Standing on an Apple Box Read online

The social friendship—Friends who meet only at social gatherings.

  As I mentioned earlier, Amma was wary of anyone who wanted to become friends with us. She constantly drilled the need for caution into our heads and surrounded us with people she approved of so that we did not feel the need to make friends outside. Every Saturday, a group of trusted friends and cousins were invited home. She planned activities, games, story-telling, puzzles and much more that filled our days. Picnics to beaches, parks and temples were also planned. We ate, napped, played and fought together, almost twenty kids of different ages. It was the highlight of our week. If the parents planned anything for the evening, it would include us too. As the evenings stretched into the night, we were all bundled into a room and the TV was switched on. Indiana Jones was a favourite. Back-to-back Indiana Jones movies with a constant supply of snacks from the kitchen is one of my cherished childhood memories.

  As we grew older, the group reduced considerably in size. Some became too old for our childish games, most made friends at school or in their neighbourhoods and wanted to spend more time with them. My sister and I also grew up and Amma began to trust us to choose our friends wisely. But that time spent together stayed with us. A few of us still meet once in a while, trying to relive those carefree days. Two of those childhood friends have become my soul sisters (if I can be excused such a corny term). Poornima and Sriya are my 3 a.m. buddies, my pillars of support and lifesavers. They don’t care if I let weeks go by without calling or meeting. They know, just as well as I do, that we can catch up where we left off in a second. They know me inside out.

  When we were children, I thought I shared a weird telepathic bond with Poornima. We would think of the same things at the same time and react to things in the exact same manner. It was eerie. It happens even now. We are so much in sync, it’s scary. I remember we used to force our mothers to dress us up in similar clothes.

  Poornima is part of the illustrious Naidu Hall family and went on to do great things. Sriya, on the other hand, was a real tomboy, fearless and outgoing. She would constantly be on the field playing football or talking nonstop about cricket. (Her father is the former Indian cricketer Bharat Reddy.) Ironically, Poorni and I were the ones who played dress-up but it was Sriya who grew up to become the fashionista. Both of them are Telugu and can be blamed for my love of spicy pickles and fiery Andhra food. Poornima also has the distinction of being the only friend in whose house I was allowed to spend a night!

  The two of them filled my life and it never even crossed my mind to glance outside this close-knit circle when it came to friendships. Poornima’s father used to race as a hobby and she learnt how to drive very early on. They had a fancy open-top car and her father allowed her to take it on short drives. When she first offered to take us with her, everyone agreed, except Amma. She was mortified. No way was she going to allow me a ride in an open-top car, through the city, driven by a young girl. One evening, when Poornima came visiting with the car, Amma wasn’t at home. In an unusually impulsive move, I got in and we went for a spin. That drive along the Marina, with the wind blowing in my hair and the stolen freedom is one of my favourite memories. I had never, until then, travelled in an open vehicle on a public road. The journey Appa started as a bus conductor and which resulted in him becoming a superstar ensured that I could never travel in a bus myself. The irony!

  The first drive was the sweetest and the scariest. After that I would go to her place and ask her to take me for a round as many times as I could get away with it, and she took me whenever she could. After her father passed away, she sold the car and did not drive for a very long time.

  I had to learn to drive rather sneakily. It was pretty late in life. One of our trusted drivers, who had been with us for years, taught me on the sly in a compact little Hyundai Santro, which had just been launched then. This used to happen on the way back from my dance classes. It was my friend’s comfort with cars that spurred me to learn.

  As adults too, my best friends have become my pride and joy. Sriya started out as a hugely popular VJ and went on to make her mark in movies. Her performance in Thimuru and Kanchivaram were critically acclaimed, her rustic characters in those films miles apart from the stylish young woman that she is. Ironically Sriya is now the homebody and Poornima went on to win a National award for costume design for the period drama Paradesi after she had married and settled down with a child. Not only did my friends enrich my childhood, they inspire me to do better even now.

