RIP Playing cards!

Ah, come Diwali and packs of cards in many of the entertainment seeking circuits yearn to be wiped off the coat of dust that unceremoniously settles. The juwaaris and khiladis adorn their skilled bluff master caps. The smaller as in by heart and means and not by size players collect their coins and tenners and the manjey hue ones amass Gandhijis flashing in red. And Lady Luck is beckoned and cajoled with just as much fervour as Goddess Lakshmi is on the D-day. In my dumb erstwhile years when I would bribe Bhagwan ji for almost everything with the lure of Rs. 100 ka prasad yes, it was his luck he created me otherwise bechaare prasad kahan se kha paate, during Diwali, I often found myself over-religious and standing before his altar almost throughout the season remembering what Aamir uncle had said-Jo Jeeta Wohi Sundar...er...Sikandar.

I discovered playing cards and my penchant for it post marriage we are not talking of adult card games here but the ones with hearts, diamonds, etc. In those days, a month before the cracker festival would set in, all of us friends would have “sittings” at one another’s house to commence the jua. Khana-peena, gaana-bajaana and poore raat bechaare cards ko gaali dete bitaana, if they visited our neighbours more frequently than us! They would always “come” to others and never to me, no matter how raapchick chamak challo I looked and went. I remember how I almost had private conversations cupping lovingly a pack of cards in my palm and asking: Aakhir mera kasoor kya hain? Kahan kami reh gaye mere pyar mein?

So on these cards nights, I would be as excited as a horny man in a sex-toy shop and set aside Rs. 500 each time to be taken with hopes in my heart to double it by the time the morning sun would rise-the easiest way to watch money grow-move over mutual funds and stock market, coz finally everything was in my hands, literally. However, with the passing years and the growing mehengai, the amount became Rs. 1000 and some spare taken along just in case Lady Luck got screwed badly and decided to take her wrath out on me. And whenever I lost my kitty, brought in meticulously matched clutches, I would not play the next couple of turns to make up. Yes, I love acquiring money aveeyein but hate losing it for aveeyein type reasons-I have a stupid elderly sister approach towards money and resent people taking it away for no good god damn raison d'être.

And this was also the time when my beloved was the only one betrothed and hence I was usually the sole girl contender among the gang of seven-eight eager to please bachelors, just on the cards table of course-there is bliss on earth after all, my friend. So when I would be playing and be unsure, I would subtly “consult” the guy sitting next to me about what should I do and what stakes to play. If he said “go for it” and I would still look baffled and hassled, we somehow managed to get a partnership deal before I would part with my hard earned money to the wanton bowl. The terms-if I lose, he and I would pitch in half-half of the money lost and if I win I would give him a hundred from there with an absolutely sweet smile, dipped in gratitude for life women do that sometimes, sue us.

I also had a “setting” with some of his closer pals in our circle who had an elderly brother approach towards me only as far as being protective was concerned and they’d tell me ankhon ankhon mein if they had a trail or a winning pure sequence and hence I should avoid losing any more money by making a move and just pack my cards. Such sweet guys I tell you-they all are, until they get married and women take over their collars. Sigh, what a waste! This also reminds me of the times when all of these guys would be dead drunk and dumped into the various corners of a car while we would return late at night and I insisted to take on the wheel for I was yet too young to die. So then I would hear sisters/mothers being remembered in the most eloquent addresses and scandalous college time stories unfolding in their dazed state for which I would sometimes even get a “sorry” call the next morning asking me if I thought they were badly behaved. And I would think-really, are you kidding me? This was like a dream come true and my very own Desi American Pie horniness unveiled live in the back seat with anecdotes I could blackmail them with for life! But then like I said, they all decided to get married ironically going by my beloved’s example I suppose, and in came my own gender and the age of the ‘well-behaved all’. My dukaan of getting special favours got a rude jhatka if not brought to a pre-mature demise.

Anyways, back to the cards sessions. So the nights when I lost my precious five hundred bucks, there would be just two roads ahead on the fork for me to tread on. Life brings little choices for us women: I could sit in a corner and sulk or go about doing salaami and walk on the path of riches. Now, I don’t know if this is a universal tradition or should I get the claim for inventing it or did someone do it and I saw a gold mine there-the fact is that when a player wins a big hand, one can go up to him and salute in a long adaab-ish style saying “salaam” as though you are bowing down to his profound abilities. In such a state, of the pompous fool feeling all vain about his “big hand” generously parts with a note to the salaam-er, that is yours truly. I would go around doing aadaab and pocket a few crisp hundreds just like that from magnanimous souls and often returned home with a cool underhand profit. Move over financial advisers, I can show you the most legal and safe way to unexpected incomes*conditions apply*.

But then Lady Luck, still not satisfied with making me atrociously unfortunate at cards-as in I suck at it worse than gravity, made all the wives take cue and soon ‘salaami’ became too common place to be rendered effective. It fringed on the LS-Low Society category now. Damn, the lack of copyrighting where you actually need it! It was time again for strategy planning. But before I could do anything in the subsequent years to make up for my staggering losses, sometimes running even into a very early four digit by the end of Diwali that almost caused me a mini-angina pain, the pockets of the men became heavier and the control of their naye naye wives became tighter and the stakes became higher. The highest a move that could go earlier was of Rs. 60 which slowly inched to Rs. 300 and eventually limitless. My woe days began as now I played only when I had absolutely certain winning cards-so much that when I would make a move finally, everyone else would pack their cards in shuddering fear of the Godzilla who had arisen from self imposed slumber.  Boo hoo, even after winning, I would get a measly amount most of which come into the bowl out of my own otherwise reluctant hands. My affinity to cards began to slump and I preferred the role of a watcher, solicitor, sleeping partner with the victor or a gracious host and thereby my love affair with cards ended. I never said I was good at losing and never would be.

So goodbye Lallan mein Kallan, goodbye Muflis, goodbye Highest card joker, goodbye AK57 and 69 (just some of my favourite teen patti variations). You all are becoming too expensive for my little heart and playing cards is inching too dangerously towards being a gamble....

Koi aur baazi dhoonte hain, kahin aur apna sab kuch lagate hain!  
And those of you, neck deep into the game or wadding through it-may Lakshmi ji bestow you with her special graces and when you are stuffing those pockets with the booty earned-remember, someone somewhere wished you and is now doing Salaami!;-)