45 days. That was the number that he had in his mind, when he returned from the office that evening. Forty Five days to live this life to the fullest. After that it was a period. He had to decide what he wants to do in those days…
Those days would be his last days.
Early morning next day, he left out on his bike.He went to the shop on the side of the hill, bought a beedi and sat there watching the clouds. Clouds passionately kissing the hilltops. Then he remembered her, and their first kiss. She was coming back from the temple, through the muddy by-lane which had huge walls on the both sides. Sun was setting. He met her while she took the turn to her house. And she offered the sandal wood ‘prasad’. But he wanted it to be done by her and so she obliged, and pasted the paste of ‘prasad’ on his forehead. He in return took her face in his both hands and kissed her. Nothing was planned, it just came and she didn’t hesitate.
That ended there, and they separated. And now he doesn’t know where she is. He just remembered her, and his past life.
That night, he packed his bag and went out again on a journey. To meet people, to capture the last glimpses of the places he knew very well. For days he wandered, alone, but with memories of his past life. To his school, where he was a kindergarten kid, to his college where is studied the algebra’s of life, to his hostel room where he found himself.
He drove down to his past companies, where he did various kinds of jobs for a living. He went to his favorite dimly light lit bar and boozed, took tequila shots for the one final time.
He came back to his house, invited his best buddies. Some turned up; some said some excuses and didn’t come. He served them Chicken Curry that he always made to its best. And had Rum, Vodka and Champagne for a toast. He delighted them with music, and Ghazals. They partied into the late night.
He woke up with a heavy hang over the next day. The hall where they partied the last night was a mess, with glasses, bottles, plates and food all over. Nobody was there. He checked the time in his watch and noticed the date. One month more.
He went to his bed room, took out an envelope from the drawers of his table and opened it. Inside it was a letter. He read it once again, put it back into the envelope, and wrote the address of his best friend. He sent out his marriage invitation letter, after those last days of his bachelorship.
Thursday, August 03, 2006
Thursday, April 20, 2006
Yet Another Love Story
The Mail Express was very late that day when it reached Cannanore Railway Station. In its last leg of journey, it looked like an old man. The sound and smoke of the engine reminded of person vomiting blood after severe cough. People had begun finding their ways out, to continue their onward journey. And by the time I got down last from that compartment, she had got into the arms of her parents. I could see the happiness of home coming in her tired face.
There was a reason why I noticed her even after getting down. Hours ago, probably I must be the first person to notice the wetness on her left eyelid. Next to her he was sitting, with the closeness of being more than a friend. I was sure that they were not a married couple, the signs didn’t say so. But it was my friend, who was an expert in Man-Woman relationships, who confirmed that they were young human beings who are inseparable in life.
I wouldn’t have noticed them and would have indulged into my reading until he put his left hand behind her neck, clutched the steel rod of the window and brought her close to him. She rested her head on his shoulders and held his right hand. My mind was getting dirty, hoping to see some romantic actions that might come up, and since I sat across them I had a nice view of them. They should be students studying in some big college out of the state. It was vacation time and they are coming back. They were surrounded with more young people, who seemed to be their friends or classmates. But they never disturbed the couple in their private moments.
She was talking to him continuously. Their acts and faces clearly said about the separation they were about to face. Minds struck with grief of a possible break-up. It reminded me about the ‘couples’ who sat on the college gallery during my college days. Most of the gallery portion will be crowded by the final year students. A boy and girl, either of them who will be leaving the college in few days, will be walking hand in hand. They will then walk down the ground through the sides of the Chemical Block and finally reach the Ladies Hostel. In front of the Hostel Gate at the Dispensary, they will sit and talk till its time for her to get in.
What was the difference between them and the couple in the train? Romance built up on the same mould. Some stay, some separate – all decided by destiny.
As the train approached the station I heard silent sobs across the seat. She was crying and his face was red. From a mature young man who was consoling his mate a few minutes ago, his face now turned to that of a young kid who couldn’t control his sentiments. Suddenly he took her hand from his, stood up and walked to the doors and stood there. She looked at him. The moist eyes were calling him back and she yearned for a hug from him.
