Aal Izzz Well

 Friday word: Whistle

Honthon ko karke gol

Seeti bajaa ke bol

Aal Izzz well.... 

Lyrics are inspired by men or men get defined by lyrics is a mystery Bollywood yet has to solve. But hello, here in our story it's a woman who is inspiring(raising brows and attention) with her whistling skills. No, women must not whistle? Sign of bad upbringing isn't it? What to do our Kusum has already surpassed the character defining and mannerism draining ethics. Let's mock, ridicule her story for which Decent, Indian woman whistles?(except if she is a referee or coach, that too a male dominated arena, for sure.) 

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The Students' Council, 2021 knew their teacher very well. On her entry on the glamorous stage of IIT Kanpur, played the mischievous song, seeti bajaye.... Ankhan mare O ladki Ankhan mare... 

Kusum entered from the backdrop whistling her favourite whistle to feed the much anticipated amusement of the crowd. She danced lessed and whistled more till her lungs where dancing, begging for an intermission. Bringing out the two fingery guards out of her pursed lips,  she yelled at the crowd like a rockstar, "Wanna go for more? "

"Once more.. Once more.. " Her students hooted for her while few senior teachers gasped in ashamed astonishment. 

"How can she go so bold?" Mr. Mishra the physics specialist vibrated for no reason. 

Mrs. Sinha the newly joined Assistant Professor resonated with her HOD. The atoms were in an excited state for they lacked the electron of attention from the students. The outer, inner orbits were lacking electrons of enthusiasm and excitment. Why? Because IITs are graveyards of academic souls and no whistling, carefree attitude was entertained here. But Kusum had already taken the electronic wrath of all her colleagues by her whistling extravaganza.

Till the atoms in their ionic state, criticised the stable compound of Kusum, another loud, boisterous whistle echoed in the auditorium. The paraphernalia of IIT campus swirled like suspension in a colloid. Whatever one said or believed, one thing was for sure the whistle was entertaining. 

Kusum Vajpayee,  in her early thirties, was a young dynamite teacher at IIT Kanpur. Atomic physics was more of a passion than mere means of survival. Growing up in a patriarchal family but imbibing none of its rigid rules, Kusum was the black sheep since her childhood. She refused to accept the Dalton theory and was more comfortable with Rutherford. Gandhi and Mandela had less of a bearing on her than Bhagad Singh. Literature was just not her cup of cold coffee for who in the world had time to ponder, it was only Action.. Action and Action was her own Infinitive Theory. So while cracking the numericals or adjusting the ray diagrams, even while the mind was in action, the pencil fiddled and the lips whistled a low tune. 

Whistling for Kusum was therapeutic. It was her own self conversing to her. For people oscillated in her close proximity , like Abhay her childhood sweetheart and now her legitimate husband, could tell which whistle would be blowing when. Like she entering the staffroom, it would be Ye kahan aa gaye hum.... 

She entering the classroom, Kuch kariye kuch kariye nass nass meri ghole... 

Leaving the college, Chalte Chalte.. Mere ye Geet yaad rakhna... Kabhi Alvida na kehna.. 

And when in trying times...... Oye Bhhaiya Aal Izzz Well

With Abhay depending upon the force of gravitation between them, the whistles fluctuated from Aaye ho mere zindagi mein... To Bahoon mein chale aaaaa..... 

Anytime of the day,  any situation there was a whistle. At least it prevented her from talking nonsense, unnecessary crap. Again her own No-nonsense Theory. 

Kusum's 1yr old was also her huge fan. Her youngest critic for when he never liked the maternal cooing in form of whistling, he would shower her with saline projections of bladder holdings. To which she would object, "Men can't tolerate real talent."

Kusum's career graph was also a whistling success. Men, women alike envied the chemistry she struck with work life balance. Many celebrated Arnav's arrival for now motherhood would make the whistling Usha Utup take a back seat. But to the grazing cattles dismay, the cow with her calf continued the whistling. 

