Happy Anniversary!

Most married men dread this word, ‘anniversary’. The reason: this word alone has the power to empty their pockets, sometimes even their year’s savings. From expensive sarees to chic jewellery to sometimes expensive holidays, a man has to bear it all for the sake of just one word—anniversary.

Husbands are not born, but made, most often by overwhelming circumstances. Some are a result of an awkward commitment given at a weak moment, some result from wry faces made by aggressive mothers and girl-friends. The moment he ties the knot, the spectre of anniversary starts haunting him. For the rest of his life, he has to live with this dread. The moment one anniversary gets over the exhausted husband is bombarded with plans for the next anniversary. And the husband gets sucked into this quagmire from where he can never come out.

Let us take a look at a few husbands from the past who succumbed to the anniversary demands of their fanciful wives.

Adam—he existed when a moneyed economy was not in practice. That’s why he couldn’t even buy Eve anything on their anniversary. Ultimately, Eve went ahead and stole the fruit that her husband couldn’t buy her. The result—mankind would be thrown out of the Garden of Eden, to face the hardships of life. The same Eden Garden would produce another troubled husband many thousands years later, Sourav Ganguly.

Lord Rama—he is one man who has inspired generations of Indian men with his strict morals and bravery. But did he have a demanding wife? Oh yes, he did! While they were in Dandakaranya, Sita once saw a golden deer. Very much like a cabaret dancer of Bollywood films, the deer enticed Sita so much that she demanded that the deer be hers. Going by their financial condition, Rama knew that he can’t afford such an expensive anniversary gift, so he tried to reason with his wife, albeit in vain. Finally, Lord Rama went out to fetch the deer and the rest is history. One anniversary gift made him fight an entire war with Lanka. History has never known another instance when a gift resulted in such a huge scale destruction.

Mark Anthony—he was the trusted general of the Roman Emperor, Augustus Caesar. But he had an aggressive and equally demanding wife in the person of Cleopatra. She demanded Rome as her anniversary gift. The hapless Mark Anthony agreed. The result: Mark Anthony killed himself and Cleopatra got her final kiss from a poisonous asp.

Shah Jahan—this man had a tasteful wife. And she demanded that even after her death, the Emperor should remember her and make an expensive mausoleum in her memory. Shah Jahan spent twenty years making it. And it turned out to be a gift that would bleed the Mughal treasury white. Till today, poor husbands spend their hard-earned money to take their wives to the monument of love, the Taj Mahal.

The Crocodile of Panchatantra—if you have forgotten then he was the gullible chap who had a monkey friend who used to give him sweet berries to eat everyday. The uxorious Mr. Crocodile would take some for his wife too. On their anniversary, Mrs. Crocodile demanded that she be brought the heart of the monkey, which must have turned sweet due to the regular eating of the berries. And you know what happened after that.

Saahil Hemant Virani—he had a nagging woman for his wife, Tripty. He was a poor man who couldn’t even buy her kachoris on their anniversary. He almost sank into never-ending depression when his first wife, Ganga came back, with her riches. Once again, Saahil could afford anniversaries.

Sourav Ganguly—the Prince of Kolkata was the terror of many a bowler in his heyday. Women would swoon whenever he stepped out to lift a spinner to the stands. But a veteran of many anniversaries now, he looks like a tired husband on field, waiting for his next pay-cheque.

From the above discussion, we have found out how anniversaries can ruin a man’s peace of mind. But still, there is more to a marriage than just anniversaries. Aggressive mothers-in-law, timid fathers-in-law, and parasitic relations are the other problems to contend with. So, if your worst enemy is living under the aforementioned conditions, perhaps you could just throw a smile and wish him on his very special day, a very Happy Anniversary!

Date with Time: Interview with Aurangzeb Alamgir

As I checked my watch, it was quarter past three in the afternoon. “Have I arrived before time?”—I asked the Ahadi soldier standing next to me. He said I was lucky to be allowed entrance to the Diwan-i-Khas, before court time. He stared at my watch for a long time, and asked me what kind of zevar that was. He was rather surprised when I told him that it was a timepiece. I, being a man from the future, had become an object of curiosity in the medieval city of Delhi. Everyone seemed to be interested in meeting the desi babu in angrez clothes, a man who spoke fluent Hindustani and English, and who also carried a bunch of karamati goods with which he did magic. The other day, I was mobbed when I went to Paranthewali Gali at Chandni Chowk. Everyone wanted to touch me and talk to me. I was saved by His Majesty’s personal bodyguards, the Ahadis, when they took me away with them. Ever since then, Mirza Raja Jai Singh, the Emperor’s most trusted officer, has barred me from going out of the Red Fort alone. Actually, I haven’t seen much of the Mirza ever since I taught him to play ‘Solitaire’ card game on my laptop.