  My early childhood, as I have said before, was spent in Bangalore, with my grandparents. We lived in an apartment block that had two flats on each floor. Opposite our house lived a boy called Shankar and below us, on the first floor, were two children, Pallavi and Pranay. Shankar is a year younger to me, Pranay is almost a year older. Pallavi and my sister are the same age. These were my first friends. The usual games brought us together—robber and police, lock and key, and an invented game called pole to pole. There were a large number of pillars in the car park of the apartment and we numbered them. The goal of the game was to touch the pillar that the catcher called out the number of, without being caught. There were other kids in the neighbouring buildings, but they weren’t allowed to get out of their compound and we weren’t allowed to leave ours, so it was just the four of us. I left Bangalore when I was around nine, but the friendship endured. We lost touch with Shankar when he moved away but Pranay and I, who were the nearest in age, became the closest. I would call him when I was low, for advice, for reassurance, and he always responded in the most non-judgemental fashion. As a matter of fact, I recommend a close friend of the opposite gender for everyone. Makes relationships so much easier to understand!

  Appa was initially very wary, in his own traditional, orthodox way. He would not allow Pranay to call after 6 p.m. or let us meet without a chaperone once I entered my teens, which was rather funny because our relationship was strictly platonic. Amma, in her usual all-knowing motherly way, knew there was nothing to be worried about and usually left us to our devices. I think she realized that in a home full of women, I needed a male friend to navigate the world.

  When I decided to get married, Pranay was one of the first to know. He was close enough to tell me I was crazy to marry at such a young age, only to immediately change his mind when he met Dhanush. Pranay knew me well enough to realize Dhanush was perfect for me. He came for the wedding and was there from start to finish, alongside my own family. Appa now looks at him with affection, no doubt wondering why he had made such a fuss when we were younger.

  Over the years, I must admit there have been times when I blamed Amma for my reserved nature. Did her words of caution keep me from trusting people or being friendly? But then, my sister, who was brought up in the same atmosphere, makes friends everywhere she goes and from all walks of life. Whereas I feel like there is a line I cannot cross until I know the person really well. I am more content with the few real friends I have, than a large number of acquaintances, though I do envy extroverts and their ease with people. Then, one day, it struck me: it was nature, not nurture. Appa is also reserved and I remember only a few people who are regulars at home and with whom my father chats freely. I now relate to that feeling of security that only a few people can bring. For me it is my childhood friends, for Appa it is people who stood by him when he left Bangalore, the ones with whom he shared his first smoke and his first drink, those who sold their belongings to help him realize his dreams and, of course, a select few from the film industry who were there for him while he grew as an actor.

  Pet Peeves

  Dogs, cats, birds, fish, rabbits and even snakes, pets are an integral part of many people’s lives. I know some who are more attached to their pets than to the humans around them. I don’t get it. I am petrified of animals. I have never been bitten or chased or even seen any animal being mean to humans, but the fear is real. Something so deep that the only way I can be around dogs, which most of my friends have, is when they are held on a leash, at a distance. I
do appreciate them, but usually with ten feet of space and a wall or a gate between us. Maybe it’s genetic: I have a cousin who is so scared of cats that she gets a fever after every encounter. My own phobia is such that I call ahead when visiting homes with pets so that they can be kept away from me. When going to places where I am not sure about their presence, I wait outside the gate until I can confirm with the watchman or anyone around. I do feel bad for the dogs and cats that have been locked into a room just because I am around, but it’s either that or a cardiac arrest for me.

