Owls , old souls

1. 
   

   The air is crisp and cold ,
   a fresh iceberg lettuce fold
   You can bite into it

   frozen teeth , white

   wispy , clouds of exhalation
   evanescent winter exaltation

   two dark shapes shifting
   In the dark , staring
   Four eyes , almond shaped
   relentlessly following , 

   Your movements, being watched
   Someone wheezily screeched
   You turn and see , head swivelled ,
   looking right at you , unblinking
   Boring their eyes into you 

   For a long moment , you stare back ,
   mesmerised , then a distant bark
   and wings stretch and flutter
   other of the pair , mutter 

   Another warning screech
   and they have flown
   out of my reach
   Into a grey sky , dawn

   A witching hour they say
   when ghouls
   old souls
   prowl and prey 

   Not today .
   I just made friends
   with two acquaintance(s)
   Made my day 

   They live in a hole
   In my outer wall
   With their voices of concern
   mimicking my conscience 

   They fly , plummet
   screech , skyrocket
   all the moves
   all my loves

   As I sit on my porch
   and watch
   Like a dream peddler
   In a wheelchair 

   I sell my dreams
   to the skies
   and watch the realms
   rent asunder with pleas 

   whoops and shrieks
   couple of lovable freaks
   My birds , my owls
   Ghouls , old souls .

Complete and utter chaos

0812 hrs .The bus was late . It always was , in winter . The day was foggy too . Dense and impenetrable . When I descended the steps , to wait for the school bus , I knew it would be delayed . It was stuck at the railway crossing . I could hear the train whistle , a prolonged honking , almost pleading unseen trespassers , to clear the path . Cold , damp air slapped my cheeks the moment I descended . I hate taking the lift . What if there is a power failure ? Plus today is my computer test . I might as well look up my notes .

Three boys came chasing each other up , on the colony road . Scuffing of school shoes , Joyous shouts and mindless panting . Can’t they sit quietly and revise ? No, even on this important day , they have to make a fool of themselves ,sniggering at others who are absorbed in their books (me ) , and peer through the window of a newly arrived Toyota MUV, parked on the sidewalk . 

0815 hrs Pramod was assiduously washing cars . Armed with a rag ,he would dip it in a dirty bucket , then swish the wet rag all over . As it is , the fog was supplying plentiful moisture on the wind shields . All he had to do was join the dots . Some of the moisture from the rag flew off towards the boys . 

“hey ! watch it !” Screamed one of them . Pramod paused . In that split second , several things happened simultaneously . 

The bus lurched from around the corner . I got up from the stone bench , and turned to put the book into my bag . The boys rushed to fetch theirs with shouts of glee . And a small white desire suddenly came round the corner , bumping into the bus . The slow , rumbling bus gave a jolt forward and stopped . Pramod gave a shout , and the kids watched in horror , as the car swerved from behind the bus , with its dented hood , smoking and clattering , rode the sidewalk , almost missing the boys , and Toyota , sent Pramod’s bucket flying and bumped into the front of the bus . 

Then it lurched to a drunken stop , across . Blocking the road . Smoke and shouts everywhere . A girl in the bus was hysterically screaming , non stop . The boys , stood on the footstep , puzzled . They were pulled in by the conductor , impatient to shout some profanities . I boarded in the same breath , and sat next to Sameera, the screaming girl . She saw me , hugged me tight and buried her face in my blazer . I patted her head. At least it shut her up .

The bus conductor , Pramod , and the owner of the Toyota were shouting at the driver who got out wobbly , opened his door , which was festooned with Pramod’s dripping rags , and in a grotesque slow motion slumped to the ground . I recognised him immediately , as the neighbouring uncle , who drops his wife to a faraway school , every morning. Then returns , readies himself and drives to work himself . That day , he had decided to have one too many pegs . Early in the morning . Confirmed alcoholic dependance syndrome , my father would say . 

