Jungle transformations

 I saw a  yellow leaf tumble to the forest floor 

 it righted itself up , half -way there 

landed on its feet , yellow and black 

took off like a bullet , flying at the crack 

It was a golden oriole 

and I was a fool . 

On crossing a freshly tarred road

"It is long ribbony sticky 

I think it is called tar "

The owl , wisest so far 

Added his words , picky 

"If it is in hues  blacky

it might be a car "

The treepie sounded afar

"No it is hot and black 

and sticky "

The squirrel said " Brother flurry 

 was in a terrible  hurry 

got stuck 

and smack 

He roasted 

out popped 

like popcorn "

"Why dont humans pop then 

they keep walking around ",  the hen 

Added to the hub bub 

"Just the adults , not cubs " 

" Yeah , I have seen the juveniles 

travel in rolled carts , limousines "

"It is called  a perambulator "

"Gosh , what a big named machine 

For the teeny weeny critter "

"The critter is not pram , 

darn it , why do I even give a damn " 

The owl hooted to himself , brooding 

The monkey went tick- picking 

time went on tock-ticking 

" and we kept taking 

a -licking "

The parrot 

quoted 

baby's day out 

cackled on tree top

and flew out 

cackling its pout out 

quite irreverentially 

and impertinently 

"They wear shoes" 

Owl couldn't contain

His ideas and its flows 

that mostly drained

Into minds that couldn't absorb 

assimiliate the glittering orb 

Having had his final say, 

In despairing disgust , he flew away 

To hide his head in his wings 

and catch his precious winks 

Before the morons slept 

and night on the planet crept 

"Oh ! Shoo ! " I Know one "

said the monkey , the Mor-on

"That lady in the house 

where the water flows 

shouted at  me "shoo !!"

probably asking me to go "

Mor-on reflected bitterly 

on this possibilty , merrily 

adding , unnecessarily 

"Then they should be 

Shoomans 

Not humans " 

Rolled in the dirt merrily 

catching his meagre belly 

The mirth was lost 

on others of his lot 

who contemplated the onerous task

of crossing a freshly tarred road 

lying , gleaming , steaming , broad 

strip of glistening black .

Covid is here

 Somewhere , deep in the woods 

the peacock shouted "Peyong " 

Have you lately noted ,for good ,

Their mouths are open no long ?"

No one answered , 

though everyone heard ,

the bird loud and clear ,

"when you live in mortal fear "

To supply the answer 

Only the monkey could dare 

"fear of what ? May I ask ? 

Why cover nose too , with mask ?"

The peacock was in a chatty mood 

A man ran past , in mask and a hood 

The monkey , fearful for reasons good 

fled, tail in the air , with its entire brood

Chattering on the way , for all to hear 

"Bird doesn't know , Covid is here ."

 

The night of power outage

 " Ah so , I begin . 

Don't drop off you . Niru , you are the oldest . Do not push Pardeep off the warm cushion , the floor is cold . I know how cold . Will just tell you . " 

I always liked to see that anticipation building up . Even as I left the rug on the floor , to make some coffee for myself and the kids . It was a cold , rainy and dark night . It promised to remain so . Wind whistled at the cracks in the windows , sending chill down into the warm and cosy sitting room . 

"The storm has broken the power lines . Repair work will resume only when the storm abates . "

 I was succinctly informed by the power guys . An oft-repeated , well- worn set of words , rolling easily off the tongue , without even thinking .  

There were four kids with me, on  that dark  night .  Niru ,the eldest , slightly bossy , as elders are wont to be . Pradeep , her younger brother , who bore the brunt of her dont - do- this , dont -do-that rigmarole. These two were my neighbour's kids who loved my story telling sessions . Two other kids were my younger brother's kids , who were left in my custody , while their parents went looking for a holy succour in a far flung but reputed  temple in the distant forest . Tony and Mony, twins , with rhyming names , mirroring each other in behaviour, tastes , and personalities . 

My house was a British-era bungalow, which had fallen to disrepair , and had been patched up , as best as they could , by the government . Today it was dark , rainy , and patches of damp had already appeared on the false canvas roof . It sagged under the weight of the "other city" , a name coined by Niru , who hated the commonly used term "creepy-crawlies ". The windows had wooden slats that rattled in the storm wind , and broke off , occasionally , like a loose tooth , to sail away into the storm .  The back yard was overgrown and unkempt , so the doors leading to the back had been boarded up and taped shut . That didn't stop the winds from knocking at them , seeking admission .

" So that day , it so happened , " I plonked myself on the floor . The twins pulled the blanket tighter around themselves ." I couldn't sleep . " 

"Again?" Niru has the most irritating habit of asking perfectly timed impertinent questions .

"Again . So , I was staring at the roof . "

"This roof ?" Pradeep couldn't hold himself back . He pointed to the roof , sagging between the squares of the rafters , which seemed to hold its secrets up with great difficulty . 

"Yes, This roof . " I turned my face up , four pairs of eyes mimicked my glance . 

"Then ? " Mony whispered .

"Then I heard something . The sound of something scratching or grating against wood ." Tony took a deep slurp of the coffee . 

"So , I looked up and around , I couldn't see any thing , of course .  Then I went to the kitchen . " 

"Why ?" Niru and her perfect timing 

"To get a drink of water . It was hot summer you fool ." Tony loses it , sometimes . Then wisely , turns to me , " Wasn't it , uncle Das?" 

I nodded . "Absolutely correct . " Mony spilt her coffee on my blanket . So we had to take a break . 

Then , a clean and dry blanket later , we resumed . The skies were darker , and darkness filled the unlit corners of the room , seeping from underneath the door , coming in through the window cracks , accompanied by cold draught. 

