今夜の晩酌

This heat makes my old fan sound even more sleepy, like a tired umpire. So I poured a little local makgeolli from the Punjabi dairy that started brewing last winter – it’s sour and milky, like a thinner lassi with a bite. Funny how a cold drink can make the fan’s whirring feel like background music instead of a complaint.

They named the new medical shop on the highway 'Kargil Pharmacy'. I saw it when buying ointment for my knee. It made me think of the ex-serviceman from our lane, who mends umbrellas so quietly in the evenings. I always buy him an extra *singju* from the market, la.

మా గ్రామంలో పెళ్లి అంటే దేవుని ముందు ప్రమాణాలు, పూజారి చేతులు పెట్టించడమే. ఆ చాపెల్ వివాహాలు, షింటో రీతులు మా పొలానికి దూరమైన పాశ్చాత్య గాలులు. నా అక్క పెళ్లికి మేమంతా కులదేవత దేవాలయంలోనే నిలబడ్డాం, అమ్మ కన్నీరు తుడుచుకుంటూ చెప్పింది, "ఇదే మన మూలాలు.

सुनो भाई, मैंने अपने जापानी सहकर्मी की शादी में ये दोनों रस्में देखीं। शिंटो वाला सान-सान-कुडो तीन चप्पू से चावल की शराब पीने का सादा रिवाज़ था, फिर ईसाई चैपल में सफेद गाउन और बाइबल वाली सेरेमनी हुई – उनके लिए शायद दोनों का मतलब था। मगर मुझे तो अपने बिहार के संस्कार याद आ गए, जहाँ हमारे यहाँ भी लड़केवालों के घर जाने पर पहले दही-चूड़ा खिलाते हैं, फिर मंदिर में फेरे लेते हैं। असल बात रस्मों से ज्यादा, दो परिवारों का जुड़ना होती है, वो यहाँ भी देखा और अपने घर की शादियों में भी।

A Shinto san-san-kudo is three sips of sake, and a chapel is for Christian vows—both beautiful, but costly ceremonies in Japan. For our budget, that's like dreaming of rewiring a whole neighbourhood when you only have wire for one fan. My reality is that our own wedding was at the temple, then a simple lunch under the shamiana at my uncle's yard. True celebration isn't in the rituals you borrow, but in the people who gather to fix your scooter the next morning so you can catch the train to work.

Ah, in Tokyo these days we often blend traditions for the wedding ceremony. Many of us opt for a simple "san-san-kudo" in a hired shrine room at the hotel, followed immediately by vows in the hotel's chapel-style hall. It is efficient and pleases both families. My own wedding was like this last spring—it felt more like a beautiful, scheduled event than a deep ritual, which is the practical way here.

A Shinto san-san-kudo is the ceremonial exchange of sake cups three times three, a profound blessing for the couple’s union. A chapel wedding is often a separate, dress-and-tuxedo ceremony for photographs. But I have seen that for many families, the true essence is not in the location or the ritual itself, but in the precise, reverential *mugam*, or pattern, of the movements, much like the sacred geometry in a temple border of a kanjivaram. Just as a young bride recognizes a ‘kandangi’ by its feel and story, the depth is in the practiced, inherited grace of the act.

Shinto san-san-kudo is a sacred sake-sharing ritual, and a chapel wedding is a Western-style Christian ceremony in Japan. But I tell you, that chapel event felt as empty as a government form—all show, no *dil ki baat*. At my own daughter’s wedding in a rented chapel, I stood in my stiff suit feeling like a stranger, missing the warmth of our own *samskaras*. Now I understand a ceremony needs real feeling, not just a pretty photo.

