On winning a book

It was not the first time I was receiving a signed book. In school, in college, on birthdays, I have received books as prizes or gifts with my name inscribed on the first page.

Saturday, September 8, though, was different.

The occasion deserves a departure from my blog format, for it was an exciting and unusual achievement for me.

I began serious blogging for a lark (wink!) just a few months back, and never thought it would so soon bring me face to face with an impressive bunch of bloggers, some of them astoundingly prolific, others who post occasionally. Some have been at it for years! I have to thank young Shruti for it, a former colleague who pestered me into joining IndiBlogger. 

When Yashodhara Lal’s very inviting mail on the blogger contest landed in my inbox, I did not think I could make the grade. I copied and stowed it away in a file, only to revisit it two days before the contest closed. And look where it landed me!

At lunch with a mix of enthusiastic bloggers and authors, some less than half my age, and the lovely and hardworking HarperCollins Chief Editor and Publisher Karthika, at Mamagoto in GurgaonJ 

And pray why? I’d for the first time in my life entered a story-telling contest, and for my labours of two hours or less, was rewarded with a copy of Just Married, Please Excuse from the author Yashodhara herself, handed across a tightly packed luncheon table.

By the way, the food was mouth-watering, and my vegan friends need not quail at entering a Thai restaurant either.

Believe me, winning the book this way has made it much more invaluable than if I had bought it off a shelf. I’ve been too busy to read it at one go, but now I am settling down to read the rest of the oh-so-funny JMPE right after posting this!

The 'Just Married, Please Excuse' Contest

I could listen to bawdy stuff without turning a hair, my newspaper office being full of intellectuals whose sole pastime was cracking smutty jokes. 

All through college, I had also read enough of hot sleaze as a result of foraging second-hand books on New Delhi’s Parliament Street and Karol Bagh pavements and borrowing from the British Council Library.

My family knew I loved books, right from my school days. A natural progression had been my Master’s in English literature, again much of which was not exactly Victorian.

So I was no stranger to innuendo and double entendre, but in conservative families such as ours, these are taboo when you are in the company of elders or young daughters and sons.

There was great excitement when I, newly wed, went over to my parental home for a night.

After dinner, I sat chatting with my parents and an aunt, uncle and their daughter-in-law. We talked about my marriage ceremony, how the wedding guests had behaved, my new home, and my honeymoon destination … the destination, mind you, not how the honeymoon went.

I knew what I was going to do would shock them, but a mischievous imp just made me go ahead with it.

For the first time ever, I sang. I sang a naughty Punjabi lyric my husband had taught me on our honeymoon. 

Even before I had finished reciting the song, the two sisters were blushing to the roots of their hair. My very, very shy sister-in-law had muttered something about the dishes and scooted from the scene.

There was pin-drop silence.

The men didn’t know where to look.

When no reaction was forthcoming, I asked nonchalantly: “Excuse me, what’s the matter? It’s just a song that bangle sellers sing!”

The foursome gaped at me, and cackled. “Yes, yes, of course, the bangle sellers indeed!”

I joined in the laughter before beating a hasty retreat, for now I could feel the colour creeping into my cheeks. As I stepped out, I heard my embarrassed aunt say, “What are the times coming to?”

Uncle retorted: “Come on, be happy. She’s obviously had a great honeymoon!”

I heard them break into raucous laughter.

Still, I’m sure they were also squirming inside, unable to accept just yet that the daughter of the house was suddenly no longer shy of discussing sex.

But I hadn’t talked sex. It was all in their minds.

And even if I had, what the heck … hadn’t I just got married!

I might not have recalled this for years, perhaps, but for the contest. Thanks, Yashodhara.