms World and parents got it in their heads that the only names worth-the-weight-in-gold were Sushmita, Aishwarya. I know of five Aishwaryas, all under five. And teenage girls, pre-teens as well, aspire to become Miss Shiny Hair, Miss Photogenic, if not Miss India. Can never forget that high-beam smile of a young teenager who in a terrifyingly confident voice told me that soon she would be a supermodel... her mother and she were working hard to realise their ‘precious dream’. But this business of beauty too, for another time. Next time, I promise.

For now I have something else to speak of so time to shift tone. A week ago was en route to what promised to be a happy holiday, even if it was just for the weekend when a news item caught my attention. A piece of advice: when on vacation never ever encumber yourself with a newspaper. Guns, pistols you thought only gang members or criminals carried them, right? In Dilli, said this article real Richie Rich kids (kids here means people aged between 18 to 30) did not leave home without pistols. The to-carry-with-them-essentials: Credit cards, cell phones, pistols. Okay, may be the pistol part was a bit of an exaggeration but... the black BMW flashed before me.

On a cold, wintry January morning in Delhi the driver, a young man working on an MBA in America, had mowed down six people. The born-with-a-gold-spoon-in-his-mouth driver was returning from a farmhouse party at a speed of 140 km per hour. He and his car companions were inebriated. They did not care to stop but continued driving with blood and flesh strewing the car. On reaching home, what do they do? Wash the smashed car of the ‘body of evidence’, cover it and think that they could return to their everyday business of partying!

Back to the pistol bit.... the thought tensed me up. And so instead of enjoying the speeding away scenery I got to thinking of tension. So let’s skim through the tension terrain. Hmm, shall we start with marital tension? That is, afterall the most talked of tension. Marital tension, especially when there is no let-up, can really take a toll. Two people living under one roof, virtually eating, sleeping and breathing together, and the air being thick with tension? Good gosh... what else can you say?

Remember sharing your hostel room with a disagreeable, tension-serving person? You had become a bundle of nerves. Looking back you wonder how you made it through the year. If things can be unbearable here, imagine or in-tension-husband-wife relationship. Tension here means silent dinners where the only sound is the slurp-of-your-soup. Conversation, that goes along the pass-me-the-salt lines. And in this context try doing something together, like say, watching TV.

No, it is not a cuddly, communicatory experience where you agreeably criticise a show, or happily differ in opinion or cannot risk missing a minute of Saans and so carry a two-in-one supper plate to the TV room. Someone told someone who told me (pretty circuitous route) of a 10-year-old marriage that was caving in. Was collapsing. Reason? Tension. The couple have never had any arguments or showdowns. The wife’s story: When guests visit, the husband is tense. Not a cushion should be out-of-place. (The tension, silent and unvoiced started right at the wedding. He was upset with the arrangements). In turn, she throws him resentful, gloomy looks. And a couple of years into the marriage and the lady had developed nervous ticks,... shaky hands, shrill ready-to-burst-into tears laughter in response to a query, (any query)... Nothing she did pleased the "critic", her name for him.

His story: The wife was a glutton for sympathy. Inconsistency did not make for flexibility, as she thought.And, how dare she accuse him of generating tension! Now for this spinsterhood-spurred-by-tension story: Yes, the one about the girl that grew up in a tense home. Her parents did not belong to the silent tension school, so every night she would have to sandwich her head between two pillows in order to stonewall their shouting matches, the cacophony. That was the only way she could get some sleep. When the girl got to what is perceived as marriageable age she developed cold feet. Marriage was not for her. Marriage was afterall nothing but fights, heaviness, unending tension. The lady now is old and grey and still wary marriage talk. (Incidentally, spinster is a politically incorrect word.... pardon me. Bachelorette, that I think is the right word!) (I have had a cup of tea since the last full stop and so really do not wish to get tense delving further into high octave tension. Say we drift off to the lighter side of tension yes sir, there is something like that as well. I have a relative who would love to travel. Does so sparingly though. Travel tenses and terses him up. So much so that on the departure date getting a bout of looses or dashing to the bathroom sink because of that nauseous wave is common.

And there are some travellers that are leading members of the to-be-on-the-safe-side-let’s-reach-the-airport-a-day-before-departure brigade. How come? They are strung up, tense travellers. In extreme cases, they lose their appetite... do not eat anything even when they are safely seat-belted and on their ways. It is rather hard for me to understand this ... I travel on my stomach, you see. Food and travel, go hand in hand, no? Speaking of travel some people also come down with packing fever. The symptoms: A room full of scattered clothes, a semi-packed suitcase and not a clue of how to go about the job and yes, possibly a mild fever too.

A friend, cross my fingers hope she does not read this, throws frequent dinner get-togethers. That is fine, lots of people do, you say? Yes. But why go through the trouble if such gathering give you tension, make you anxious? No, she is not coerced into hosting them. The lady gets so flustered and edgy that she pre-sets the table, believe it or not, two days in advance. And if you happen to be living in dear old Delhi you are bound to hear parents telling you how tense they are about their kids being brought up in a city that takes the cake in crime and more. (No, this can’t be typified as an easy-on-the-nerves). But guess what, I have not even got warmed up cataloguing tension-types and time is up.

But before going.... did you know that the pets of tension-prone homes are glum and sullen. I once saw a dog who paced the drawing room with tension rid strides... yes, the tension in its master’s house was something like a mosquito buzzing overhead. Palpable, physical. Plants too, of such environs wear a droopy, slouched look. In other words, you guessed it, nothing is tension proof.

Here’s to a tension-free week.... Nobody should have any tension with that!