Wildlife diaries 1

There is a resident spider in my bathroom . The first time I entered , it saw me and we both gave a start . In its own language , I am sure it let out a blood curdling scream too . Luckily , no one was at home . That left the spider and me both to our own devices . 

I did my job , and it stationed  itself in an unobtrusive corner . We gave each other space without descending into hysterics . 

Now, one year later , It still lurks in some corner of the bathroom , whenever I use it . Mostly , I am able to see it . I am sure it spies on me too , with its eight eyes , all its eight limbs on full alert , to scurry quickly away . 

When my parents came over , they yelled too . They live in  a city, and cannot comprehend the idea of sharing private spaces with arachnids . But the spider is wise . It keeps itself hidden , inside the ceramic  sink pipe cover . Comes out only when the coast is clear . 

I google lensed it . It is a huntsman spider . That does make it all the more fearsome . 

Being hunted by eight pairs of eyes and eight limbs clambering all over you might not be an agreeable way to depart from this planet.

Yesterday , I discovered a smaller , transparent and frailer version of the same huntsman on my clothes rack . So , the tribe multiplies . 

On second occasion , I am in the throes of making a sweetmeat for Holi . It requires constant roasting of besan with ghee , and I am engrossed in the process , mechanical to the point of numbing . I find something tickling the insides of my elbow . After few attempts I brush my gresy palms across the insides of my elbow , to find , nestled in the crook my arm , a baby centipede . Almost transparent , but wriggly , and very much alive .

Last evening we saw a very interesting beetle on the porch . It was there because , in a total cliched fashion , it was attracted to the balcony light. It had landed on its back , it was pitch black in colour and was wriggling its legs in the air , ineffectually . 

Suddenly , it shot up in the air with a click , jumping at least four feet high , to righten itself again . It was a fascinating sight . It repeated its jump couple more of times , eventually landing on its feet and scurrying away .

I looked up on the net . They are called click beetles . 

It had a large stodgy looking companion . I discovered that even that one ( a flea beetle ) is known to jump . 

The servant quarter leads to my home through a region full of undergrowth . I have often told  my  help , Rano , to not come through the undergrowth . But , as I said it is a short cut . 

Today morning , I could hear panic in her voice as she called me . There was a large , nearly three foot long snake intertwined in the new and old vines of the tree and hanging precariously from there . It seemed loathe to move from its hanging perch . However , rano's husband hit the nail on the head when he said that " The snake is as afraid of us as we are of it ." However , while we were still watching , clicking photos and making videos , it quietly slithered away . 

It turned out to be a rat snake and non poisonous .

Two cute rosefinches tried very hard to make a nest in my window , last spring . They are rosy coloured sparrow sized bird , and I was lucky to see them , for the first time in my life . I also saw , Brahminy starlings , Yellow wattled lapwing , bank myna, blue throated barbet , and black redstart . Loten's sunbird , small sunbird , ashy headed starling , jungle myna , and chestnut headed bee eater. Black capped kingfisher . The list goes on . 

On another occasion , I was engrossed in a phone call , and was standing idly beneath the peepul tree . Suddenly , something soft landed on my neck . I brushed it away , not thinking much of it . Later , I found both my palm and neck covered in fine  transparent needles that quickly began to itch madly . 

Several soap washes and anti histaminic ointment applications later , I realised that I had brushed off "Kambal keeda " , or the larva of Macrobrochis Gigas , a beautiful black and white moth endemic to these parts . It is notorious for leaving its  itchy "needles " as a survival strategy.

My phone

 Where did my phone go ? 

It has no legs or arms too 

It could be easily found 

when my kids were around 

Now that they are not 

I am in water hot 

I cant remember 

as to I kept it where 

I look hither , thither 

I did look everywhere 

I looked even inside the fridge 

where , once (famously ) it froze 

Not on the WC ,

Did you see 

Under the peepul tree 

Calls out my concerned hubby 

No , it isn't there , I shout back 

Did you check the spice rack 

Last time you chucked it in 

And it rang spicy rings 

I can hear him chuckling 

That is when I hear it ring 

Faint , Inside the cupboard 

Underneath my clothes hoard 

Ringing persistently 

I discover my purse presently 

Hubby is the caller 

"Shut up now !" I holler 

I got it , phew 

Of my jewels few 

This Xiaomi phone 

Is my favourite one !!

The lost slipper

 "Yeh kiska hai?"  