"Then after a drink of water , I retired to my bed , only to hear that horrible , scratching , sound again . I thought it was a dry branch of the eucalyptus overhead scratching against the roof . I must have drifted off to sleep, because when I got up next , it was with a start . A glass fell with a clang to the floor in the kitchen . Knowing it must be a rat or a lizard , I didn't bother to go to the kitchen . But then , the glass  started moving around on the kitchen floor . Like being deliberately dragged against the floor by someone or something . 

I then lit my candle , as it was a power outage night ,"

"Just like tonight ." Tony hit the nail on the head . " Yeah just like tonight ." I nodded , the wind howled at the door , in agreement . The rain had stopped , but it seemed as if the air itself was breathing hard , holding itself back , with tremendous effort,  from breaking into a banshee scream .

"Then I reached the fridge at the entrance to the kitchen , and it hummed to life ." 

" The power supply returned. Hallelujah!" Tony shrieked in delight . Others looked disapprovingly at him.

" I clicked on the switch for the kitchen light and it came on . There was nothing amiss. "

"No glass on the floor ? " Niru was perplexed .

" Yeah , No glass or katori . Even I was very surprised . " 

" That is very unusual isn't it ? " Mony whispered thoughtfully  . 

"It must have rolled underneath your crockery cupboard ." Pradeep offered helpfully .

" No , it didn't .  No glass anywhere in sight " The kids were perplexed and hooked .

" I was so tired that I just switched off the light and went off to sleep again . Then I had a dream . I dreamt , I was standing on top of a cliff overlooking a beach ."

"Oooh. I love beaches . Sands and surf . I remember when we went to Maldives ....." Mony started and three voices shouted in unison "Shut up !" Hurt . Mony clammed up  and was silent for the rest of the night .

"So , I am enjoying myself and then I suddenly hear someone call out my name . Very loud and urgent . As if something is amiss. And I wake up with a start . 

Then , in the darkness of the night , I see a faintly black shadow of a person , standing at the foot of my bed , facing me .I knew it it was this person / shadow that was calling me ." 

" Who was it ?" 

" Could you see its face ?" 

" It could be kumar uncle from next door , he sleeps late ." All sorts of suggestions came flooding . 

"and sleepwalks too , Buddhia , the gardener told me last week ." 

"Even I thought , it was Kumar . He is dark , has broad shoulders . But this was a shadow , guys ." I tried desperately , to frighten rational kids . 

" I asked him " Is that you Kumar ?" But he didn't answer . Only the winds continued howling at the window . The branch on the roof , thumped , threateningly . "

"The shadow pointed outside." I improvised .

"With its arm ?" 

"How could it , Das uncle ? " 

" Shadows don't have arms ." Someone expounded firmly , thoroughly fluent in "shadowlogy" 

I was increasingly feeling like the ghosts in that Oscar Wilde story . Irrelevant and totally un-frightening . So did the shadow in my story .

"I anyway , obeyed it . It was a stormy night , you must remember . Yet , I obeyed . " 

"So then , when you crossed it , did you look at its face ? " 

" No , it disappeared ." 

" How convenient ? This is definitely Kumar Uncle , drunk and playing a game of hide-and -seek . " 

Someone emphatically smashed his fist into his palm , mimicking the thunderclap outside . 

The power supply was restored at this moment and shortly , as I expected , the doorbell rang . Niru and Pradeep were fetched by their parents , and I quickly boiled some milk and put Mony and Tony to bed . 

As I was about to leave their room , Mony , the thoughtful one , asked me , " There is something you are hiding , aren't you ?" 

"Me ? No ." 

"What happened then ? After you left the room ?" 

" I went to Kumar's room . " 

"Then ?" Tony hoisted himself up on his elbows .

" In the morning , when power was restored , I came back to my room ." 

"That's all ? " Disappointment , disappointment . 

"The cleaning guys discovered a large python lurking underneath my bed ." 

There was a moment of silence , as the kids took it in . Then all mayhem broke loose . Two pairs of arms draped around me and shrieks rent the air . 

Needless to add , Kumar had to stash his bottles away , and make space for three of us on his double bed . Next morning , The kids' parents arrived and took them away .

"That means the shadow saved your life , didn't it ? " was Pradeep's parting shot. I just nodded my head . 

I could never hold another session of storytelling as that house was demolished and we were shifted to a clean , sanitised and modern concrete house . 

Of course , a family of pythons was found living in the "other city'.

The last exchange

This thought has come often to me 

what would i have said  to her , if 

she was alive and happy to see 

me. As she always was the first 

to open the door and greet 

"Dhan bhag mere " 

She would have said 

Adding "Jo aap padhaare" 

To lighten the mood 

adding mirth and 

dollops of wit , every word 

dripped with care and warmth

homecoming after a wintry march 

Generous to a fault , abundant 

and sumptuous feast(s) 

Sharing with all equally  , kith or kin 

Kids , strangers  , country bumpkin(s)

What could I say 

as they took her away 

Her life partner by her side 

as in life or in the goodbye 

There were so many things unsaid 

so many jokes uncracked 

so many trivia unshared 

I could have said , she'd have laughed 

Blinking her eyes against the sun 

as she was known to do 

rushing off to the kitchen 

dishes to prepare , chores to do 

Over pay the maids , pamper 

the kids . All prim and proper 

fighting with her unruly hair 

From her hospital bed a sad gesture 

"All is lost" , she said , truthfully 

I lied to her , "No it isn't " 

But she knew in her heart 

and took the wisdom with her 

That was the last exchange 

I wish to change 

But can't , as it is 

she has left for lands beyond 

wisdom and words 

Read the instructions

 The rain . Always blame the rain . The minivan ahead wore a yellow plastic shroud , to protect the new washing machine against the elements . It fluttered dangerously and provocatively . 

I always thought when I saw cattle racing clumsily , that we have done something to trigger the stampede . Waved some sort of provocative sheet in front of their eyes , bull-fight fashion . I had once read that bulls are colour blind . And that the fluttering garment below their noses , drove them to mad heights of violence . I always applied it to my day to day existence . So, in my opinion it was the tarpaulin or the polythene sheet to blame , not the pouring rain . The bellowing calf refused to slow down . It followed the mini truck for half a kilometre with steadfast vehemence , against the crinkly sheet , ineptly tied with sagging ropes , and fluttering in its face . 