  When I was around eleven or twelve, my grandparents would take me with them when visiting an uncle who lived in Singapore. It was very exciting; he had a lovely house with a beautiful backyard with lots of birds, which I was fine with, because birds kept their distance. There was a dog too. The first time I saw him, I ran for my life. The second time I saw him, I did the same. After it had happened a couple of times more, they realized my fear was real and kept the dog in the backyard until I left on the sightseeing jaunt for the day with my grandparents. One day, the dog was on its daily walk and I was enjoying myself in the backyard, which I had all to myself, when I happened to look into the neighbour’s yard. It had a beautiful garden, with flowers in bloom and a fountain in the corner. There was a huge cage at the end of the garden. It was empty, except for a large rock in one corner. My uncle had just walked out into the yard and I asked him what animal usually occupied the cage. He laughed and asked me to look carefully. What I had thought was a rock, was a fat, eight-foot python snoozing in the sun. I literally jumped onto my uncle, and he held me for a moment as I processed the craziness! The holiday went for a toss. I kept imagining the owner leaving the cage open and the python that had been on a diet of birds and rats, craving for something more substantial. Like the little girl who had come to visit next door.

  Over the years, I visited my uncle a couple more times and the python was always there in the neighbour’s house. Then, on one visit, I came to know that it had died and the owner was heartbroken. Apparently he continued to mourn the snake for years after that. I could only think that if he could feel that kind of love for a snake that just ate and lay in the sun, people with dogs must be devastated to lose them, they offer such unconditional love. One more reason to stay away from pets, I thought. I couldn’t handle the heartbreak.

  As I said earlier, the problem must be genetic because my grandmother wasn’t too fond of dogs either, nor was my mother. So I never had one growing up, either in Bangalore or later, in Madras. The only animals that I saw were the cats that roamed around outside the house, looking for scraps. They seemed more afraid of me than I was of them. When my sister and I were in our teens, she made friends with a bunch of schoolmates who had dogs at home. After every visit, she would come home and rave about the special bond that the pets had with the kids in the house. She would go on and on about how we had missed out on that whole experience in our childhood. About how much love they had to offer and how beautiful it was. Appa loves dogs too, and she found an ally in her quest. Together they managed to convince Amma and we brought home our first pet. His name was Tiger Rajinikanth.

  Tiger was the sweetest Dalmatian and the first pet I ever touched. Since he was a puppy when he came, I didn’t feel threatened, though I kept my distance. And how could one not get caught up in the excitement of having a new baby at home, feeding, playing, scratching and chewing things all over the place. I remember we were so enamoured by him, we used to check on him even in the middle of the night to see if he was fine. He was so friendly that even I would feed him sometimes and let him follow me around. Appa and my sister were ecstatic and it was nice seeing them so happy.

  Tiger grew up pretty fast and was a very lively dog, but in his own intelligent doggy way, he understood my fears. He would play rough with everyone else, jumping on them and demanding to be petted. With me he would just come close, wag his tail, sniff around a bit and leave, having made sure that I noticed his acknowledgement of me. Tiger was the only pet I was comfortable with. And who could resist his doggy smile?

  Though it was my sister and father who insisted on bringing home a dog, it was Amma who eventually became closest to him. Appa had a busy schedule and my sister had school, so inevitably he ended up spending most of his time with Amma. She was a typical homemaker, whose life revolved around the three of us and the house. Once a pet arrived, she became even more so. She did not like travelling much and now she had a perfect excuse. She had to stay home and take care of the dog. Tiger followed her around everywhere and even mimicked her food habits. He was a vegetarian dog who loved paneer and curd rice! We used to tell her that dogs needed their non-vegetarian protein and feeding him only vegetarian food was unfair, but she wouldn’t listen, so Appa used to slip him some meat once in a while without her knowledge and Tiger loved it. It was only after many years that Amma allowed dog food into the house.

  Once, we had to leave for an extended stretch and it was unavoidable. Appa had a rare break and we decided to go on a holiday to Singapore. After a lot of thought, a caretaker was arranged for Tiger and we left. Amma used to call him every day to make sure Tiger was all right and he told her each time that her dog was fine. When we came back, Tiger was strangely subdued. I felt he looked sad. Amma called the doctor, who said he was physically perfect. But we were not convinced, so we called the caretaker, who said nothing had happened. But as he was speaking to Amma, Tiger lunged at him and bit his hand. It was the first time he had ever behaved aggressively. Amma was stunned and shouted at him. The caretaker was taken immediately to a hospital and both Amma and Tiger went into a sulk. She refused to eat and so did he.