The train blew out a long horn, indicating its entry into the station. She started packing her bags. Handkerchief wiped out the final tears on her cheeks. When the train stopped, she got down through the door opposite to the one he was standing. Later he too got down, and behind him I and my friend.
We stood there on the platform drinking a tea, browsing the Higgin Botham’s book store and saw her pass by along with her parents. She was a cheerful young girl now. As we climbed the over bridge I saw him sitting on a bench, looking at a walking her in the distance. Once she looked at him and smiled. He buried his heart-aches in that smile and then he walked away, in the opposite direction.
I and my friend discussed about them and their relationships. Her transformation from a crying lover to a happy daughter was something which I could never understand. My friend explained the intricacies of those relationships and the state through which her mind traveled. It is either love or lust, nothing else. He concluded.
At night, as I wade through the pages of my book, she came to my mind again. Whom did I see? A lover going to bed, after a long phone call with him, with mind full of him and his memories? Or a student sleeping deeply with the tiredness of the final exam behind her?
After a long study, scribble and dinner as I switch off my bedroom lamp late in the night those two young love birds and their love stayed on in my mind.
As an ever lasting picture in the mind of a writer.
Above all, as an unresolved mystery.
Friday, April 07, 2006
When My Eyes Lost 'It'
“I lost my specs, I lost my specs” yelled poor me.
I was always attached with my beloved Speckie Darling, and I couldn’t live without her. She ascended the great throne between my two ears when I was in class 8 and since then she has been there, growing proudly. Her vital stats revealed a sexy -4.5 and -4 sized big cut cucumber pieces. Huh!! She was gorgeous. Truly.
I was lost, and as I went down the sea bed to search her wave numbers 8734567840 to 8734567845 came in and I was swept ashore.
I am half blind now. I cannot see the distance, I cannot read, I cannot watch TV, I cannot ogle at the foreign tourist in her bikinis, I cannot drive, I cannot take food from the Rs. 275/- + taxes buffet at the hotel without looking at the name tag so closely.
I am frustrated.
I decided to check out in the town. I find an optical shop. I am glad. Cloud Nine!!
“Boss, I want a frame and lenses with this prescription. When can I get it?” I ask Mr. Owner.
“In 3 days” He replies after a deep study of my prescription.
“What? I am asking for a normal lens and you need three days for that?” asked the Kaliph akka Kalippan in me.
“We don’t have a factory here, it need to be made”
“But normal optical shops give me it in a day or max 3 hours"
“This is not a normal optician shop young man. We serve the foreigners who come here and we would live on them and not on once in a life time creeps like you. May be you can try contact lenses if you are in an urgency.”
Contact lenses, they are supposed to be kept inside the eyes. Won’t they harm? How will I put it in? Thoughts and more thoughts.
Finally I decided to give it a try.
Mr. Owner comes up with the set and hands it over to me.
“All yours, dude.”
“But how will I put it?”
“Never used before?”
“Nah.”
“Okay, sit on that chair. I will come in a moment.”
He briefs me about the rituals that should be performed, before putting in the lenses. Then he shows me the new green cell membrane like lenses that will cover up my old speckies.
He tells me to open up my right eye. I reluctantly do it. But he is not satisfied. With much force he opens ups my two eyelids. Poor my black beauty. I can see her enlarge; she is tense as she senses something is going to pierce into her. She sees the green thin membrane on top of a finger. She feels she is to be broken into pieces. She feels she will be raped, by a sadistic male pervert, who with his dagger like fingers wants to rob whatever she has left in her.
My Oh My!!! Her Ijjat and Virginity at stake???
With all my power I release my eyelids from his custody and tries closing them, like a rape victim who tries to latch the door when the villain approaches her (As seen in many movies).
“What are you doing? Open it up”.
He tells me about how the eyes should be kept open and how the lens should be put in with the finger. Then he pulls the eyelids back again and stretches them to maxima. I pull them down when he approaches with his finger. The tug of war goes for sometime, and finally he puts it in, with much difficulty.
He puts in the other too onto my left eye with the same amount of effort he had to use for my right eye. The new lenses floated on the tears that bathes the eye when I blinked them.
Thus I got vision, my eyes still itching of the new covering they have got. Mr. Owner came in again; this time to demonstrate how to remove the covers.
