Hot pusuit

The bus honks and slowly moves away , even as it sees a small white skirted figure running in hot pursuit , satchel thumping , bottle flying.
The bus stops at the next stop.
The breathless , blue-in-face girl catches up . Her freshly polished shoes are dusty from all that running , and a small patch of moisture appears on her hip , where the water bottle has leaked and wet her uniform.
Few gulps of water later, she finds her voice .
High pitched cries of “Why didn’t you stop ,bhaiyya ?” rent the bus-air .
Most of the crowd loves a good argument . They slide sideways to get a good view . Few studious types , polishing up on mole -concept for the morning test, cringe and hide behind their thick registers.

Turns out the bhaiyyas had decided to teach a lesson to the chronic defaulter . Lesson learnt , but not after a screeching session in the bus , which sent most people running for cover and followed up by dark threats of "I will tell my father ."

The driver but , continued to smile and whistle as he always did. He hated hot -headed spoilt brats , they got under his skin and made his life miserable . How he wished he could thrash them black and blue . Take this girl for example . She will never be at her stop at the designated time , and she delayed the whole lot of them . Missing the school assembly four days in a row would earn the driver an unwarranted interview with the school principal , which he hated . He was made to stand and face the stern looking lady behind the desk , and listen to her accusations , while he just waved his arms about helplessly , producing grunting noises . She held the session like one of her counselling sessions and wouldn't let a word get in edgewise. It was insulting . Seething , the driver had devised this modus-operandi and with his "khalasi " had put it to test.

But the girl had not issued an empty threat. 
Next day as the bus wound its way back , an olive green coloured maruti gypsy swerved and braked right in front of the bus , thereby blocking its path. It was the Colonel , the girls' father . Standing next to the gypsy , hunter in hand , aviators shining in the afternoon sun.
The kids gasped in awe, the driver gulped in fear , and the girl snorted with delight .
"Papa." She chortled and thumped down the footboard , hugging her father . The Colonel hugged her back , and motioned her inside the gypsy. Next he gestured for the driver to alight. 

Everyone in army hierarchy knows that when a Colonel gestures . the earth stops moving . He was a mere driver .

No one knows what were the words that the Colonel spoke to the driver . He looked stern enough , so every one presumed that the driver was being chastised. The driver, all the while , stood at-ease , his hands behind his back. At the end of the conversation , The Colonel smartly tucked his hunter under his left arm-pit and saluted the driver , as he would his superior. The driver replied with heel-clicking and a crisp salute . Then they parted . Both smiling .

It is understood now , with the sullen look that the girl boards the bus nowadays with, and the punctuality exhibited by her , that instead of being reprimanded , the Colonel , in his parental wisdom , thanked the driver "for doing what I should have done years ago".

Terrible photo

“Hmm. ”
The lady at the checking counter was incredulous. “Are you sure this account is yours?”
“Yes, ma’am !” I replied with polite patience .
“And this photo is yours?” She had flipped to the front where a 12 years younger me grinned , in a full lipsticked smile.
“Are you sure ?”
It was my turn now to lose patience . “Look ma’am . This account was opened 12 years ago . How can you expect me to look the same ?”
“The self-same pretty me .” I added, in poetic license . I snorted a small laugh.She was not amused . She looked at me , of shorn mane , and dry-lipped scowl, and retorted, “But , this ma’am , is a terrible photo!”
I was silent . For this was my wedding day snap , and all told me that i looked verrry pretty and much younger in this snap. Now this small , bespectacled girl was telling me otherwise .
Surprisingly , she added , “You look much prettier now. Your normal relaxed self .” She gave me a warm smile as she signed and stamped my paper. Then She directed me to two other counters to get countersigned and counterstamped , before I could shut down my 12 year old account .

The pen

My kids told me I was embarrassing them by asking for a fountain pen in a shop full of gel pens , ball point pens , in-built refill pens , and pens that had to be thrown once their ink was over ,like used diapers . It sounded like sacrilege.
I insisted . Not only did I want an ink pen , I also wanted a bottle of ink!.
“Mom!” My kids were incredulous , “No one uses these things any more !”
They sounded as if I had packed my bags and started living in a museum.
Maybe transformed into a dinosaur.

That was two months ago . Two weekly tests and numerous maths sums later , the kids are warming up to the idea of an ink pen , that never “runs out of ink” and that , magically seems to solve difficult algebra sums.(that the person using the pen is to be thanked , doesn’t seem to occur to them)

Now that enough blank pages have been blackened and lot of water has flown through the Ganges , my daughters are clamouring for one each of the “ancient ink pen , that solves sums .”

