Given the nature of Mumbai traffic, I spent a lot of time on the roads. And had plenty of time for chats with Pyaremohan (nickname for my bro’s driver).
Pigs seem to feature in many ways in Pyaremohan aka PM’s life. He had bought a piglet a few months back intending to fatten it up for Diwali. The pig had been duly photographed and looked rather fetching. His wife, who fed it daily, had grown attached to it but the pig, showing good sense, hid behind her whenever PM approached. I suggested to him that in the home movie playing in the pig’s mind he was the dark, evil villain. For some reason this made him laugh no end. Sadly the pig was killed on Diwali for a festive meal.
One afternoon was so hot that I decided to get a fix of sugarcane juice. We took ourselves off to the best purveyor of the stuff in Mumbai from I don’t know – time immemorial – the Rajawadi Rasvanti Griha (RRG). PM had never had the ambrosia offered up at this place and promptly stretched himself out on its spindly bench, drink in hand, and started querying the owner. PM does this all the time, seeking to affirm that he is a man of the world who can get something for nothing. The RRG owners are characterised by their vow of silence so wringing conversation out of the owner proved way harder than wringing juice out of the sugarcane. RRG Owner: 1, PM: 0
Thanks to a loan from my bro, PM now had a motorcycle. Which he polished and kept lovingly and referred to at least as often as his wife.
Karwa Chauth was on during my visit. The proceedings of the day and on PM’s return home were explained in great detail to me. So tender was this that I am quite sure the man is still very much in love with his wife. I asked him why he didn’t keep Karwa Chauth but received no answer.
I had bought a pot of Australian cold cream for PM's wife and sister. Only to find that he intended to use it to help soften and lighten his complexion.
The wife wanted a gold necklace for Diwali, which fact PM mentioned to me everyday. Each mention was followed by his observation that “Sir” (my bro) was the greatest employer in the world. It is widely known that I am dim-witted and take everything at face value. Nevertheless his persisting with the story and a few other incidents finally attuned me to the PM way of thinking which was intended to make me apply my wayward mind to the problem of what could be done to benefit his family. In this case it was of course arranging for the necklace. This simultaneous exaltation and request for handouts can be faintly exasperating (I think Robyn Davidson’s Desert Places touched a bit on this). On the other hand the social system in India works in this very same mysterious way and those of us not adept at deciphering the language of supplication and favours may well be foreign and exasperating to the likes of PM. And to be fair, a few tales of evil employers rung true, rare is the person in India who is not anxious to extract every last bit of a rupee paid and even rarer is the person who does not confuse a salaried domestic employee with a slave.
We went a couple of times to Powai and PM sadly proved true all stereotypes regarding his gender by refusing to ask for directions and getting us lost each time.
Pigs seem to feature in many ways in Pyaremohan aka PM’s life. He had bought a piglet a few months back intending to fatten it up for Diwali. The pig had been duly photographed and looked rather fetching. His wife, who fed it daily, had grown attached to it but the pig, showing good sense, hid behind her whenever PM approached. I suggested to him that in the home movie playing in the pig’s mind he was the dark, evil villain. For some reason this made him laugh no end. Sadly the pig was killed on Diwali for a festive meal.
One afternoon was so hot that I decided to get a fix of sugarcane juice. We took ourselves off to the best purveyor of the stuff in Mumbai from I don’t know – time immemorial – the Rajawadi Rasvanti Griha (RRG). PM had never had the ambrosia offered up at this place and promptly stretched himself out on its spindly bench, drink in hand, and started querying the owner. PM does this all the time, seeking to affirm that he is a man of the world who can get something for nothing. The RRG owners are characterised by their vow of silence so wringing conversation out of the owner proved way harder than wringing juice out of the sugarcane. RRG Owner: 1, PM: 0
Thanks to a loan from my bro, PM now had a motorcycle. Which he polished and kept lovingly and referred to at least as often as his wife.
Karwa Chauth was on during my visit. The proceedings of the day and on PM’s return home were explained in great detail to me. So tender was this that I am quite sure the man is still very much in love with his wife. I asked him why he didn’t keep Karwa Chauth but received no answer.
I had bought a pot of Australian cold cream for PM's wife and sister. Only to find that he intended to use it to help soften and lighten his complexion.
The wife wanted a gold necklace for Diwali, which fact PM mentioned to me everyday. Each mention was followed by his observation that “Sir” (my bro) was the greatest employer in the world. It is widely known that I am dim-witted and take everything at face value. Nevertheless his persisting with the story and a few other incidents finally attuned me to the PM way of thinking which was intended to make me apply my wayward mind to the problem of what could be done to benefit his family. In this case it was of course arranging for the necklace. This simultaneous exaltation and request for handouts can be faintly exasperating (I think Robyn Davidson’s Desert Places touched a bit on this). On the other hand the social system in India works in this very same mysterious way and those of us not adept at deciphering the language of supplication and favours may well be foreign and exasperating to the likes of PM. And to be fair, a few tales of evil employers rung true, rare is the person in India who is not anxious to extract every last bit of a rupee paid and even rarer is the person who does not confuse a salaried domestic employee with a slave.
We went a couple of times to Powai and PM sadly proved true all stereotypes regarding his gender by refusing to ask for directions and getting us lost each time.
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