Common Names - Uncommon Deeds

Common Names - Uncommon Deeds

“Could you pass me the pickle?”, asked the lady to my left. My mother-in-law had introduced us when they came in for our homecoming dinner but you know how it is: too many new names, too little RAM.

These hometown trips are a ritual that Varun insists that we follow at least once in two years. In Indian culture, a married couple or for that matter, a family can only have one hometown: the town where the patriarch was born. As soon as a woman is married, her hometown variable is reset to that of her husband.

So, every two years, we drive down to Nashik, where Varun grew up and where his parents still live in the same house. It is an occasion that gives him a lot of pleasure, as the only male child in the house, he and his achievements are fawned over and reiterated to everyone we meet.

How do I feel? Well, for some time, I didn’t think that I could have feelings about this. I had seen my parents and my grandparents behave in a similar way and as we all know consistency is accepted without any questioning and change is always questioned before acceptance.

The recent change in my life that made me question things was when my husband suddenly decided to take an indefinite sabbatical from work to focus on his writing. I do not use ‘suddenly’ flippantly; one fine morning, he went to work muttering about some important client meeting and a project conversion then came back in the afternoon after putting in his papers to surprise our daughter with some freshly brewed tea when she returned from her school.

It has been more than a year and though financially we are at present still secure; emotionally his constant presence at home has frayed my daughter’s nerves. To be fair to Varun, the absence of success in something that we hold dear can lead to self-doubt and with Varun, this absence of success was not because his writing lacked something it was because he could not complete any writing that he started. His laptop folder was littered with unrhymed poems, unfulfilled characters and incomplete plots. His anger with these unfinished works would boil over into our domestic lives making me question the very character that I thought I had married.

But here in Nashik, he is still the acclaimed prodigy of the house, I still get no credit for continuing to work whereas his choice of not working is conveniently labeled as ‘courage of his convictions’.

As a ritual in his honor whenever he is home, they usually throw a dinner of close relatives still living in Nashik and here at one such dinner, I was trying to place the name of the lady who wanted her pickle. She had recently married Varun’s second cousin on his mother’s side, a marriage that we could not attend.

I was relieved when suddenly the husband of this same lady – his name I remembered, Dheeraj – addressed her as Madhu. He was talking to Varun, “Madhu has also been working in the software industry for more than 5 years; she has recently transitioned to

client-facing roles which may mean a move from the Nashik Tech Park to Pune or Bengaluru.”

Before Varun could respond, Madhu cut in, “You have been in the IT industry for more than 20 years, I am sure you could advise me on what to do next.”

I registered the surprise that I felt on Dheeraj’s face as well, after all, there was no decision or conflict in whatever had been mentioned to support the need for any advice. But Madhu was oblivious to whatever was passing on our faces. She continued, “Varun Sharma, such a common name in the Indian corporate world. You are the sixth Varun Sharma I have met or perhaps you are the fifth?”

Dheeraj agreed, “I know, right! I also know two Varun Sharmas in my office alone. We have to call them by some nicknames to avoid confusion. Even, your name, Madhu Gupta, is pretty common. We need to really get creative with our first names.”

Madhu refused to be distracted and continued to observe Varun, “So, when I saw one of our wedding invitations addressed to a Varun Sharma. I was a little piqued but there were so many things happening right then that I could only do online research a little later.”

With this last sentence, the attention of the 7-8 of us who were sitting close to Madhu was now definitely piqued. Madhu smiled slightly, a perfunctory smile. She now turned to me, all bright-eyed, “There was a Varun Sharma in the first organization I worked. He was a firm believer in giving advices usually to young women joinees, privately in his cabin. In fact, unfortunately, I also received this unwarranted advice.”

Dheeraj clear brow was now broken by a single line at the center, a veritable ‘Lakshman Rekha*’ of his mind, that he was futilely wishing would not be crossed.

But like an accident from which one’s gaze cannot be averted, he himself now ploughed ahead, “Weren’t you working with Infinisys at one point of time and that too in their Bengaluru office? What year was that?” Though he was talking to Madhu, he was gazing at Varun now.

I was feeling short of breath; trying to control the thought that was threatening to emerge from cues that I had stored sub-consciously. In the meanwhile, unbeknownst to our querulous quarter, a small wave had passed through the table rendering all murmured conversations mute. Everyone was paying attention to the conversation taking place at our side. The only person not looking at Varun was Varun himself who was looking at the biryani on his plate.

Madhu’s voice which sounded more brittle to me with every word she uttered asked another question, “Varun, I was really looking forward to meeting you today. Where are you working nowadays?”

Varun looked up, “I am on a sabbatical. Working on a novel.”

“Interesting.”, Madhu said. “I know of a case, where a sexual predator was given an option to quit the same day or face litigation from the complainant. This was in the same company from which you decided to leave unexpectedly to write a novel.”

“Enough”, Varun hissed. “If you have something to say, say it clearly. I very well know what you are trying to do with these insinuations.” With this, he got up from the table and strode out of the room.

In this silent reproach to his behavior, Madhu’s laughter tinkled. “Say something he says and then he walks away.”

She looked at me with some regret, “Seema, your husband has been giving unsolicited advice for years. Here is my advice to you. He may not written a novel yet but he has been spinning yarns around you and other people in the corporate world. Time to put an end to his storytelling, methinks”

*Lakshman Rekha - Rekha in Hindi means line, this is the line Lakshman drew to protect Seeta in Ramayana. Colloquially, it is used to indicate boundaries that should not be crossed.