The ownership was in question . The article was a well worn Bata bathroom slipper lying half concealed among the Petunia and Cosmos blossoms , by the road side flower bed . It was a beauty . The flower beds . Hence , there being no place for a beastly chappal , that too , worn down to reveal the blue bottom layer .

The Chowkidar , and the Jharoo man both scratched their heads . Instinctively , they both looked at their respective feet . 

Chowkidar had his DMS boots on . The Jharoo man wore his bata sandals , with leather straps . They again shook their head . 

"Bada Sahib is not going to like it ." The Chowkidar made it sound like a dire prophesy . End of the world . Reluctantly , he went back to his post , picking the offending footwear between his forefinger and thumb , as one would pick a dead rat. 

Jharoo man went back to his job of cleaning the road of fallen dead leaves , baby mangoes and such trespassing stuff , before" Bada Saheb " moved out of his home . Or woke up . 

At 9 am , the sweeper finished his job . The leaves , mangoes , scraps of paper had been disposed off , the plants had been watered . It was time for the sweeper , Ramadin's breakfast break . He washed his hands at the garden tap , wiped them dry with the his trusted gamcha around his neck , then sat down in the shade of the mango tree . 

Two things happened in quick succession . Both ruined Ramadin's repast . Bada Saheb's gate creaked open , prematurely . And a small errant mango , broke off from an overhead branch and plonked into Ramadin's open tiffin of hot dal , prepared by his wife that morning . 

Ramadin hissed and picked up the offending fruit . He chucked it behind him , as far as possible in the direction of the rubbish heap , when Bada Sahib made his appearance at the gate . "Ramadin !!" He called . 

"Ji Sir ." Ramadin quickly wiped his dal drenched finger in the right corner of his gamcha and strode towards the gate .

"Yeh kiska hai ?" Bada sahib stood clouded in the morning mist and the vapours from his enormous coffee mug . He pointed the steaming cup towards the offending chappal . He smelt agreeably of cologne and coffee . 

An old thought repeated in Ramadin's head . Should have thrown it with the garbage . Too late . 

"Nahin maloom Sir ." 

"Do one thing , take it after your shift and see in the servants' quarters . " 

"Ji sir ." Bada Sahib quickly noted the insincerity in Ramadin's voice . He was very sharp. 

"Someone is without one of his slippers , Ramadin ." Mock threat emanated from Bada Sahib's clean shaven face . 

You could never tell with these rich peoples . When they lose temper over what . Softly cursing , Ramadin returned back to his seat . Now his dal had two small mango leaves floating like garnish. He cursed again , removed the leaves , and looked up at the tree . The tree shook in silent laughter and dropped few more mangoes onto the pristine lawn .

Quickly stuffing his dry and cold rotis into the mouth , Ramadin took off on his cycle . 

He was carrying the chappal in his hand , multitasking while holding the handlebars. As he crossed the extensive vegetable garden owned by Bada Saheb , he saw Madamji , the better half of Bada Saheb , pottering around the garden , Mali in tow , supervising her brinjal patch. 

She looked up to see Ramadin and shouted "Ramadin , kaise ho ?" 

Ramadin liked her better than BSaheb. She was less terrifying , meaning one could speak one's mind with her . 

Ramadin bowed and stopped . Madam hurried over in her gown and bata slippers . Ramadin couldn't help but notice that they were the same make as the one he held in his hand, albeit a newer one .

"Whose slippers you have stolen ?" Madam joked breathlessly .

"This fell by the gate , on the flowers ." Madam sucked her breath , wide eyed , the horror . 
Ramadin grinned revealing all his gutka stained incisors . 

"The flowers are ok ?" Madam ji's concerns were quite legitimate . 

"Now why would some one throw a chappal at V .?" She tapped a glistening red talon on her pretty dimpled cheek , thoughtfully . Madam ji was making a mountain out of a mole hill .

"No, no maam . No throwing -shrowing . It was just lying there . Possibly brought by a stray dog ." Ramadin explained , twisting it's straps around his fingers .Should have thrown the bloody thing while I had a chance . Damn Thapa , and his scruples . 

"Did Thapa see someone throwing it ?" Madamji was determined to not let this thing die . 

"No. No madam ." Ramadin now pedalled off in real alarm . "I have to find the real owner , Sahib has said ." He called behind his back to the lady .