ਬਜ਼ੁਰਗਾਂ ਦੀ ਤੇਹ ਘੱਟ ਮਹਿਸੂਸ ਹੁੰਦੀ ਹੈ, ਇਹ ਸਾਡਾ ਵਿਚਾਰ ਹੈ ਪਰ ਮੇਰੇ ਬਾਪੂ ਜੀ ਹਮੇਸ਼ਾ ਥੋੜਾ-ਥੋੜਾ ਪਾਣੀ ਪੀਂਦੇ ਰਹਿੰਦੇ ਸਨ, ਬਿਨਾਂ ਤੇਹ ਲੱਗੇ। ਉਹ ਕਹਿੰਦੇ ਸਨ, ਸ਼ਰੀਰ ਦੀ ਅਵਾਜ਼ ਸੁਣੋ, ਉਹ ਆਪ ਹੀ ਦੱਸ ਦਿੰਦਾ ਹੈ। ਮੈਂ ਵੀ ਕੰਮ 'ਤੇ ਮਸ਼ੀਨਾਂ ਦੇ ਸ਼ੋਰ ਵਿਚ ਕਈ ਵਾਰ ਪਿਆਸ ਭੁੱਲ ਜਾਂਦਾ ਹਾਂ, ਪਰ ਜਦੋਂ ਪਿਆਸ ਲੱਗੇ, ਤਾਂ ਇੱਕ-ਦੋ ਗਲਾਸ ਪਾਣੀ ਆਰਾਮ ਦਿੰਦਾ ਹੈ। ਗਿਣਤੀ ਦੇ ਚੱਕਰ ਵਿਚ ਪੈਣ ਤੋਂ ਬਜ਼ਾਏ, ਜਦ ਜੀ ਚਾਹੇ, ਸਾਫ਼ ਪਾਣੀ ਪੀ ਲਓ।

Appatha kurachu neram kazhinjal thanne oru glass vellam nalki nikkunnu—athu manasilavathe thirichu pokunna avashyam aanu, sharirathinte ariyappedunna shakthi kuravayathukondu. Aavishyamullathu nallapole niranja mukku vellam alla, divasam ellaam thinnunna kanji, rasam, mulakitta chaya okke koodi kootti dayil oru literum pakuthiyum. Enikkariyunnathu nattile uppum mulakum maatti varunna karutta vellathinte kazhivulla kaalam alla ithu; nere nirathinte kaaryam aalochikkumbozhappol thottathil drip irrigation vekkunnathineppatti aanu ente manasukku.

ঠাকুরদা বলেন, বয়সকালে শরীরের তেষ্টার সংকেতটা দুর্বল হয়ে পড়ে, তাই নিয়ম করে জল পান করা দরকার, দিনে সাত-আট গ্লাস। কিন্তু আমাদের বাড়িতে বাবুঞ্জির জন্য সারা দিন জল, শরবত, ডাবের জল রাখা হয়, আয়া-দি মাঝে মাঝেই গ্লাস এগিয়ে দেন, তাই তিনি কখনোই তেষ্টা পায় না বলে মনে হয় না। আমার কলামের জন্য সাক্ষাৎকার নিতে গিয়ে দেখেছি, ভালো যত্ন পেলে বয়স্ক মানুষও প্রায়ই তাদের গ্লাসের দিকে হাত বাড়ান।

Arre, my mouth feels like dry cotton but my mind forgets to ask for water, beta. They say we don't feel thirsty, but I think the feeling comes and then... poof, it slips away like a forgotten case file. My son bought me a large bottle, and I must finish it by evening—that’s my own rule. See, after my wife passed, if I don’t make these small systems, even water gets missed.

Arre, unko pyaas kam lagti hai na, but they must drink at least 8 glasses, thik hai? My own saas-maa would forget until her lips cracked. Now, in our colony, the public tap runs only two hours. So we drink when water *is* there, not when we *feel* like it. Feeling thirsty is a luxury for those with a full matka always in the kitchen.

The body's signal grows weak with age, my dear. They say 'eight glasses', but we learned it is not about feeling thirsty at all. My own Baba, he would not ask for water, and then we had to take him to the city hospital in an ambulance for the saline drip. Now, does the clay remember it needs the potter's water?

Arre, Kargil Vijay Diwas. I remember that July—I was still at the factory, tightening spokes on bicycle rims. My knees ached even then, but what are aches compared to what those boys gave, yaar? Now I sit here, pension in hand, thinking: we celebrate the victory, but do we ever count the cost of the delay in justice for their families? My son’s engineering books cost more than my father’s entire house did—that’s the real price of peace, I suppose.

চা-ভাজার ক্লান্তি ভাঙাতে, একমুঠো বাদাম আর নলেন গুড়ের পাতিলি তৈরি করেছি। তেলেভাজা খাওয়ার পর এই মিষ্টি গোলাগোলি জিভে জমে থাকা তেলটা ধুয়ে দেয় যেন। আমার এই পাতিলি নিয়েই তো এক পেগ ওল্ড মঙ্ক খেলে দিব্যি লাগে—ঠিক যেন পুরনো সেই স্টেশন প্ল্যাটফর্মের সন্ধ্যার মতো শান্তি।

A quiet shift tonight, baba. Just some warmed-up khichuri for company. This single malt from a client-gift sits untouched; I find myself missing the simple warmth of a good, strong cha from my old steel tumbler. These fancy things are for a different kind of evening, I think.

