The Library

The wrought iron gates  are, always  partly open .

 Rusted into introversion . 

Reluctantly admitting jeep loads of perfumed , spray -haired ladies . The old gates always creak , in protest , at this intrusion . Privacy invasion . 

Some sick (or smart ) soul decided that this area of benign neglect , needed a fresh coat of paint , some bugles , and smart , heel-clicking soldiers . 

Some buildings have souls. This is definitely an old soul , as souls go . There is peace , calm and serenity . Stubborn moss covers even most assiduously painted walls . 

Moss also covers the lawn , as a large peepul tree claims most of the skylight and sun . Army steadfastly plants new grass , every spring , to dry during summer , and be overrun by gleefully green slimy moss during monsoon. 

It is old , brooding and a place full of ancient wisdom . If places had souls , this one's as old as Buddha. The flowerpots either are overflowing , choked with greenery , or are dead , shrivelled . 

The lack of direct sun , keeps the verandah cool , like a bower , even during the heights of summer . 

 

                                                       &&&&&&&&&&&

Inside there are shelves , iron shelves , wooden shelves , concrete , in built cupboards . All overflowing with books . Books that were bought and perused by the British residents of the Cantonment , in the 1920s , 1930s , and newer additions, added later. 

It is a treasure to behold , and an honour to share . 

Every yellowed page smells of nostalgic perusal. Categories have been made , again with the same steady , enthusiastic , assiduity , which the army is famous for . But the boys who issue books , are rotated daily , and the classifications create greater confusion . 

The most confusing being the alphabetical classification.

One might find "chicken soup for soul" in the cookery section. Or Chaucer snuggling up with Cartland (of the Barbara kind), or National Geographic issues old , sitting on an unpainted , hastily made wooden shelf , beneath old issues of Navbharat times . Hindi novels sit in a separate corner , unread, like poor relatives from dusty provinces.

One of the best surprises was finding a robust , well-thumbed volume of  Rapidex English Course, sitting bang next to Rushdie's Shame . 

The theme is to expect the unexpected . Like a petulant , small brat in ponytail , who peered over the mahogany counter and asked for a "Kinder Joy" . The sepoy , on duty , promptly went to peer over in the "K" and then followed by "J" sections ,  only to be educated  by an older , family-wallah havildar that it was the name  of  a chocolate and not book . The kid , expectantly , silently , followed the sepoy around , sucking her thumb , in anticipation. 

                                                    &&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Wrong turn

As she stopped to catch her breath , she looked back .

The pariah dog had now changed its stance . It was no longer a timid , mangy creature , skulking around with its tail between the legs .

It was transformed into a fearsome canine , snarling and growling, rabid saliva drooling , standing feet apart , ready to strike . She knew she had blundered into its territory .

A vulture sat on the perimeter wall , eyeing the scene with inborn shrewd indifference .

This was an unfrequented road . Empty plots demarcated with low , crumbly , brick walls . Land sharks who had bought the fields , had stopped short of delivering their promise . Ornate lampposts , loomed above like dinosaur skeletons .

The plots were unkempt , weed grew dry and untidy , with garbage strewn .

In the early morning haze , she made out the shapes of lumps sitting in the weedy wasteland . Mattresses, bed sheets and pillows ! Heavens ! Who would now go and dump used bed linen in the middle of nowhere ?

 In a trice , things fell into place . The building , unlike any other , sitting at the end of the dusty road , comprised of a raised cement platform and a high tin roof , blackened with smoke . A small room at the entrance to serve as an office or a guard room .

She was standing outside an open air crematorium .

A sign read in punjabi, and  hindi " This in the end, is all that remains , my friend "w

The last word

“Your understanding of algebra is fuzzy !” A cloud of chalk dust arose from the table , where the duster had been forcefully thrown to emphasise the point . The remark was directed to one sorry individual , not the entire class .

“Is it ? Shouldn’t the word be hazy ? ” He countered with a smile . He was always treading on toes , picking grammatical error in a teacher’s remark is academic equivalent of committing harakiri. 