Finally, at the bend , it disappeared into the bushes , looking for some shelter , against elements , and against human shenanigans ( or so I thought ). 

We were behind the mini van , in a car , cramped and wet , with a dripping umbrella , wedged between my legs , the moisture slowly seeping up my jeans , crawling on my skin . I sneezed , and a wad of papers slid onto the vibrating car floor . It also included the user's  manual , thoughtfully packed inside a tiny  polythene ziplock pouch. It protected the instructions and warranty from monsoon , but what about the environment . "Achoooo!" 

"Bless you mama !" 

My kids looked at me with varying degrees of caution , horror and apprehension . 

Sneezing and running nose in today's world heralded danger and , dread . My younger one quickly placed her palm on my forehead . 

"Do you have any  fever ? Are you breathless ? " "Can you smell this ?" Sticking her small bottle of sanitiser under my nose .

I sneezed promptly again. 

Her elder sister quietly pulled the umbrella away from in between my legs and rolled her eyes in a gesture towards her younger sister that read " Fools " 

I looked at both my daughters with gratitude . One for her overbearing compassion , another for her quiet common sense . 

The washing machine is installed . But is wobbly .

 The girls have retired to their rooms to do what kids do nowadays in their rooms . Engage with devices that educate, entertain and confuse . In turns .

I am watching from a safe distance , hanky in hand , getting wetter , with each passing moment . The user's manual  lies wet , and unopened on the dining table . As everyone here is an expert on washing machines . The buyer , i.e., hubby , ("I Have single -handedly installed three of them in the past " , truth actually , but this one was a new one ,who will tell him that ?), and the half drenched shop guys who came in to install , water squelching out of their boots , onto freshly tiled floor . They tried changing screw-on grommeted holes , the legs , front to back and reverse again . The machine still wobbled . Someone suggested placing a wad of newspaper underneath the short leg . Someone suggested elevating the contraption onto a wooden stand . Hubby rung up the shop owner , pouring out his frustration , against machines that were unruly , against women who no longer hand washed clothes , against spoilt kids , against shop owners  who cheat and shortchange you , against the universe plotting against his getting a washing machine installed , against incessant rains etc.etc.

"Read the instructions." I must have thought out aloud , as I donot remember speaking these words . All eyes turned towards me . There was wonder , amazement and frank horror in some . As if a long petrified stone statue had come to life , and spoken . Some actually , looked past me , scanning the room , wondering where the sound had emananted from . 

Life's mysteries

 No one is what one appears . One of the greatest mysteries of life . Once , I met this man who professed to be a monk . Live simply , he said . No frills . No silly pictures on the wall , no choked wardrobes . Hell, he even wont buy a quilt for himself .Would swear by his sleeping bag . I was impressed . Turns out , I was wrong . This guy had the most sensitive stomach / lungs /skin , on the planet earth . His wardrobes are overflowing , his medicine boxes fill every nook and cranny of the house . He is most famous for his unguentums and liniments , psychological counselling , padded beds , and multicoloured cotton quilts . 

Thereafter , I have met many such paradoxical creatures . A kid who claims to be extrovert , and finds every excuse to duck out of parties . An old man who claims to be totally dependant on others , then shrugs all help and goes to live alone on his ancestral property . A college bully who is actually a softie at heart . 

I could go on and on . Include myself in the list too . Hated ethnic wear all my life and now look forward to every opportunity to tie a saree around my waist . Hated cooking , now cook all the time . Call it a “creative process ” and “therapeutic ” . 

Couldn’t fathom my grandparents obsession with prayers and worship rituals . Now frequent shops selling herbs , rosary beads and brass idols of Gods and Goddesses. Gift near and dear ones and fill my own shelves too .

Life’s mysteries never end . Never cease to amaze you.

Conversation 1

 It was in the aftermath of a thunderous downpour . 

The greater coucal was spraying his neighbour

For he was very large , very wet and dour 

"Pshaw , the humans are better , and drier " 

"See them enjoying tea !" Noted he , quite bitter 

"No , squeaked the sqiurrel from its tree- hole ( s) 

"Thats because they live in hoses ."

"Houses " 

you mean !" Said the coucal , blowing his noses 

"No, it is long and plasticky , and spouts water "

His mate explained , ready to clarify matter

"Idiots !" The owl lost it . 

"The stone boxes they live in , dimwit 

Are called houses . They  walk on roads ."

Added the owl , in a sense , broad 

"Oh, oh, oh , I know roods .

"They are metallic , black and hit hard "

" You know , you've probably mixed .....

"Never mind.." Owl gave up , buried 

his head in his wings and snored 

" It hit cousin willie when he died 

I know when I see one . Rood" 

The squirrel mate shuddered .

As he remembered 

The Coucal thoughtfully sighed 

" You know , I too remember , how he died " 

"He was hit by a car , not rod ."

"No , no , no ." It was long metallic and bloke

The squirrel -mate spoke

"It is black , not bloke , you slow poke "

The silence , Owl broke . 

Now if me  you  will excuse 

I will continue my snooze 

elsewhere . Thank you very much 

And off he flew into the drizzle as such 

" he is right , you know ," 

The coucal furrowed his brow 

"Me too ,

going to look for a drrry aachooo" 

And off he too flew 

Leaving the squirrel pair 

 in confusion -despair 

Squeaking 

speaking 

chasing each other 

down the old tree mother 

 

 

Living in a Jungle Part 2, bird sightings

 Today I woke up to the sound of water being poured from a large jug into a smaller tumbler . The sound repeated itself , at intervals . 

