The car swerved at the bend
dangerously,missing the mud-bank by millimeters, not that there was much
space on the asphalt strip.Out on the highway, one noticed large
rectangles of orange-brown rice grain put out to dry, in the blistering
sun.Doesn’t matter if the roaring vehicles,
centimeters away,blew exhaust, dirt and various other pollutants into the edible grain , they will eventually be milled , right?
Here, in the village heart, there were goat-kids, crawling babies, (naked , except for a bell and a charm tied around their waists),and entire brood of clucking hens strolling purposefully, in the center of the less-frequented village road.
The car, a large old jalopy, occupied the entire width of the by-lane , sending chicks scattering ,
and grumbling mothers assiduously oiling their daughter’s hairs,climb hastily onto the crumbling perimeter walls, the car even scraped bit of someone’s thatch roof , complete with a half smoked pack of beedis , that landed on the back seat with a rustle and a thud.
One could smell the sea, through the maze of huts that surrounded the road, and the smell of fish, all powerful, all pervading.Fish drying in batches on dirty polythene sheets on the roof, fish lying in a scaly , squirming pile at the bottom of a tin tub , infront of a fisherman's home , fish scales glinting in the sun.stuck to nets, put out to dry on the palm leaf frond on a conical roof top.
On top of it , the salty,moist, fragrance of the sea, coming closer every second .
After two hours of negotiating winding village lanes , and not reaching the beach, one had to stop for directions . So , didi stuck out her neck, betel -leaf stained teeth bared in a scary smile , accosted the nearest passerby with a load of dripping net on his shoulders causing him to lean strenuously , smiled , folding her hands , began -"Kemon achchen?"(how are you?)
"Einh?" The fisherman panted in return.
"For heaven's sake didi, we are in Orissa right now, try hindi, and stick to key words , no formalities please." A stream of practical directives were issued from the driver's seat.
"Okay, okay. Chandipur?"
Didi asked , and gestured askance with her hands.
The man stared for few moments at didi, still swaying to avoid toppling over, and hastily made away, grunting under all that weight.
"Dekhle !"(I told you so)
"Poltu!! Your turn!" Poltu swayed to the music from his earphones , like a zombie on drugs, totally unawares.
"POLTU!" A shove missed the target and landed on poltu's knee. "Ki"? Poltu vaguely mouthed, mildly alarmed.
Next stop, a smartly dressed gent in white kurta and dhoti kuchi in pocket ( "bangali hobe " . didi speculated , hopefully) ,Poltu poked his head and asked "Chandipur?'To drive his point home , he curled his fingers of the right hand , in a universal gesture of enquiry.
That was his undoing . The sight of all his bejewelled fingers, down to the thumb, with a heart shaped large tattoo on the dorsum, with the words " baby "(justin biebers', not his ; he would painfully explain to umpteen elders)written inside it, was too much for an Oriya / Pseudo - bengali bhadralok to take .He
smirked, coughed , dribbled some red pan juice from the corner of his mouth , and broke into a hiccoughy- laugh(if there is any such thing )
"Ugh!!" Poltu recoiled, to avoid being sprayed with pan-spittle.
Baba sped forward. Didi, the eternal spinster/family flirt , saw a kindred spirit in the paan-eater. Twisting back to take a good look, she breathed smugly and loudly into Poltu's ears -"He ij istill making phaan of you." Adding a paan scented chuckle of her own.
"Ugh!!" Poltu plugged his ears again, and went back to his swaying.
It was getting dark, and the car was now going round and round in circles, thanks to Vishnu, the driver, who was also night -blind.
"This is the third time we have entered this hamlet."The swaying Poltu would state the obvious, promptly countered by didi, eager not to be left behind," Shakespearer hamlet?"
No one would answer her, and Poltu would turn his face windward, with another "ugh".
Asking for directions became an emergency now . There were no street-lights either. Driving in the darkness, with only headlamps lighting up startled dark faces was getting edgier.
To relieve tensions building up, Didi took to crooning the Maa-durga ahwahan (invocation)song -"Jaago, Tumi Jaago"(Awake , oh mother, wake up), Vishnu smiled and nodded his approval at the divine incantation. Baba shook his head in despair, and Poltu cranked up his volume, thankfully inaudible to the rest.
Suddenly, Vishnu braked, hard. A motley group of villagers , complete with lathis and lanterns , stood in our way, blocking the road. Didi raised her pitch-"Jago doshoprohorani jago(arise , one with hundreds of weapons, arise). For once , Poltu unplugged his ears, and looked genuinely terrified. Vishnu was panting as he came to a halt, as if he had run a marathon, and Baba wiped the sweat off his brow . The same thought occured to all. Unspoken-"Robbers."
The guy right in front walked around to the rear window and peered in, taking in wide-eyed Poltu and a closed eyed Didi,went full blast on invoking the warrior Goddess."Tumi Jaaaaaagggoooo."
The "robber" seemed to cock his ears at didi's chanting, suddenly broke into a toothless grin, straightened and informed his "fellow -robbers" on the watch -"Arrey, thik achche , era bangali."(its okay, they are bengalis)
A palpable relief swept over, as this revelation broke through. Smiling robbers told us directions , and even offered us "Cha", and an invitation to dinner , though politely declined.
We discovered we were mere four miles from our destination, albeit, in a different direction.
But our benefactors, did turn out to be "robbers", of some sort. You see, they were collecting "forced"donations ('chanda') for the upcoming 'parapujo'.All that bonhomie and they still left baba's purse lighter by one thousand bucks.