I patiently waited for the Emperor to come down for the interview. I was told by the Mir Bakshi (the paymaster of the Empire) that His Exalted Highness is offering the namaz-i-maghrib (the namaz of Maghrib) and would arrive shortly. I looked around the place. It was grander than I had imagined. The most decorative tapestries adorned the walls of the Hall of Private Audience (Diwan-i-Khas). The ceiling was done in gold, with diamonds, rubies, sapphires and emeralds giving it a lustrous look. On the right hand corner of the wall, was inscribed in Persian, Amir Khusraw’s famous couplet, “gar firdaus bar ru-i-zameen ast, hamin ast o hamin ast o hamin ast” (if there is a paradise on earth, it is this, it is this, none but this). In the centre of the room, was placed the legendary Takht-i-Taus (Peacock Throne).

At this point, Mirza Raja Jai Singh entered. We had a brief chat. The Emperor wanted him to be present during the interview. We were alerted by the court crier, announcing the arrival of the Emperor. “Ba adab ba mulhaiza hoshiyaar! Sultan ibn-i-Sultan, Shahenshah-i-Hindustan, Chiragh-i-nasl-i-Timur, Huzoor Gulnoor, Fakhr-i-Baburi, Jalal-i-Akbari, Zill-i-Illahi, Hazrat Abul Muzaffar Muhiuddin Muhammad Aurangzeb Alamgir Bahadur Badshah Ghazi, Darbar-i-Mughalia mein raunaq afroz ho rahe hain! (“Attention everyone: Sultan son of Sultan, Emperor of Hindustan, torchbearer of the dynasty of Timur, Lord of the land, Pride of Babur, Majesty of Akbar, Shadow of the God on Earth, Lord Abul Muzaffar Muhiuddin Muhammad Aurangzeb Alamgir, the brave Emperor and slayer of infidels, by God’s grace, is making his exalted presence in the court”)

Everyone in the court bowed as His Majesty entered the court and ascended the throne. He looked at me and beckoned me to come in front of him. I trembled inside for a moment: I was standing in front of the most powerful man in the world in the seventeenth century. Although I come from a democratic society, yet being in his court, I was at the mercy of Lord Alamgir.

“Huzoor ka iqbal bulund ho” (May the sun shine upon His Exalted Highness)—I did sijdah (bowing) before him. “Tashreef rakhiye”—he asked me to sit down.

“Sire, if you would permit me, I would like to record our conversation on tape. It is important.” He did not properly understand what I meant and gave me a confused look. I took out the I-pod and placed it between us. He stared at the object for a while. “In the name of Imam Zamin, please tell what this object is.” I told him that it is a recorder cum player and has many features. I turned it on and recorded His Majesty’s voice and played it back to him. “Subhan Allah! Subhan Allah! This is Allah’s magic!”—he cried out in utter amazement…so did everyone else present. The Emperor ordered Sharbat-i-Azam to be brought in. Sipping the delicious drink, I put my first question to His Majesty.

“Sire, ours is a lifestyle magazine, so my first question will be on your lifestyle. How do you think your lifestyle is different from your predecessors and contemporaries?”

“I don’t see any fundamental difference. Our circumstances influence our lifestyle. We Emperors are busy people. Right now, we are in the midst of troubled times. The Marathas under Shivaji are creating trouble in the Deccan, while the Ahoms and the Koches in the eastern frontier are becoming rebellious. I cannot have a pompous lifestyle when the Empire is in trouble. I think my contemporaries elsewhere are having a less troubled life. They are living a life of luxury, I must say.”

“Your Majesty, people say that you do not have a sense of fashion, that you lead an austere life. What do you have to say about that?”

“I think people are correct here! I am not a very fashionable man. I am a soldier and a faqir at the same time. I do not like heavy clothes, although I do wear ceremonial attires whenever the occasion arises. Otherwise, I prefer Muslin clothes. I specially get them from Dhaka.” The Emperor seemed to be a simple man; but he did have a good taste. He is of average height and has a lighter frame, and I guess, would look good in any dress. He has bright, intelligent eyes, and looks at everyone intently: a fact that sends shivers down the spines of many a battle-hardened soldier. They say Alamgir is invincible in battle.

