Need for Speed_Hamara Bajaj

I was returning after hustling the defense government at the Army workshop. This place is near Trinity church, sprawling acres of land dotted with the typical manicured lawns and age old buildings. The roads from Trinity Church, towards old airport road are winding and mostly empty during 11 or so in the afternoon, so I speed-ed up.

Strategically located, under some shady tress, were Banglorean cops with a speed gun concealed, under a SUV’s hood. I was doing good speed, and so one white hat policeman made way to the center of the road and motioned me towards the side end.

Damm…..another  100 this time, that too after bloody pleading as though he was doing a favor for me. I had already been ripped once in Doddenakundi.

What’s the use of a big bike if I can’t speed up?

I reduced the throttle wearily, as I made my way to the side. 

Just as slowed down, I could catch a glimpse of the smug expression on his face.

I felt repulsed.

I revved up suddenly and squeezed through the side gap and made way past him easily.

The shrill whistle of the police red light echoed behind me, however there was no movement of the vehicle towards me. I speeded up more; the old airport road I know well, and soon I could find one gully deserted enough for me to park.

I got down the bike, unstrapped my helmet and sat near the side walk.

What had I just done? Escaped a policeman?????

I am darn sure they had a number of my bike on their records; the speed gun takes pictures also. They could trace me easily. But then I asked myself, will they?

Will they trace someone because he was speeding and did not stop to pay chai paani to them?

I could not reach the main office road through side roads, I had to come to the main road once and now I think the policeman would have circulated my number to all others in the beat stating that there is a high chance for cash making.

Do I plaster mud on my number plate; bloody sounds so bollywood movie types, and so obvious a display of foul play.

Devil …….please light the flame of wit.

Devil is good; particularly when devil meets the full time resident saint.

Aha….got it. I navigated a bit through the internal roads and shops and found one stationary shop; I got some black paint and a brush.

Then, parking it near the tree away from sight of people, (or so I thought).I began art work. One deft swing of my fingers and 3 became an 8.

I got a coke and some puffs, as lunch as I waited for the paint to dry.

All preparations done, I removed my shirt too. I had a flimsy translucent t-shirt underneath, for I had run out of undergarments.(Its Friday ……..ignoramus!).

Do I throw away the articles of suspect that is the brush and the paint? Being caught on the murder scene .........if at all being caught is a good idea............. then definitely the murder weapon should not be in your hand.

Why so serious ..............said the devil?

I packed the brush and paint as well.

I came to the main road again, and zoomed forward. This time I was slow. I reached the outer ring road without any trouble. From here I went through a gully route to my office and reached without any obstruction.

Now, I wait for the summons from the court .......... if any….

What do you say?

Pride

“Poo vanguga “, rang the cheerful cry of dark skinned women sitting cross legged at the sidewalk. Gleaming nose pins and electric colored saris, stood out in stark contrast to their yellow tinged black faces. Shiny black hair adorned with white flowers added a degree of credibility to their work.

A plain sari with hair pulled back severely and imprisoned into a ball stood out conspicuously. The brows however curved splendidly, defiantly, mocking the black ball of tresses.

A deft pick of a bud, a quick twist of fingers and the thin thread was fastened to the delicate stem only to be linked to another.

“Pick………… twist……. thread ……..snaps…….” was steady , but not monotonous, rather strangely intense.

Stuck by the concentration on her work, I watched her fascinated and also slightly unnerved.

“ Rendu mozham,”

“ Erwad ”, said she , holding out the soft bundle.

“ Padhinanje”  I countered.

She did not argue, retort or even acknowledge my suggestion but merely held out her palm. Drawing in the amount she asked I placed in her outstretched palm, only to be returned back change, matching my suggestion.

Puzzling indeed!!

The little change was not really of consequence, it was a part of our behavior to knock of a few bucks on anything we buy.

Hoo, rang the shrill whistle.

Clutching the soft bundle I ran to the moving train, to grab a square inch of place to stand.

“Pick………… twist……. thread ……..snaps…….”

Coming back, I saw the woman, relentlessly stringing buds one after the other.

“Pick………… twist……. thread ……..snaps…….” now vigorously and urgently.

Within a couple of minutes she straightened and heaving the basket of soft bundles over her head she began walking briskly, almost running.

Following her I ended in a dark and claustrophobic lane where I promptly lost sight of her. Feeling my way around the walls I began to make way towards a light source at one end.

I realized I had reached the road back of my college. Feeling very thirsty, I went to a pan shop for a cold drink.

The drink however froze in my mouth. From a ramshackle house neatly tucked away from the main road, I saw that woman emerging, with others.

She was dressed in a figure hugging jeans and t-shirt; hair oiled, and blowing around ceaselessly in the wind, adorned neatly with a strand of flowers. Giggling, she passed around soft bundles to other women in shimmering outfits.

They began walking down the street nodding at the various people passing.

The vendor saw my gaze with a knowing smile “You walked in at the right time “

Puzzled again!

It seemed that the women were actually enjoying their work, the exercise felt too natural to be scripted and planned.

She caught my gaze, and returned a knowing smile. I stood there, with the kind of feeling in my tummy that you get when you are coming down a ride in a giant wheel.

