I must admit that I've been having sleepless nights over the last week.
The revelation that Aamir Khan and Amitabh Bachchan are true sons of the soil with them actually being descendants of farmers in UP, had truly put me in a quandary. (I know Big B is now chickening out and saying he is not a farmer but Aamir Baba swears he is a farmer by birth and an actor by profession). With two of India's finest actors coming out of the closet with their true calling in life, and both of them being my favourite, I felt I must follow suit and return to the profession of my ancestors.
To begin with, it seemed convenient to go along with the idea that I've descended from a line of hedonistic, happily unemployed "by choice" individuals who mooched off their friends, neighbours and countrymen. I wouldn't have to change much then. Sadly I discovered, my ancestors were indeed gainfully employed and very respectfully at that. And in the interest of spreading good thoughts, words and deeds I rounded up the rest of my family to follow suit.
Over a healthy and somewhat modest spread of pork sorpotel, beef chilly fry and prawn curry, my case was put foward to the clan. "It's not fair to the memory of the great ones of the past. We must stop what we are doing immediately and respectfully return to the work of our forefathers. It's in the interest of the next generation as well, shouldn't they stand tall walking in the footsteps of the glorious ones?"
A flurry of discussions and debates followed, drowning out the sounds of The Everly Brothers streaming out of the stereo, empty beer cans being tossed into the trash can, and my 95-year-old grandfather snoring. When it was time for dessert and my aunt proudly unveiled her signature 16-layered bebinca, the verdict was out...
"No, it just cannot be done!" My father declared like judge reading out a death sentence.
"But why," I wailed wondering if there was any dodol for dessert as well.
"How can you bring up such an absurd idea with the feast of the Holy Mother of Assumption just around corner? I have already pledged to say 120 rosaries," whined Our Lady of the 16-layered Bebinca.
"You fool, don't you have a head?" I could see gramps was back among the alive and kicking.
After all he is old and wise, I thought, let me hear him out...
"How the hell are we supposed to go back to being Saraswat Brahmin priests? The bleddy temple is not even there anymore men. Enough of your nonsense talk, get rid of this horse piss in a can and get me my feni!"
Obviously I couldn't argue any further.
The revelation that Aamir Khan and Amitabh Bachchan are true sons of the soil with them actually being descendants of farmers in UP, had truly put me in a quandary. (I know Big B is now chickening out and saying he is not a farmer but Aamir Baba swears he is a farmer by birth and an actor by profession). With two of India's finest actors coming out of the closet with their true calling in life, and both of them being my favourite, I felt I must follow suit and return to the profession of my ancestors.
To begin with, it seemed convenient to go along with the idea that I've descended from a line of hedonistic, happily unemployed "by choice" individuals who mooched off their friends, neighbours and countrymen. I wouldn't have to change much then. Sadly I discovered, my ancestors were indeed gainfully employed and very respectfully at that. And in the interest of spreading good thoughts, words and deeds I rounded up the rest of my family to follow suit.
Over a healthy and somewhat modest spread of pork sorpotel, beef chilly fry and prawn curry, my case was put foward to the clan. "It's not fair to the memory of the great ones of the past. We must stop what we are doing immediately and respectfully return to the work of our forefathers. It's in the interest of the next generation as well, shouldn't they stand tall walking in the footsteps of the glorious ones?"
A flurry of discussions and debates followed, drowning out the sounds of The Everly Brothers streaming out of the stereo, empty beer cans being tossed into the trash can, and my 95-year-old grandfather snoring. When it was time for dessert and my aunt proudly unveiled her signature 16-layered bebinca, the verdict was out...
"No, it just cannot be done!" My father declared like judge reading out a death sentence.
"But why," I wailed wondering if there was any dodol for dessert as well.
"How can you bring up such an absurd idea with the feast of the Holy Mother of Assumption just around corner? I have already pledged to say 120 rosaries," whined Our Lady of the 16-layered Bebinca.
"You fool, don't you have a head?" I could see gramps was back among the alive and kicking.
After all he is old and wise, I thought, let me hear him out...
"How the hell are we supposed to go back to being Saraswat Brahmin priests? The bleddy temple is not even there anymore men. Enough of your nonsense talk, get rid of this horse piss in a can and get me my feni!"
Obviously I couldn't argue any further.
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