“Your Majesty, you have recently discontinued the practice of jharokha darshan, which your predecessors had started and followed zealously. Your critics are of the view that you have done this, as you think it is a Hindu practice and you hate Hindus. Your comments please.”

“I haven’t discontinued the jharokha darshan because of any religious reason. The reason is purely political. I had to fight a bloody war of succession with my brothers even when Ala Hazrat (Shah Jahan) was alive. He was unwell and could not come for jharokha darshan, a fact that created suspicion in the minds of our noble subjects that Badshah Salamat was dead. I would not want my children to follow the same path.”

“I see. But Sire, many of your rivals are of the view that you have a terrible hatred for Hindus and do not allow Hindu officers in your government to occupy important offices. Is this true?”

“I certainly do not agree with this view. An Emperor could be a Hindu or a Muslim in his private life; but when he ascends the throne, his riyaya (subjects) becomes his children. You should know that 33% of our officers are Hindus. None of my predecessors had so many non-Muslims in the bureaucracy.”

“Sire, you have recently imposed jaziya tax on your non-Muslim subjects. There is large-scale discontent in your empire because of this. Why are you trying to reverse the policies of your predecessors? Don’t you think this will destroy the fine fabric of the Mughal Empire?”

“I have imposed jaziya on my non-Muslim subjects on economic grounds. When I came to power, I found the treasury almost empty. Ala Hazrat had spent a lot of money in architectural works. Besides, the Balkh-Badakshan campaign, and the Kandahar campaigns during Ala Hazrat’s reign consumed a lot of our resources. Without imposing taxes upon my subjects, I could not really have run the administration of this country effectively for a long time. Besides, jizya has been imposed only on the non-Muslim able-bodied men who refuse state service. It is not collected from women, children, old men and people with disabilities. The Mughal state collects compulsory zakat, ushr, sadaqah, fitrah and khum from its Muslim subjects, which are much higher than jizya. They are not collected from non-Muslims. My subjects do not have a problem with that. All these rumours are being spread by the Marathas and other dissenters.”

The Emperor’s answer made me fumble for a moment. I have always read in history books that Aurangzeb was a monster who tortured Hindus and made them pay jaziya. What the Emperor said gave an entirely different picture. I looked towards Mirza Jai Singh for confirmation…and he gave me a look of approval. I continued with our conversation.

“Zill-i-Illahi, why did you keep Emperor Shah Jahan under house-arrest for eight years?”

“Circumstances forced me to do it. Ala Hazrat had arranged for my assassination by Turkish slave girls. He never legitimised my claim on the throne and wanted Dara Bhai to succeed him. He went in for a series of intrigues against me. I had no other option but to put him under house arrest. I wish he had accepted me. I would have had no need to kill Dara Bhai then.”

The conversation had become too political and I realised that the Emperor might lose interest in it soon. I decided to change the track of the conversation.

“Sire, tell us something about your love life. You had an arranged marriage with Dilras Bano Begum. How have been your relations with her?”

“Dilras Bano has been a dutiful wife. She is a Safavid princess and has all the princess-like qualities. She is the mother of two of my favourite sons, Mirza Akbar and Muhammad Azam. I have good relations with her.”

“But Sire, I have heard that you had fallen deeply in love with a Hindu lady named Hira Bai Zainabadi. Could you tell us something about it?”

“I think it is all too personal. Can we talk about something else?”—the Emperor looked uncomfortable.

History says that Aurangzeb fell hopelessly in love with Hira Bai Zainabadi. She was a trained musician and the Emperor used to spend long hours listening to her music. She, however, died young and left the Emperor heart-broken. This left a deep wound in his heart that never healed, for the Emperor shunned music from his life forever.

“Alampanah, let me rephrase it. It is said that you have banned music in your empire because you are a bigot. Do you think Hira Bai’s death has anything to do with it?”

“This is rubbish! I have banned music only in my court. That is because my courtiers spend a lot of time drinking and watching courtesans/musicians perform. That is why I have banned it in my court. However, I have also raised the mansabs and salaries of my court musicians for not playing music. Some of my subjects have misread it. I have not imposed any restrictions on them. And let me tell you, this has nothing to do with Hira Bai.”

“But Sire, you yourself are an accomplished veena player. Why such an aversion to music then?”

“It is a matter of personal choice. I would not like to comment more on this.”

“All right, Sire. Let us talk about your conflict with the Marathas under Shivaji. Why is the Emperor of Hindustan fighting unnecessarily with such a small kingdom? Does it suit His Majesty’s standard”?