Striding across the road, she was stopped by a black giant of a man with gleaming gold chains, in a spotless white mundu and shirt. A brief conversation later she bundled into a van with an anticipatory smile playing on her face.

The van turned and raced opposite me, in the fleeting moment I caught the woman’s eye, and she gave me one huge wink.

With cool feeling of the drink in my mouth, I walked across the road. The basket of buds stood alone besides the ramshackle door, with the bundles lying proudly, invitingly, waiting to be caressed by the touch of life.

Sunday Realizations

Sundays are days for realizations it seems.

I think there is causality for it too namely…….availability of time to dwell………..on small,tiny actions that add meaning to life. These tiny actions are like the seams on your pant, invisible but do a big job of protection ( in the literal as well as the colloquial sense)

Woke at 10 only.

Once nature’s activities are all done, it is hunger time. It is too late for breakfast and slightly early for lunch. So, I decided to have some coconut water, healthy and cholesterol driven(aha there seems a duality of opposition here as well)

I walked out and immediately I spot a vendor. I ask for one and a couple of deft swings of the machete he hands me one. I jump over the nearby wall, seating my butt while sipping the brew contently.

No sooner, I had done so a female walks in. Must be around 8- 10 years old, the typical street urchin, beggar kind of specimen.

I paid no heed, and went to sip through the straw.

She continued staring at me. Her eyes glowed.

Disheveled countenance, but her eyes completely black….. Glowed. She looked like a gypsy kid, for she had some emblems and knick knacks dangling through her neck and arms.

She was tiny, but her eyes radiated power. I was for a moment reminded of the Shakti swaroop of feminism as described in Hinduism.

I handed out the un-sipped coconut to the female. She looks at me sternly, as though hurt by the gesture.

Must be elevation, so I jumped down the wall and repeated the act. She took it and clutched it to her bosom.

I asked the vendor for another one and he handed me one at the same time speaking something to the girl.

Kannada not very strong, I could understand that he was asking her to drink it quickly so that he could cut it pen and give her the coconut.

The girl, shook her head resolutely, clutching the coconut even more firmly to her bosom.

I meanwhile finished one, and another. As I motioned to pay, I could see 2 kids approaching the girl. All were in the same size and age and all were girls.

Seeing the approach the girl loosened her hold on the coconut.

Chapad chapad in kannada and then the kids…….. the three of them , shared on coconut.

Amazing.

This is the second time(Click here for first time) I am seeing a sense of unity among the depraved. I see when the datum is low, any improvement is perceived to be huge and hence it is shared. A sense of collective good dominates over individual excellence at the level where means are limited.

Also, I see that this collective good sentiment even in the downtrodden is more pronounced among the females. Had it been a boy to whom I had handed over the drink, I doubt if he would have shared.(must be the testosterone, mine is bigger than yours)

I was pleased, to see this sentiment. I decided to buy one more for them, but then the above thoughts came to my head. If if did get them another coconut, it would diminish the utility of the first one and also dilute the sentiment of sharing which was so naturally forthcoming.

Rainy Night In Bangalore

 

These days it is getting too tiring. And, I have started the funny habit of cooking for one or two days in a week, so time is really not there. 

I hit the bed and I am dead, literally.

Crack............. thunder............. and the howl of dogs woke me up.

It wasn’t the slight disturbance of sleep, rather the Masai warrior tribe kind of sleep wake................... to complete wakefulness from deep slumber.

The steady drip of rain water was ..........visible and .............audible in the night.

It was 2:54 AM

Somehow I could not go to sleep, the sound ..........and feel of rain............ was seductive.

I stood up and went to the main room, window. It was chilly, and as it is in Bangalore, we require a thin blanket in the night.

I got my keys from my bag, opened and locked the door from outside and made it to the balcony. I swung it open and walked out.

A billion cells in the soles of feet screamed the temperature difference. The uncut garden at my head provided me some protection but in some more seconds I could feel water droplets trickling on my face.

I took of my shirt, and then my shorts, and did a slow walk around the place in my Boxer trunks. 

I could see the moon throwing its pale light. It was weird; although the rain was pouring in medium pace the moon was still visible................. very clearly.

It was secret well worth pondering over, and what better time than...............3 in the night,.........semi naked......when the sane world is asleep?

I lay down comatose............... on the top of the top, near the overhead tank. Staring at the moon and shivering continuously.

Slowly the shivers subsided, and I could feel a slight warm rush in my body. I lay down in makrsana, and the stretch at my leg muscle funnily warmed my lower ear lobes.

It was magical, a female presence could have been the coup de grace, but can’t hang on to Noorie always can I?

I made my way to the room, dripping with water, toweled myself dry, and applied some warm coconut oil all over. I then wrapped myself in a full t-shirt and pajama, and crashed on the bed with the blanket stretched tight.

It was 4:22 AM.

The shrill tones of Suprabahatam woke me up. It was my roommates alarm tone meaning it was well beyond my usual wake up time. I stretched up gingerly fully expecting some opposition from my body,.........cough, cold.............a  bit of sneezing.............. or at least some fever.

There was none. In fact I felt normal, neither elevated nor tired, just about right.

Must be magic indeed!!