He asked me to open up the eyelids again. As I do it he puts in his eye again onto my eye-balls and pulls the covering down. Then he tries to pluck the lens with his two fingers. My black beauty is scared. She cries.
“He is plucking me out. He is plucking me out. Help!! Help!!”
In the end, he succeeds. The lenses are in his hands. My eyes turn red. She is bleeding.
My eyes, she lost it. The sacred thing, her virginity.
Friday, February 10, 2006
That Thin Line Between Sin And Salvation
It was three in the early morning when the driver stopped the bus for a break. Govind woke up from his seat. He needed a puff; he wasn’t sleeping all the night. The business proposal from his client was worrying him much. He walked down to the hotel across the small ground. It was crowded, yet he made his way into the counter boy and got one cigarette.
“Yevalavu Vila Aachu” – Govind asked the cost in the little Tamil he knew. It was somewhere on the Tamilnadu –Kerala Border that the bus has been stopped.
“Randu Roopai”
Govind gave him the two rupees and walked to the Public Phone kept near benches. He dialed his friend’s number. It was one of his hobbies to call his friends in the midnight. He was feeling bored, and also he had to inform his friend about his arrival.
At the end of the 4th ring some one picked up at the other end.
“Machcha, Govind Here”.
“Who? Which Govind?” Answered a feeble voice
“Abhey Saale, The Same Govind who baptized you on the rocks.”
“Oh Machcha, tell me, Where are you?”
“I am on my way to Calicut, Thinking of dropping at your place, will you be there…. around.. at ..” . It was then he noticed the fragile old man who was making the tea.
“…..”
“Hello, Machcha, You there”
“Kich, will call you later”, and Govind hung the phone up.
He walked up to the tea maker. The tea maker, when he saw Govind asked.
“You need Tea?”
“Sir, Aren’t you Vijayan Sir?”
“I’m sorry, you need tea?”. Replied the old man
“Sir, Aren’t you Vijayan Sir, who taught us Economics at the engineering college.” persisted Govind with his question.
“If so, who are you? And why are you disturbing me? Can’t you see that I am doing my work?” asked the man impatiently.
“Sir, I am Govind, Govind Ramesh. You taught us Economics in S5 at the college. You remember?”
“No, I don’t and I don’t want to remember anything.” The old man threw his kettle to the table and walked out angrily to the dark.
******
Years before that man was Vijayan Sir, the most famous and affectionate teacher of a lot of students in the campus. Govind Ramesh was one among them, so were his gang of four – Ravi, Akki and Kich. He was the one who bought life in to their ever-boring techie classes. He elaborated them about the Demand and Supply philosophy of Economics in a witty, simple way. In short he took them in his hand and soon his classes were mostly full. But the relationship deteriorated one day.
It all started with Vijayan Sir, catching Govind doing malpractice during his exam. He couldn’t tolerate this childish act. Even though Govind said sorry, Vijayan Sir was furious about it. He couldn’t stand it and got him a two weeks suspension. Slowly the frustration was building up in Govind’s mind. That turned into a kind of revenge. The lesser marks in the economics papers later in the year rubbed salt into his wounds. His mind was seeking only one thing. Revenge.
He waited for two more years. The gang of four made the master plan. They had noticed Vijayan Sir’s walk back to the staff quarters. He used to take the narrow by-lane, across the Hostel Mess, straight down under their hostel terrace, to his house across the college ground. It was a shortcut and was dangerous too. But still he used that, for he loved that walk across the grounds watching students play.
And the day came, the second last day of his hostel stay. When time came, four of them went to the terrace with a bag full of cow dung. The plan was to throw it at him, call him all the filthy, unnecessary words in the world and vanish. They could see Sir, entering the by-lane from the ground and he was coming towards the hostel.
“Eda, Vijayaaa, You idiot …” and a big chunk of dung followed. It fell on master’s backside of the shirt. When Vijayan Sir looked up another one was thrown to his face. He didn’t know what was happening, all he could hear was the scream – “You would suspend me, you idiot, you … , you …you will learn one day... you will.. ”. It was getting dark and from the ground he couldn’t see who all were there. Yet the topic of suspension should have ringed the bell for him.