Once tired, retired to her nest, Kusum sat humming a Kishore melody while making notes for her next day lecture. The cooker too released its pressure by peridiocally whistling as the khichdi boiled and fumed over its shamelessness. Arnav was playing  with a pipo toy blabbering incoherent sounds in between. The whole house was a set orchestra. Only Abhay's ringing of doorbell could break the symphony.  The notes were in order, Kusum's humming-Cooker whistling-Arnav blabbering. It continued, humming-whistling-blabbering. In rhthym, lalala.. -shhhhh..-mamababa... 

She thought how the pendulum was completing its periodic motion. Life was blissful. She envied her own familial cacophony. The sounds repeated, lalala.. -shhhh... -??? Hey wait!  Where was the mamababa...... Blabbering? She instinctively rushed to see Arnav. What met her sight was a catastrophe! Baby Arnav lay on the floor gasping for breath, saliva dripping and eyeballs oscillating in non-rhythmic manner. She quickly picked him up and rushed to the nearby nursing home. The doctors on seeing the blue faced baby declared it to be a case of choking. Immediately the theatre was set for intubation and Arnav was rushed into it. Kusum was shattered to the ground. She called Abhay and inbetween sobs and howls gave him the address of nursing home without addressing the whole situation. She waited with bated breath that the doctors would throw some light. But the red bulb glowed more brightly as if telling her this time it was not at all well. After two hours of glowing in her eyes, the bulb gave up but she never stopped staring at it angrily. 

"He had consumed a small whistle from maybe one of his toys," the doctor spoke with apprehension, "We have successfully removed it yet, " Ifs, buts, yets, even commas bothered her. She hated the pauses people took to clear themselves. A straight line was something she was not expecting today, though. 

"The danger continues." Finally a verdict had been made. She dropped in Abhay's arms like an atom which had lost all its mass in the collision. 

The couple came to a silent home. The cooker was on verge of explosion due to the LPG heat at its bottom. The whistling had stopped for it too had sensed the dry conditions. An atheist, Kusum joined her hands in prayer. 

This news spread like a deadly viral infection on the grazing pastures of IIT campus. Some prayed while some pitied Kusum. But many chewed and regurgitated frothy masses of, "See I told you the exponential curve has to touch the baseline someday." comments. 

Mrs. Sinha went overboard with, "How can Kusum ever whistle in her life now?"

To which a tobacco masticating Mr. Sharma replied, "Only a shameless buffalo would do that!"

Kusum couldn't move away from Arnav's bedside. The reports were showing positive graphs but the baby refused to open his eyes. His senses didn't respond to the stimulus of medications. All efforts seemed collapsing. 

Once while Kusum sat dwindling time cursing her negligence a senior nurse intervened her sanity.

"Mam, every mother has her own way of communication with her child. Her own words, her very own language. Talk to your child in your own silly way."

Advice or command, she wondered. But what was she to talk. Only a year that she had spend with this blabbering life. That too not all 365 days, for more than half of it were spend on the campus. What was her own language? What were her own personal sweet nothings she said to her son? Were there any? The questions, accusations bombared her mental screen. Nothing seemed to settle. All was lost or in a hyperactive state. Suddenly a ray was visible. In fact, the sound was clear. 

She started whistling. The nurse thought, stress makes people illusioned. It would stop. But no this woman was smiling and whistling incessantly. After 15mins of airy musicals, the only audience in the room now, Arnav, projected a stream of watery bladder holdings. 

Kusum ran and called the doctors. They checked his parameters and did an EEG, the waves were progressively positive. They had a wave of hope travelling towards them. All was going to be well. Whistling was indeed therapeutic. 

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So liked it. No?? Whistle it out dear. For it will help you tide over my bad story and your story which is stuck at airy extensions. 

Whistling is a language of melodious talks. Its the unsung hero of wooing hearts

Kaho toh ek andaz hai

Na mano toh ek behuda harkat hai

Jo bhi samjho isse janab

Aadat ye nahi hai kkharab

Unkahe shabdo ki ye hai jaban

Yuhi na kaho se haram

Ek bar seti baja ke toh dekho

Janeman ho jayegi beshumar. 

Keep whistling 

Keep writing 

And whistling while writing, definitely the winner at S Natarajan 's prompt.