The sound emanated from a branch of the jamun tree outside . Upon investigation , it turned out to be a treepie . a rufous treepie. A bird from the crow family , endowed with the whites , browns and whites , in a fetching and complicated combination . stripes of white ending in black , on the tail , a single slash of white on black wings . Brown body with a burnt sienna head and tail . The moment I had located the noise maker , it was joined by its compatriot , producing another sound which can be best described as the rubbing of an inflated balloon .

Then three of them flew away , cackling in their usual, hoarse  cries . Presumably telling each other that " what a performance that was , wasn't it ? "

I , in my short stay here, have seen two unusual varieties of flame backed woodpecker, one black shouldered and the other lesser golden backed woodpecker . They hit a termite infested dead branch of eucalyptus infront of the house with tremendous force and their bills appear to continue to ricochet , for several minutes . It sounds like a marble thrown on a steel plate . Ricocheting endlessly . It is amazing to see a woodpecker do that . Nature's very own power packed drilling machine.

Another day a couple of bright yellow and black golden orioles flew past . Peelolo. One cried . The mate Peeloloed right back . Very cute little birds . The type that would make people want to cage them , and make them sing for their supper . Beauty , even in birds , is a dangerous thing . It can cost you your freedom .

I remember seeing a caged bulbul in Kolkata once . The poor thing was set out on the hot tin roof , in a cage , made of wire . I , most likely heard it , before I saw it . It was probably asking for help , or hurling abuses at its captors , in its own dulcet tones . What humans heard as a pretty song , was probably a desperate plea for help, a plaintive yelling . What made the sight more tragic , was it continually moving around in its small cage , round and round . 

Then the crows . In the plains , you see the common house crow , which  has ashy grey neck. Here we see the Jungle crow , a glossy , jet black cousin of its house variety . They have harsher cries , and are equally noisy when roosting , equally intrepid , intelligent and vastly outnumber any other bird .

Pigeons , those common rock varieties , who so plague our lives in the cities are conspicuous by their absence . 

Amongst all the common dove varieties , I have seen only a few small brown doves here. 

The mynahs are also fewer in number , Though , the same common mynah we saw in the plains . 

Then there are hornbills and peacocks. The unmistakable stars of the show . There are hornbills with a massive black casque over their yellow , enormous beaks . They have black tails , tipped white . Black enormous wings , white tipped . They sway branches with their sudden weight . They fly low , and slow , like miniature aircrafts . 

The peacocks rarely come out of their wooded areas . But occasionally , they fly clumsily , their wings beating the air into a hugely audible whoosh. Then they honk,  which is heard far and wide .  

In our previous station , I saw the brown headed barbet , whereas here , I have seen the striated barbet. a close relative . The calls and habits identical . They too , come attracted to the termite infested dead bough . 

Then there are sparrow hawks , white throated kingfisher and the black shouldered, bright red beady eyed  kite.  They keep , nonchalantly , sitting on fences , or power lines . But they are known to feast on toads , grasshoppers , even raid the smaller birds' nests.

Another star attraction here is the glossy ibis . Of the black curved talon like beak , and  a large clumsy body which flies agilely and lightly perches on the topmost branches of the eucalyptus. 

Living in a Jungle

 Have you ever seen a hole in the wall bathroom drain ? Yeah , I have . No exaggeration . It is covered with a trap , else the creepy crawlies make themselves at home . But the holes are large enough to let in earth worms and  baby snails . Before you realise it , a night trip to the loo, and you have crunched and squished half a dozen molluscs and annelids . 

No wonder we are causing a  blitzkrieg of extinction . 

Coming back to the vertical drain trap . It , as its name indicates , traps human hair and lint , with a complete efficiency , that makes us wonder how the molluscs and annelids make their way through . Earthworms are plausible , but what about snails that carry their homes on their back ? It is the drain equivalent of letting a sixteen wheeler pass through the narrow gullies  leading to the burning ghats in Varanasi. 

The main door has an interesting three inch wide piece of rubber nailed to its bottom end . It comes in the way of door closure , and has caused clumsy people to trip over it , more than once . 

Only when a neighbour , very thoughtfully , posted a picture of a snake comfortably entwined around her front door grill , was the rubber strip accorded its due share of respect . 

We live in a jungle , and we have to constantly jungle -proof our homes . The jungle still finds a way to pay us visits . Occasionally , scaring the bejesus out of us . 

In most Indian homes , we have a separate wire mesh window , that opens out . Here we have wire mesh nailed to our windows , permanently . All windows . No exception . This is done not just for flies and mosquitoes and insects , but also for monkeys , who occasionally decide to acquaint us to their extended families , bratty kids and all. 

They squat in the road , on rooftops , on gates, arches , window-door panels . Everywhere . They demand the right of way , and are accorded that . Their sheer numbers are overwhelming . Not to mention menacing silverbacks , sitting in plain view , snarling at any attempt to shoo his darling clan members . 

The British made bungalows have sloping roofs with a flat false ceiling . This false ceiling creates an interesting living space for several creatures . A few days ago , a constant chirp/ squeak , created quite a flurry , on a sleepy afternoon. My better half thought  it was a family of rats ( which would explain the night time scurryings) , the boy who brings us afternoon tea , thought it was the sound of some bird hatchlings , and I with my unbridled imagination , denounced it as the helpless shrieks of some poor rodent/ hatchling , in the death throes of some reptilian predator . 

More thumps and thuds lend credence to my theory. 

However , we all stuck to our guns , and luckily , decided to give it some time . It all quietened down after a while , and the roof wasn't torn down . 

The sloping roofs are covered with asbestos sheets , that crack under the weighty enthusiasm of full sized teenaged langurs on post pubertal hormones . Come rain , these cracks let in water which gathers on the false roof , resulting in beautifully shaped / coloured wet patches . They remain pretty for a little while , then enlarge and start dripping . On one's personal effects . 

One solution to this is to get the entire roof changed to a metallic one . Two main disadvantages . Gets incredibly hot in the summers , and is terribly noisy when the above mentioned langurs traipse along the roof . Deafening when they chase each other. Nah, the dripping rain splotches are better .

