Urvashi..... take it easy Urvashi....

AN African tulip on Karuna Road in red bloom. Lady, Old Man and all their friends were in woollens on Monday as a fridge cold wind, got them sipping hot chai of Bhagwan gazing at African tulips. Deva, the donkey was in a four-piece legging. You know what a Mumbai winter or Karuna Road, in particular, is. A 2-day affair when there is snow in Kashmir. More cups of tea and a time to show off woollens. Old Man was in a freshly stitched Lake Avenue trouser, a shirt and a jacket; 'What's on,' diddled Lady. 'All free. The beautiful lady at Lake Avenue pleaded me to pocket her and mine debit and credit cards. 'I am grateful for visiting us. All is free for you; this is our new discount offer or rather no count offer when banks and humans do not have cash,' she said. One leg of the trouser was shorter than the other; the shirt had no sleeves; the jacket had no buttons; yet, put together, they were something of a first for Old Man. The fineprint of the deal was a handkerchief stitched by the lady at Lake Avenue. She was promoting her brand. Slurping tea, Old Man wiped his lips with the new handkerchief and the deo of the shop-lady came on; it was something foreign, Old Man did not know about. Even his friend the Lady and Deva sniffed the cold air. On Karuna Road, it was an exaggerated cold and they behaved as if they were in the Arctic. Okay, everybody should dream and this dream will not mean a police lock-up. At Bhagwan it was a huddle with Deva making the centre. When elegant, little chatter of girls nudged them; the girls were all over the crowd at Bhagwan. Old Lady took out Faleros from her pocket for them and the hullabaloo had many springs about it. Old Lady knew well the principal of the missionary school and there were no problems as all of them took up places on wooden benches in class rooms; that day there was no work, no homework. Deva taught them donkey tricks, birds taught them bird calls, strays taught them street games. All this while, the little girls knew about them in boring books which teachers dumped on them. To avoid the cold, perhaps, trees on Karuna Road strolled into class rooms, taking seats in the last benches with some like peepals and banyans leaning against the walls. That morning when the school bell clanged, the children did not go home; they stayed back with their new friends with a crowd of rosy starlings joining in the evening. Never had this happened in any school and surely not at the missionary school. Late evening or rather the first hour of the night, an A.R. Rehman croon: Urvashi, Urvashi, take it easy Urvashi .... They took it easy. They slept. Holy books and words were not.