The Glycerine Diaries - Moratorium on Joy

Scene 1 : The scene opens at the Clippers' Lounge in departures at Mumbai International. Jhumpa sits stone faced on the Roberto Cavalli divan in a corner; martini in hand - drawing spasmodically from it, and staring vacantly, now and again into her 'Marie Claire'.Fresh from spending Diwali with her eldest; Kabir who's still struggling to find his feet in a dog eat dog jungle which is 'Life in Mumbai,' she won't deny it : she cannot wait going back to living the good life in Seattle with her youngest techie son, Adi who it would seem had always known his métier in life much before any of his peers did theirs, and there's been no looking back for him since.As a feeling mother she cannot help compare and contrast the latter's jet set high strung life thrown as it is, in a sharp relief against Kabir's own hand to mouth existence - living from paycheck to paycheck and more times than not on the dole. She finds it strange how two boys quintessentially, of the same fiber could end up being on such vastly disparate orbits. At this point she can't tell if she is hurting more for herself or for her eldest, still learning to play catch-up with the Joneses', errr...his youngest sibling.Strange station in life; a mother's is : she is happy even when she's feeling sad if the only thing her offspring are in Life, is successful and happy.For indeed, with all his imperfections and faults which included smoking pot occasionally, he is still her baby son Kabir - the apple of her eyes and the first bundle of joy into her world.

Scene 2 :They would come together - both mother and son, praying at the altar it would seem, till Christ had retired.Whose prayer would go un-answered, whose would not?Little did they suspect they were not exactly praying for the other's prayer to come unstuck.He was gay - She was well, a mother. He prayed to the heavens for a stable monogamous relationship with the man of his every desire. She prayed for him to bring home a beautiful bride who would give them a lovely grandchild. Whose God, we are tempted to ask, would be mightier?

Scene 3:It should have been a happy occasion. Waleed ,on the cusp of his manhood, was to celebrate his 16th birthday that weekend. Previous to now 15 birthdays had come and gone; each a solemn reminder of his mother’s devastation. How time flies!Any mother should have been happy to see her son grow into the kind of irresistibly handsome jock he was growing up to be; at home with his conservative culture, his English public school years, regardless. But this was different. It had been 16 years since Black Thursday when Nadine straight out of both a Swiss finishing and hotel management school, was interning at the Sheraton Kuwait when Saddam’s troops had come a-invading: his army bigwigs turning it into their temporary abode in Kuwait.Her only crime had been she was an attractive woman few men could resist ogling. And it was no different for the security detail of the army major who took it upon themselves to feed her to their Man-Shark of a boss who would feast upon her with every ounce of his (pseudo)-manhood,later that grisly night. Nadine was raped.
But that was then, and this is now and all that was left to remind her of him was in the person of Waleed.Happy birthday,mate!

Scene 4: She was different but last we noticed; being different ain’t no felony. Stealing glances off their high maintenance girl friends, college lads would size her up as she rode down the hall of residence eager to fall into the sturdy arms of her professor boyfriend; 20 years her senior. Full of spunk and substance she had had a way of doing the ballsy thing, and this was therefore nothing out of character – falling for a much older & wiser man, old enough to be her uncle, if you stretched it a little.Despite upsetting the applecart somewhat by moving in with him and his three sons, she settled in to a life of conjugal bliss never mind that the initial sizzle of bedroom din had long since fizzled out, thanks to his recurrent date with bronchitis and high blood pressure.He would try very hard to re-kindle that magic into what was once an amazing relationship but she knew what she didn’t always permit herself to acknowledge: it was no use trying, her hormones were doing strange things to her. Acting ever the bitch in heat for her step-sons as they were coming of age, he, more than she had wanted a closure and a closure is what she got him instead as anniversary gift when she pulled the trigger on him.
Madames et monsieurs, shall we blame it on her hormones now? For surely, her hormones had acted, not her.