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The executives hurried into the foyer of the big building . The glass front had an enormous brass sculpture of two hands locked in a handshake . It glinted furiously in the mid day noon . 

It was a big day . The Bada sahib was about to address the company . All were in tuxedos . A large shiny table stood at the glistening entrance . It contained one single large cut glass flower vase with the choicest of flowers . 

On the doorstep stood a motley crowd . Two pretty saree clad ladies , and a tuxedoed man , all with the mandatory name tags .One lady carried a huge bouquet of flowers .  The air was thick with anticipation . A bearer with his trademark white gloves held a velvet lined tray with two frosted glass of water , covered with two coasters bearing the company logo .

The air smelt of flowers , perfumes , colognes , aftershaves . In short , it smelt rich . 

There was a hush . Then a Mercedes noiselessly came to a stop . Everyone stiffened . 

Bada sahib emerged . Looking dapper in a suit with aviators . Next came Memsahib , redolent of imported stuff , dressed in a printed silk saree . Wearing aviators too. The welcome party hurried with the VIPs to the auditorium . Everyone inside stood up , en masse . 

Inside the cool , and dimly lit auditorium , the press occupied the first benches to the right . To the left sat the other partners ,and dignitaries with whom BS shook hands , almost mechanically smiling a fixed smile , as the man from the welcoming committee introduced him . 

After two odd speeches and presentations , BS or Mr V ,was called onto the stage . He had to sit at a table and hold a press conference. 

Mr V  spoke at length on company's progress and the upward spike of the growth charts . Then he went onto thanking his juniors , etc and finally came onto himself . 

By now , two hours had elapsed , and almost everyone was in a somnolent state . 

"However , I would like to add that my bold steps for the company has not gone down well with everyone . In fact today morning , we had an incident at our home ." 

There were murmurs , as people woke up from their slumber .

"Ishita will tell you ." The spotlight swivelled to the front row where Memsahib sat , in all her splendour.

More murmurs .

"Some one threw a slipper at our home ." There was a sob at the end of the sudden declaration . 

There was a collective gasp , everyone sat up bolt upright . All mikes craned to enter the dazzling circle of the spotlight .

"I have asked our sweeper to find out the real culprit . But I can't imagine any one wanting to hurt V after all he has done for the company ." 

Now , the auditorium was positively abuzz . Camera flashed all around like so much lightning as Ishita madam wiped an invisible tear from beneath her aviators . 

As V and his wife swept away from the hall , there was pandemonium , as press chased them with a barrage of questions . 

"Who do you suspect, Mr V ? "

" Did you remember seeing any suspects fleeing Sir ?"  

"Ishita maam , when you  saw the slipper , what were your first thoughts ."

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Ramadin had been pedalling around furiously , the entire morning . Finally , it hit him . Where do people lose their slippers ? 

He quickly made his way to the Hanuman Mandir . Getting down from the bicycle , he noticed a large collection of footwear outside the mandir . 

Scanning the slippers , he couldn't find a single unpaired pair , There were several chappals though , which were identically worn to the soles , as the one he held in his hand . But all were paired . 

In a fit of despair , Ramadin threw the slipper from his hand , stood his bicycle on the stand , and went to wash his hands at the cool stone well . 

He washed his hands , cupped them , and drank a draught of cool , sweet well water . Then he washed his face too . It was blazing hot noon day sun and he was happy to get this respite . 

There was a sindoor smeared banyan tree , close to the well . Ramadin sat in its shade and wiped his face with his gamcha . 

He took a deep breath and heard bhajans coming from the temple . He closed his eyes and  prayed to the Monkey God " Hey Hanumanji , please find the owner of this bleeding chappal . Otherwise I am just going to throw it into some rubbish bin ." 

Then he took a deep breath and prepared to get up . A strange sight met him . 

Baiju , the cook , was standing over the single bata slipper . 

"This is my missing chappal , how come it came here ?" Baiju was telling cheerfully to a passerby , while still holding his pooja thali in both the hands .

Baiju was clad in only a  transparent dhoti , his sacred thread hanging loose over his lean body , his ribs visible from his shirtless torso , forehead smeared with chandan lines and the most telling of all , a shaven head and a large iron key hanging from his neck , tied by a thread now grimy with sweat . 

"W whaat happened Baiju ?" Ramadin was aghast .

The shaven head and the key told a story . Baiju had lost someone recently and had come to the mandir for the completion of last rites . 

