Happy New Year

The metaphor for December seems to hold good for January as well. This month, except for the biting cold-but I shall dwell on that aspect a little later-turned out to be equally enjoyable if not a shade livelier. To mark the beginning of the year, there was a hurried brunch-meet at a dear cousin’s, where one caught up with a couple of more long-lost siblings of hers and generally had a rollicking time. It was a morning of inane banter, marked mostly by peals of laughter, as our minds meandered into myriad memories…with very little of coherent conversation.

But the best was yet to come.

Slated for the January 24 was our elder brother (lovingly called Big B by us-since much before the slightly more famous personality came to be called by that name-when he’s not being referred to as Bhai Kumar) and Bhabhi were organizing a house-warming party, combined with the celebration for their silver wedding anniversary, which is a month down the line, and for the rest of us, siblings (read Manoj, Leena and yours truly) this was a much-awaited event. Undeterred by the chill of Delhi, its horrible, foggy environs, we were all set to brave the elements and wing our way to the commercial capital of the country-all the fog, smog and what-have-you notwithstanding. Getting a taste of warmer climes was an added attraction. While on the subject, I might as well linger, though briefly, on the cold, frosty weather that seemed to’ve settled on us with the advent of 2010. Now one could figure out where dear Keats was coming from when he moaned “Ah bitter chill it was …..!”Even the likes of us-normally disdainful of those who smother themselves with woolens, were guilty of sporting layers of the same stuff. A cardigan, a thick coat a shawl thrown around the shivering shoulders for good measure-not to forget the woolen socks and well-shod feet-at times, were piteously inadequate to ward off the biting cold. The room heater, the blower, the radiator all found pride of place in their respective rooms, and the time till dinner-when one had to, perforce, keep awake-was a bitter battle with the insidious cold. The evening meal became an ordeal even for those who are partial to food, as being snugly ensconced in the inviting warmth of the quilt seemed irresistible. Piping hot beverages and nourishing soups ran high on the list of favourites, all else paled into insignificance before the all-pervasive, ever-encompassing chill. I shuddered each time I thought of the poor and the homeless-how did they withstand the vagaries of the season? Or did they, being much more stoic, accept it all as part of life?

To come back to the Bombay do, it was a very special event, every detail planned meticulously, executed with oiled-wheel efficiency and enjoyable beyond imagination. On Saturday, we converged on Santa Cruz airport-six people from six different directions: sonny boy from the City of Joy, I managing to reach the airport at the precise moment that he stepped out of the terminal, thereby giving a new meaning to the term perfect timing. Little(?) Leena joined us moments later and within minutes of her arrival, another youngster, Rahul this time, zeroed in, coming directly from his summer internship. Big B-having been stuck in a royal traffic jam, sauntered in next, after having spent an unenviable two hours trying to cover the driving distance of twenty minutes. Last but definitely not least, Master Manoj, who landed a little later, after having spent four hours inside the aircraft in Delhi waiting for take-off!! A veritable (albeit partial) family reunion that would have given movies down south a run for their money!!

From then onwards, it was fun galore. Absolute, undiluted, unlimited happiness! The apartment was plush, the careful planning and eye for detail done so thoughtfully by Bhabhi-to make a brand new flat comfortable-was admirable. Sheer bliss was ours as the four of us chatted nineteen to the dozen, while the chirpy, bright lads of the next generation, Saagar and Rahul, added exponentially to the enjoyment quotient by providing interesting perspective to our endless chatter. The day just flew past, as we walked down Memory Lane, emerging in between from the nostalgia to take a literal walk through the impressive premises. The elegantly landscaped, lush green park was particularly beautiful and photos were clicked by and of everyone: mobiles having made our lives that much more convenient.

The evening was even more delightful as, by then, Bhabhi and Kunal had joined the merry group, after grueling schedules. It was one continuum-of happy moments. And true to the progression of the superlative following the comparative-a la good, better, best-the luncheon on Sunday took the cake, in terms of pure enjoyment. All the family that we have in Bombay was there-one or two ‘surprise’ entries included whose unexpected arrival was marked by delighted squeals and then the babble of voices completely took over. Folks fell into small groups, catching up with one another and voices reached such a decibel that Bhabhi, with insightful amusement, wondered how many sounds were actually distinguishable!! I nodded my head in bemused agreement, sweeping the room with an indulgent look. Then, sounds were in abeyance for a while, as delicious lunch took over, and the tempting fare saw us all attacking it with gusto. More chatter, reverberating guffaws, beautiful mementos given as leave-taking began and a few folks, including young Saagar, left.

The ones who remained suddenly realized that the signature event of most Sharan dos was conspicuous by its absence. No songs, no breaking into lyrical melodies! The situation was salvaged and the ball set rolling by-on popular demand-none other than Bhai Kumar. Despite the unplanned nature of the session, a series of very well-chosen numbers ensued; his famous dil aaj shayar hai to be followed by Bhabhi humming two lines of the splendidly apt hans ke bola karo bulaya karo, aapka ghar hai aaya jaaya karo, setting the mood for times to come. Leena followed suit with the melodious-and eminently appropriate-rendition of Jab koi baat bigad jaaye ……tum dena saath mera o humnawa. The older generation was admirably represented by our enthusiastic Chote Mama who soulfully sang the evergreen aaya hai mujhe phir yaad woh zalim, transporting us back a few decades. It was but inevitable that finally, the scanner should turn on Manoj and me but we dexterously succeeded in diverting it. However, on repeated urging, I reaslised that this was not the time for fussing and thinking of one’s ability/inability to sing; the occasion was too special for that. So I started with a song that’s almost a family anthem, aati rahengi baharein, to be very sweetly-and perhaps not so surprisingly after all-joined by Manoj from the other end of the room. All the time Kunal and Rahul, from their chosen vantage points, were busy recording the musical interlude.

An utterly refreshing, rejuvenating event that rendered January as marvellous, as special as dear December.