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Prakash mausi's new toothbrush

17/2/2012

17 Comments

 
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Prakash mausi, who ate iron nails and occasionally people like milkmen and newspaper boys for breakfast, and her younger sister Urmila mausi, with the frizzy hair that flared like the late Sai Baba’s, shared a room in the Government Working Girls’ Hostel on Kasturba Gandhi Marg, New Delhi. One day the two of them went shopping to Bengali Market, made famous by Bengali and Nathu – across the road eateries run by two oily black-moustached guys with identical fat bellies, white kurtas and jangling gold chains Bhappi Lahiri would have loved to own. This was where Delhiites, who liked their food to hurt them, forgot bad words like blood sugar and cholesterol and queued up for chole-bhature, dahi bhalle, alu tikki, paapdi chaat and gol gappe that seared the lips, set the tongue on fire and sent humans home panting like puppies.

The sisters came back without realizing that they had acquired identical blue toothbrushes with two little whirls of white bristles in the centre that were supposed to clear off plaque, keeping the teeth squeaky clean, the breath baby fresh and the smile dazzling white. Not that the last mattered to Prakash mausi who had smiled only twice in public memory. Once when Indira Gandhi became the Prime Minister of India and once when she bullied the hostel management into banning male visitors. She had performed the lip stretch once also for the dentist cleaning her teeth but I guess that won’t count since it wasn’t brought on by the required emotion.

Returning to the story, both sisters dropped their new toothbrushes into the red plastic mug with the faded flowers that sat on their bathroom sink, holding two tongue cleaners (one shiny steel, the other white plastic), a quarter squished tube of Colgate toothpaste and some twigs snipped off the nearby neem tree that Prakash mausi chewed every morning in a display of east meet west in dental hygiene. A few days passed. And then, one morning, Urmila mausi was summoned from the bathroom by Prakash mausi, who was practising yoga under a blanket since it was a bit chilly. The doodhwallah was whining from behind the jaali-wala darwaza for his monthly payment.

To visualize the next scene exactly as it unfolded, you will have to lend me your imagination and let me set it to slow motion just the way it is done in action movie climaxes.  At the exact same split second (to a rising crescendo of music) Urmila mausi walks out with her toothbrush in her hand (her mouth spouting a volcanic eruption of white foam that would have made the Colgate company pat themselves on the back) and Prakash mausi emerges from under her quilt on the floor. Her eagle eyes spot blue toothbrush and she lets out a shriek that makes Urmila mausi drop the change in her hand and the milkman (squatting outside the wire meshed door) his steel dallu, sending a winding river of white trickling down the hostel corridor.

Yoga forgotten, she sits on the bed and proceeds to tick Urmila mausi off for using her toothbrush. Urmila mausi rushes into the bathroom and emerges with the other toothbrush in a bid to prove her innocence. There is shocked silence when both sisters realize they own identical brushes and unbeknownst (can't tell you how many blogs i waited to use that word :-) ) of the fact have been using each others’ over the week.

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After the outrage had died down, Prakash mausi folded her blanket and knotted her hair in a stern bun; Urmila mausi rinsed the magnificent bubbles out of her mouth (and the doodhwallah left empty-handed, realizing today was not a good day to do milk maths with the sisters). Later that evening while the ladies were watching the 9 pm news on TV, Prakash mausi declared that after many hours of thought she had found a solution. “Urmila, tie a thread on your toothbrush so that there is no confusion anymore,” she commanded. When the gentle Urmila mausi (in a rare argumentative mood) walked across to the TV to turn down its volume (they didn’t have remotes in those days) and said: Didi, tu ne dhaga kyun nahin bandha apne toothbrush par? Prakash mausi was really, really surprized. For many days after that she went around telling people this story and said the most amazing thing was that it had never struck her that she could have tied that thread herself.

Didi, tu ne dhaga kyun nahin bandha apne toothbrush par: Why didn’t you tie the thread yourself?

Moral of the story (since Prakash mousi was the moralistic kind I thought she'd like one): Life is short. Don't let a good toothbrush go just because you couldn't tie a thread.  

                                            Author’s note 
Prakash mausi is no more. But when I sit groggy in bed with an early morning cup of tea, she sometimes walks into my head – stern and statuesque in her long night gown - with a half-chewed neem twig in her hand and shakes it at at me saying: Tanni, tie the thread. And don’t swagger around with your hands in your pocket. You are sure to fall on your face one day.

17 Comments
Puneet
17/2/2012 01:06:27 pm

good humour! enjoyed specially the first part. why didn't they notice identical brushes lying in the same pot every morning for so many days?

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Mahendra
17/2/2012 04:47:42 pm

I also never had a chance to see Prakash Mausi look surprised or nonplussed – to me it appeared that she lived in a black and white world – you either met her standards, or did not – and if the latter, you would be reminded of it clearly and repeatedly.

After I got a job, I was hoping that this new status would elevate our relationship from censurer / censuree to one which would be more “peer-like” - and so in our first meeting (post employment) I greeted her with a confident smile, and she responded with a steely penetrating gaze (it has already been pointed out that smiling was not a mannerism she favored) and “Tere shoulder slump karne lage hain – Exercise kara kar”.
If my shoulders today appear to be less droopy (and the vertebrae more aligned), then the credit solely goes to her….

