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 

Avian chatter

 One treepie squeaked its opinion 

In reply , far off , another minion 

Squeaked right back , instantly 

The mynah tut tutted petulantly 

Babblers fought a war of words 

In the world of the birds 

 I thought how bad could it get 

Then I saw them rolling in the dirt 

Next moment with avian fickleness 

they had skewered themselves in tight lines 

On a single branch , for  shared body heat 

fighting the winter chill , with collective grit 

The mynah tut tutted again , marching upright 

Looking out for food , grain and mite(s) 

No one can wing it like the little swift 

when darkness falls , like winged gifts 

They fly , swing , sway , dip and lift 

A real treat for the eyes , shaped T 

The brain fever bird is really feverish 

calls of the koel , has really reached a pitch 

The dove perches 

 on a tree and belches 

it has lots to say 

throughout the day 

So does the barbet 

it keeps up the beat 

But anytime of the day , that one sound 

which you hear ,  constant and profound 

Is the hammering constant 

of coppersmith barbet 

never missing the sharp beat 

like the forests'  beating heart 

When one tires and quietens 

the other pipes up and hearkens 

Hark now 

the crow 

Warning all and sundry 

silencing the gentry 

A little while later 

Bulbul picks up the matter 

All is well brothers , it coos 

Replied by  Golden orioles

Oh Yes ! We know that bros 

In a flash of black and gold 

a short tale is told 

Of Brilliance 

Forbearance 

Human nature

"No matter what the job description says , your  real job is  to make the boss look good." -  Lois Wyse 

"Good morning Mrs Poddar." She had wished , timidly, even before entering the room . As novices are wont to .

But it wasn't Mrs Poddar at the table, it was Mrs Ray , her successor. She was tall , lean ,dark , athletic, and wore a kurti on a pair of jeans. No nonsense. 

" Hello Uma ! Please come in ." " Have some water. " She pushed the glass of water towards her across the glistening glass topped mahogany table. 

"Listen Uma. I called you to tell you , that you have to give up your portfolio of secretaryship." 

Uma choked and sprayed the water from her mouth on the glass top.

"It's ok . Sorry we couldn't give you much notice." She grabbed a napkin and dabbed on Uma 's saliva mixed water everywhere on the table. 

Mrs Ray was efficient and didn't believe in wasting time. 

" Come lets go for a walk." 

" Ma'am." Uma sputtered as she was guided from the room.

On her way out , Mrs Ray, redolent of French perfume, rang the bell, " Bintu , isko clean Karo ." She motioned the peon to the table.

Uma was reminded of the day last week, in this very office. 

Humans are strange beings . They exhibit strange behaviour . Their actions are not commensurate with the expected result . I find the most intelligent of people do strange things. 

So, this day had dawned . The Organisation , we will call it that , for the time being , suffered from a shortage of manning ( or should we call it womanning ) staff . The secretary had held the position for a back breaking second year , in succession , and it was telling on her patience . 

Of course , she had held it for two reasons . One , she was at the bottom of the hierarchy , and aspired to weave her way up . The hard way . The second reason was , she loved the adulation that came along with slogging . The podium speeches , long winding poems and presence . It was a despised job and a coveted one , at the same time . You had the power over the powers-that-be . Wrapping them around your little finger , but you had to slog hard for it . Organise meetings , be an errand boy at functions , be the fall guy when things go south . In short , the works .

The Secretary was a quirky lady called Praja . She was always on the edge . Always doing things . When not organising picnics , she would plug her favourite music into her ears , and ran for miles . Specially in foggy winters , where lesser mortals were still squirming inside quilts , warming themselves . She was what is called in Medical parlance , a type A personality . Competitive , fast . Always . 

Mrs Poddar was the Head of the department . One would envisage a portly , fat matron at this post , bearing that name . She was anything but . She was sprightly , pretty , well dressed . Mostly , outrageously . If it was a welcome occasion , she was the one to lead the pack in an off shoulder gown with a thigh high slit . Leading a posse of clucking , saree clad matrons . 

Mrs Poddar created a nuke race of sorts . No one wanted to be left behind , to appear older than their boss's wife . But , all didn't have the panache to carry her sartorial excesses . 

