She Waited To Say Goodbye

 

Every Friday or Saturday we had dinner at her house. She would call me at 9 in the morning  in my office a few days in advance - either on Tuesday or Wednesday - and ask what I would like to have for dinner. And then the preparation began, or rather excitement grew. I would pick up a bottle of whiskey and ice creams. We reached there at 6 in the evening. She waited in the balcony or kept the door open from 5 o’clock. The door opened wider the moment we arrived. All smiles. And then the fussing began - as if she hadn’t fussed over us long enough. I would open the bottle of whiskey and before I knew it, water in all forms materialised - cold , warm, Bisleri. She made some bhajiyas or batata vadas for starters and though I had said no to the main course - she made vagharelo bhaat. Was it spicy enough or I wanted more spice. Without tasting it I knew It was perfect. 

After a couple of drinks ( she didn’t drink ) it was time for gossips. And they arrived in colourful forms, and in abundance. What with a few whiskeys down.  She knew more about people and things than I. Way more. But she wanted more in case she had missed out on something new. I filled that so-called void with my own stories which were drab. But she enjoyed, laughed and fussed more. After a couple of hours we had our food which was always placed neatly on the table.  Variety of spoons and forks. Different sizes and shapes. She wasn’t much of a cutlery queen but she provided all sorts. We should not miss out. Then it was time for ice creams.  White, brown, almond, shrikhand. More gossips that continued well into the night. And finally it was time to go. I always hired a driver or took a rickshaw;  she didn’t want me to drive after drinking. Not that I would have driven but I made her feel that it was her wise decision. She waited in the balcony and waved goodbye till we drove away.  And probably waited even after that. 

We followed this ritual for the next ten years. 

But one Friday I called up from my office because she hadn’t called a few days in advance for our elaborate meal session. And I doubted if she had forgotten. No chance. From her voice I felt she wasn’t feeling well. And she said since this Friday or Saturday it wouldn’t be possible for dinner so if I could come on Saturday afternoon to see her. So I went the next day in the morning and she was resting. This time she didn’t herself offer anything to eat or drink but directed me about its whereabouts.  I didn’t want to eat, and surprisingly she offered me a beer which was probably lying in the fridge for very  long. She knew I didn’t drink in the afternoons  so I was surprised. I had a few sips of beer and spent some time with her. And said will come again to see her the next day. She didn’t get up to bid her customary goodbye. But she had waited to say goodbye one final time. She waved from her bed lying down, smiling. Little did I know that was her last goodbye. 

Years have passed since then. Sometimes I stand in the balcony, look up at the sky, smile and say hi. 

The Green Bench

 

The sun has an orange band. 

From here I can see the sea. 

The mild waves caress the sand. 

Time chimes for something fizzy. 

Fishermen are coming home. 

The sun dips, the moon rises. 

The lonely vagabonds roam. 

Beach with a glimpse of guises.

Dew settles on the green bench. 

Twists of lemons my fires quench.

To Catch The Mocking Rat

A little brat rat regularly ate my car wires which were connected to my car air-conditioner. I would get into the car, start the A/C but after a few minutes start sweating, and then start swearing profusely. I would get out, open the bonnet and there lied the proof. Wires had been eaten by the bloody rat. Then I would take the car to the mechanic who would be smilingly waiting for me. Without even checking what was wrong with the car, he would go inside his shop and get the necessary tools required to fix the wires. It had become a ritual- religiously started by this rat. Sometimes I think the rat ate the wires just to mock me. He would be thinking - today I have nothing to do, that buffoon has parked his red car in the same place again and will not move it for the next 5 days, let me go and eat some wires, it’s anyways bit cold, and I need some exercise for my teeth so - crunch, crunch, crunch. 

Maybe it was his appetiser or his dessert. Or maybe he wasn’t hungry at all. He just seemed to love it. 

I had enough of it.  I had to catch this mocking rat. After some deep thinking - I devised a plan. I went and bought a packet or rather packets of naphthalene balls. These are small, white chemical balls which produce a terrible stench. I took a few of them, opened the car bonnet and placed them inside and shut it. And I waited for the next day. I woke up earlier than usual - eager to check the wires   They were intact. Hooray! I took the car out for a small drive to celebrate. 

I slept peacefully that night.  But the next day when I started the car and then put on the A/C, I heard a hissing sound coming out from the duct. Once again I sweated and swore profusely. What had happened was that when I took the car for a drive the naphthalene balls had rolled off and the happy rat had a field day. Again the same mechanic repaired the car. He was once again pre-equipped with the tools. And that innocent smile. As if he wasn’t aware. Seriously? You and the rat were in cahoots. He charged me less this time for his services. Maybe he took  pity on me. Maybe the rat ate less wires. Maybe whatever. 

The next day - deeper thinking. I opened the bonnet, took few naphthalene balls, and put them in a small cloth. I opened the car bonnet and placed them near where the A/C wires protruded. I thought for a moment and realised the cloth might just roll off just like the naphthalene balls did. So I smiled - the mechanic’s smile or the rat’s smile, took a small thread and tied the cloth with the naphthalene balls and tied the ominous looking bundle to the small A/C duct in the car bonnet. I checked and rechecked the setting. Mission accomplished and satisfied. The stench will drive away the rat, or i guess even any human being. The rat didn’t come the next day or the day after. It probably went away in search of some other buffoon. The mechanic’s smile faded. And I took an oath -  I will drive less or drive only when needed, or not drive at all, so that the package doesn’t fall. And keep the car as a trophy which I will keep staring at it stupidly which I had won against the mocking rat. Well! I didn’t catch him but….