“The Maratha problem is not a small problem as you think. I personally admire Shivaji. He is a great warrior and general. He has scope for improvement, though. And that can only happen if he accepts Mughal service. He is trying to imitate Mughal customs, but has not been very successful with it. I am willing to give him a high mansab if he should accept state service. We already have Marathas serving in the imperial army. If he (Shivaji) joins us, both the imperial government and Maharashtra will benefit.”

“All right, Your Majesty. What do you think of the young generation?”

“I do not have a high opinion about the young generation. My own sons are slackers of the highest order. Now, look at Azam. He is the Subahdar of Bengal, but spends most of his summer time in Kashmir. The youngsters today do not like to obey their parents. Allah save this country!”

At that time, the bell of public justice rang, which meant that it was the time for the Emperor to leave for the Diwan-i-Aam to hear petitions. This meant that my interview was almost over. Still, I managed to chip in one final question. I asked him for his vision of Hindustan’s future.

“By the grace of Allah, the compassionate and the merciful, Hindustan would become the most powerful mulk under the benign rule of the Mughal Government. The sun will never set on the Mughal Empire.”

As I retired to the time machine, the taste of the sharbat still lingered on. On any day, it would score over the Pepsis and Cokes of my time. It was a memorable experience talking to the last great name of the House of Timur. “This will make a great story”—I murmured to myself. But just when I pressed the ignition button, I suddenly realised that I forgot to collect my laptop from Mirza Jai Singh. This forgetful nature of mine would land me on dire straits someday. Now, I will have to go back in time to get it. But it won’t be too much of a loss, though. I am sure after this story, my boss would gift me one! I am going back to my time…the 21^st century India.

Shitty Shitty Bang Bang

What are the advantages of travelling by a city bus? You get to see and learn a lot about life. Day to day life. You cannot really imagine what newer things your mundane life offers you every day. You also get an insight into the life of a common man, if you are attentive.

The other day I was on my way to the office when I overheard an “interesting” conversation between two guys sitting behind me. One of them said to his friend in Hindi: “Yaar, kal maine Nisha ki bajaa di…” (“I screwed Nisha”) “What! Our receptionist Nisha? Yaar, how did you do it?”—the other guy was all excited. Honouring his friend’s request, our macho guy started relating his (s)experience to his friend. I was curious to know who this ‘Sex God’ was, so I turned back. By jove! It was none other than “the guy who screwed too much”, Honey Baruah!

Honey Baruah was born in a well-to-do family in Tinsukia (in Upper Assam). Being the only son of his parents, Honey received excess love and affection. His father christened him as ‘Honey’, for he was such a sweet and lovable child! Honey was sent to a vernacular medium school at the age of five. He proved his mettle in studies. In his +2 exam, he got such high marks that he won a scholarship. His parents thought it was the right time to send their son to Delhi for further studies. Honey didn’t want to go, as he was a typical ‘Mama’s Boy’. Nevertheless, all his protests fell into deaf ears; Honey Baruah was packed off to Delhi.

He joined a prestigious college in Delhi where English was the lingua franca. Honey boy, however, was not very comfortable with the language. So, when he was ragged in college, Honey had a tough time handling it. One of his seniors asked him a naughty question: “are you a virgin?” Confused, Honey replied: “No, I am Brahmin!” In the hostel Honey had a tougher time dealing with his roomies cum (tor)mentors, Akashdeep Hazarika and Abhay Gujjar. These ruffians taught him all sorts of verbal abuses apart from giving him important lessons on self-abuse.

Slowly, Honey became used to all that. His mentors one day told him that he could have a real-like (s)experience in a crowded city bus, if he was willing to experiment. Honey was only too willing to try it. As planned, Abhay and Honey took a crowded bus, and Abhay showed him how to stand behind women and rub his nether region on the posterior of a girl. This was too exciting an opportunity to miss! Honey tried the frottage act successfully that day on three lady passengers. Honey Baruah became Horny Baruah!

He soon became a rub-a-dub expert in buses, until one day when desire almost turned into disaster. He was doing his frottage act with a girl when suddenly the girl poked him with a safety pin (mean woman!). Honey winced in pain! Luckily, his horny junior was saved from injury, for the pin only bruised his thigh. Nevertheless, he had learnt a lesson, and decided to leave his favourite sport on a temporary basis.