That too in their doddering middle ages . Praja was the closest rival . However , she was aeons ( read decade ) younger than any of the afore mentioned matrons . 

Praja had held this post for two years . Now , two years is a long time , specially when kids are growing . Being a tiger mom didn't stop her from furthering her own career , and doing a jolly good job of it . 

Now she needed a break . She put her point forward , rather bluntly , at the meeting . 

" I have kids too. I need to pay attention to my family too." She said , after all other potential candidates had professed to putting their family first . 

Now , Mrs Poddar was in a fix . A fix she had never been in before , thanks to Praja . The ever present , all efficient praja , who more than likely had made the entire organisation look like a bunch of buffoons ( which they were , in essence ). 

A recent addition was Uma, a lady with two small school going kids , who painted wonderfully well and sold her painted cloth , canvas , paper crafts , flower vases , with mild degrees of success . 

She was tasked with taking in charge of the secretary's job . It was taken on with great deal of reluctance . 

Until one day,  one week later .when she was summoned to Mrs Poddar's office. 

"But , Mrs Ray , I thought there was no one else to do it ."  Uma stammered, sunshine pouring rainbows into her eyes smarting with tears , due to recent choking. 

.

" Eda Uma " Mrs Ray broke into permissible amount of Malayalam , as there was no one in sight. 

" There still isn't." 

"Then why / how , Mrs Ray? " 

Here Mrs Ray lowered her voice and spoke in rapid Malayalam into Uma's ears .

"That girl Praja , no ? She called Mrs Poddar , and Mrs Poddar called me saying I should reinstate her. " 

Uma's mouth fell open. She was speechless .

" Human nature da . Can't do much." 

Mrs Ray shrugged . 

Mynahs

We are lucky to be posted to jungles , with its green coverage . It provides a habitat for numerous birds , and on one's morning walks , one invariably sees one or the other bird , which is unique to this part of the country . 

 I often say that for every kilometre covered , you at least see 10 different species of birds . This thumb rule has held true for most of the last three stations we have been posted  . Hopefully , it will continue , for the next few too . 

First the common birds . What is common to one place becomes uncommon to the other place . I discovered this of late . 

The mynahs . They are numerous , raucous and you see them everywhere . But here, in West bengal , I have seen more varieties of mynah than anywhere else .  The common mynah , as the name goes , is quite common . It has a yellow eye mask , and has yellow feet ( like gumboots ) , and marches regally , when landing on your lawn . One colourful author described them as French Gendarmes .It also keeps itself to the periphery , wary of humans . Unlike babblers , who hop , skip and jump , as close to the sapiens , as possible . 

Then there are pied mynahs( or pied starlings ) , which have a black and white body , orangish bill and behave very much like their common cousins . They also have orange eye masks , instead of yellow .

The jungle mynahs , have no eye masks , instead they have a beady black , yellow ringed eye , with a rakish tuft of black hair right above their beak . They are more slender and agile than other mynahs .

The brahminy starling , is a close relative , and has a pious black streak of hair running down their heads . Rest of the head is ashy . The body is orange underside with grey ash  wings . It , like its name suggests , keeps to itself , Mingles with other brahmin folk , and rarely comes down from its perch , even when food is provocatively scattered in their path . 

Then comes grey headed starling . It looks old , and wise . Owing to its head of grey . Rarely seen . Mostly on treetops .

Bank mynah was visible only in Punjab , that too in the holes of the walls of a culvert bypass, where they nested in vast numbers . They look like ash necked crows , except for smaller sizes , yellow feet and orange / brick red peri orbital skin. 

Hark , hark , the Bark

  Like   scared rivers 

My path meanders 

"Sacred , not scared " 

I stand corrected 

I declare  I am terrified 

Of canines , petrified 

Every single customary bark 

Uttered in jest , takes me back 

Paths of self doubt 

Rapidly   sprout 

shaking my heart 

with rapid fire heat

I am ready to beat 

a hasty retreat 

My accomplice my feet 

forever comply this feat 

Matters escalate 

apprehension conflate 

"they bark because they can " 

My friends try to placate 

"Exactly !! " I reply with a pant 

"And I run for walk I cant "

Not with salivating jowls 

emitting blood curdling howls 

Close to my heels 

Don't you know how it feels ?