OUT OF FOCUS - STORY BY WILLIAMSJI MAVELI

Ravi, a man whose meticulously combed hair often resembled a startled little bird, found his vision betraying him. He adjusted his glasses, a familiar routine of wiping and nose-pinching. "Oh dear, what's this?" he muttered, "It's like someone dipped my lenses in yogurt!"
He took them off, gave them a vigorous polish with his shoulder cloth, and put them back on. Still blurry. "It's as if a mischievous ghost has drawn a curtain over my eyes," he thought, his anxiety escalating.
In the back of the car, his wife, Priya, whose patience was as thin as a wafer, and his daughter, Anjali, who had inherited his flair for dramatic pronouncements, were becoming increasingly concerned.
"Papa, you're fidgeting like a monkey in a chilli patch," Anjali observed, her voice dripping with theatrical concern. "Are you experiencing a sudden onset of visual illusions?"
"Nothing, nothing," Ravi mumbled, waving a hand dismissively. "Just a slight…atmospheric fog."
Priya rolled her eyes. "He's probably just thinking about whether he remembered to add cardamom to the tea."
They arrived at the wedding hall, a veritable explosion of marigold garlands and the rhythmic beat of drums. Ravi, now convinced he was living in a Bollywood dream sequence, stumbled towards the farthest seat, hoping to blend into the vibrant wedding decorations.
"It's like watching a wedding procession through a sweet pretzel," he muttered, squinting at the blurry figures on the stage. "Are those lamps or floating sweet dumplings?"
The wedding party, naturally, noticed the conspicuous absence of Ravi, the man who could usually be found holding court with a witty saying and a strategically placed forehead mark.
Anjali, dispatched to retrieve her father, found him huddled in the back row, looking like a lost, bespectacled holy man.
"Papa, you look like you've seen a witch, or perhaps a blurry witch," she declared, stroking his forehead. "Are you feeling unwell? Shall we consult a traditional doctor?"
"No, no," Ravi insisted, his voice a strained whisper. "Just a… temporary perceptual muddle."
He was dragged onto the stage, where he proceeded to squint at the audience, his heart pounding like a drum solo gone awry. "It's like trying to identify people in a room filled with smoke and sentient sweet balls," he thought, his grip on the microphone tightening.
Acquaintances, sensing his distress, approached him with concerned inquiries. "Ravi, you look like you've seen a ghost," one said. "Is everything alright?"
"Yes, yes," Ravi replied mechanically, his eyes darting around the room, trying to focus. "Just… admiring the… abstract patterns of the human face."
He attempted to eat, but his vision was so distorted that he nearly mistook a decorative flower arrangement for a plate of fried snacks. He poked at a blurry blob of food with his fork, wondering if it was chicken and rice or a rogue flatbread.
"You don't seem well," someone observed. "Are you sure you're not seeing things?"
"Yes, I'm sure," he said, trying to sound convincing, "I'm just… experiencing the world in a more… imaginative way."
Finally, Priya and Anjali, sensing the impending doom of a full-blown Ravi-induced wedding commotion, ushered him back to the car.
"Let's go, Papa," Anjali said, her voice laced with weary resignation. "Before you start trying to dance with the marigold garlands."
In the car, Ravi continued his frantic glasses-wiping ritual, punctuated by increasingly dramatic sighs. He then drifted off to sleep, dreaming of blurry faces and sentient sweet balls.
Back at home, after a much-needed face wash, Anjali presented him with a pair of glasses. "Aren't these yours, Papa? They were on the doorstep."
Ravi put them on. Clarity! The world snapped back into focus. "Oh my!" he exclaimed. "So these were my glasses! Then what was I wearing at the wedding?"
He pointed to a pair of identical glasses on the table. "Those ones!"
Anjali burst into laughter, followed by Priya, who was now clutching her scarf. "You wore my glasses, Papa! The ones with the slightly stronger prescription!"
Ravi stared at the two pairs of glasses, his face a picture of bewildered realization. "So, I was seeing the world through your slightly more powerful eyes? No wonder everyone looked like they were swimming in a rice pudding haze."
The room erupted in laughter. Ravi, finally understanding the source of his visual chaos, joined in, his laughter echoing through the house. "Well, I suppose it's a good thing I didn't try to perform any rituals with those glasses," he chuckled. "I might have accidentally blessed a sweet dumpling instead of the pot!"

WILLIAMSJI MAVELI