A Smile that matters
“Ladies and gentlemen, Indigo welcomes you to Bengaluru. The local time is 7 hours 30 minutes and the local temperature is 27 degree Celsius. For the safety of those around you, kindly remain seated with your seat belt fastened. You may now use your mobile devices. Thank you for flying with Indigo. Hope you have a pleasant sta…” I was startled as a sudden humming broke the voice that kept me excited during every flight I flew my whole life. Gosh if these flight attendants could sing! And there goes my phone again to interrupt the hymn with a tune that not even a sane man would hear twice, as said by me, the hypocrite. Half hesitant, I picked up the call. And it startled me again, “ Good Morning Mr. Sharma!! I’m here. Gimme a call once you’re at the gate. You’re up in 3 hours.” I knew I had to keep a note with my assistant to dial down her boundless enthusiasm, because it kind of started to piss me off, no offense. My thoughts swayed away to my early day schedules at the busiest town in South Asia, yes and by that I mean it. A two hour standup at the IIM, a reunion with my dude Ankur Warikoo who’s in town for his next book promotion, Café hope till the sky gets repainted, and fly back to Colaba. It’s not that I don’t miss my wife, but I don’t want to be late for dinner cause she’s trying out paneer makhani tonight. There I go, sinking into thoughts again. The gentleman seated next to me kept pushing my arms, as I saw his eager eyes staring at the galley tracking the busy mob movement towards the cabin door. As I stood up to get my rucksack, he jolted out towards the exit, pushing people out of the way like a wave striking a bunch of seagulls. Indians do like to add an essence of competition for everything. For once I knew, even in an airplane, the satisfaction one gets in being the first person to exit the ‘ducent seater’ fuselage and collect the baggage is beyond quotes. I waited for everyone to exit the plane as I could see the blue aisle paved just like a private promenade. A wave of dizziness swam over me as I gazed down that aisle, reminiscent of my 12-year-old self waving from the other end. The zephyr kept whispering an old tune ‘The path that takes you to your dreams is the path you paved’ as I felt tears rolling down my cheek. ‘Oh Nani, I wish you were here..’
The day I decided that I would become a standup comedian might be the best and the worst thing that might have ever happened in my life’s kaleidoscope of events. Pretty bizarre as it may sound but in fact, I could feel the same thought being radiated from the souls of all the young business minds that sat before me every time. The day you find your passion might be the day that could bring you a mix of intense ecstasy and pain. I remember growing up in the serene surroundings of our suburban town, my Nani introduced me to a set of Tenali Rama stories. I used to run around households screaming out stories just to gaze at the smiles that reflected my efforts. As time flew, I saw myself dwelling on newspaper jokes for hours, trying to modify them my way. Nani, my unwavering supporter, may have been so because my words never failed to bring a smile to her lips. Old people are indeed golden because they know what you will become. Perhaps it’s a divine gift God has showered upon them because he knew they had little time with the ones they loved. Little did I comprehend that her hands would be the ones to lift me up to what I am now, delivering a positive flow of emotions across the country. The world is biased I presume. But it did help me to discover exactly what the human mind wanted — a genuine laugh once in a while, that led to a road I never regretted taking, contrary to Frost’s sentiments.
Nani’s ears never tired of my jokes. Every evening She would sit on her favorite charpoy which she called the dream machine, smiling as I, the twelve-year-old with his big blue buttoned shirt half muddied, would scurry to her lap, exhausted yet excited to share the joke that he prepared while his elders held busy lectures all through the day. She would let me repeat the same jokes over and over to her as her hand would patiently conjure around her famous dal tadka, the aroma rejuvenating my whole body, my mom wondering what the secret ingredient was that made it magical. To my little brain, the answer was obvious — it was her heart.
I still recall the Sunday when my dad had the longest conversation I have seen with my mom, we moved to Chembur as Nani stays back with my uncle, and a series of nightmares after that. The new home kept growing chaotic as my gift to make one smile turned into a defense mechanism I used to evade the harshness of reality. It all made sense the day I saw my dad walking out to the road that brimmed with endless darkness, with two bags on his shoulders, my mom watching him, her eyes with no emotions.
Mom never smiled. We never talked about it. I never asked her why. She never told me. Nani’s periodic visits were the soul breath of fresh air amidst the stifling silence that clung to our room, for I was the lone ray of light fighting to keep our family’s darkness at bay. Mom never spoke to her, and I never knew why. Meanwhile, I sank deeper into hiding in the realm of light entertainment, a respite from the creeping passage of time.
20th January. 6.20 pm. The weather seems to be hazy with birds gently gliding through the clouds back to their shelter. The local mandir is high on lights and the street vendors are calling out their last set of orders, their voices filling the scented air. Nani’s home, mom’s on the couch reading, as I watch them with a sheer sense of discomfort. I am startled by a sudden transition in the TV serial as my Nani’s expression changes, “Why do they insert breaks during crucial scenes? At least, they should provide some closure before cutting away. Ye log bhi naa..”. This seems to be the right time. I feel my breath rising as I carefully take my steps towards the couch. “Mom”. She glances at me, the same eyes that haunted me the day my dad left, and every day since. Then, she returns back to her book. “Mom, I need to tell you something”. I feel tightness in my chest as my heart starts racing to nowhere. As my voice fades, she looks at me impatiently, waiting for my next word. I should be careful. “Mom, I want to become a standup comedian”. My eyes take a quick spin as the world goes muted, the crying soap actress, my Nani’s giggle, the broken ceiling fan that kept whining all day, all being absorbed by her silent stare for the next minute before she utters a single word: “No”. After three long months, mom finally speaks, erupting out with a torrent of suppressed emotions. “Why? After all we have been through? Is this what we raised you for? No, not us. Me. I raised you to take care of me. What will the world say? A depressed mother with her only son walking his life around being a laughing stock, a spectacle for all to see. I won’t allow it! You…” “Beta stop.” All silence again. Nani extinguished the wildfire of rage that sent shivers down my spine with two simple words. That’s how my mom respected her. Nani looked me in the eye, as I felt energy channeling through my veins. Her words glistened as she spoke “Beta dekho. I have lived all my life to raise you. Even when you told me that you wanted to become a lawyer. Your Papa wanted me to convince you to find a good husband and settle down for he’ll take care of you the rest of your life, but I never did. Do you know why? Because this is your life and the path you choose. The path that takes you to your dreams, the path you pave. The boy always makes me smile. I bet one day he will make you too.”
“Mr. Sharma, you are looking good as ever! Your mom’s waiting in the hotel room. She wants a front-row seat with the students as always. ” Flashback materializes into thin air and my assistant snatches my cabin bag away as I find myself back to where I am. “Haha I know. And you are as bouncy as always Catherine.” The sky shines as I drive down the lane filled with a mixture of emotions. Especially the one that brings me life. My Nani’s smile.