Real / Surreal

 

The history teacher talked about a war

where for jewelled castles battled the kings. 

A tale painted with a graphical lore

as myths were mixed with facts to make it bling. 

The students were drawn into this old world

where knights donning shiny armours galloped. 

To lure a queen - swords clashed and spears were hurled,

and anxious warriors with horses spurred. 

To some students this tale felt surreal-

it seemed a peppered story with false spice. 

No reel to prove real from unreal-

only from those history books to surmise. 

The teacher engrossed in fantasy prose-

Students unsure - to believe or to doze.

Mr. Kataria

 

We used to go for morning walks to the beach - sometimes we used to take the good old bus no. 253 which ran at about 20 minutes intervals. We were 15 years old and didn’t care for the world, and vice versa. 

One fine day as we were walking on the road, and still some distance from the beach, a blue ambassador car stopped and offered us a ride to the beach. It was our good old Mr. Kataria. He lived in the same society as us. A lift to speed up our morning walk? But we took it as we were happy to be travelling in a private car. A rare thing for us vagabonds.  We said our hellos and got in. As he was about to close the doors, a homeless tramp with a fractured leg hobbled towards the car.  Mr. Kataria saw this and immediately offered him a lift. We thought - wow what a nice gesture. He got in and as he was injured we gave him more space. Mr. Kataria told him to put his feet up. What a great man Mr. Kataria was. The homeless man sat royally. A few distance from the beach we told Mr. Kataria to stop the car and told him we would walk the remaining distance- after all we were all out for a morning walk. We got out but the homeless man still with his feet up on the front seat hanging and relaxing  told Mr. Kataria to drop him off a few miles farther. It was then Mr. Kataria realised he was not part of our group. We walked away thinking what great deed Mr. Kataria had done. True humanitarian.  But Mr. Kataria was screaming his head off telling the homeless man to get out. He was scared. We heard none of it since we were already some distance away. We were in awe of Mr. Kataria. 

When we got back from our walk we heard a car screeching in our society. It was the great humanitarian. He stopped the car and started yelling at us saying he thought the guy was one of us and so he was helping him. We didn’t know where to look or what to say. 

After he finished his lecture, he went off speeding his car even more. We just couldn’t control it and burst out laughing. There goes our good old man. 

The Wanted Guest

 

One day he arrived with his bodyguards. 

All smiles and without a care in the world. 

An inner voice warned me to be on guard-

sweet bully he was, not to be revered.  

I set up dinner, he said he was full. 

I offered him a drink but he declined. 

He said - relax cousin, release the pull,

I just want to chat if you are inclined-

So passed the eve with long, colourful tales. 

And his sweet talks sounding even sweeter. 

He talked, I listened - his journeys and sails. 

A master at work to ease the bitter. 

But I was cautious of his subtle charm-

The wanted guest with his wide open arms. 

One Cold Working Day

 

The long narrow bridge takes you to the railway station. It is a long walk but it’s early cold morning so people don’t mind walking a bit -unless they are late. Some run, some walk, some  stroll, some laugh, some sombre, some in a trance, some listen to music. They reach the station and wait for the train to come.  A fast train whizzes past the platform where they are waiting.  A blur of people can been seen standing or sitting. Obviously not their train. So they wait. A shoe polish fellow has just opened his shop -chooses his area which is almost always the same- next to a big steel pillar-  spreads a big cloth to sit on, lays down a small wooden stool, a brush, variety of polish creams, old cloth, shoe laces, leans back on the pillar, and he is set. Bangs his wooden brush on his wooden stool to call out to his customers. He spots them, looks at them, and then starts looking at their shoes disapprovingly - not too good.  I can give a good shine, buddy - A juice vendor has started his juice machine and is making quite a bit of whir.  Orange, lemon, chikoo, banana. People wait. A chai stall is set up by someone. Some drink. A samosa stall is open now and the vendor expects people to buy from him. Seriously? How hungry does one have to be to eat one of those samosas? In fact it is a perfect diet plan - you look at it and you lose your appetite. The train arrives and people hustle and bustle to get in even when the train could be empty. It is just a habit formed over a period of years. Lots of seats available but many people stand, as if suddenly realising that the seat is important only when it is scarce and then they would fight to grab one. No fun when easily available. Life. People switch on their mobiles and start browsing. All heads down aa if in a prayer. No newspapers are read nowadays. Noise level goes up when people don’t use handsfree , or they are too bored to take them out and stick into their ears. Or just plain pleasure in seeing others getting annoyed.  Ceiling fans are off in this so-called cold season and anyone wanting to put the switch on is looked upon as someone from outer space. Can’t he see that others are wearing those fluffy colourful sweaters so lovingly hand-stitched by their grandmas some hundred years back?  So what if they are out of fashion and loose threads are sticking out? They are for cold season. Some talk loudly and debate heatedly as if the outcome of world politics and business depends on their discussion here. Some are immune to everything and doze off. But get up just when their stops come. Intuition. The final station approaches. People get down and rush to their offices. Some walk, some run, some take a taxi or bus. The working day is about to start. Though it has already started few hours back.