The kids gasped . The teacher faltered , stumped for a moment. A moment later , he said , sticking to his guns-“No , it is not !It is fuzzy , and faulty and unsound , like a mouldy apple .” 

The bell rang, kids got up , the boy mumbled ” But apples are sweet” thrusting maths book into his satchel .

The teacher emerged , pushed out by a tide of home-bound, eager , sweaty kids . 

“Hey you ! ” he had caught the boy again . “I heard that ” . 

“Apples are sweet , but mouldy ones aren’t , trust me .” The boy smiled his toothy grin . The teacher pumped his fist with an impish grin and disappeared in the sea of humanity.

Dust- storm

Swirls of dust,
godknowswhat
dirt and
gritty sand

Leaves dry
brown -green
in unison fly
march in tandem

Some pirouette
perfect coquette
others advance
with a breezy stance

Give you a live
bhangra dance
in circles jive
thump , prance

The wind must be
at speeds more than 60
gives your chin strap
a yank ,a  clap

the helmet slapped
against the head
face sandblasted
roaring crops and field


A puffed up polybag
swollen windbag
Wings up , up and away
Some wind today

Burn

To him, it came naturally . He cupped his hands expertly around the tiny flame , and blew , ever so gently . The flame , quivered , hesitated and went underground . The charred area of hay remained silent , and she was happy that the fire had burnt out . It unnerved her . Flames , fires . He revelled in them . She caught him panting , with excitement . Why so ? His tears had not yet dried . His eyelashes , long and curved , stuck to each other , moist . 

Then, a wisp of smoke , emerged ,from the other end of the hay filled thatch roof . He was grim , and satisfied , almost happy . Then, he had dragged her away , from the scene of crime .

She should have raised an alarm then , she would later recount, tearfully , to her parents , siblings , several times . What she was witnessing was an act of arson , and she didn’t know it . She thought it was just a prank , another one of his . How was one to know the devastating consequences of what was to follow?

  

                                               $$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$

It was another routine Sunday . Panditji had gone and plucked flowers from the school garden , for his pooja . Kept them on the doorway , and was washing his hands and feet . Panditji was old and he used a lathi , to support himself , when he walked . Now Panditji had a grandson named Bhoja , who had , recently adopted a stray dog . He called him Bhajana , and the two became quickly inseparable . Panditji was famous for his mercurial temper , and Bhoja always bore the brunt of his rages . Both loathed each other . 

    

A dog , that too pariah , curled up in panditjis path , to and fro the temple , was not at all acceptable . Bhajana  bore several lathi swings stoically , and learned to give the old man , wide berth . Bhoja's unflattering report card had arrived on saturday night . Raucous sounds of beratings emananted from Pandit's household ,in the night , for a long time . 

Bhoja ran away in the morning . He forgot to feed Bhajana. Hunger is a  great motivator . Bhajana didn't see Panditji, neither was he aware of his seething temper. And he nosed the flower basket , looking for concealed treats . 

What followed next , was explosive . The entire locality gathered . People tut-tutted , and moved on , unable to intervene , and unable to witness such brutality. It was an oath , a thud of the lathi swing and a piteous yelp . Million times over . 

Anju covered her ears with her blanket , as she wept into her pillow , waiting for the yelping and the beating to stop. Anju was Bhoja's classmate , friend , and partner-in -crime . Eventually , she couldn't take it any more. She raced to the fruit orchard , where she found him , perched on his favourite jack -fruit tree , chewing a twig . She narrated , he jumped , wide eyed , and ran home , heart -in -the -mouth. 

The dog was reduced to a pulp almost , Bhoja jumped infront of his grandfather , who didn't discriminate . In his blind rage , he continued to swing , till the thuds had stopped eliciting yelps , as they fell on Bhoja now.  His daughter-in-law , had broken purdah rules , and plucked her son into her arms , screaming at the "mad old man ". The crowd dispersed , as the old man , now contrite , withdrew. 