Nothing happened. After that Govind is meeting Vijayan Sir now, after 12 years. He has grown up into a mature architect and working hard, have his own firm, friend circles and a family.
******
On that cold night at the shady joint in National Highway No 47, Govind watched that old man sitting under the tree in the dark. He was wearing a slack sleeved shirt, covered up with a sweater that looked old. His pants had stains caused due to the tea dusts. It seemed he had only that piece of cloth for his entire living.
“Sir, You didn’t recognize me? What happened to you Sir?” Govind approached Vijayan Sir and asked.
“...”
“Sir…”
“…”
“Sir please…”
“…”
“…”
“I haven’t forgotten you Govind. How can I? How is your Gang of Four? Is Ravi, Akshay and Krishnan all fine?” – answered Vijayan Sir
“Sir, Krishnan is here in Malappuram; working with a civil firm. Akshay is in US and Ravi.. Ravi, Sir is no more. You know sir he had that problem with heart valve. He died 4 years back.”
“Oh, He was the brightest amongst you”. Vijayan Sir recollected. “And what about you, are you married?”
“Sir, I have my own firm in Calicut. Manju Developers. Manju is my daughter’s name. I married Smitha, who was our junior in college. You remember her sir?”
“Was it that wheatish, fair slim girl of S3 batch?”
“Sir .. Your memory is perfect”
Vijayan sir smiled a smile that had no vigor in it.
They sat quietly for a while under the tree. Then with much reluctance Govind asked.
“Sir, what happened to you? Why are you here? If you don’t mind …”
“..”
“..”
“… I left GEC a year after you people passed out. It was a Government transfer to the Engineering College in Idukki. That was a horrendous experience. No students, most of them were criminals, I tried to be honest there and I got the reward. I caught some students red-handed copying during University Examinations. They had political backing and came from big houses. They trapped me in another incident, said I misused funds during the college annual functions. They made false proofs against me. I was first suspended and then dismissed.”
“Sir, you didn’t join any other private colleges?”
“Who will take a teacher who have served 3 years imprisonment?” A high voltage shock passed through Govind’s mind. It made him feel numb; he wanted to lie down somewhere. He couldn’t believe his teacher was behind the bars once. A sudden thought went through him.
“Was it my curse that caused Sir’s downfall? Was it my revenge that was carried out by GOD in this way?”
He had no answer. His mind had no answer. Nor he could ask his father, who always helped him in tight situations. He was alone there. He couldn’t face Vijayan Sir at that moment. He sat face down.
“… and then I left my home town.. came here .. worked in a hotel then after some time I started this tea-stall. After all I too have to live. I too have a family. Here I am fine, there is nobody to ask about my past, nobody to enquire about me and I am earning for my daily livelihood. I am happy here.. You are the first person I am meeting after I left home.”
Vijayan Sir started back to his workplace; he walked slowly. With a deep sigh Govind called, “…Sir…” his voice was trembling. He wanted redemption, and that was his last chance.
But Sir didn’t look back. He walked away, slowly and resumed his job amidst the new crowd of passengers. He was busy serving them tea.
A bit far away, the driver of the bus in which Govind came was honking the horn for the passengers to come back.
Vijayan Sir waited for the next bus.
“Yevalavu Vila Aachu” – Govind asked the cost in the little Tamil he knew. It was somewhere on the Tamilnadu –Kerala Border that the bus has been stopped.
“Randu Roopai”
Govind gave him the two rupees and walked to the Public Phone kept near benches. He dialed his friend’s number. It was one of his hobbies to call his friends in the midnight. He was feeling bored, and also he had to inform his friend about his arrival.
At the end of the 4th ring some one picked up at the other end.
“Machcha, Govind Here”.
“Who? Which Govind?” Answered a feeble voice
“Abhey Saale, The Same Govind who baptized you on the rocks.”
“Oh Machcha, tell me, Where are you?”
“I am on my way to Calicut, Thinking of dropping at your place, will you be there…. around.. at ..” . It was then he noticed the fragile old man who was making the tea.
“…..”
“Hello, Machcha, You there”
“Kich, will call you later”, and Govind hung the phone up.
He walked up to the tea maker. The tea maker, when he saw Govind asked.
“You need Tea?”
“Sir, Aren’t you Vijayan Sir?”
