Vegetable shopping in Kolkata high rise

The vegetable vendor is be there at the crack of the dawn . I mean , it seems like the crack of dawn to me .

I normally  finish my reading at 2 am . Then this crackpot starts yelling downstairs , "Baby , baby !!"  The desi brother of Justin Bieber . I bury myself deep into my quilt .A sliver of sunshine has  invaded  my room, which means it is 6 am , and Mom has come , parted the curtains and gone . While I was in "another dimension ". 

In our colony , this vegetable vendor is alarm clock cum whatever  for all the residents . He brings aloo , pyaaz , milk , bread , eggs and gossip to lonely housewives imprisoned in their respective towers , or so I am told . I can hear Maa shuffling towards the window in her flip-flops , as she peers down from her doubly barred windows.

Then a complicated , noisy process is set into work . A bucket with a rope attached to it is lowered from the fourth floor where I stay . Whatever needs to be bought , or discussed , is talked and discussed and dissected in two languages . Bengali and hindi . Small talk and greetings in bengali , haggling in Hindi , bordering with hysterical "Purabiya " , a mixture of bhojpuri and bollywoodese . Terribly complicated to the uninitiated , unintelligible to most , and a total pain to people taking their freshly bathed,  clothed and taught -by -rote  kids to school , whose path the vendor blocks , and also to people like me , who would rather be left in peace in "other dimension".

Fruit , vegetables , other supplies are loaded onto the bucket , which is laboriously pulled up by the rope .

There are some , like my Mom , who being a person of few words , dictates her wish in sign language ( In which the vendor is proficient too , talk of polyglots ) , specially on days when I lie asleep there . On other hand , there are people , who just cant have enough of this curious intercourse , and lower the bucket , a second time , with the rotten/unripe /imperfect stuff , and berate the guy to their hearts' content .

Now the conversation breaks into a rash of rural bengali , as the shouting comes mostly from top , and the Bihari vendor quietly replaces the offending fruit.

Then comes the payment part . Money is lowered , and many a time the banknotes fly off in the early morning gust , or are drenched in the early morning drizzle .

Some enterprising souls (my Mom included) put it in a transparent polythene bag and weigh it down with a stone , to be left in the bucket for further transactions .

Muddied and occasionally wet banknotes notwithstanding , the business is good in this part of Behala , and the vendor is going to be around even tomorrow , without fail .

Invariably , he is going to blare my name ("Baby , baby ") , poor me who has nothing to do with his vegetables . I lie , teeth clenched , inside my quilt, waiting for his early morning rousing wail. 

I thought

“So sorry ma’am ,” Anu stood on the landing . Wringing her hands , wearing a terribly guilty look on the face.
The boss swept in , holding a packet of streamers in her right hand , aloft ,like a torch . Statue of liberty . A very pissed off statue . Bathed , perfumed, in a cloud of aromatic efficiency .
“I thought the meet was tomorrow.” Anu wasn’t going to let go an opportunity at self-flagellation .
“Sadist!!” hissed Sujata , seated at her desk.
“No, masochist”, corrected Ashok , “self- hate” explained Murthy.
Sujata rolled her eyes . She always rolled her eyes . 

All fell silent when the Statue drifted in , with guilt ridden Anu in tow .

“Anu darling !!” The Boss stopped moving , the streamers stopped scraping the floor .
“Yes Ma’am ?” Eager -to -please Anu .
“Here , hold these .” Boss handed her over the files , streamers , buntings , all that had adorned her , hitherto.
Anu disappeared under all the streamers , with gratitude. Boss, freed from all that paraphernalia , swept her mascaraed eyes over the entire floor.
Everyone else pretended to be busy , very busy . Clickety clack , went everyone’s keyboards .

Boss clapped . All looked up .
“Okay!! Everyone , listen up !! Did anyone “Think” That the meet was tomorrow . ” The boss meant Anu , and Anu flushed .
The white buntings turned pink with her shame .
There was a moment of silence . The type at funerals , for the departed soul , etc etc .
“The meet is TODAY” , The boss thundered , and everyone , on cue , jumped to their feet . 

“Please do not “think ” . Here , you are paid to “Not think ” . “I DO NOT WANT ANY THOUGHTS !!”
Everyone bustled around .

Buntings around Anu’s neck turned a shade darker pink.