  That evening, the night watchman who had been with us for years spoke to my mother. I heard her cry out and then run and hug Tiger. The caretaker had fooled us all. He had treated Tiger badly a couple of times, even beating him. Tiger had not retaliated until we were back and he knew he was safe. It was almost as though he had waited for us to come back before giving the guy what he deserved. The man was given a dressing-down and fired, but the damage was done. Tiger had become wary of strangers.

  In a household where people come and go regularly, like ours, it became torturous for him and for us. He was extremely temperamental and stressed and it came to a point where he would randomly attack people. Finally, the doctor we always took him to, told us that he would foster him so that he could spend the rest of his days away from the triggers that made him paranoid. I did not realize how much a part of the family he had become until he left. It was hard on all of us, especially Amma. We would go to visit him and come back feeling even more dejected than before. It just didn’t feel right. A week later, nobody could take it anymore. A huge fenced lawn was prepared for him and he was brought back home. He lived for thirteen years and though he spent most of his time in that fenced portion, he was at least close to us and he seemed happy to be away from strangers. In scarring a dog, the caretaker had scarred an entire family.

  Tiger had mated once and we had got one pup out of the litter. (Apparently, that’s the norm. The male’s family gets one pup and the female’s family keeps the rest.) The pup was sent to our farmhouse in the outskirts of the city and so there was always one descendant of Tiger there. Whenever there was a new litter, the caretaker at the farm would bring the one we were keeping to the house. Amma would name the puppy and it would return to the farm where they all lived happily. This went on for a while. One day, the caretaker came home with a tiny little thing that my mother named Nanda. Just then, he got the news that someone in his family was sick and he had to leave immediately. He said he would come back for the pup after two days. Nanda never left.

  Nanda, just like Tiger, knew my limits. He knew I loved him, I knew he adored me too, but there was no petting. He soon became my mother’s shadow. After my sister and I got married and left home, he was left alone with my mother. He was there when I had my two babies and he was there when my grandfather passed away. But all good things have to c
ome to an end and after thirteen years of giving us unconditional love, he passed away. Amma swore then, never to have another dog in the house. She had gone through the trauma of losing one, twice over, and was sure that she couldn’t do it again.

  Dogs are like saints in a way. Teaching us life lessons while asking only for affection in return. Love them and they love you back tenfold. They slowly become part of your life and give it a new meaning. It is unfortunate that my fear of them has stopped me from experiencing the completeness of such a lovely relationship. My husband, on the other hand, grew up with dogs and loves them. Not long after we met, I gifted him a Labrador puppy that was hell on paws, a tiny boy that stole my heart. But fate had other plans. The puppy came down with an infection and passed away. It had a huge impact on me. I decided it was a sign that dogs and I were not meant to be. Our lives are already so full of relationships that come with expectations. Some of these relationships are not a matter of choice, others we choose, some out of love and some out of need. A relationship with a dog is different. I do not know whether I can do full justice to its unconditional love. And this voluntary attachment that has such a short life makes me uncomfortable.

  As a mother I would love for my children to have a pet. It is a rite of passage that makes people more empathetic. Dhanush also feels it is a bond that children should experience and I am being selfish in letting my fears get in the way. The mother in me says yes, the little girl in me screams no, and the homemaker in me reminds me of my white sofas and wooden flooring. Once I came close to asking them who they wanted in the house—a puppy or me? The sentence didn’t make it out of my mouth because I was pretty sure they would have settled for the dog. But the best-laid plans have a tendency to go awry, and as you read this, I may or may not have caved in and acquired another four-legged fountain of love in my life.