Many an insomnia fuelled nights , I have lain on my bed , staring at the ceiling , and definitely hear something slithering across. 

No , it doesn't say " I will kill " or some such pronouncement ,aka Chamber of Secrets  but the sound of slithering is enough to petrify one . Much like Hermoine Granger . I dare not wake my better half up , who has an imagination , that can reach the Usain Boltish speed within matter of seconds . Secondly , better one insomniac , than two . 

Every time this happens , I say to myself "All Izz well" like the 3 idiots , and pat myself back to sleep . 

Rain, Again

 The angsty breeze became an angry wind 

shouting obscenities at adamant trees 

who  fumed and exhorted with upturned leaves 

and so many terrifying syllables  

cautioning the wind against its 

wayward ways

Sparks flew 

Lightning cracked the sky into two

So much sharp fury 

Even the grey brown skies couldn't conceal 

Slamming its mighty fist on the earth 

In a ear -splitting thunder 

the reverberations 

went on forever ,

 rumbling 

grumbling 

into distant villages 

dying a quiet death somewhere placid 

Meanwhile the arguments escalated 

the wind howled and raged and stamped 

the trees stood their ground . 

The leaves spoke a collective remonstration 

Finally the skies have had enough 

And the Rains began 

hesitant to interrupt 

at first , then tumultuous 

Joyous , exuberant 

letting go . Largesse from the skies 

came pouring 

In sleet, sheets of rain ,

weaving curvy patterns on earth , 

dodging the wind , The 

leaves repentantly dripping , heads bowed down ,

winds occasionally sobbing still

The trees stoic and steadfast. 

And on guitar

 “It is a music class.”

“Correction , it is a room full of few donated ( and probably defunct ) pieces of musical instruments. ”
” No. It is a music class.” She emphatically put her glass down . Whatever she was drinking , could wait.
The aggressive clank of the glass attracted some interested glances . Most , however , quickly looked away .
“Okay Baba. It is a music class. But what am I supposed to do there ? ” I hastily whispered. I hated scenes . And I quickly capitulated . A lifetime secret of survival , when living with a gaggle of headstrong females.
“You play and teach kids to play .” She wiped her mouth , decisively.
“Play what ? ” I was near hysterical now . The last time I played any musical instrument , it was 45 years ago , in our school band . Flute . From what I recall , there were no flutes in that godforsaken room .
“Guitar “. She said with simple finality . Draining off her glass . “I saw the way you were looking at that guitar .” Now She winked mischievously. Almost sounding as if I was eyeing a girl.
“Listen ! There is no stopping a person from staring at what he likes , that doesn’t mean …” She passed me by , a cloud of boozy odour followed her , “Tomorrow , 9am , sharp.” She smiled sweetly as she shut the door .
God , I hate that woman . And I would hate to disobey her , in the same breath . What kind of a mouse am I ? My inner masculinity wailed .

“And on guitar is our own Mr. Sanders.” I was never so nervous in all my life . The damned belt cut into my shoulders . I fingered the strings once for effect , and the entire class applauded . “Sheesh.” I Thought .
She was still clapping . The witch .And smiling sweetly to boot . I had rung her up at midnight , thereby breaking another protocol , and woke her up in the midst of her booze fuelled dreams. I had told her , after a couple of hours of binge watching youtube videos , that I can teach them basics , Do-Re -Mi . The notes . Thats all . No fancy songs or tunes . That should take care of a couple of lessons .
She had drawled in reply “I love you Darrrling . I knew you would come up with something , Brilliant . ” And then she had blown a kiss . That kiss travelled all of 35 kms and got stuck to some unmentionable part of my god damned anatomy .

What God?

 Breathing through 

sighing in boughs , 

Turning sides , creaking trunks ,

wet , dark ,

 dank 

slippery , 

silvery,

mucus moss green 

, mean

giant 

robust 

what makes you stand 

 a primeval wand

gnarled with magic 

year 

after glorious year 

what makes you brood 

in silence profound 

with infinite patience 

you let nests , pestilence 

run berserk 

all over 

shadow with your arms 

the young ones grow

in shade bow 

to you Majesty 

Tall , unfaltering 

unspeaking 

when was the last time 

you threw a tantrum 

and blew nests , withered leaves 

bark bits and un feathered 

hatchlings ,into rain beaten wind ?

Having swallowed 

thunderous turmoil

of the brazen skies 

having heard millions of 

angst filled bird cries 

having weathered 

man's glut and pride 

the hack of the saw 

the cut of the swing 

the axe- hammer thud 

what are you ? 

Some God ? 

The other day 

a new bride , human , frail 

came to you , incense and wail 

lit a lamp , wiped her tears 

you embraced her fears 

sheltered her fragile flame 

and sent her home with a name 

on her lips of you 

what are you? 

Some messiah ?

Humbug , it is easy 

to dismiss , crazy 

But oh !! 

Your leaves were in a riot 

the birds had such a fright 

Not you , never took flight 

stoic , stood upright 

eventually the wind tired 

the  storm petered 

did bow 

to triumphant you 

Who are you ? 

What God? 

Forest

 The defiance of stark yellow 

crocuses ;drops of sun captured , glow

sudden flight , evolve 

into a cabbage butterfly ,dissolve 

on the green grass 

tired, rain lashed

grey sky , steeling 

for more rain , stealing 

thunder , sighing 

in quiet breaths , singing 

with a disquiet lapwing 

discordant on a wet morning 

Tree roots , wet gnarled 

fingers of yore, eons old ,

start slithering 

women shrieking 

Oh snake , snake writhing 

Equally shocked being 

seeking refuge 

in subterfuge

Green leafy twigs 

swaying sprigs 

suddenly fly , hover 

dragonfly , grasshopper 

you stole the colour 

of your parents' homes 

greens , grays and browns 

settle down , disappear 

you merge , others fear 

nature's witchcraft  alchemy 

best felt not seen , blimey 

you had me fooled there 

for a second , dear. 