"My mother Ramu . Didn't I tell you she was very sick ? Last week I took leave to attend to her , and two days later ..." Baiju let out a sigh , looking down , shook his head . 

"I am so sorry Baj ." Ramadin , put his arms around Baiju's thin shoulders  , commiserating .

"Listen , did you say this chappal was yours ? " 

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"Mr V , The Corporate God has chappals thrown at him ." 

"Mrs V Saw the culprit " 

" Masses displeased at corporate decisions ." 

"V- Company in hot water again " 

"Simmering slipper of discontent " 

The afternoon tabloids were having a field day . The headlines everywhere had something to say about the chappal thrown at Mr V's gate . 

Some went further onto suggest that the offending slipper was thrown at him by a disgruntled employee at the company meeting , that Mr V was hurt and he had to be hospitalised . 

Imaginations were running riot . 

TV Headlines blared it all in every single home on the town .

 Complete with the "On site " footage of Thapa taking the press cameras to the petunia flower bed where it was discovered . 

Thapa was having a whale of a time , shaking hands with all the members of the TV crew and having a camera thrust into his face , mikes hovering all around . He never felt so important in all his life .

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Amongst the  shaven headed hordes of relatives  that had descended on Baiju's home , He and Ramadin sat in the meagre room in the servant quarters , heads in hands , where the TV was on full blast , replaying juicy bits and concocted myths over and over again , ad nauseam . 

"Did you really have to throw your chappal at that blasted dog ?" Ramadin asked him for the umpteenth time . 

"I told you I was not in my senses . I had just lost my mother , okay ! This chap came sniffing at the basket of flowers for the rites . I don't even remember throwing the slipper . Probably it was someone else . I don't know , okay !" Baiju broke down , sobbing , again .

Ramadin was in a real fix now . Baiju had just lost his mother . He was likely to lose his job , quarter and all the other perks , if the real owner  was revealed .

He looked at the slipper with frank hatred now . He was also mad at Thapa for his bull-headed blind honesty and rule following . At himself too , for having let the row escalate . 

He had a thought . He switched off the TV ,  grabbed Baiju by his arm and took him outside .

Both had a whispered conversation . Baiju wiped his tears away , and turned inside . Once turning his gaze to his chappal ,he burst into fresh tears , which his relatives thought might have to do with his current bereaved state . 

Ramadin rode his cycle away , with slight trepidation . 

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When Ramadin reported on duty next morning , a host of servants were congratulating Thapa on his smart TV appearance . 

Ramadin saw from afar , and didn't go close to the house . In fact , he had decided to keep as much distance between the house , the owners , Thapa and himself as possible . 

His broom etc was kept in a tool shed , way afar , in a corner of the property . So he was safe . As of now .

It happened at 8:30 am . He saw Thapa emerge from the gates, from the corner of his eye .  He had  something in his hands . A cardboard box . Shortly later , Memsahib emerged . Ishita was again , as was her wont , holding a cup of coffee in her left hand , right hand handling the folds of her nightgown , striding purposefully  towards him . 

Ramadin quickly lowered his gaze . He wished to flee from that place , from the earth . His heart thudded against his ribcage . 

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"It felt like an out of body experience ." He would tell later to Baiju , sitting in his living room , Baiju's kids clambering all over him . 

"What ? No ? Really ?" 

"Yes . Just as Thapa offered me the sweets , Memsahib said it was because the company's shares and stocks had soared . I gathered that meant profit . I smiled and took a ladoo . "

"Then ?" Baiju's eyes were wide ,eager .

"Then , Memsahib asked what happened about the chappal . I tried to appear very casual . " 

"Hehe . Just like we had decided ."  Baiju slapped his knee in childish glee . His wife frowned from the kitchen door , at the sudden display of mirth in the house of the dead .

'Yes, Just like we said . I said I don't know , I went to mandir and saw lots of similar chappals .Must have come from there ." 

"Then ?" 

" Then what ? She nodded . " 

Both friends chuckled in relief .

" Then before going , she asked " why did you go to the mandir ? " 

"What did you say ?" 

"I said what came to my mind at that point . I said I went to see Baiju , as he had lost his mother recently , and there was a bhog at the mandir ." 

" You did not ." Baiju covered his mouth in horror .

" Yes I did . Wait till you hear the rest . She has called you . You must go to Sahib's house at 6pm sharp ." 