But as Baba says , it was a small price to pay , and after all they were "bangalis."
centimeters away,blew exhaust, dirt and various other pollutants into the edible grain , they will eventually be milled , right?
Here, in the village heart, there were goat-kids, crawling babies, (naked , except for a bell and a charm tied around their waists),and entire brood of clucking hens strolling purposefully, in the center of the less-frequented village road.
The car, a large old jalopy, occupied the entire width of the by-lane , sending chicks scattering ,
and grumbling mothers assiduously oiling their daughter’s hairs,climb hastily onto the crumbling perimeter walls, the car even scraped bit of someone’s thatch roof , complete with a half smoked pack of beedis , that landed on the back seat with a rustle and a thud.
One could smell the sea, through the maze of huts that surrounded the road, and the smell of fish, all powerful, all pervading.Fish drying in batches on dirty polythene sheets on the roof, fish lying in a scaly , squirming pile at the bottom of a tin tub , infront of a fisherman's home , fish scales glinting in the sun.stuck to nets, put out to dry on the palm leaf frond on a conical roof top.
On top of it , the salty,moist, fragrance of the sea, coming closer every second .
After two hours of negotiating winding village lanes , and not reaching the beach, one had to stop for directions . So , didi stuck out her neck, betel -leaf stained teeth bared in a scary smile , accosted the nearest passerby with a load of dripping net on his shoulders causing him to lean strenuously , smiled , folding her hands , began -"Kemon achchen?"(how are you?)
"Einh?" The fisherman panted in return.
"For heaven's sake didi, we are in Orissa right now, try hindi, and stick to key words , no formalities please." A stream of practical directives were issued from the driver's seat.
"Okay, okay. Chandipur?"
Didi asked , and gestured askance with her hands.
The man stared for few moments at didi, still swaying to avoid toppling over, and hastily made away, grunting under all that weight.
"Dekhle !"(I told you so)
"Poltu!! Your turn!" Poltu swayed to the music from his earphones , like a zombie on drugs, totally unawares.
"POLTU!" A shove missed the target and landed on poltu's knee. "Ki"? Poltu vaguely mouthed, mildly alarmed.
Next stop, a smartly dressed gent in white kurta and dhoti kuchi in pocket ( "bangali hobe " . didi speculated , hopefully) ,Poltu poked his head and asked "Chandipur?'To drive his point home , he curled his fingers of the right hand , in a universal gesture of enquiry.
That was his undoing . The sight of all his bejewelled fingers, down to the thumb, with a heart shaped large tattoo on the dorsum, with the words " baby "(justin biebers', not his ; he would painfully explain to umpteen elders)written inside it, was too much for an Oriya / Pseudo - bengali bhadralok to take .He
smirked, coughed , dribbled some red pan juice from the corner of his mouth , and broke into a hiccoughy- laugh(if there is any such thing )
"Ugh!!" Poltu recoiled, to avoid being sprayed with pan-spittle.
Baba sped forward. Didi, the eternal spinster/family flirt , saw a kindred spirit in the paan-eater. Twisting back to take a good look, she breathed smugly and loudly into Poltu's ears -"He ij istill making phaan of you." Adding a paan scented chuckle of her own.
"Ugh!!" Poltu plugged his ears again, and went back to his swaying.
It was getting dark, and the car was now going round and round in circles, thanks to Vishnu, the driver, who was also night -blind.
"This is the third time we have entered this hamlet."The swaying Poltu would state the obvious, promptly countered by didi, eager not to be left behind," Shakespearer hamlet?"
No one would answer her, and Poltu would turn his face windward, with another "ugh".
Asking for directions became an emergency now . There were no street-lights either. Driving in the darkness, with only headlamps lighting up startled dark faces was getting edgier.
To relieve tensions building up, Didi took to crooning the Maa-durga ahwahan (invocation)song -"Jaago, Tumi Jaago"(Awake , oh mother, wake up), Vishnu smiled and nodded his approval at the divine incantation. Baba shook his head in despair, and Poltu cranked up his volume, thankfully inaudible to the rest.
Suddenly, Vishnu braked, hard. A motley group of villagers , complete with lathis and lanterns , stood in our way, blocking the road. Didi raised her pitch-"Jago doshoprohorani jago(arise , one with hundreds of weapons, arise). For once , Poltu unplugged his ears, and looked genuinely terrified. Vishnu was panting as he came to a halt, as if he had run a marathon, and Baba wiped the sweat off his brow . The same thought occured to all. Unspoken-"Robbers."
The guy right in front walked around to the rear window and peered in, taking in wide-eyed Poltu and a closed eyed Didi,went full blast on invoking the warrior Goddess."Tumi Jaaaaaagggoooo."
The "robber" seemed to cock his ears at didi's chanting, suddenly broke into a toothless grin, straightened and informed his "fellow -robbers" on the watch -"Arrey, thik achche , era bangali."(its okay, they are bengalis)
A palpable relief swept over, as this revelation broke through. Smiling robbers told us directions , and even offered us "Cha", and an invitation to dinner , though politely declined.
We discovered we were mere four miles from our destination, albeit, in a different direction.
But our benefactors, did turn out to be "robbers", of some sort. You see, they were collecting "forced"donations ('chanda') for the upcoming 'parapujo'.All that bonhomie and they still left baba's purse lighter by one thousand bucks.
But as Baba says , it was a small price to pay , and after all they were "bangalis."
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