 

I want

It was a crisp morning . Last night's howling winds had not entirely died down , so occasionally , small eddies  caught her unawares , and whipped Dolly's long hair around . Some strands got caught in her mouth and came away , saliva streaked . 

Freeing some gooey strands from her cheek's surface , I found the opportunity to continue with my homily " See this is why you should let me tie your hair, and keep your mouth closed ." 

This habit of mine drove her father nuts . "Oh shut up , for heaven's sake ! " He would bellow from the driver's seat . "Let the child be ". 

Dolly was adamant . No combing of hair , and no shutting of mouth . 

It was cold . I shivered . Sun had begun peeking from behind banks of spent clouds . But the wind didn't let up. There was warm toast and eggs in my belly , and I could still taste coffee in my mouth . Dolly too had her share of toast . But she was still hungry . "How can you say such a thing ?" Kami ,her sister , would ask . Her doubts piercing the dusty wool of "motherhood " I always tired to pull over her eyes .I know because I can hear the faint grumbling in her tummy . I know because she hasn't had her fill at the table . I know because I am her mother . " Humph !" I can see her sister marching away .

"You should let her go hungry ." Dolly's father would say . "Only then will she appreciate the value of food." Sage advise . Everyone nodded their collective heads , including my elder one , yolk dripping from his mouth , as he chomped on his fifth egg. Easier said than done . They have not been mothers . A mother fighting against the whole world trying to bracket your child into "retard" and "goner" slots . I felt sudden stinging of tears . Hot and burning . "You should be tough. Only tough mothers can raise kids like yours . You are too weak . Emotional. Gullible." Harsh words spoken long ago , swirled with the cold wind . I let my tears flow . Stood at the roadside and blew my nose . 

Dolly stood too. Grabbing my hand with stubby fingers , she gently jerked my hand . That was her way of telling me "everything is gonna be alright ." I looked down at her . Spittle flew from her open mouth , as she looked up in consternation . The wind blew the spittle into streaks on her cheeks . I dabbed at her cheeks with my tear stained hanky , she gave an open mouthed smile . People walked past , without even noticing us . I suddenly swooped her into my arms and took her into my lap . She loved it and cackled loudly . 

Some people turned back , from their fast lives , cushioned existences , unseeing eyes and unfeeling hearts . Looked at me , and Dolly , gave quizzical, judging looks . But we continued laughing . Me and my baby . Both misfits , imperfects .

We crossed an eatery . It was morning . Hot samosas were being fried in a wok full of iffy oil . Suddenly Dolly stopped . She too had smelt fragrant samosas . 

"I want " She said , pointing towards the glass enclosed rack full of the savoury goodies. 

"You want samosa ?" I spoke unnecessarily.

Dolly nodded , taking my three middle fingers and trying to braid them with both her hands , That was her  way of saying "Please".  She was staring at the halwai and her spittle ran free . The halwai smiled at her , she smiled back . I had no choice . These were the first words she had spoken since morning . It had to be celebrated . 

As I took the greasy paper plate back to her , She had found a worn out concrete step , entrance to someone's house . She was swinging her legs , another sign of joy and anticipation . 

So we sat there , in the dusty shade of someone's home , eating forbidden food . I can hear my sister say " You bought her what ??" Wiping her greasy fingers off on her saliva streaked pink frock , my baby says , hesitantly , "I want . One more."

How not to get "Soleiman-ised"

 Moni Mohsin , the amazing author of that delightful book " The Social Butterfly " describes how the narrator , got fleeced by an AC technician by the name of Soleiman , who just switched on an Air conditioner , claiming to have repaired it , and how the narrator , in her blind ignorance of all things technical , believing that an out of order AC had been fixed , paid him handsomely . 

This story has gone down in the annals of our anecdotal history , not because the narrator was stupid , but because it finds resonance in so many of our own day to day dealings of similar nature , with people , mostly of the male gender , allegedly bestowed with "higher technical know how ." It is generally assumed , not unaided by women who rise to these stereotypes , that we , females , have no knowledge / inkling / desire to learn/ IQ to fathom how machines and other "more technical things" work .

The story begins on a wintry morning . Mildly foggy , sun bursting out , and loads of optimism in the air .  

On my way back home from my kids' school , the car wobbled , listing more to the left ( Remember Prof.Calculus of Tintin ) . 

Quickly jumping to the worst possible diagnosis , I assumed that I have a puncture , and that the tyres being radial , it is not visible in a standing car . Promptly I called up a neighbouring tyre puncture repairman , whom we shall call by his initial K . Now that I had already informed him of puncture , he swung into action and said that he will drop by shortly . 

It is important to note here that a visit for a puncture repair to his modest , hole-in-the-wall shop , and a visit by K to your residence for repairs , were two different propositions . The difference in charges could be almost 400/- rupees. 

That explains the eagerness to come over . 

Now , that I had glimpsed the red flag , I decided to go to the parking lot and take a closer look myself . They tyre didn't look flat . I asked the opinion of my neighbour , a retired colonel , and an avid driver ( and buyer )of cars. He took one look , circumambulated the car , while humming to himself , punched the tyres , closed his eyes and whispered something . Then loudly proclaimed it to be a case of "less air ". And that I should proceed to K's shop post haste . In fact , try hard to beat him . 

Thanking my stars for living next door to car whisperers , I quickly took my ailing vehicle to K's shop . At the shop sat a surly looking son , who informed me that K had gone to fix someone's puncture at home . I didn't have the heart to tell him that it was to my home that his progenitor had headed to . 

After a short wait , K arrived on his motorcycle , looking mildly miffed .

Taking a look at the tyres , he quickly proceeded to drag a jack out . I stopped him and explained my present , changed and enlightened thoughts . His eyes widened . 