"Why ? To be told I am fired . " Baiju beat his forehead hysterically . "I am dead " 

"No , you are not . She said "Oh , Baiju has lost his mother , and I have not even thought about that in midst of all this ." 

"Oh ." Baiju stopped his lamentation . "Is that so ?" 

"Yes , baksheesh awaits brother Baj," Ramadin said with a twinkle in his eye . 

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"Was it your chappal Baiju ?"  Memsahib looked him straight in the eye .

Baiju made some gurgling sounds with his throat . Ishita ma'am looked at his feet , right now encased in the pair of notorious bata footwear . Baiju was looking down, wishing himself dead . If it was not for the damned kids ....

"It was yours , wasn't it ?" Bada Sahib interjected .

To his stricken look , Memsahib answered , looking very kindly at him " Ramadin told us all ." 

Ramadin old rascal , wait till I get my hands on him , Baiju gnashed his teeth inwardly .

The Sahib got up from his easy chair in the verandah . He had an envelop in his hands . " This is something for your kids and family . Sorry about your Mother .  Your chappal made us famous , and " 

"Rich. " Memsahib rejoined . "It made us rich." Both were grinning . 

"We are going to give you a substantial raise , and come back soon on job . We miss your baingan bharta ." 

Baiju was speechless , and he had tears in his eyes . He just bowed with folded hands , again and again . 

"This too , " Memsahib gave him a fresh cardboard box of sweets . 

"But I don't understand .I would never throw my slippers at Sahib's gate . How did this ..?" 

Baiju was stammering , bowing and biting his tongue .

"It is ok old boy . Just remember , in Business and Show Biz , there is no publicity called bad publicity .People just sympathised with my plight . We just took your chappal and twisted a little tale around it ." 

Sahib had his arm draped over Baiju as he walked him out of the gate . Thapa actually gave him a smile and a thumbs up. 

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Arun

 It was a bright sunny noon . Spring  was in the air and  the petunias and pansies lining the school office were in full bloom .

The school was u shaped and a central ground was lined by concrete flower beds . The orange and yellow marigolds gave out heavenly aroma. 

It was a pretty and a good school . There were nuns and monks , sisters and fathers who would conduct classes and pray in the chapel in the spare time. 

A huge church complete with its spire and a glass enclosed statue of Virgin Mary and baby Jesus towered on the western side . Enormous wrought iron gates guarded the church , with the legend Jesus loves you etched onto the top , in wrought iron letters , with flat leaves and pressed flowers , in iron . 

It was impressive and intimidating for the newcomers . For the students it was a heaven .

Arun was a scrawny little fellow with lot of spunk in him . He became the class legend when he ran headlong into the forest that lined the  eastern side of the school and emerged in the evening, unscathed . He says he was escaping the day's maths test . He kept sitting on a high branch of a mango tree, fully concealed in the foliage , while the rescuers shouted his name , crying themselves hoarse the whole day long . Several search parties forayed into the forest throughout the day, with no success . 

His crying mom , slumped on the floor infront of the principal's office , beating her chest and occasionally fainting. None of this moved Arun to climb down from his perch. 

He emerged only in the evening , smiling , with only mild greenish scratches on his white shirt . Grinning from ear to ear . 

This happened in the 70s when corporal punishment was very much in vogue . Needless to say , he was caned in full public view by mother superior. We didn't count but the welts took a long time to heal .

For a long time, Arun would limp afterwards. 

A collosal wall came up on the eastern side of the school , separating the forest from us . A gate was built and it was padlocked. No one could go to the forest any more.

Another incident happened an year later. In 1978, to be precise. When Arun was in class 5 .  

He ran away . Actually. Sick and tired of being jeered and bullied in school and at home, he boarded a train from the end of the town station and disappeared . No one knew where he had gone . His mom gave up eating and became an emaciated wreck .

After two weeks, Arun landed back and came straight to school. God knows what prompted him to do that . 

A huge crowd collected outside . To welcome him . Everyone loves a rebel.

" Where were you Arun ? " 

" Goodness ! Look at him , he looks happy!" People were surprised at his good health , his clean clothes and new shoes .

Arun just stood in the middle of the hub bub , enjoying all the attention . Not saying anything. Just grinning his trademark grin . 

Someone went and told mother superior , she came rushing out of the principal's office, grabbed him by his arm and led him inside. 

The crowd followed him like a sea of ants . They were however, all shooed away by the watchman bhaiya . The doors were shut . 

