There was nothing unusual about the apartment. “Jyotirmay”,
as named by its builder, an old Bengali babu, it was located in the suburbs of
North West Delhi. The 90’s building consisted of several blocks, with each
block having 6 flats - three on either side of a small central porch (for the
want of calling it anything else) and a parking. Asphalted pavements dotted with
tall trees, a small children’s park, it made a pretty picture.
The ground floor flat 01 at Block C was occupied by the
Gupta’s and Flat 02 by their archrivals the Reddy’s. Flat 05 & 06 on the
second floor had been converted to a single penthouse by Mr. Jiten Shah. While
Flat no 04 was recently vacated, Flat 03 was the residence of the Palakkad
Maami - Ambujam.
She & her husband, Ramachandran Mama (the dear old man
who had faithfully served the Tata’s for 25 long years and now post retirement
was dutifully serving his wife), had come to Delhi when their son got
transferred here. Within few months of their arrival their son got a promotion
and was asked to take charge of the Gurgaon branch. Since Maami didn’t seem to
like the fast paced life over there they decided to stay back here in Delhi.
Ambujam maami’s personality belied the legend that she had
become. Busting the ‘Madrasi’ stereotype, the 50 year old was fair skinned, doe
eyed, demure looking in her madisar but southern though she was in her deep prejudices
& suspicious nature. In her affable outlook, ready wit & her congenial
smile she hardly looked the type of shrewd-woman-with-claws yet she was the
uncrowned queen marquee of the block. And why not? Her crisp dosas had clinched
the coveted alliance for downstairs Neelu Gupta, her stately Kancheevarams had put
the pompous Mrs. Sharma firmly in her place and Maami’s repository of quick
home remedies made her the MVP of the entire block.
One morning started with a loud noise interrupting the mellifluous
notes of Venkatesha Suprabhatam. Wondering what could have shaken the peace of
Jyotirmay everyone came out to see a rickety lorry laden with so many household
items that it looked like an entry for Limca Book of Records. Along stood a
taxi with two smiling pixie kids peering out of the passenger seat and then
their eyes fell on a tall well-built guy yelling at the taxi driver. After some
noisy bargaining (to put it mildly) the taxi made its exit showing its
displeasure with its grunting & honking and the visitor turned triumphantly
to greet the apartment & his expectant neighbours.
Walking briskly ahead he gave a enormous hug to Mr. Sharma,
“Hulloji, Hum aapke naye padosi hai. “We have come to the Flat number 04 jee”
“Huh!, Hello” greeted back Sharmaji, quickly recovering his
poise.
Beaming at everyone he exclaimed “I am Mister Laakhan. Am
into the real estate businessesjee”. Wanting to further expend his warmth he
advanced towards our Maami with an intention to engulf her in a motherly hug.
Imagine the horror of the lady who would possibly have consulted the
astrological charts to have had a private discussion with her husband, for whom
any such public display of affections was a taboo! But our Maami proving yet
again who she was, quickly ducked out of Laakhanji’s outstretched arms and made
a quick dash to the safety of her flat.
Laakhanji was stunned, rebuffed and felt completely
insulted. He took an instant dislike to this Madrasi woman who was attired strangely
and acted oh-so imperiously! Glaring at each other both realized that the
feelings of instant dislike was absolutely mutual. Making small talk he ushered
his family to his new abode, swearing inwardly to himself to show the lady who
he was after all. To her credit, Maami simply dismissed him as another one of
those uncouth North Indian fellows.
Next morning being Shashti (Holy day), Ambujam maami quickly
had her early morning bath, completed her other chores and went on to the daily
ritual of decorating a kolam (rangoli) on the central porch on the ground
floor. Since it was one of those special days, she did an elaborate design and
at the end of a strenuous hour she retreated pleased with the result. It was
indeed a beautiful sight but not to the eyes of revenge seeking Laakhanji who
was watching from his balcony.
Soon an idea cropped into his scheming head and he headed
inside to get some paan. Now surely one needn’t be told what he intended to do
chewing pan in the morning. Ambujam maami on her way to the temple saw the red
paan stain, spat diagonal across her beautiful kolam. Incensed as she was, she
didn’t realize it was a deliberate attempt to demean her art and instead she
cursed all the vendors who might have made their way into the apartment. Had it
ended as a single episode; it would have been best forgotten. But Laakhanji
enjoyed seeing the torment on our Maami’s face and gleefully enjoyed each of these
victorious moments. Each day just made him feel better, more powerful and
bolder.
But soon one such morning Maami caught him in the act. For a
second, Laakhanji did not know what to do. Under Maami’s incredulous cold stare
he thought he was losing his bold and confident former self. Reminding himself
that she was after all an old woman he managed to regain a semblance of courage
and inched his way to his house.
Maami came rushing home, “Ennaa!,..” Ramachandra mama froze
in fear that his wife had caught him red handed eating a spoonful of sugary
therratipaal (South Indian milk based sweet). His shivering hands immediately
dropped the spoon to the floor, spilling its contents all over. Clearly it not
being one of those everything-under-my-control days, Maami fumed and fretted,
“Enna, Avanukku enna thimeiru patheyla?” {Did you see the guts of that person?}
Maama had absolutely no clue what or who she was referring
to, but was immensely relieved that her object of anger was not him. Concern
personified, he nodded sagely, “Enna acchu Ambujam?” The dam broke and Ambujam
Maami went on relentlessly ranging from the great ancestral family she belonged
to showing unreasonable understanding towards George Bush for the waging the
war against Iran.
Just when she was pondering and muttering on how to fight
back, there came a knock on the door. “Namasteji, hum aapke naye padosi hai.
Humne socha pechan karloon aapse ” she said smiling. “Hum Girija Devi hain. Laakhanji
ki Mrs”
Clad in a purple sari, pink lipstick and red sindoor on her
head, she made quite a picture. It took a split second for Ambujam maami to
regain her composure and she invited the lady warmly to her living room. It
might have never occurred to Girija that the lady so benevolently smiling down
at her could have ever spent the previous few minutes plotting on a hundred
ways to assault her husband.
Over a cup of Maami’s special filter coffee, Girija
confessed that she loved south Indian “idli-dosa” and she wanted Ambujam maami’
to be her guru. Seizing her opportunity and with a twinkle in her eye Maami
readily agreed to tutor Girija but on a condition.
***************************************************************
Next day Laakhanji hurried to the balcony with his mouthful
of paan juice, just to stop himself from tumbling down. He couldn’t believe his
eyes as he saw his wife down there drawing colorful rangoli patterns. Rubbing
his eyes he looked up to see the smug Ambujam maami smiling at him across the
balcony. Stumped he was and acceded his defeat without thinking of fighting
back. After all Ambujam Maami had achieved that what he could not in the past
11 years - tame his wife!