I wish

I wish it rains tonight
ruining the perfection
of a sky ,star lit and bright
Bring on precipitation 

to cloak the earth in mist
hold it in chill’s tight fist
The streets clog
with night fog 

The school shut down
and we pad around
in our night gown
from dusk to dawn

The gullies fill with slush 

In rainwater flush 

On TV they showed 

other cities flood 

Why, unfairly parched 

is my land scorched 

Burnt to a crisp 

Every grass blade 

Let life arise from the ashes 

foliage shoot from marshes 

The room

He showed me the room on my way .
"This is the one we will be shifting to , today " , he gushed .
I had my doubts though . The windows were taped shut . There was a pile of broken furniture piled outside in the balcony . Two enormous terracotta feeding bowls lay outside , a pool of dirty rainwater at the bottom , moss swimming on the surface.
The walls were rain streaked .An air conditioner shaped hole remained on the wall, ill covered by a thin piece of flaky plywood , curling on the edges. The worst sight was upholstery torn off from sofa ,ostensibly ,by powerful canine jaws .
After breakfast , I was given a group of  boys armed with mops and brooms and we set off in the direction of the room .

The room was dank , musty and smelt of dogs . It did not smell at all of a certain petite female who was supposed to have lived there.
The sight that greeted us inside the room was far worse . One entire wall , in the prevalent , though inexplicable , trend of the times , was painted blood red . Constant rainwater collection on the roof had caused blood coloured seepage splotches , revealing the white underneath. Every square inch of the floor was dug up , viciously , again , a canine souvenir. It felt like standing on a small patch of desert with cupboards and beds for comfort . There were no signs of a human having lived there.

All wooden furniture also bore claw marks speaking of the vicious beasts enclosed within the walls. The solitary tap in the bathroom leaked , drops dripping every two  seconds.

Boys entered and made a valiant attempt  , swiping at cobwebby corners with their brooms and wrestling with the tap.

I came out and stood in the sun .

"Yo, mate ! " Someone broke my reverie . A sunny chirpy female voice .I turned back to see her walking on the road , wearing a teeny skirt and an enormous pair of sunglasses , being tugged by two snarling german shepherds lunging towards me .

"Oh I see! You are getting my old room . Bubbles and coochie coo loved this room !! Didn't you boys ?"
The" boys"  dribbled saliva from their bared fangs on the grass.
"They want their feeding bowls back , I will send someone . By the way , you must see my new accomodation . "
She pulled her "boys" away with superhuman strength , laughing away to herself .

Patriotism

“Patriotism”, No sahib , I don’t know what that means .”
I ask around , mike in hand , feeling very foolish . The Hindi translation too , doesn’t seem to make any sense .
But I am asking the home makers , slaving away every breath . Cooking , cleaning , wiping runny noses , laying out the roof , threshing , winnowing , bringing the crop in .
There is a group of village elders , sitting on a charpoy , smoking the hookah , surrounded by a group of village louts . Quite uncharacteristically , the louts slink away at my approach . The elders give me the silent treatment , become shifty eyed , and look away . Someone clears his throat noisily , but still doesn’t answer me .
I get my answer later that day when I enter some of the huts . There , framed prominently , on the mud wall , is the photograph of a soldier , a garland hanging desultorily, vermillion tilak on the glass , and a soot emitting solitary ghee lamp burning underneath. Making the dimly lit interiors, gloomier .
Almost every house has their resident martyr . This village has given its best sons to the nation , what was I thinking ?

Fate

Flexing factoids
Like damned
Deltoids

The overfilled tank
Ran and ran
Till the taps
Squeaked dry

One day
the great came calling
fate caught you
Napping

Better taken
Unawares
Rather than
Be awake

You may reiterate
A thousand words
But grey hairs
Speak the loudest
Truths

The cloud

This corner of the planet , it is never ‘a cloud ‘. It is “the cloud “. 

No cirrus wisps of cottony innocence here . Here clouds come thick and fast , and dark . Ominous and numerous . Cumulonimbus . Piling one on top of the other . Heralded by winds , gusts and dust storms . There is a pale grey border , where one dark blue grey monster meets the other , or rather , lies on top of the other . In enormous piles of darkness , shutting off sunlight and meaning every inch of business . 

They begin with an innocuous pitter patter and then the sharp stinging pellets of raindrops lash you and you run for cover . Once , i drove my scooter in rain and got to experience , first hand , the meaning of the phrase “Blinding rain ” . There was no way one could keep one’s eyes open when one is being bombarded with sharp rain drops .