The vicinity of the milk shop always stinks of sour curd, despite all supplies arriving in sterile, leak proof , brightly coloured plastic pouches .
When I ask for a tray of eggs , she winces, as if I had asked a wrong item. I notice that the heap has dwindled from when last seen. Then I realise that fresh supplies have been
stopped for Navaratri.
I wonder if they are ok to eat. But I know the answer already if I voice my doubts, so I accept my eggs quietly.
Next on my list was a picture of the Goddess for my quasi devout Mom. She just wanted a picture to look at while she recites her prayers ( very audibly) every morning after bathing. My mother is 81 plus and is mostly stationary. She cannot indulge in the calisthenics involved in offering incense and flowers .
Hence liberating herself from the performance of rituals involved.
Lo behold. Right opposite the milk shop was a tiny shop which had put out a bench onto the street, arrayed with the pictures of the Goddess. It is a framing shop , as I can tell . The framed white horses , splashing in pristine surf , jostle for space with the various Gods and Goddesses of the Hindu Pantheon . There are large Radha and Krishna paintings /prints , framed in gilt , and tinier Durga , astride the lion , wielding all weapons in a kind of halo . I have been asked to get one picture of the Goddess by my ageing mother.
Not one to refuse demands from the elderly , I find myself trying to adjust the egg tray , on one corner of the bench , which is completely God free . A hysterical cry springs from the dark , hitherto , unmanned bellies of the shop .
"Usko wahan mat rakhiye . " ( Don't keep it there ) , too scandalised to even name the eggs . I quickly pick up my offending item . This time I decide to hold it aloft , away from the human touch , like a shrine .
An indignant face appears , smeared on the forehead with the tell tale red tikka , of the devout .
One look at my trousered legs , and shorn locks , and he has already concluded my religious affiliation . Possibly christian , he is thinking .
"Aap Hindu nahin hain ?" ( Aren't you a Hindu ?"
"Bilkul hain ." I answer quickly . Why else would I be buying pictures of the Goddess , in the festive season ?
"Isko yahan par mat rakhiye , I have to supply the gift wrapping papers to the temple . " He offered as a means of explanantion .
"I have to buy eggs for elderly at home . " I too , offered as an explanation . The same elderly , who has sent me on this ironical errand . I wanted to add , but refrained .
"Oho ? I see . Anyway , these ( pointing to the eggs ) are not fertilised anyways , so it is veg only . " He laughed , I could see two rows of paan stained teeth .
I laughed back in relief .
Carrying the bag containing the goddess in my right hand and eggs held aloft in my left hand , I have actually run out of holding spaces .
Next stop , a bindi shop . For the very same elderly . By now , people have started avoiding coming closer to me . Women deflect the upper half of their body , so as to not be defiled in the presence of such an obnoxious item in my hand .
I create a minor commotion in the bindi shop , which is narrow and crowded . Everyone skirts around my egg tray , and I have been asked not to enter the shop .
After fifteen minutes of pointing at "Yeh wala " , "Nahin woh wala " (this one , no , that one ) ,
I give up .
The sales girl is new and she can't find any thing . Besides , the pooja rush ensures a thick stream of ladies asking for cosmetics , combs and other items , not only for the Goddess ka shringar , but for themselves as well . It is hopeless .
People are giving me disgusted and frankly angry looks . "Look at his woman , can't survive without eating eggs for even ten days , shame on her . " I can hear them think .
On my way back , I enter a grocery shop . To buy flour , again , for the very same elderly . People look at me askance , wondering "What is wrong with her ?"
There is an empty stool by the door . I ask the shopkeeper if it is ok to keep the eggs there . The shopkeeper , a fat Pickwickian personality breaks into guffaws . He nods , then offers me frozen chicken from his freezer .
"No , I just want a kilo of atta . "
"Rice ?"
"No."
"Dry fruits ?"
"No. Doctor has forbidden us from having dry fruits . " I try to joke .
"I eat medicines , and continue to eat dry fruits . A car needs petrol . We need fuel . "
He is either a non believer , or a very good salesman . But I am thankful for him to have accepted my eggy presence . The atta arrives , I pay , and leave .
Now , I have to walk with atta sitting on top of the egg tray in my left , and Goddess in my right . I have arms splayed , almost like the Goddess herself . Perhaps , in a twisted sense , I am carrying weapons .
I make a beeline to the car . still holding my offensive cargo aloft , and people scatter .
I might as well be carrying grenades .
No comments:
Post a Comment