But our guy was still not a man—he was yet to sleep with a woman. Honey Baruah could not properly communicate in English, and so he was always tongue-tied when it came to talking to girls. This frustrated him quite a lot. Almost everyday he used to spend a long time in the loo, crying over his “self-employed” status.
Honey had a classmate named Debrina Ao. A practising Christian, this God-fearing Naga girl liked Honey. She also understood what made Honey feel so uncomfortable in feminine presence (somehow a woman has this weird power of understanding the needs of the man she likes/loves.). Debrina offered to give him lessons in English. Soon, the guy who used to introduce himself as, “I is Haani Baruah”, was smart enough to say, “That’s a fucking hot babe” when he saw a good-looking girl.

Meanwhile, Honey’s roomies kept on giving him good counsel about how to screw a girl. They told him that the way to a girl’s twat is through her heart. They also egged him on to (s)experiment with Debrina. “You farthead! What the f*** do you think you are doing? Screw that hottie! You don’t have to worry about anything: such hot chicks don’t really mind. Enjoy her and dump her ass”—Abhay Gujjar had an “amazing” knowledge about women! “And I am your friend so give me a share of the kill. Even I have desires…”—Akashdeep was another “thurki” (Hindi slang for a sex-maniac).

Honey impressed Debrina with his honeyed talk. He was able to strum the strings of her heart, but she didn’t know that our horny guy was only looking for a “no strings attached” relationship with her. One fine day, they both hit the couch, and Honey Baruah became a man! This continued for about two months. When he was fed up, he dumped her. Debrina had a nervous breakdown and attempted suicide twice, but failed. She soon left the college and went into oblivion.

Horny boy’s newly found confidence showed up in his dressing sense also. He started wearing his jeans below the waist, flashing his Jockey underwear (the next best thing to naked). His eyes used to amorously talk to girls: “Hey hot stuff! There is “hard” reality beneath my fly!” But there were other contenders too. There were many guys in the campus who applied this method. This battle of the Bulge was difficult to win (the Allied victory at the Battle of the Bulge during WWII was comparatively easier.). The Young Thurks…err…excuse me…the Young Turks in college vied with one another for the best babes.

Nevertheless, Honey did attract a few girls. One of them was Swapnali Bhattacharya. She became interested in him. On their third date itself, Honey made a pass at her that totally blew her fuse. She was a small-town girl and couldn’t really identify with uptown concepts like sleeping with your boyfriend even before knowing him. She avoided him for a week, but couldn’t really ward him off. He kept on stalking her until one day, at the end of her tether, Swapnali gave him a smack on his face in full public view. She also threatened him with dire consequences if he tried to mess up with her again.


The slap toned him down for sometime. He decided to concentrate in his studies and not think about women again. But for how long? As they say, “penis is mightier than the pen”—so, it was time to be horny again!

Priyanka was the next victim. He made her pregnant once (he liked doing rub-a-dub but hated using rubber), and forced her to abort. A broken woman, she informed her parents about the mishap. They flew down to Delhi and decided to take action against the guy. Meanwhile, Priyanka’s brothers came to Honey’s hostel to fix him in their own way. Our guy somehow saved his arse and went underground. In this hour of crisis, his mentors didn’t leave him in the lurch. Abhay Gujjar came up with a mind-blowing plan to deal with the crisis. Following his advice, Honey called up Priyanka and proposed marriage. As expected, the plan worked. Honey’s life was saved from being screwed up!

Within a year, Priyanka was married off to Honey. “Providence”—her parents heaved a sigh of relief! It would have been very difficult for them to get a good match for their girl, as her character was already “stained” by her wanton act. But God was merciful, for they found such a good match for their girl. “At least the guy was honest”—her mother would often say. But was that the right thing to do? Was Priyanka their daughter or their liability? Did they ever try to find out Honey’s background before committing their daughter to him? Who cares, man! Marriages are made in heaven, they say!

Honey’s marriage opened up a world of opportunities for him. He now had a wife (whom he could screw anytime he liked), and his in-laws’ financial support to set up his own business. Once he had a standing in life, his one-night stands also increased. Life was a honey-cake for him now!

The bus’ sudden halt brought me back to the present. A lot of people came on board at Wazirpur Depot. Our Horny Boy (now a Man) rose from his seat, made his way into the thick of the crowd, and stood behind a girl. He was getting ready for a warm-up session, while the radio was on full volume, playing the Red FM 93.5 theme song, “Bajaate Raho” (no wonder that song made him horny!). I realised that Honey Baruah had lost his soul; his morality had died a long time back. R.I.P. (Rust in Piss) Honey Baruah.

Copyright warning: This story as well as the other posts are property of Kitsch Magazine (where I work, of course). Do not use them without prior permission of the writer and the company (Twenty Onwards Media Pvt. Ltd. New Delhi)