“I’m sorry, you need tea?”. Replied the old man
“Sir, Aren’t you Vijayan Sir, who taught us Economics at the engineering college.” persisted Govind with his question.
“If so, who are you? And why are you disturbing me? Can’t you see that I am doing my work?” asked the man impatiently.
“Sir, I am Govind, Govind Ramesh. You taught us Economics in S5 at the college. You remember?”
“No, I don’t and I don’t want to remember anything.” The old man threw his kettle to the table and walked out angrily to the dark.
Years before that man was Vijayan Sir, the most famous and affectionate teacher of a lot of students in the campus. Govind Ramesh was one among them, so were his gang of four – Ravi, Akki and Kich. He was the one who bought life in to their ever-boring techie classes. He elaborated them about the Demand and Supply philosophy of Economics in a witty, simple way. In short he took them in his hand and soon his classes were mostly full. But the relationship deteriorated one day.
It all started with Vijayan Sir, catching Govind doing malpractice during his exam. He couldn’t tolerate this childish act. Even though Govind said sorry, Vijayan Sir was furious about it. He couldn’t stand it and got him a two weeks suspension. Slowly the frustration was building up in Govind’s mind. That turned into a kind of revenge. The lesser marks in the economics papers later in the year rubbed salt into his wounds. His mind was seeking only one thing. Revenge.
He waited for two more years. The gang of four made the master plan. They had noticed Vijayan Sir’s walk back to the staff quarters. He used to take the narrow by-lane, across the Hostel Mess, straight down under their hostel terrace, to his house across the college ground. It was a shortcut and was dangerous too. But still he used that, for he loved that walk across the grounds watching students play.
And the day came, the second last day of his hostel stay. When time came, four of them went to the terrace with a bag full of cow dung. The plan was to throw it at him, call him all the filthy, unnecessary words in the world and vanish. They could see Sir, entering the by-lane from the ground and he was coming towards the hostel.
“Eda, Vijayaaa, You idiot …” and a big chunk of dung followed. It fell on master’s backside of the shirt. When Vijayan Sir looked up another one was thrown to his face. He didn’t know what was happening, all he could hear was the scream – “You would suspend me, you idiot, you … , you …you will learn one day... you will.. ”. It was getting dark and from the ground he couldn’t see who all were there. Yet the topic of suspension should have ringed the bell for him.
Nothing happened. After that Govind is meeting Vijayan Sir now, after 12 years. He has grown up into a mature architect and working hard, have his own firm, friend circles and a family.
On that cold night at the shady joint in National Highway No 47, Govind watched that old man sitting under the tree in the dark. He was wearing a slack sleeved shirt, covered up with a sweater that looked old. His pants had stains caused due to the tea dusts. It seemed he had only that piece of cloth for his entire living.
“Sir, You didn’t recognize me? What happened to you Sir?” Govind approached Vijayan Sir and asked.
“...”
“Sir…”
“…”
“Sir please…”
“…”
“…”
“I haven’t forgotten you Govind. How can I? How is your Gang of Four? Is Ravi, Akshay and Krishnan all fine?” – answered Vijayan Sir
“Sir, Krishnan is here in Malappuram; working with a civil firm. Akshay is in US and Ravi.. Ravi, Sir is no more. You know sir he had that problem with heart valve. He died 4 years back.”
“Oh, He was the brightest amongst you”. Vijayan Sir recollected. “And what about you, are you married?”
“Sir, I have my own firm in Calicut. Manju Developers. Manju is my daughter’s name. I married Smitha, who was our junior in college. You remember her sir?”
“Was it that wheatish, fair slim girl of S3 batch?”
“Sir .. Your memory is perfect”
Vijayan sir smiled a smile that had no vigor in it.
They sat quietly for a while under the tree. Then with much reluctance Govind asked.
“Sir, what happened to you? Why are you here? If you don’t mind …”
“..”
“..”
“… I left GEC a year after you people passed out. It was a Government transfer to the Engineering College in Idukki. That was a horrendous experience. No students, most of them were criminals, I tried to be honest there and I got the reward. I caught some students red-handed copying during University Examinations. They had political backing and came from big houses. They trapped me in another incident, said I misused funds during the college annual functions. They made false proofs against me. I was first suspended and then dismissed.”
