Nuke trauma

I was going through a couple of stories that I had written long ago. This is one of my favourite ones. Chandra, (the catalyst for this story),and I have known each other for countless years. Even now she is as dramatic as she was when she joined the prep school in class two. Of course, she is now a well-known writer and writes serious stuff.

Nuke Trauma

“Aren’t you worried you will be vapourised. Here we swing from Media hype to Karmic calm”, wrote Chandra, a close friend, in her e-mail from Jallandhar. I have known this friend from class two, and so well, that I can sum her up in one sentence, “A real Drame Baaz”. However, I could imagine her looking all pale and worried at the idea of going up in smoke with her four big dogs, guarding the ten acre government house, and all the precious ghost stories, on her Laptop, she wrote to keep her intellect from rusting.

I wrote back, “Ask one of your friendly ghosts to come to your rescue.” No reply so far.

The very next day Musharraff had addressed the nation on PTV. He spoke of the many nuclear bombs he had in his locker. It was apparent by his body language that his fingers were itching to grab them and chuck them from the terrace of his house. Musharaff, we all know is a “Purani Dilli ka chokra” and could not have escaped playing Holi. He spoke with a confidence of a man proficient in the art of chucking water balloons at his neighbours. For the first time I felt the nuke trauma.

If Doomsday was so close, then time was short and there was so much to be wrapped up. Guilt pangs lying dormant for years were beginning to surface. I suddenly felt; I must allow my daughter, Shubhi to eat her favourite ‘Pepperoni pizza’, I had denied her for weeks. I was busy working out the cost when a perturbed friend Rita called; “Did you watch Musharraff on TV. The man looked crazy. Anyway let us not waste any precious time. How about lunch in my house? I have already spoken to the gang and every one has agreed to come.”

So, despite the nuke threat lurking over our heads, we all met at her place to enjoy the sumptuous lunch followed by Nathu’s Rabri. Now it was Kalpana’s turn. “You know I have never visited Shopper’s Stop. It is so close to the target area. Maybe this will be our last chance to visit the place.”

Ofcourse after that a number of days were spent recovering from all kinds of aches and pains and sorting out the shopping bags. However, nothing was going to deter us now. We were already working on our pre-decided agenda, of fun and frolic. Our spirits were high but for some a bit irritating. “Why don’t you all go and watch the new Amitabh Bacchan movie,” remarked my niece, Pallavi. And then added with a naughty smirk, “Mausi, but leave your brains behind, otherwise you will lose your job.” She was well aware of the fact that I was avoiding my editors in Singapore, like plague.

Indeed, in the Nuke Threat we had found the solution of a lifetime. The gang motto now is, “Live Life every moment and empty out every Bank Account within your reach.”

The menfolk are sulking as usual. They say they can handle Musharraf’s ‘Nuke trauma’
but they are at a loss when it comes to ‘Wife trauma’.