He slumped to the ground , groaning and dazed , jerked and vomited . Vomit running down his jacket front . People started helping him up . Pramod and others held his arms , some others held his leg , they managed to sway him to the side walk . 

Our bus driver kept waving his fist , and swearing angrily , honking by turns . Preetam ma’am , at her usual seat behind the the driver, was craning her neck outside the window , so were some other inquisitive kids . Girls , including Sameera, found this opportunity , a Godsend reprieve, to revise through tricky portions of Python and Java. My mom was leaning out of her balcony , and shouting instructions .I ,instinctively , ducked . Preetam ma’am turned back , and asked me , “you know this man ?” 

“No , ma’am !” I lied . Quickly returning back to the book . The driver managed to manoeuvre the huge rumbling bus , out of the chaotic mess . As we swerved past , I saw Pramod wiping the driver’s vomit smeared jacket front with one of his rags .Ewwww! I don’t think I will be ever able to get rid of that image .

One last wish

"When I die , I would like to have my ashes submerged in the Varanasi ."

This was a refrain with her almost . She would be busy , in the kitchen , supervising cooking ; on the rooftop , monitoring the drying corn cobs / rice grains , shading her eyes from the sun and scanning her vast empire of lush green paddy fields ; in the bedroom , rifling through a teenagers school bags for forbidden love letters . All of a sudden , she would emerge , and declare
"cremate me in the Ganges ."

She would be so full of life , that the thought of death was never far . The concept of her mortality would appear, to us ,  jocular , an impossibility , like men going to mars . But she was serious . In one rare moment when she caught a breather , in an afternoon full of bespectacled scripture reading , the sceptre of death , fleeting , powerful , would peek at her , from inside pages of thousands year old Puranas , and she would emerge ,teary eyed from the Pooja room , "When I die ......." We would look at each other and sigh , with teenage impatience , "here we go again ."

Either it was the wisdom of the holy books ; or her rigorously religious lifestyle , she wouldn't eat without bathing and worshipping ; something told her that the end is near . I wish we had a similar premonition . We would have measured out the days , and lived patiently , treasuring each moment . Not that she wasn't cherished much by everyone whom she met and touched their lives with generosity and kindness .

                                                    *************

Some four to five years down the line , most of her grandchildren , including me , had flown the coop . At the wedding of her eldest grandchild , she had to shift base and move to the great city of Calcutta .

We didn't know at that time , but Providence was striving to fulfil her wishes .

The rest , in retrospect , reads like a scripted story . After the wedding , she fell ill violently . Was hospitalised , Liver carcinoma with mets diagnosed , one month of agony filled swaying between coma and wakefulness . Finally at peace , on 21st of June , 1988 , the brightest day of the year . Needless to say , She was cremated in Calcutta , next to the Ganges , the holiest of all holy rivers , for all Hindus .

My everlasting image of that day is my grandfather , sitting in a taxi , the urn of her ashes in his lap , monsoon thundering in a dramatic outpouring of rain , wipers dancing ineffectually , on a windscreen ,drops falling in torrential rage and grief.

In the haze of events that followed , her ashes were brought back home , 1000 km inland , away from Ganges . Why ? Either no one cared , or the powers that be , were so shrouded in grief , that they couldn't see or remember any of the last wishes . We too , are to blame , for not only had we laughed at her , we also had conveniently forgotten her last wish . And let a  gross error take place .

Twenty five years later , with a loving husband and two beautiful long haired girls in tow , I visited Varanasi . For the first time in my life . My husband is not a Hindu , but he remembered my childhood stories . In the fading afternoon light , we rented a boat and rowed to the centre of the river .

That is when my beloved better half told me , out of the blue , "Now is the time to pray for your grandmother ."

I was not a male descendant , I had not married a Hindu , but I cupped my hands with the holy water , faced the sun , and let the water slide down my fingers , in a tradition as old as time . I remembered her , who was a grandparent , a parent , a mentor , all in one . I told her , in my heart of hearts " There , I prayed for you at Varanasi ."