“Sir, you didn’t join any other private colleges?”
“Who will take a teacher who have served 3 years imprisonment?” A high voltage shock passed through Govind’s mind. It made him feel numb; he wanted to lie down somewhere. He couldn’t believe his teacher was behind the bars once. A sudden thought went through him.
“Was it my curse that caused Sir’s downfall? Was it my revenge that was carried out by GOD in this way?”
He had no answer. His mind had no answer. Nor he could ask his father, who always helped him in tight situations. He was alone there. He couldn’t face Vijayan Sir at that moment. He sat face down.
“… and then I left my home town.. came here .. worked in a hotel then after some time I started this tea-stall. After all I too have to live. I too have a family. Here I am fine, there is nobody to ask about my past, nobody to enquire about me and I am earning for my daily livelihood. I am happy here.. You are the first person I am meeting after I left home.”
Vijayan Sir started back to his workplace; he walked slowly. With a deep sigh Govind called, “…Sir…” his voice was trembling. He wanted redemption, and that was his last chance.
But Sir didn’t look back. He walked away, slowly and resumed his job amidst the new crowd of passengers. He was busy serving them tea.
A bit far away, the driver of the bus in which Govind came was honking the horn for the passengers to come back.
Vijayan Sir waited for the next bus.
Tuesday, January 03, 2006
A Day In a “Bai’s” Life
I work as a Bai. I know a few of you may not know what a Bai is. A Bai is a woman servant working in multiple houses a day helping them to finish their household chores. Those who don’t know much of Hindi don’t confuse me with “Bhai” – which means Brother. I think Bai is a common household name in Mumbai- Maharashtrian areas.
So here I am to enlighten you with what goes on in a Bai’s life especially a Bai who works in a house where only Bachelors stay.
I reach this particular house that is a bachelor den every day early in the morning. Those guys are asleep. I don’t know what kind of job they do. But I have never seen them awake except for the person who opens the door for me half-asleep. No, I must say I have seen them awake during my starting days when I used to reach the house at 7.30-8 AM. And also the day they give me the salary. Later I shifted the time to 6.30 AM, when no one is awake and you know what no one even asked me why I am coming early.
I need to ring the bell 4-5 times to get into the house. Worse are those days when there is no current. I need to knock the big grill a number of times. At times I have left without doing the work. And the funny thing is what ever is the case most of the times only the same person comes to open. Let me call him Mr. X.
Once I get the entry, I will see Mr. X going back to his bed and covering himself up in a bed sheet. I know he is not fully asleep, for my sound of washing clothes and cleaning the utensils create quite a noise. I check the quantity of the clothes immersed in the soap water, if it is too much I don’t wash them properly. I don’t rinse the collars. At times I am not supplied with the soap. Then I call out to Mr. X.
“Oh Bhayya, Saboon Hai?” My shrill voice will wake him up.
“Kya?” He will ask, as he is still half-asleep.
“Saboon, Kapade Dhone Ke Liye Saaboon Nahi He”. I reply.
If there is a one, then he will hand it over to me. Other wise he will say in a guiltily voice.
“Bai, Kal Leke Aata Hoon. Aaj Zara Adjust Karle”.
Adjust!! How am I supposed to adjust? I have only a small piece of soap cake and if I use that, my hands are going to get hurt when I rinse them on cloth. So in such cases I don’t wash properly. How can I? You people say. I give a good rinse. And please note all these times the water tap will be on - water flowing onto the clothes in the bucket. I think it will clean the clothes properly. I agree it creates a lot of noise and is wastage of water. But then why don’t these people tell me about that. I wonder whether these people know anything other than sleep. In that wonder I remove all the old clothes from the strings in the balcony and put it on the top of a bag in the bedroom, as I don’t have any other place to keep the dried clothes. I don’t know what is in that bag, but due to the regular keeping of clothes on top of it the bag has gone into a U shape. Since I haven’t yet got any scolding for changing the shape of that bag, I guess it’s a useless bag. Onto the emptied strings I put the ‘washed’ clothes to dry.