He wanted to know "which Colonel ?" had imparted this wisdom to me, the hitherto gullible female . With a look of total dejection about him , he checked and filled air in my tyres and accepted his meagre 20/- bucks with shoulders stooping with resignation .

I had narrowly escaped being Soleiman-ised. 

There are  several other stories which can be chronicled under the head of " near Soleimanisation . Like the time I got a mere 60/- (instead of 460/-)back from the shopkeeper who suddenly became very busy on the phone . He later clarified he thought I gave him a 100/- rupee note  , instead of 500/- rupee note. Not to mention , his regret filled apologies that followed me like flies , outside the shop too . 

Come Here

It was a harsh winter . That year it was particularly harsh . It rained almost every other day . Dry firewood was hard to come by . Mai used to stack ours by the door . She had a meticulous method . Large logs at the bottom , Thin twigs at the top , flanked by heavier branches for all – day cooking . Mai used to guard it jealously . To the novice , the heap seemed a hotch potch of firewood . But Mai knew exactly how many were there . 

1. How else do you explain the inexplicable wars she waged against aberrant neighbours , winning every time , with the culprit restocking her pile , under her supervision . 

   Then there was the perpetually drying clothes . Babies clothes were pilfered or worse , burnt as kindling . Woollen leggings were favoured as they burnt easily , like dry paper or hay . In those scarce times , woollens were hard to come by and Mai had kept a strict lookout for them as she sat rolling chapatis or boiling tea by the wood-fire. 

   Once she saw the neighbour’s son throw in a black coloured woollen scarf , and got up mid -roti. That was not a good sign . She grabbed a stick from her pile , walked quietly to the neighbour’s fire , fished the smouldering scarf out , beat out the wisps of flames against the cold hard floor , looked at the culprit in the eye , and said “Come Here.”

   
   

   The poor waif had no choice but to follow . We all followed them with our eyes , rooted to our respective warm spots , with fear and winter. Only didi moved silently , saving the roti on the fire from being charred . Even her eyes were glued to the spectacle . We braced for another war or at least few smart slaps .

   
   

   Contrary to all expectations , She pulled out some dry newspapers from beneath our bedding and gave it to him . As the boy meekly made his way to his bonfire , she also handed him over the stick she had used . A thick one .

   
   

   When she resumed her roti making job , She was quiet for a moment , and staring at the orange yellow heat , just said " What ? Kids shouldn't be beaten , they need to be taught ." 

   
   

   After a while , when rolling out the next one , she dusted the flour off her hands , straightened her scarf and said "He just wanted some kindling."

Morbid poetry (Part one ) :)

 tick tock tick tock 

relentlessly spoke 

the old clock 

" Not to mock 

Not to block 

your job at hand 

your handiwork 

I just remind 

That it is slipping 

the sand trickling 

the hours ringing 

sun's setting 

Hurry 

scurry 

flurry 

worry 

Your eyes a-blurry 

Your looks a-bleary 

Oh dear dearie 

whom did you bury 

Tonight 

sun light 

tomorrow night 

your turn , right ? 

The tales of square tails and round tails

 ” I think it is time we got rid of them . Finally . This is our chance . ” My friend , V ,was breathless with excitement and rage and a certain indefinable animalistic urge . Maybe it was just violence . But it was infectious , loud and overpowering . Like forest fire . All alarm bells ringing . I felt like running . Away from the fire . Save myself first . Shouldn’t be sucked into this fire . Shouldn’t . 

“What are you talking about ?” I asked . Trying to appear calm . The person on the stage was bellowing some filthy phrases . There was vile wickedness and breathlessness in the air . Like powdered explosive accidentally thrown into the air . Acrid . Full of foreboding . 

“Can’t you see ? ” V was beside himself . He seemed to be a different person now . Not the gentle soul I had always known . Almost as if he had sprouted horns. It was the worst decision . To have agreed to come to this gathering . 

Now I was stuck .

 Suddenly the calming aroma of freshly fried samosas filled the air . Phew !! S walked towards us . His arms full of the savoury goodies , oil slick lips , hissing slightly as he bit into the spicy goodness .
“Leave you guys for a minute and you start an argument . ” He said , comfortably plonking himself on the grass .
“You know this is not the perfect place to…” I began and was immediately silenced by a raised greasy finger .
“Someone might have pissed into this grass few moments ago…” Began my outraged friend , but one bite out of the hissing , steaming samosa and his demeanour changed . “Good stuff dude , where did you …?’ He too was silenced by a raised finger . The crowd was clapping enthusiastically . We weren’t . Our hands were occupied with food . Brains were awash with carb-laden -hyperglycemic fogginess. 

“By the way , have you heard the tale of squaretails ?” S began, amicably  . Most of the people had started shuffling out of the grounds . It was getting dark and common sense told people to reach back home before the fog hit. Some raised slogans . One was going around starting a signature campaign of some sorts . Three of us polished off the delicious samosas . 

“Now we need to drink something . This is the trouble with samosas . ” I spoke in between hisses . My mouth was on fire . S , the samosa buyer, got up and crumpled the oily paper bag , now empty . Tossing it into a dustbin , he said “Come on now , I know a place where we can get hot tea .”
“Where ?” Lazily intoned my erstwhile rebellious friend,V , reclining on the grass , hiccuping .

“Your home ? ”
“What ?”

"Yeah . You heard me right . " 

"But ..." 

"You have milk at home ? " 

"Yeah . But ..." V raced to keep up with us , on the road . Dry grass sticking out of his hair . 

" Tea leaves , sugar , water , sauce pan , cups ."

" Listen dude ! You can't just march in like that inside my home for tea . My Mom will kill me ." 

"Better she than some bigot . You were marching the Hitler way bro , a few minutes pre- samosa time . " S sniggered , rightfully . He had heard all our conversation . How could he ? The samosa stand was quite far off . 

"And that also cured you of your hiccups . Thank me later ." S grinned , a coriander leaf green stuck in the incisors . I just loved this guy and how he defused the terrible situation . 

