It was early autumn.
A nip in the air , and the old neighbour , who moved in last week , came out of the door . He didn't bother to lock the door behind, as someone lurked in the shadows. Despite the darkness inside , Mrs.Khurana could make out the crumpled cotton nightie of Mrs. Sehgal .
Mrs. Khurana was a certified busy body , she took insane and immense pride in knowing each and every details about happenings in all the households in the colony . It was her hobby . Like others paint , read , write , or travel . She poked her nose into other people's affairs , homes , and kitchens , and didn't stop at that . She liked what she saw , heard and deduced . She knew of Mrs. Sehgal's nightly enemas , of young Baweja's secret heartthrob (s), of Suri's mighty struggle (behind closed doors , of course ) with the bottle , and her own nighttime visions .
Of these , the last were most disturbing to Mrs. Khurana , and she lay awake , many a night , seeing these "visions" as she called them , as Mr. Khurana , after a day spent usefully in gardening , and yoga , snored peacefully , next to her.
In her "visions", she saw sickness, death , adultery and elopement.
All the elements of her favourite soap. Only the characters were real . They also had a prophetic quality about them .
She had dreamt that Vinod, the plumber's favourite cat is going to be crushed under the wheels of a gigantic truck . She spoke her fears to the gardener, Ajay, as he hunched on her begonias , next morning , uprooting doob grass by the fistfuls , and he had snorted into the grass. He was happy to hear that the black cat who crossed his path every morning , and sat cleaning itself on his parapet , like an evil omen , was about to die . But it was far from the reality .
Even today ,Ajay had to rush in back , sprinkle ganga-jal , and recite hanuman chalisa , all the way to work , because , this woe-begone cat had stretched , leapt and landed itself right in Ajay's path to work , unfazed by curses and stoned whizzing past its fur , it coolly marched across the road , tail high up in the air.
It happened , right that afternoon. Only difference being , it was a tractor , the brick guy . He drove recklessly , and played loud bhangra , which blared above the rattletrap din of the tractor , driving humans crazy with noise , and freezing black cats , in their tracks , with the sudden explosion of noise . Vinod made a huge fuss. The driver , his god-damned song still blaring , just shrugged and said -"I thought it was a black stone . "
"Any way , she should have moved away , with all the din . " People nodded and sided with the driver . Notching up the music , further high , he drove away , with cat fur and blood , clinging to his tyres.
Vinod wanted a day-off, but the builders would have nothing of it .
"It was a black cat , after all , a bad omen !" That is what all said .
He was distraught , and buried the remains behind the compound walls , right outside Mrs.Khurana's garden . It was a coincidence , not a pleasant one . It rattled Ajay.
Ajay found his voice , cleared his throat, next day , when Mrs. K appeared holding his tea , and said -"I can't work any more . "
For weeks after that , Mrs.K found , unpleasantly enough , people whispering behind her backs.
She thought people would find her clairvoyance exciting . She thought she was finally going to hit the jackpot , she had dreamt all her life of . She would imagine people touching her feet , showering gold coins . Instead , she found herself ostracized .
Even Mr.K called her a "fool" (one of his strongest expletives ) , to go and "blabber" to illiterate gardeners .
Since then , Mrs.K kept her "visions " to herself , and suffered , in silence . Watching begonias begone was painful enough , swallowed by weeds and neglect .
Like a scientific mind , Mrs.K thought a lot about this incident. It seemed to replay in her minds' eye , again and again , like a movie rerun . Why were the tyres so big ? Why was the fear so overpowering ?,"Paralysing fear ", in my vision ? Mrs. K concluded that she , or her mind was with the cat , when it was crushed . It was not a pleasant conclusion .Mrs. K drove it from her mind , employed a mali , who was luckily a muslim , and got the drying begonias and weeds uprooted from her garden .
She had bought gladioli seedlings , and they contentedly wallowed in a plastic tub of water , waiting to be planted , as Mrs. K sipped her morning green tea , on her porch , when the sudden searing heat and intense sharp pain of a bite, with a pronounced perception of pitch-darkness , in the early morning sun , made itself known to her .
She stopped , mid -sip , and spoke in a frozen, stern voice to Mr.Sehgal , now battling with the doors of his car "You shouldn't leave her behind . "
Mr. Sehgal, was a retired colonel. In his heyday , he was posted to the Arabian desert, during the Operation Desert Storm. He had been sent back with PTSD to his unit shortly afterwards. This permanently left him with a nervous predisposition . Small , unexpected sounds make him start.
The unexpected , robot-like voice of Mrs. K had a similar reaction on him . He froze, and dropped his keys to the ground. His eyes bulged and mouth fell open.
"It is dark in there, and the lawn is overgrown." The robot voice continued.
Mr.Khurana was tied up in an intricate yoga asana. He watched from his living room window, the unfolding of events. He quickly disentangled himself , and with amazing speed, rushed out . With one brush of his hand , he "woke" his wife up. Startled, she dropped green tea onto her lap , scalded herself, and jumped up. Simultaneously, a piercing scream ensued from the darkened room of Mrs.Sehgal.
Ten minutes later , Mrs. K was supporting the lolling head of Mrs.Sehgal , as Mr.K drove the tin box rattling old car of Mr. S, while Mr.S sat next to him chafing his hands , muttering strange words. Mrs.S was speaking incoherently, and frothing from the corner of her mouth . The froth was diligently wiped by a continuously apologetic Mrs. K , with the corner of her pale green gown , stained with green tea , down the front.
Due to the alacrity and presence of the mind of their neighbours, Mrs.S was saved . It was widely seen as a conclusion to the clairvoyant abilities of Mrs.K. It was a small but deadly snake , commonly known as krait.
Mrs. K's clairvoyance became the talk of the town . People , out of curiosity and journalists thronged her home front . She could no longer sit on her favourite arm chair , in her lime green night gown and sip green tea. Mr.K could no longer practise his two hour long yoga asanas in peace.Their immaculate lawn was trampled upon and the gladioli never took off.
While Mrs.K stopped having visions ,and slept like a log , lolling head , salivating mouth kind of a sleep, Mr.K kept awake the nights , as he was deprived of his yoga-routine. It made him irritable and ruined the fragile balance of peace in the K household.
Eventually , Mrs.K put her foot down , and stopped seeing the early morning visitors , who would force sweet-dabbas into her hands and ask if she has had any visions about pappu passing class ten , by any chance , hainji?
She had started putting on lipstick and wooden heels and pressed , perfumed clothes , early in the morning . (which she said made her feel very uncomfortable). She stopped this practise forthwith , and went back to her gown - and green tea routine .They employed two nasty looking , baton wielding security guards who would sit at the gate , driving sweet-dabba-wallahs away.
In absence of any further visions , the crowd thinned and eventually disappeared.
Mr. K could now , peacefully practise his yoga .
All was well .
Yesterday , the muslim gardener of Mrs.K came to borrow a trowel , and furtively looking everywhere , asked me if I knew something about a black cat ? Upon asking why , he replied ,with great deal of reluctance " I have been seeing this cat coming under a truck's wheels , in my nighttime visions."
