Some of you may be familiar with the East Indian community who congregate in suburban Mumbai locations such as Mahim and Bandra. Glorying in surnames like Gomes, Correa and Creado, they relish Lonvas curry and bottle masala curry at least once a week. On the rare occasions Aunty Gertrude shares a recipe, she accidentally on purpose leaves out a key ingredient and if the recipient of her generosity is sufficiently ill-bred to complain, she will say, "Rome wasn't built in a day, dearie," with a saintly smile. Most conversations are prefaced with, "My goodness, we don't do like that and all in our house, men", followed by a reproachful click of the tongue. At some stage her grandfather owned half of Bandra and wore a purple sash at funerals. East Indian sorpotel is superior to Goan sorpotel because they use "white pigs, no, not those dirty black ones," and of course the pork is sourced from a piggery run by an East Indian.
Some of the gaps in my knowledge of the sociological traits of the community were filled in last week by my eldest who was down for the weekend. Based in Mumbai, she has acquired a profound understanding of their habits and customs, thanks to Uber pool. Last week she shared a cab with two well-nourished Parsi dowagers who were livid when the driver enquired whether either of them answered to the name of 'Char Mahina." "Cheek of the bloody fellow, Goody, don't know if I should take it as a compliment or what. Tell him I'm well past childbearing age, my girl." Goody sniffed and told the driver to go to Pedder Road, jaldi.
At that point in time, my eldest concluded that they had gotten into the wrong cab and offered to check out Goody's App. Sure enough, their pool vehicle was a few metres ahead at a petrol bunk. The ladies, however, were having none of it: it was a warm day, they had shopped extensively and their purchases were already loaded. As is customary, a slanging match ensued with the matrons drawing first blood by asking the hapless cabbie why he had allowed them to board the vehicle in the first place. His defence was, "Aapka naam Char Mahina poocha, madam," whereupon Goody's friend drew herself up to her not inconsiderable height and proclaimed her name was "Tehmina."
Eventually Goody and Tehmina were persuaded to get into the right cab and were promptly replaced by two East Indian ladies. "Aapka naam hain Char Mahina?" asked the weary driver for perhaps the fifth time that afternoon and the mystery was solved when one of the ladies coyly admitted to being named Charmaine.
They took off in the direction of Lower Parel and while I have strictly advised my children not to eavesdrop, volume control is not an East Indian attribute. "Consensual sex between adults in a private space, which is not harmful to women or children, cannot be denied as it is a matter of individual choice. Section 377 results in discrimination and is violative of constitutional principles," said the SC in a landmark judgment that was universally acclaimed by the LGBTQ community who has been fighting hard to decriminalize gay sex. "What society thinks, the judges said, has no role to play in deciding people's freedoms.
Now while their lordships may have taken the lofty Socratic route, Charmaine and her Aunt Rosita were having none of it. "That poor Isobel, men. Who knew her Brian was one of those? All this time she was cooking for all those hairy fellows happily thinking they were Brian's friends who were coming home for joint study and now it turns out they are all that way. Bloody rogues were jumping for joy over this 377 judgement, tchah."
"But Aunty, what to do, now Gummint also has said ok, no. Gummint is saying ok, Supreme Court is giving green signal, 'ow can Isobel Aunty object? Dat's all I'm saying," said Charmaine. Aunt Rosita was made of sterner stuff. "Look 'ere my girl, I'm not bothered about Gummint and all. Dey can say dis, Court can say dat, but what about God? Who is going to speak up on God's behalf, eh? You answer me that. Brian and those biker fellows can have fun legally and all, but what about God? I told Isobel, pack him off for confession."
Given the recent wave of scandals that have rocked the Church, I wonder what Aunty Rosita has been smoking. In my humble opinion, sending Brian off to confession is as bad an idea as MJ Akbar having the gall to claim the Me-Too campaign is aimed at scuttling his political prospects. Akbar Uncle, you are the token minority candidate in the Upper House. Nominated, not elected. Get a reality check, buddy. And man up and admit you're a total lecher.