Then I put my hands on the utensils. The kitchen is a mess. There will be leftover food on the sides of gas stove. Onions, Potatoes, Eggs or Green Chilies thrown out while the cooking of their favorite dishes. The remains of the cut vegetables, the onion and potato peel, shells and Yolk remains of the eggs eaten by Mr. G, banana peels, the cutting board all will be there spread on that 1.5 x 0.5 square meter of area. Oh God!! How much food these people waste.
The gas burners will have water steamed out of the pressure cooker on them. My job here is to clean the utensils, pick up the waste, and deposit them in the wastebaskets. Cleaning the utensils is a 2-minute job for me as I am expert in that. Then I collect all the clean utensils and dump it into the basket. Oh! I enjoy that sound. “Kling Kling Kling”. I can hear the grumble of Mr. S who is sleeping in the hall. These days I don’t see him. He must have left them.
Next is the real enjoyment. By this time I will be nearing my next timeslot for another house and I have to reach there. So I play hockey. This is what Mr. S says about my “Jadoo”. He is right, I consider the broomstick as a hockey stick only and dribble through the pseudo-turf (aka floor). You know I used to represent my school in the state games in my good old years. Hmmm those where days!! Now I play hockey with broomstick to make the two ends meet.
Cleaning the floor is the most dreaded job there. I have to face many a challenges. The unarranged chairs, newspapers flying around, the fan, the beer and other daroo bottles these people keep after their illustrious parties. At times I have even come across the chicken bones collected in the corner of the room. I don’t understand how these guys live. Huh!! Horrible!!
Amidst all these I continue to play my hockey. I have to, since if I do not do a hockey here I won’t be able to finish of my whole thing by 6.50 AM and reach that wicked old lady’s house by 7.00. She is very strict about the timings and scold if I do not reach at time. These bachelor people are good in those cases they do not scold me that much. All family people are like that. Find some kind of problems with us and scold. I even remember once Mr. X’s mother coming there and tried to modify my hockey into a slow motion. But since it was for 2-3 days I agreed to do it in a slow motion, but then I still had to compromise on my cloth washing capabilities. Otherwise how else can I satisfy all my customers?
I do clean the floor with water two times a week, but I have a great doubt that the floor is getting dirtier due to this. The reason is the cloth that I use for ‘Pocha’. Its is as old as me and has all the dirt in the whole world on it. I tried rinsing and drying it with all the kind of detergents. No use. My request to grant a new cloth has gone vain. Off late Mr. G had granted me a part of his Rose Turkish Towel, which he abandoned after it attained thrice the age of its retirement. That lasted two washes as my rough treatment brought out all the fibers of it only for me to go back to the old cloth.
My Last job is to pick up the waste, put in the basket and keep that outside. During this process I pick the plastic packets filled with left over foods, tea-dusts, egg yolks, etcetera, etcetera and run to the door, bangs the door behind me, put the basket outside and run down the steps. I can sense the irritation of Mr. S - caused by my banging of door.
Still I run… to the next house, and then to the next, then to the next – I live a whole day running. I have to. For there lies my livelihood.
So here I am to enlighten you with what goes on in a Bai’s life especially a Bai who works in a house where only Bachelors stay.
I reach this particular house that is a bachelor den every day early in the morning. Those guys are asleep. I don’t know what kind of job they do. But I have never seen them awake except for the person who opens the door for me half-asleep. No, I must say I have seen them awake during my starting days when I used to reach the house at 7.30-8 AM. And also the day they give me the salary. Later I shifted the time to 6.30 AM, when no one is awake and you know what no one even asked me why I am coming early.
I need to ring the bell 4-5 times to get into the house. Worse are those days when there is no current. I need to knock the big grill a number of times. At times I have left without doing the work. And the funny thing is what ever is the case most of the times only the same person comes to open. Let me call him Mr. X.
Once I get the entry, I will see Mr. X going back to his bed and covering himself up in a bed sheet. I know he is not fully asleep, for my sound of washing clothes and cleaning the utensils create quite a noise. I check the quantity of the clothes immersed in the soap water, if it is too much I don’t wash them properly. I don’t rinse the collars. At times I am not supplied with the soap. Then I call out to Mr. X.
“Oh Bhayya, Saboon Hai?” My shrill voice will wake him up.
“Kya?” He will ask, as he is still half-asleep.