Once the classes started and kids went back , very reluctantly to their classrooms, Arun was taken in father's Jeep to the police station , where a missing persons FIR had been filed by his parents . His parents too came rushing to the police station. 

It was quite a moving scene with the mother crying and kissing Arun and father not knowing if he should hug or slap Arun . 

Exactly , four years later , after written guarantees had been given to Father John , the then principal, Arun committed  another and final misdemeanor of his school life .

On this spring day , all were jumping around and playing with marigold flowers as the shuttle cocks and torn notebook cardboard covers as  badminton rackets . By the end of the recess , all would be covered in orange splotches and fragrance. 

Arun was older now, and none the more wiser . In fact , he was more aggressive now. He had just entered puberty , and had begun sprouting facial hair. He was swarthy and towered over his classmates . He was fearsome .  He was in class 8 , and at the threshold of entering the adult world . In Arun's case , the criminal world .

There was a disagreement in progress at the fag end of the class . A boy named Vishnu was given to needlessly needling  Arun at every given opportunity. While others gave Arun a cautious wide berth , Vishnu took it upon himself to taunt him at every given moment. Needless to say, he was living dangerously.

One moment , the pubescent voices rose in argument , next moment there was a flash of steel and Vishnu was found cowering on the classroom floor , the four inches of a compass needle stuck into his palm , through and through , a stream of thick dark red blood slowly snaking down his wrist .

After this , things moved very swiftly , after Vishnus haemorrhage was stopped , his parents were notified and he was sent to the hospital in an ambulance. Arun's parents were called, a closed door meeting was called in the principal's office, and he was rusticated. His school life ended then and there . 

As he emerged from the church gates ,head hanging , with his his father  by his side,  into the marigold scented afternoon , the forest whispered and he looked back, one last time.

"Jesus loves you" shone back in shiny trellis from the high wrought iron gates as they clanged  shut on him , forever. 

Teen number Railway crossing Shalimar

 "So what do you want from me ?" It was more of a desperate declaration than a question  . It was loud enough for neighbours to turn their heads . A lovers' fight was in progress . At a very wrong place and time . 

The  burqa clad female companion  , just turned her head away , loathe to start a scene here .

The tution boy on his scooter , revved up his bike again . 

The daily wage earner , held  his bicycle and shook his head at the impatience of the young lad next to him . 

A young couple whispered something to each other in the dark and smiled . 

A saree clad lady was talking loudly on phone " No , we are stuck here in between two trains no !! I can't tell you what to cook right now . Just wash a bowl of toor dal and put it in the cooker with three bowls of water . Close the lid and wait for four whistles . After that switch the gas off . " 

"What ? Yes , you may watch the TV . " 
"Wait , did you dry the bathroom floor after your bath ." 

She held the hand of a young girl about , eight years old . The poor girl was spun round and round , as her mom dealt with someone else ( possibly another child ) at home . Not that there was lot of room to spin around . 

We were standing in the narrow safe space  between the second and the third railway tracks on a railway crossing .  There are five railway lines .

This railway crossing close to my parents' house , had become very busy of late . How busy I was just about to discover . Apparently there is a flyover , which is open only to the heavy traffic . The small rickshaws  and totos refuse to cross the railway crossing . 

There was a gap when the train on line one thundered past . So , all the waiting pedestrians quickly entered the no man's land to realise their exit was cut off by an infinitely long goods' train . We all turned in unison , to retrace our steps back , only to have our entry cut off by another passenger train , Gorakhpur express , which thundered in from the opposite end , and decided to keep sitting there , looming above us , dark and empty . 

Darkness had fallen , street lamps had come on , the hub bub of the bazaars on the either side could be heard not seen . We were sandwiched between two dark , looming and monstrous trains . Seen from a level height ( outside the railway platforms ) , I realised , trains could be highly intimidating . 

They were hostile , giant caterpillars made of iron . We were just tiny bugs on the wayside . 

Then the whistle sounded , A piercing whistle of doom . We all scrambled to look for a train free strip of land . The tution boy on the scooter , did lot of forward and backward movement to manoeuvre himself , still stubbornly astride his pulsating vehicle , much to the chagrin of the rest of us . He almost wheeled onto the burqa hem of the lady and earned a rebuke from the daily wage earner , who was quieter and more masterly with his rusted bicycle . The burqa lady's husband suddenly went sprinting towards the end of the Line . The burqa lady tried to follow him . Failing that , she tried to slow him " Arre suniye to" !! That too fell on deaf ears . She took one look at the train thundering towards us , and another at the blackness on either side of the railway lines , and decided to retreat to the safety of the small crowd . 