My hair (at present)

my glorious crown of hair
In the aftermath of a scare
looks like that of Jimmy Hendrix
for which responsible, is a mix
of chronic unkemptness and genetics
Please do not post my pathetic pics

Some say I look like
the 'vainglorious spike'
or a holy man /baba
oye Hayyo rabba

My friend says, the impression
is of a modern day Einstein
I beseech to differ for all comparers
i am neither holy nor pop stars

I am just a puny me
trying to hide my visage
and hair from all dame(s)
and dudes of all age(s)

Hashtags

Hashtags are here to stay
So what they’re,pray?
A simple ‘H’ gone berserk
or a cup-holding rack
A playing card stack
or waffles back to back
A primary scaffolding
A ‘Four -corner ‘ring
A squarish thing
A long legged bling

The cat

It was the cat that drew our attention to the old abandoned house by the road , on our way to school one day. It was a large , brown tabby cat that kept licking , washing itself incessantly . Hearing us, it leapt on the low boundary wall , and stared at us with its malevolent yellow eyes, as if saying “Shoo ! Off you go ! Don’t disturb my wash !” After having won the staring competition , it relaxed on its haunches , and resumed biting its paws and licking them clean .
“You know , cats are said to be incarnations of evil spirits . You know that , don’t you?” My friend Supi's eyes were fearfully round .She was Supriya, supi for short , and very superstitious.
“Yup. Only black ones . This one is brown.” I tried to laugh her fears away.
That evening , on our way back , the cat was still there . This time , it had plonked itself on the doormat at the front door, and was snoozing .

After that , it was a daily ritual . We would see the cat , it would stop foraging , cleaning and stare at us . Then resume doing whatever it was doing . What was remarkable is that the cat won't budge from the overgrown lawn and the front yard of the house . It had a proprietorial air about it .
"Some one must be feeding it ." One day my friend postulated.
"Come on ! It is an old abandoned house. Who could possibly live here?" 
"Lets peek !" Supi was suddenly adventurous.
"It is not polite to peek into houses by the roadside. No one taught you that!" I hissed in righteous indignation.
"Oh come on !" Supi began running , pigtails flying , satchel slamming against her slight frame.
Before I could even say "Shh" she had scrambled over the low boundary wall and was running across the lawn overgrown with weeds and grass. To me , it looked like the prototype of the "Monster House."
Propping her elbows on a dusty windowsill, She wiped the lowermost square of the nearly opaque  windowpane clean with her sleeve, and excitedly shouted at me to look, pointing in with her finger, then froze.
I hurried next to her , and propped my face and gasped.
A lady ,statue like, with a white pallor on the face sat next to the window. Absolutely still . Hearing us, she moved her head , in inches , like a rusty clockwork doll, and turned towards us and grinned.It was a ghastly face with gray pallid skin taut on bones, and few sickly strands for hair. We both screamed simultanoeusly and the apparition shrieked in laughter. 
We kept running for a fair distance on the now dark road , pale street lamps throwing our ghostly shadows on the road. 
We were too busy to notice being followed .
Noiselessly, the cat speeded up behind us . We threw our satchels on the ground and ran for our lives. 
It was the most fearsome moment of my life ever. 

Supi's father retrieved our bags later and offered to give us a lift to and fro school for few days , till we found our courage back. We were also given sound verbal beratings on "what happens to nosy children "

After our incident came to light , the house attracted lot of attention . Supi's father being the DM , had some one look in. What they found was singularly interesting.
All the grimy windows of the house had one such "human clockwork doll" sitting at the window. It would start shrieking in laughter as soon as the head was turned , by a remote switch , probably . The house was broken into and was found to be a facade for covert drug smuggling.The cache was confiscated and the gang behind it was busted. 

Supi's father sat on the verandah, ice cubes tinkling in his glass of mandatory evening sundowner, and smiled at us , "nosy children " with glee. "Well, for once your nosiness came in handy !"
"But papa, what about the cat ?" 
Supi squirmed on her chair .
"The cat , was their guard. To keep people away . You were right about some one feeding it !"
"Why would they  keep people away, sir ?" I asked 
"Because , cats are considered incarnations of evil spirits." Supi's father took one long sip and we looked at each other and smiled.