"Saale !" (scoundrel ) , both pounced on each other good naturedly . I stood at a distance . This is the trouble with boys . One moment they are cheerful , good natured and sensible humans , next moment , they become neanderthals . 

"A is judging us . " One of them sniffed, breathlessly, out of the entangled mass of arms and legs . 

"You both are already judged ." I sniffed and walked away , arms crossed , nose in the air and promptly ran into an obese , good natured lady staring down at us trio , with mild trepidation and amusement .

Minutes later , we were seated in V's sitting room , with his Mom offering us the best ginger tea in the world . She was used to  boys rough housing all the time , having raised an army of them . V had two older brothers and numerous male cousins , who kept walking in and out of his home .

In between sips , S told us the story of squaretails . 

"In a forest , there were three kinds of birds , the forkedtails , the roundtails and the square tails . 

There was peace for many years and every year they used to elect one amongst them as a leader . It could be anyone . Either of the three . 

One night , a terrible storm hit the forest . Nests were destroyed , hatchlings fell out of the tree . Eggs got smashed , branches broke . Terrible mayhem . 

Next morning , a roundtail couple who lost their nests , like countless others , were sitting at the site of their damaged nest and wondering what to do. Their nest was broken , the pieces strewn all around . Depressed and woebegone , they stared out in despair and saw a squaretail fix their broken nest too . 

The squaretails worked in tandem . The female swept up all the broken pieces with her tail , the male picked it up in his tail , like a shovel and slapped it in place . Working jointly , they had fixed their nest before long , and a cosy little tendril of smoke emerged from the tiny chimney stack , as the female squaretail started a cooking fire .

Slackjawed with amazement , the roundtails watched and wondered. Slowly , in the bitter aftermath of the storm , the admiration was tarnished with envy . Whispered from tree to tree , branch to branch , the glow of happiness turned into a raging fire of hatred . 

The squaretails are few . Shouldn't be difficult to get rid of them . Said one of the goonda roundtail. If they are so efficient , let them leave this forest to us , roundtails . Some raised slogans , others followed . Hatred filled posters appeared on the tree trunks . 

Higher up , in their perch , the forktails watched warily . They didn't like it at all , but they decided it was between roundtails and the squaretails . We have no truck with either of them . 

And so , one fine day , the leader , who happened to be a roundtail , read out the decree , banishing the squaretails from the forest forever. 

There was some protest , some squealing , some rebellion . But it was expected . And it was quashed . Effectively . Some square tails lost their lives , some hatchlings too . Lot of nests were destroyed or occupied by the invaders and fearing for their lives , the squaretails fled . Some continued to live on the edge of the forest , in an endangered zone , where they had to contend with slingshots , gunshots and photographers coming in from the human villages surrounding the forest . Most of them went to unseen , unheard of places , where they retrained themselves , to survive amidst new predators and amongst alien trees . 

Life went on . But now , the forktails were wary and kept out of the way of roundtails , having seen what they can do to birds who are not of the same feather as them . In fact they gathered around each other , huddling for solace and comfort among each other . 

The forest was divided into colonies . Larger roundtail colonies , smaller , forktail colonies , higher up in the eucalyptuses . They had little interaction with each other .

Several years passed by . One year , a terrible drought filled summer hit the forest . At the peak of the heat filled month , a spark from somewhere lit up the giant eucalyptus trees like giant flaming torches . It was a terrible forest fire , it burned up everything that lived there . The animals on ground , the birds in the tree. It was an inferno like no other . 

Some roundtails and a few fork tails survived , they flew southward , which was away from the fire and flames , ashes and death . They flew and flew , some just dropped dead out of sheer exhaustion and were swallowed into the flames . For the forest was huge and it was difficult to find an edge to it .

Finally , tired , hungry and singed , the birds found the edge of the forest . Finding a tree , still green and alive , they plopped on the branches and fell into a deep and troubled sleep . 

They were roused to the sounds of fluttering wings and that they were being warily watched. No one seemed to be in plain sight . There was verdant greenery around , abundance of fruits in trees , nestable branches , a stream gurgled closeby , yesterday seemed like a bad and distant nightmare. 

As they took a dip in the sparkling waters to quench their thirst and rid themselves of soot and ash , they heard an ominous fluttering  . A group of young squaretails perched close by , watching them .

"Well , well , well. See who's here ? " 

"It is our good old neighbours , the round tails ." A second , more scary looking bird , ruffled its feathers and spat out , with venom accentuating each word.

"Ah well." Began a middle aged roundtail , who was interrupted by and impatient young gent " What place is this ?" 

" Well , brother".. drawled the scary one . " It is called " Going back to square one ." This was met with a cackle of laughter that echoed endlessly through the now silent and forbidding forest. 

With this peculiar ending , S sat back and drained his cups of last dregs of ginger tea , now gone cold . He stared into the bottom of the cup. V's mom , who carefully and silently sat with us to hear the tale , got up , gathered the tea things , and marched off , declaring as she departed " I'll get some more tea " 

She knew the tale was not over . 

"What happened to the roundtails ?" V asked the obvious . 

"I don't know . You tell me . " Shrugged S , lifting his shoeless legs off the floor and stretching on the sofa , as if it was his own home . "This is , as they say , your party ."

"Stop sounding so "Dumbledoreish." 

"I am not . You tell me what should happen , and that will happen . It is fiction , anything is possible ." 

"Truth is stranger than fiction . " I sagely announced and the guys laughed . That at least broke the tension in the air . 

Finally , we all came to different conclusions . V thought roundtails should be punished and meted out the same treatment and driven off from the new forest and forced to look for newer pastures . S thought that after few skirmishes , all will be well and they'll learn how to live amicably . I thought that no skirmish was required . They all had a round table meeting of sorts , laid down some rules and lived together in calmness , if not happiness . V's mom thought all lived happily together . 

"Utopia " sniffed V as I got up and left for home .