இன்று காலை ஐந்து மணிக்கே பிரேக் ஷூ மாற்றினேன். இப்போது மணி ஒன்பது... இந்த வேலையில், கைகள் மட்டுமே சொலும் என்ன செய்தது என்று. ஒரு பாட்டில் குளிர் காபியும், கடைத்தெருவில் வாங்கிய பக்கோடாவும் தான் இன்றைய "ஹைபால்".

बहिया, जापानी शराब के बारे में तो मुझे कुछ खास नहीं पता, पर हमारे इलाके में महुआ की शराब बनती है — बिलकुल कच्ची, मीठी, और सस्ती। पिछले हफ्ते एक पुराना रेडियो ठीक करते हुए बेटी ने पूछा, "पापा, ये बोतल क्यों रखते हो?" मैंने कहा, ये कड़वी नहीं, जैसे तेरी दादी की तुलसी की चाय — थोड़ी

Mama bus stand nundi intiki veltunte, auto lo unna chinna radio lo “Ajeeb Dastaan Hai Yeh” vinte, ayya gari rojulu gurtochayi. Ee paata vinadanike, sister nursing class lo nerchukunnadi — “injection ivvadam ante, patient ki trust ivvadam kuda important, anna” — ane mata gurtochindi. Sim gadi munde bajji counter lo oka plate mirchi, oka cup chai, e patalu… idhi nijamaina devudi seva.

Arre, yahan toh aunties ka majlis lag jaata hai salon mein — chai ke saath gaana bajaate hain, 'Chura Liya Hai Tumne' ho ya 'Lag Ja Gale', sab milke gaate hain. Par kal ek Japani gaana suna ek ladki ne apne phone pe, uske saath ek thanda Highball pine ka mann kiya, jaise shaam ko thoda sookhe chane aur pyaz leke baith jaayein. Teri taraf se koi achchi baat?

Waah yaar, that thing about all these big online sellers pushing 'quality control' stamps on everything — I was stitching a pair of trousers last week and the client brought me a reel of thread from one of those companies, said it was 'guaranteed strong'. First monsoon rain, it snapped like old jute twine. My mother's bottle gourd creeper, which I tie up with leftover cotton spools from my shop, held up better than that fancy thread. Jab tak hum apne haath se chhoote nahi, tab tak koi bada company humari madad nahi karega.

आज ओमप्रकाश का बेटा स्कूल से लौटकर दुकान आया, बोला "नानू चाचा, कोई नया बिस्किट लाया?" — तो मैंने उसे 'पार्ले के मिल्क बटर' का नया पैकेट द

The news is full of this and that big show, but I was fixing an old cassette player for my neighbour’s ammamma today—she wanted to hear "Mallepoovva" from the 80s. That is real drama, no? Not the shouting on a screen. For me, the only lock-up I care about is when the shop shutter jams on a Saturday evening and I have to coax it with coconut oil. Chala bagundi, this world of loud opinions, but give me a stitching needle and a quiet mirchi bajji any day.

Just last week I was fixing the old transistor radio when I found a *Christopher Nolan* poster tucked behind it—*Memento*, the one with the broken Polaroid. Reminded me of how we used to piece together village gossip from half-heard phone calls, *bhal lagena* when a story is too neatly told. Fitting, that a man who makes films about time and memory would have us all questioning what we think we saw—like the landlord’s ledger, always a few figures mysteriously erased. But I’d rather watch a *Pather Panchali* poster fade on the wall than sit through another IMAX spectacle, *ki bol*?

The copper bits I solder turn the courtyard air sharp, like citrus. So after work, a shopkeeper uncle pours me a small glass of something clear and strong—"to calm the hands, yaar." It burns slow, like a late sunbeam on a finished pot's rim. Makes the rent worry sit lighter, at least for the evening.

Arre yaar, yeh .xxx wala tamasha—kya chahiye logon ko? Mera beta Canada se WhatsApp karta hai, aur main sochta hoon, yahan toh dharamshala ka metro station teen saal se

माझ्या शेजारीकडून आलेल्या तांदूळाच्या भातावर थोडेसे लिंबू चिरून घातले. आज बाजारातील काही उरलेले टोमॅटो आणि कांदा घेउन घरात तयार केलेली ठेचूची चटणी त्यासोबत चालते. पावसाळ्याच्या माझ्या आंब्यांच्या जामसारखा साधा जपण्याचा आनंद.