The Tata -jamshedpur chair car express , was full of passengers , brightly lit from inside . Squares of hopeful yellow lights fell on us , as it too , rattled past , totally ignoring us , a small group of people on the wrong side of a railway crossing . 

As the noise of Tata express died down , we began to realise that it might be a long wait before the two trains may move . 

The daily wage earner along with another companion of his , decided to walk the full length of the goods train and cross it from the front of the engine , emerging on the other , very dark and narrow pathway between the protective fence put up by the Railways , and the train . It was a very long walk , and I started to follow them , but quickly gave up , seeing that night had already fallen on those lonesome , woody areas , and they were notorious for crimes .

The amorous teenaged couple daringly went to the bit joining the two carriages of the goods train . The boy leapt up and sat on the rear part of one carriage and extended his hand to the girl . Upon catching , the girl tried to jump and she couldn't clear the height , so she hung like a limp rag at the end of the boys' firm grip . He pulled her up after few failed attempts , and they finally jumped to the other side . 

The burqa lady had removed her face cover and was staring anxiously at the line where her husband had run off to ,and disappeared from . Soon , she got a call , confirming that he had crossed the flyover and was waiting for her at the bazaar on the other end , beyond the goods' train . 

Now , she too , was in a hurry to cross . Finally , the saree clad lady , burqa lady and me , started walking towards the Gorakhpur express . After walking for some distance on the sharp edged pebbles that line the railway tracks , we came to a carriage which had its doors open , on either side , creating a conduit of sorts , in the dark . It was very risky , as the train could move any moment . 

We had seen some people from the goods' train end climb over and out of this carriage door . It was our only chance . The little girl , her saree clad mother , and the burqa lady , all climbed up ahead of me . Any mere  shuddering of the train and we would be shrugged off like fleas. My heart was thudding as I climbed roughly 6 feet up in the air , hauling myself up with the long handlebars and praying very hard . 

When you cross the inside of an empty dark train , it is advisable not to linger in the passageways or peer in the dark either. You never know what or who might jump out on you. A railway worker accusing you of trespassing or theft , a lone mangy dog , or a trespasser himself , clearing the competition. 

Once , safely on the other side of the train carriage , I stood at the door , hesitating for a fraction of the second . Others had already jumped down and were now walking away from the train . I cursed my flab and the lack of exercise . Then I leaned out and called the last person in the group . He was tall and walked sluggishly around , dragging his feet . Probably , a habitual drunk or a druggie . But he talked endlessly , and had helped the little girl down , I saw that . I called out to him to help me down too . I just wanted someone to be there . He understood , and returned , standing there on the sharp pebbled embankment , looking up , swaying like a reed in hurricane . It was very dark , a perilous place , and he was the only person who waited for me . 

It made me believe in the ways of the Lord . Of unusual companions on the path of life . Of finding goodness in the unlikeliest of places . 

He kept up his trademark commentary .

" Turn around ,will you . Take a good look at the rungs . Now , be slow . Why the heck they have to park trains like this ? Making life miserable for us . Where do you live ? Are you going home ?  Now , now . You can let go of the handlebar . It is so dark . Sheesh !! whatever happened to the government and it's promises for the poor ." 

He kept blathering . Blowing spit into the dark evening air , that smelt of burnt tire , smoke and fried eggs from the food vendors not far away . I thanked him . He hung around . Concerned . I told him I wanted to go to the Mall. 

" Oh The Mall !! Then why did you get down this side ? Mall is on the other side . You should have clambered over the goods train . Come on , let's go back . I'll help you . " 

I had enough  adventure for one day . So , I decided to skip. Besides , I had come to my parents' home for a day . Very soon , my worried father would start calling me . 

So I thanked him , and proceeded back home . True enough , the phone beeped the moment I stepped into the nineteenth century lift . "Baba calling ".

Sanity

 We are all 

on the brink 

I think 

the fall

off the precipice 

terrible price 

is exacted 

truth be told 

to remain 

sensibly sane 

blunt yourself 

be the idiotic elf 

be helpful ,

always cheerful 

be polite 

don't fright 

dreadful things 

reside within rugs 

No one told you yet 

everything can't be swept

under the carpet