Somewhere , from the depths of time , I am sure She heard me , and thanked me . I had interred her memories , if not her ashes , in Varanasi ,that holiest of holy Hindu city .

A hair raising tale

My hair is growing back . Like sparse bush in a desert that has just experienced unexpected , and despairingly brief showers .

It has grown , reluctantly  . The quality of individual strand leaves much to be desired .
The disappointment is rife .

In the hairdresser's voice , when he picks up stray hairs and wonders out loud "This ? I have to cut this ?" As if asking , how could this happen to me ? How much have I lowered myself .

 A rotund beautician called Shabnam , had once hovered her scissors over my scalp and made clicking sounds with her mouth ."There , your haircut is done . " She was sure , she had cut my hair . I had seen her reflection. I knew the truth .
Then she sighed and said "That will cost you 100 rupees."Of course , I paid her .

My daughter was aghast . She said "You give me 100 bucks , I will do a better job at home ."
Of course , I had not told her the story of clicking of the tongue.

Then , there is my better half . By habit , a neat person , my hair , is one of the many rebellious things about me , which he hasn't been able to ,sadly , subdue . That doesn't stop him from trying hard .

So I have had a series of hair growth lotions , followed by series of haircuts and lots of hairdressers.
Most of them were very upset with the wispy quality of my hair . To add insult to injury , they have started to turn grey , rather rapidly .

So my conversation at the beautician's goes like this

"Get your hair dyed ma'am . "
"No , not this time . " (Here I bite back on the superlative "never")
"I will do it at half the rate ."
"No."
"You can bring your own dye ."
"I don't have a dye bottle at home !"
"Then you should buy one." Sudden enthusiastic jump to a shelf full of horrendously expensive hair  dyes , advertised by bollywood starlets , mesmerising , salivating . "Here see this one , will cost you blah -blah , this one has 50% discount ..............."

I have shut off the sound and am more engrossed in watching her speak animatedly , like a mute TV. Oh this is so much fun . She mistakes my addled staring to be one of genuine interest , and starts firing on all cylinders , literally sending off sparks . The entire room becomes energised , and a listless looking assistant suddenly grabs a bottle and starts spritzing my lousy hair .

"........and I will do pink tints for free."
"No ." I turn back with finality , returning to real world with the snapping shut of a jaw , hitherto open.

A silent and ruthless haircut follows , meagre money exchanges hands . I come home to mixed reactions .

My husband is a natural optimist . So he says , things like , "She has done a real good job."
One of his outspoken colleagues quipped ,"Ma'am , you look like an inmate of an asylum . " Ouch.
My daughter says " I told you , you should have given me that 100 bucks ."
My neighbour hums and haws , looks at me from all angles , and offers me some water , along with a bowl of yesterday's leftover dal . She doesn't comment on my hair .
Her husband is more forthcoming " Did she charge you ?" Of , course , she charged me .
"For that kind of haircut , she shouldn't be charging anyone ",he proffers philosophically , looking vaguely into the distance , trying to avoid looking at me .


So , the winters are better , for the hair , and its sparseness , is hidden underneath bulky layers of opaque wool. And it grows in length , underneath the woollen dome , like a tropical vine in a greenhouse .

Albeit sickly , pale and thin , sunlight deprived .

Today , it was sunny and I was invited to an outdoor lunch . Hence , no topi .

I shampooed and combed , brushed and fluffed my meagre crop. And took a selfie . Then committed the ultimate crime of posting it on the whatsapp group.

My hubby, concerned , walking on egg-shells "Looking great , full head . Will it grow any longer ? Just asking ."

My younger daughter , teenager -rude , " Ewwwww"

My elder one , more diplomatic" Great " followed by folded hands .

My sister, brutal "Your hair looks like Sai baba's . What have you done ? Must use conditioner . Tell me your brand.I will send some ."

"I don't use conditioner ." I wail into my keypad .

"Then you should . There is this brand .........."