On cheating death

The earth moved
ground quivered
Or so it felt
every moment

lived in mortal dread
next,I will be dead

So what ? Krishna did reason
like the change of season
like the dust on the road
like bark or leaves broad

one must yellow and die
one fine day bid goodbye
there is no drama
this is the dharma

goings
and comings
meetings
and partings

have to be thus
in pain and in pus

for some it lingers
like quivering fingers

that live long after
the body has rebelled
bowed to the master
breath quelled

heartbeat stilled
forever frozen
the figure dolled
the look brazen

eyes still move
hunting succour
and love
damned cur

the powerful mind
wills the body to live
in a terrible bind
the chest will heave

The written word

From time immemorial , people have been enamoured of the written word .
The dictum , the statement , the rule , the verdict, the noose , the sword.
Written word signifies authority and knowledge ,
gravitas , final say and sharp as razor’s edge
As time went by , and more and more people became lettered,
and thereby consequently unfettered,
The Written Word learnt to let down its hair
and let froth of mirth lighten its flair
The lion in its den , the tiger in its lair
allowed , in open to be held , gay fair(s)
The letter , that in the past , provoked wars
has learnt today to speak of movie stars
from skies to science , from arts to story(s)
tales of valour, guts and glory
All are written , read and retold
on paper and ink, printed bold

The prodigal son

That particular morning is forever burnt into my memory . It was still dark. People were snoring and muttering in their sleep. Some early birds were stirring . I was awakened suddenly. There was something and someone that woke me up . A faint rustle , a soft thud of a bag kept down , a scrunch of cycle rickshaw tyres on the gravel and murmured transaction. 

I knew it in my bones that something was afoot. I softly padded up to the front door and tried looking through the peephole, but some thing or someone blocked my view. Someone breathing hard and wondering if it was too early to knock. I prised the latch open and there he was , my long lost uncle . He had left couple of years ago, suddenly , having pocketed my grandmothers harvest savings , and disappeared one wintry morning . His departure and subsequent total loss of contact created an initial furore, then plateaued onto palpable relief , as time passed. And now , he was back. 

It was awkward. I cleared my throat , he too coughed. Then , looking down , he said , “Aren’t you awake a bit too early ?” I didn't answer. I didn't know what to say actually. So did my grandfather  who was standing in the dark behind me , muttering in controlled agitation.

Uncle , showing remarkable presence of mind , burst into tears (fake !! cried my heart)and lunged at Dadu's feet. Dadu , in turn , with remarkable agility, moved aside , and uncle fell flat on his face . Leaving him crying on the floor, Dadu, grabbed my hand and we brought 

his bag in , shut the door , and left him there .It was firmly believed in the family that family dramas should not be witnessed by scandal-loving neighbours. 

The commotion roused the house and the females gathered around the prostrate figure, wiping their still sleepy eyes with their dupattas. Relief at having seeing him alive and well was tremendous , and like all good Indian families, all his misdeeds were forgotten , in the sympathetic wave of his prodigal return.

The only sceptics in the family, it would seem , were Dadu and me , who would give uncle wide berth at mealtimes . Dadu continued to give him dark looks and wouldn't talk to him even as uncle  chatted up the teenagers , threw squealing toddlers in the air , and made friends with the ladies , helping in the kitchen and fetching groceries. Dadu knew him better. Like the proverbial mongoose , he remained wary of the snake and when it would strike next .

All questions of his  where abouts were shrugged off by a suddenly forcibly jovial uncle . No one pestered him further . That there was  a game afoot was not apparent to all. 

One day , Dadu came back from office and announced in  a loud whisper to my grandmother, in the bedroom , that he had encashed his FD(Fixed Deposit) to pay the servants and munims (clerks ) of the gargantuan household. He noted with satisfaction the swish of curtains right then , and a sharp movement , as if some one was eavesdropping.

That was a fortnight ago. 

Yesterday , Dadus safe was again broken into and all the cash looted . This time again , uncle went missing . Predictably . Only Dadu seemed happy . Relieved . He had jalebis and kulfi bought for the dessert . Grandmother was livid . "How could you ? Your son has looted you once again , and you are celebrating ?"

Dadu smiled his taciturn smile "Yes , I am ."

Today , I heard munimji ask Dadu"By the way, the stationers wanted to know , why had you bought so many fake paper notes with SRK on them ? Ghar mein shaadi hai kya (Is there a wedding afoot ?) "

Dadu smiled and said -"Aisa hi samjho " ( Somewhat similar situation !)