“Saboon, Kapade Dhone Ke Liye Saaboon Nahi He”. I reply.
If there is a one, then he will hand it over to me. Other wise he will say in a guiltily voice.
“Bai, Kal Leke Aata Hoon. Aaj Zara Adjust Karle”.
Adjust!! How am I supposed to adjust? I have only a small piece of soap cake and if I use that, my hands are going to get hurt when I rinse them on cloth. So in such cases I don’t wash properly. How can I? You people say. I give a good rinse. And please note all these times the water tap will be on - water flowing onto the clothes in the bucket. I think it will clean the clothes properly. I agree it creates a lot of noise and is wastage of water. But then why don’t these people tell me about that. I wonder whether these people know anything other than sleep. In that wonder I remove all the old clothes from the strings in the balcony and put it on the top of a bag in the bedroom, as I don’t have any other place to keep the dried clothes. I don’t know what is in that bag, but due to the regular keeping of clothes on top of it the bag has gone into a U shape. Since I haven’t yet got any scolding for changing the shape of that bag, I guess it’s a useless bag. Onto the emptied strings I put the ‘washed’ clothes to dry.
Then I put my hands on the utensils. The kitchen is a mess. There will be leftover food on the sides of gas stove. Onions, Potatoes, Eggs or Green Chilies thrown out while the cooking of their favorite dishes. The remains of the cut vegetables, the onion and potato peel, shells and Yolk remains of the eggs eaten by Mr. G, banana peels, the cutting board all will be there spread on that 1.5 x 0.5 square meter of area. Oh God!! How much food these people waste.
The gas burners will have water steamed out of the pressure cooker on them. My job here is to clean the utensils, pick up the waste, and deposit them in the wastebaskets. Cleaning the utensils is a 2-minute job for me as I am expert in that. Then I collect all the clean utensils and dump it into the basket. Oh! I enjoy that sound. “Kling Kling Kling”. I can hear the grumble of Mr. S who is sleeping in the hall. These days I don’t see him. He must have left them.
Next is the real enjoyment. By this time I will be nearing my next timeslot for another house and I have to reach there. So I play hockey. This is what Mr. S says about my “Jadoo”. He is right, I consider the broomstick as a hockey stick only and dribble through the pseudo-turf (aka floor). You know I used to represent my school in the state games in my good old years. Hmmm those where days!! Now I play hockey with broomstick to make the two ends meet.
Cleaning the floor is the most dreaded job there. I have to face many a challenges. The unarranged chairs, newspapers flying around, the fan, the beer and other daroo bottles these people keep after their illustrious parties. At times I have even come across the chicken bones collected in the corner of the room. I don’t understand how these guys live. Huh!! Horrible!!
Amidst all these I continue to play my hockey. I have to, since if I do not do a hockey here I won’t be able to finish of my whole thing by 6.50 AM and reach that wicked old lady’s house by 7.00. She is very strict about the timings and scold if I do not reach at time. These bachelor people are good in those cases they do not scold me that much. All family people are like that. Find some kind of problems with us and scold. I even remember once Mr. X’s mother coming there and tried to modify my hockey into a slow motion. But since it was for 2-3 days I agreed to do it in a slow motion, but then I still had to compromise on my cloth washing capabilities. Otherwise how else can I satisfy all my customers?
I do clean the floor with water two times a week, but I have a great doubt that the floor is getting dirtier due to this. The reason is the cloth that I use for ‘Pocha’. Its is as old as me and has all the dirt in the whole world on it. I tried rinsing and drying it with all the kind of detergents. No use. My request to grant a new cloth has gone vain. Off late Mr. G had granted me a part of his Rose Turkish Towel, which he abandoned after it attained thrice the age of its retirement. That lasted two washes as my rough treatment brought out all the fibers of it only for me to go back to the old cloth.
My Last job is to pick up the waste, put in the basket and keep that outside. During this process I pick the plastic packets filled with left over foods, tea-dusts, egg yolks, etcetera, etcetera and run to the door, bangs the door behind me, put the basket outside and run down the steps. I can sense the irritation of Mr. S - caused by my banging of door.
Still I run… to the next house, and then to the next, then to the next – I live a whole day running. I have to. For there lies my livelihood.
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