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Ritha Hegde
17/2/2012 10:14:15 pm

I was unbeknownst of the fact that 'unbeknownst' existed!!!
Your description of Prakash mausi...my god! She might have smiled less during her days, but she has definitely got us laughing today through your description :) I liked the clever line - she anyway did not need a white flashy teeth from the toothbrush :D
Your moral of the story was cute :)
I had one such incident when my roomie had a old toothbrush(which she used to clean her jewellery) which was of the same color/make of the current one that I was using. Cant describe more. I can only say I changed my toothbrush before a bigger damage was made!!!

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Subodh
18/2/2012 12:23:34 am

Another excellent piece!

I remember Jhoomar talking about Prakash mausi many decades ago (well, that in itself is good, I still remember things) and assumed she was talking about a man. Prakash, in my world had to be a male. It is interesting how I was filtering out the associated detail. I don't think I ever saw or met her (now, this is a litmus test of the memory)

I suppose Urmila mausi is still up and about, and probably uses toothbrush with a dhaga tied to it.

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Tippu
18/2/2012 01:56:52 am

Truely awesum....off course can't express the way you do but must say it brought her alive and the two times she smiled flashed across!!! It indeed was a rare sight and must say the frizzy hair remains...RIP Prakash mausi!!!

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ather
18/2/2012 04:04:54 am

loved the tale and recalled all the Prakash mausi's there had been in my past. One in particular -who told my mother I would amount to no good-kept me on the straight and narrow for life just to prove her wrong!
Loved the wry sense of humour with which you regaled us with this slice-of-life piece. I enjoyed the line that she had smiled only twice in public memory. Keep the coming Rachna- these and your travel pieces are you at your best

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Prithvi
18/2/2012 07:54:35 am

Sweet Story :)

We do indeed wait for others to tie thread in their toothbrush don't we ? When we always have the easier option that we choose to ignore ....

Who is the illustrator ?

Reply
BIG B JB
19/2/2012 07:17:17 pm

wow..another good story after a short silence....ha ha to sweet...what a confusion over brush...the yoga inside quilt was indeed very amazing...Mausi was really a good person and simple charecter.....so sweet......enjoyed this story Ma'am....your old experiences are really too good .....

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anju
19/2/2012 08:21:48 pm

Nice hilarious read .

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noopur
20/2/2012 01:13:32 pm

puneet has aptly pointed out that why Prakash mausi's steely gaze did not see the identical toothbrushs in the morning !! Your blog does refresh the memories of Prakash mausi . Munni mausi and her unique gang :) they were such a part of our growing up and our summer trips to Delhi .

Reply
RITEN
20/2/2012 02:54:01 pm

Your expression is able to cope up with your sense of humor,it is a rare combination.East meet west in dental hygiene for dattons and practising yoga under a blanket and milk maths,Rachna you have a unique style which makes people come alive.
A thoroughly enjoyable story.By the way golgappe that seared or is it smeared.

Reply
Tanu
22/2/2012 01:23:45 am

Well on one hand she overlooked the identical toothbrushes in the bathroom, on the other she she would call both rachna and me who are as unlike in appearance as chalk and cheese by the same name- Tanni (which is, i optimistically presume her affectionate version of my name) Noone ever dared to point out that fact to her but i wonder in retrospect , if someone had , would she have asked one of us to tie a thread around our necks so she could differentiate Tanni from rachna? And if she did make such a demand, which of us would it have been..........?
The nicest thing about this piece is that it brings back memories of c-502 curzon road apartments and the host of mausi's ( or in my case fuf's ) who enlivened and influenced our lives.
Met prakash fuf just before she passed away and was able to hear her call me Tanni one last time..........................................!

Reply
RITEN
23/2/2012 12:56:22 pm

Tanu,
U r a writer too.Just one para/and there is so much packed into it//no wonder she called you Tanni(means water in Tamil),
Quiet flows the Don??// Thanx for your Nostalgia,it is infectious by
Theory of Relativity.


Reply
Tanu
23/2/2012 03:59:07 pm

Thanks Riten, that is encouraging but i personally attribute it to having been exposed to Rachna s sense of humour since we were kids and her writings since she decided that being a writer was her calling in this life (i get to do all the reviewing you see )

Reply
tanu
23/2/2012 04:01:04 pm

It is , to quote you infectious by theory of relativity........!

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electric toothbrush link
26/4/2014 04:09:24 am

Three senior leaders—Kalraj Mishra, Om Prakash Singh and Suresh Some legislators who arrived without suitcases even demanded new wardrobes, down to toothbrushes and razors. Meanwhile The Monologue Of The Modi Mausi.

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http://www.cookdinnerfaster.com/ link
21/5/2014 02:08:34 am

The brush handle and head should be small enough to comfortably fit into your child's hand and mouth.

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    Rachna Bisht Rawat is a full time mom and part time writer. She is married to an Army officer whose work takes the family to some of the most interesting corners of India.

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