All that chatter

The occasion was a sports event and one that might promise great deal of action. Hence , on  a sunny afternoon , I found myself on a bus that took me to a remote air force station .

At the bus stop , most of the buses went straight , I was to catch one that "bent". Well , not exactly like Beckham , but took a hard right at one of the stops . After six buses had thundered past , with the conductors bellowing their destinations , and accosting passengers , my bus arrived .

Unlike others , we didn't stop to fill all the seats . We set sail with few . And picked them up on the way . Boy , by the time we had reached the hard right turn , we had packed ourselves really full .

A mother with two sleepy children got up somewhere and sat next to the driver . She left an enormous sausage of a duffel bag lying in the aisle . The conductor expressed his displeasure , asked this way and that , and finally , picked the bag up and stuffed in up in the stowaway rack . It was a miracle to see the huge thing disappear into what seemed a very narrow and inadequate shelf . The mother was busy on the phone , and didn't care what happened to the bag or where it went .

 The conductor was young , bearded and pock marked . He reminded me of a young Ghiyas ud din Balban from the Amar Chitra Kathas . He caught me staring , and returned the stare . I might be a sight myself , over weight , in jeans and jacket , trying to fit into a crowd of rustic passengers .

When I alighted , I was supposed to meet my better half . But he was nowhere to be seen . A hurried scan on either side of the street didn't reveal any thing , so I just walked off . He came up later . He was waiting behind the bus stop . He didn't see me alighting either . Hence , no hard feelings .



The sports event was organised in a field . It was sunny but windy . In fact , one regretted having left one's cap behind .

At first we had a very perfunctory and ill prepared speech from an intern , who seemed totally devoid of all enthusiasm about the cancer day she was supposed to exhort people about . Everyone in the crowd , and I include the house wives too , must have known more about cancer types , symptoms than what was imparted.  Grossing over is the right term I guess . The experienced nursing officers sitting next to me squirmed in their seats , when something wrong was uttered .

That summed up pretty much about life . The  most unqualified guys get to hold the mike .


The CO and his wife were supposed to sit in the sofas . We , the hoi polloi ,sat behind . Scrutinising their antics . Co's wife and his mother came dressed identically . In ill worn . billowing sarees , and black coats . The CO wore the mandatory ray- bans , without which a CO , might not be one .

After some more boring speeches , and a slew of long awaited awards , we went off to have tea. During this time , by displaying remarkable efficiency (only displayed in armed forces ), the sofas and seats were rotated 90 degrees . We now faced the ground , and had the sun on our faces . We also sat at par with the CO and his family .

A game of volleyball had been organised , and the said intern was a member of one of the teams . She  got lot of opportunity to show off her skills , each of whom were wasted . She was short and the net was high . Every shot of hers went into the nets . The taller soldiers made the ball sail and sing across the air , but the intern gave lot of points to the rival group , much to their delight .

The CO's wife is a doctor herself . She also is known to be extremely talkative . I was just about to find out , the hard way .

1. No amount of preparations could prepare me for the onslaught that day .

   It was a sporting event , and a boring one at that . It started with an intern , listlessly imparting bare minimum of information on cancer , in bad Hindi interspersed with broken english . The day was grey and windy, and the usual friends were busy checking on the latest breed of e cars . In short , a dull day . Life picked up pace , when after tea time , the CO’s wife , who is a doctor herself , parked herself next to me .

   “You know , this intern is very active . ” She turned towards me . “She is a police wallah’s daughter . She is very much into sports and such like events . ” 

   The intern had now joined one of the volleyball teams and proceeded to throw all the precious throws into the net , giving points after points to the rival group . As a result , a cheer rose whenever the poor ball hit the nets . 

   …”And because my husband left late today , I could wash my clothes as my washing machine is the bed room . The spinning disturbs him . I have a semi automatic washing machine . I love it as I can wash five or ten clothes in it . The automatic washing machine consumes much more water . ” 

   “People must think I am in love with you , why else should I face you like this . But I am actually avoiding the sun , you know , it is not good for my skin . I get black dots , I got them erased last year when the previous Dermatologist was posted . The new dermatologist is pregnant and doesn’t move around much . She doesn’t do ablations by the surgical method , all she does is prescribe creams and lotions . It works for some people , not for me . I would prefer ….”

