The most handsome guy

Hello everyone. The story I am going to tell you does not have a hidden agenda. This is not an item to sell any product. This is just when I get nostalgic and enjoy the warmth that some of the past events give.

I grew up in a typical lower middle class Indian family. Although my father was an MBBS from Mumbai’s prestigious Grant Medical College, he responded to Mahatma Gandhi’s call for doctors to go to the villages and so we landed on Nasik Road, 200km from Mumbai. Today, this sprawling city will give no idea what it was like 60 years ago. Suffice it to say that there were no paved roads, no electricity and no water taps, and we lived the life that comes with such a lack of basic services.

We lived in a chawl. These are apartment blocks with only two rooms with no bathroom. There was a community latrine for everyone with dry sanitation. The residents were a mix of all regions. There were Sindhis who came to India later, there were independent Bohara Muslims who spoke Gujrati, there were South Indians who had learned Marathi well, and there were also Christians. Some bachelors from UP shared a flat. One of them used to sing. We loved our chawl. There is no privacy in such places. Even if you sneeze on one floor, the whole floor would know. So everyone knew everyone’s secrets.

We occupy a corner floor. Our immediate neighbor was a Christian family named Kureshi, his wife Ratan and his daughter Jyoti. He was a violinist and often did the background score ex tempo for many performances. Next to them was a Bohara Muslim family. The man of the house, Hasan Bhai, had a petrol shop downstairs. The couple did not have children for a long time. Then four girls came over a period of ten years. The oldest was Nafisa, then Nilofer then Yasmin and finally Nasreen. Ella Shirin’s mother (we called her Aunt Shirin) was a beauty and an excellent cook. The girls shared their parents’ handsome features and looked good too. No one had maids or nurseries to which children are now sent. Shirin Aunty was a stay-at-home mom, but with hundreds of chores to do and young children to attend to, she invariably left the girls at our house. She told me that she should continue studying and that the girls would only play and they had been strictly warned not to disturb me. A difficult task indeed. She would invariably come to school without finishing my homework…

We enjoyed their presence and their childish chatter was music to our ears. They loved Diwali and had to be included in the firecracker squad. Bhaiya Dooj was a special occasion for them as both me and my older brother gave them gifts. In turn, we used to expect Id and Biryani cooked by Shiirin Aunty.

My mother was a devout Hindu, she observed all the rituals. Then one time she wanted to perform a Hindu ritual called a havan right in our little house. I don’t remember what the occasion was, but the havan was set up, the pundit was called, my parents sat down in front of the sacred fire, and the pooja was under way. Nilofer, the second girl, was then about four years old. Something was going on in our house and how could she not be part of the fun? She walked in and went straight to my mom and sat on her lap. Someone spoke something in the pundit’s ears. Pooja stopped. My mother looked at him and raised her eyebrows, “what’s the matter, sir?” Pundit pointed at Nilofer and said, “Ma’am, she shouldn’t be here.” “Come on, she’s just a girl and what harm can there be?” “No ma’am, our shastras do not allow this.”

Nilofer, of course, had no idea that she was the cause of the interruption.

My mother thought for some time and then said, “Whatever it is. She is on my lap and nothing can take her away from me. You have to make your decision. The pooja will stay with her on my lap or there will be no need.” be any pooja.”

The pooja went ahead with this little problem solved.

I soon finished school and was in a university for about a year in Mumbai. I was selected for pilot training in the Indian Air Force and joined the Air Force Flying College in Jodhpur. Six months of hard training had transformed me. A new and exciting world had opened up to me. I successfully completed the first trimester and was a small plane pilot. When I came back to Nasik Road for the 2 month break everyone was excited and I bragged a lot and got special treatment.

After a couple of days I was showing off my flight kit, uniform and whatnot to the Bohari girls. The oldest was then about 12 years old. Everyone was zapped and his eyes told me his admiration. At their request I put on my flying overalls and was appreciating myself in the mirror with this whole lot I appreciate. Suddenly I said,
“Nafisa, don’t you think I’m the most handsome boy on this side of the Suez Canal? I look so good.”

There was a stunned silence. Nafisa’s face showed surprise, she couldn’t contain her laughter and then she ran to the kitchen and blurted out: “Ai, look at him, he says that he is the most handsome man in the world, ho ho ho.”

Nilofer, 9, began to argue, “If you think you are handsome, what an idiot you are. You will regret it if you continue like this.”

Yasmin, 6 years old, started beating me in a rage.

For 4-year-old Nasreen, the situation was so tense that she began to sob.

It was bothering me a lot. I asked them in a stern voice, “Now tell me once and for all, am I or am I not the most handsome man, yes or no?”

“NOOOOOOO” was the emphatic chorus.

“no” came Nasreen’s sobbing echo.

Alright, I see that, Sabko dekh loonga.

During my marriage, about seven years later, I introduced them to my girlfriend.

“Nina, meet my admirers. According to them, you are married to the ugliest toad ever born on this side of the Suez Canal.”

That hit them bad.

“No No No No, my God, he’s a liar! Don’t think so. We never said such things.” But then they found out what he was implying and somehow his outburst wasn’t convincing. He had taken my revenge on me.

All of these girls did well in school and graduated. Nafisa is currently HOD of English at Udaipur University. She is a guide for doctoral students. Nilofer used to be a school teacher but has settled into domestic affairs. Yasmin is a wealthy businesswoman and Nasreen is teaching. Who says that Muslim girls are not allowed to study?