When Rachna, the superhumanly talented blogger behind Rachna Says – a blog that sees phenomenal footfalls – asked me to write something for her several weeks ago, I was in a fix. You see, she is a ‘responsible’ blogger, someone who talks about practical and meaningful things without muddling them in convoluted prose or hyperbole. I, on the other hand, can only be described as a muddle. Someone who can’t tell a serious tale with a straight face. So what was I to do?
This post is the genesis of that dilemma. I won’t call it a short story – it is more of a slice-of-life observation of an urban Indian middle class household and how that juxtaposes with larger morality issues facing our country today. I’m afraid it is a rather long piece, so do continue to read on at Rachna’s blog after this snippet.
Bharat’s Day : A Slice-of-Life Of The Urban Indian
“Daaaaaad!” yelled the eleven year old Dhruv from his duodenum as if he had just witnessed the end of the world.
It was 6.20 am. For the unversed, this was a typical initiation to the raucous Joshi household.
Dad, as in, Bharat, had been awake for twenty minutes but had continued to tumble inside his sheets trying to sop up the last pitiful ounces of rest before the long day ahead. His wife Neena had leaped out of bed at first beep, with enough kinetic force to smash his sound sleep to smithereens, but he was determined not to give in that easily. Sadly, despite all his obstinate tossing and turning, it was going to be a lost cause this morning.
“Dad! Wake up!” screeched Dhruv, this time only inches from his father’s ear.
“What is it, bachchey? What is wrong?” said the father, his mental pendulum halfway between sleepy and groggy.