   By now , the half time was declared and the intern was exhorting her group members to win more points , Irony was having a field day . Her team actually had some great players , but she got all the throws because she was the only officer on the rolls . 

   “The other day , I saw a ghost , more likely heard it . The switch in the next room clicked on and off . I swear it was not just me , even my daughter and the maid have heard it on several occasions . These quarters are very old , and all are spooky and creepy . So scary …” 

   Some officer’s wife called sick with sinusitis , and had to be attended asap. The medical officer on duty left the ground and returned with a small slip of paper , which he handed to Mrs CO . She studied it for a second , and quickly returned it. 

   “Do not hand me over these prescriptions for cold and sinusitis . They make me sick . Yesterday , fourteen soldiers called in sick , and all of them wanted ED(Exemption from Duty) . They all coughed into my face , and I was not even wearing a mask . ” 

   Paediatrician sitting next to me was her batchmate and was known for his epic comebacks . He quipped “You should have said ,”Khaansi Corona , Corona ” ( Please cough ) The entire crowd burst into laughter . He topped it by suggesting that next time this happens , She should walk into the corridor and demand to see the “patient of coronavirus who was here yesterday .” All will disappear , he told to the giggling crowd .

   The game was over and the players were dispersing .

   “You know my daughter sleeps in her room , and I sit in the sitting room watching TV , all alone . I dont mind being alone , as the switch throwing ghost gives me company .” 

   A long thick rope had been brought in for the final event , the tug -of -war . The CO and the intern were in the same team and The CO was going around getting the participants to interlink their feet .

   “I wonder how is he going to interlink his feet with hers . She should not be here . It is a man’s sport . What is she doing here. She will fall down . She will scratch her hands .She will be dragged through the dirt .” 

   The CO’s wife kept making dire predictions .Once the feet had been linked , and the tug -of -war started , She couldn’t bear it and turned full tilt to me . Swivelling all her attention on me .

   ” You seem to have lost weight .” I shook my head to indicate negative . “Your skin is glowing . You look younger . Your shape has altered . You have slimmed down .” The tsunami of compliments continued . 

   The pulling ensued , with shouts and she was temporarily distracted from viewing my skin at close quarters . The intern clung to the rope like a limpet . The CO’s team won , and the CO’s wife pretended to be pleased . Clapping , she again turned to me ” I wore this saree because there was a function to attend to in the next unit . If you listen carefully , you can hear the applause from there too.”

   “Today my leave begins , and I am going to enjoy it . I am going to sit in the sun all day long . No work .” 

   At this point , the MC asked Mrs CO to come and distribute the prizes , to encourage the participants . All the prizes were handed and in the end , the intern was send to collect a participation certificate. Both shared a warm hug and had their photograph taken by the unit photographer . 

   She came back , flushed with success . ” I have noticed i do not shake hands too often . I must shake people’s hands more . I have seen on numerous occasions. ” 

   The meal is announced , and her mom in law , CO’s mother , who had been sitting quietly all this long while , leaned forward and asked her daughter in law , “Shall we ?” 

   She jumped to her feet . “Actually my mom in law wakes up very early , and she needs her nap . Plus she doesn’t like these gatherings with all their oily food . But she has to give me company , so I have brought her . She is very health conscious and does lot of gymming . She doesn’t eat sweets …….” 

   The older woman had finished her meagre portions fast and was standing , when a waiter handed her over a huge bowl of gajar ka halwa . 

   “….My mom in law counts calories and she doesn’t like sweets , but you can’t offend these people , can you ? ”

   CO’s wife took a breather , and I quickly exited , not before I saw the mom replace the untouched bowl in a less crowded part of the table , and winking at me.