Bhoja refused food , or to come inside . He fetched an old blanket , covered up Bhajana, and stayed up with him , whole night ,till he breathed his last , in the wee hours of the morning . 

Anju , intermittently , came to give him company , and an occasional glass of water , which he offered to the still snout of his beloved friend . Finally , a kind neighbour , helped Bhoja dig a grave , and bury Bhajana , along with his few worldly possessions , a rattle , Bhoja's old school shoes and some bread (on Bhoja's insistence). 

                                               $$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$

It was a change that Anju noticed , when he was patting the soil on top of Bhajana's grave . Bhoja stopped sobbing , took a deep breath , and became still . As if he had come to a resolution . 

She knew he was hurting , and she couldn't leave him alone .

So , when he brought matchbox out at dusk , and told her "Do you want to see some thing ?" She agreed to go with him . She even , with profound guilt , remembers giggling , as he set fire to the thatch roof of his grandfather's hut . 

                                               $$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$

The fire raged all night , and threatened to swallow the paint factory , next door. So , it was the factory owner who got fire engines to screech into the small village, dousing fires in the "Pandit Mohalla". The old man was admitted to the General Hospital with 65% burns . 

                                              $$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$

Anju belonged to a conscientious family. Her father , the school teacher , took her to the pandit mohalla , when Police came for interrogation . Anju spilled the beans . Bhoja , stood stoic , arms folded , and refused to acknowledge . He said Anju was "lying " , and that "he didn't know her ". Pandit family accused Anju of being a corrupt influence on their beloved son . The policeman smiled and dismissed both the kids and their parents . 

Anju went crying home .

That fire had burnt up a great deal . 

                                           $$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$

Excellence

Every art is like a 

monkey dance 

every artist , a monkey 

biding his chance 

I am better 

hear hear 

oh madam , siree 

look at me ,here 

We all are 

jugglers 

flame eaters

sword swallowers 

Some swallow 

better 

some eat fire 

better than other

That is all there 

who's better ?

that one , there 

this one , here?

Commodities 

even oddities 

we weigh , prepare 

judge, criticise, compare 

In the end 

we find 

a buyer 

a fool, a town crier 

crying out untruths 

about 

whereabouts 

of excellent arts 

bartered 

in a ground 

a market 

where you'd

sell

yourself.

Who's first ?

                                            Scene---1.

It is afternoon. Adults are  taking their afternoon nap. Kids are doing anything other than what they are meant to -study. 

The bell rings . The oldest child in the family answers the bell . A dishevelled "pahari"( men from the hills ) , stands there , his kohl-lined eyes almost blood shot . Deadpans - " Shehed lena hai ". (want honey ). 

The teenager with her Justin Bieber addled brain , sees a glimmer of comprehension and asks him to wait . Skips to her mom , shakes her ample, slumbering tummy .  "Mummy , someone has come , asking for honey." 

By the time the sleepy housewife has dragged her feet to the door, comprehension has dawned , and alarm bells have begun ringing . For these kohl-eyed paharis are notorious for thieving ways. 

"What do you want ?" 

"Shehed chahiye ?" 

" Nahin" Door slammed. 

"You thought he wanted honey ? He was selling honey , baby . " 

                                                  Scene---2.

"When bees become extinct , humans will follow suit , shortly , so said a famous scientist."

"how?"

"See , bees are eaten by bee-eaters , they will die . Crops wont be cross pollinated , so failure of crops, and lot of other species , dependant on crops will die ."

The gyan was being spouted earnestly by a mom , who thought no end of herself , an insufferable know-it-all.  The audience comprised of a reluctant child with her head in clouds and hands into a plate of enticing , hot ,french fries.

" And so you too will die , if bees die." The mom tried to finish off , with a flourish. 

"Why will I die ? I don't eat bees , I eat  fries ." Said the child , with  her mouth full of fries and head full of Katy Perry's lyrics.