An old lady stands outside a primary school with Falero and Pass in her purse; she spreads them to school kids scurrying out of school to the belling of the school bell; some smart kids will plead for two and she will oblige. Today, the old lady stands outside the school with Faleros and Pass in her purse; no children; she dunks requests from teachers and security staff to keep away; she waits till the school is empty; she counts her Falero and Pass; hobbles away the humble lady in a bumble. With elders into violating children, it had to be; the lady is denied her children. 'They are my grandkids, I have none; I am alone,' she tells me with curly, white head down. Yet, she stands at street corners with Falero and Pass in palms for passing children; offers turned down; children are told not to be anywhere near elders; she does not know, she is a harm done; me watch. Schools today have no chanawalla; golawala; bumbai mithai, a pink soft sweet wrapped round a wooden beam; there are no crowds of children in a hurry to beat the school bell. Schools are spare. Fun is not. No insisting child pushes mother for a 50 paise (of course, today it wont buy anything; ye, there are no 50 paise coins). Today Shreya and Chiyu wangle Rs.10 each from Dakhi for subsidised fried rice and samosas at the school canteen with school teachers on guard duty. Its not the same as street sharing and fights. A fear is on. Like the doing away of Tamil boys vending salted, warm ground nut in Borivili. By 5 in the evening, Borivili saw young Tamil boys on pavements with stoves and kadais half-filled with sand; they warmed the sand before pouring in raw groundnut; crowds breathed in the flavour of warm, salted groundnut; dotted steel ladles sifted the groundnut from sand; packed in paper cones, a cone costing a rupee or less; if you were a Tamil, a helping more; crowds chewed their long walks home. Rama had her favourite Thampi and his best tasting kadalais; now they are not. A business is no more. Cannot walk into a home; cannot step into an office for hulloing a friend; cannot move into a mall to see Astu; ever security frisking; we are afraid; cannot joy. Thathastu.
Wednesday, July 20, 2016
Chanawalla
An old lady stands outside a primary school with Falero and Pass in her purse; she spreads them to school kids scurrying out of school to the belling of the school bell; some smart kids will plead for two and she will oblige. Today, the old lady stands outside the school with Faleros and Pass in her purse; no children; she dunks requests from teachers and security staff to keep away; she waits till the school is empty; she counts her Falero and Pass; hobbles away the humble lady in a bumble. With elders into violating children, it had to be; the lady is denied her children. 'They are my grandkids, I have none; I am alone,' she tells me with curly, white head down. Yet, she stands at street corners with Falero and Pass in palms for passing children; offers turned down; children are told not to be anywhere near elders; she does not know, she is a harm done; me watch. Schools today have no chanawalla; golawala; bumbai mithai, a pink soft sweet wrapped round a wooden beam; there are no crowds of children in a hurry to beat the school bell. Schools are spare. Fun is not. No insisting child pushes mother for a 50 paise (of course, today it wont buy anything; ye, there are no 50 paise coins). Today Shreya and Chiyu wangle Rs.10 each from Dakhi for subsidised fried rice and samosas at the school canteen with school teachers on guard duty. Its not the same as street sharing and fights. A fear is on. Like the doing away of Tamil boys vending salted, warm ground nut in Borivili. By 5 in the evening, Borivili saw young Tamil boys on pavements with stoves and kadais half-filled with sand; they warmed the sand before pouring in raw groundnut; crowds breathed in the flavour of warm, salted groundnut; dotted steel ladles sifted the groundnut from sand; packed in paper cones, a cone costing a rupee or less; if you were a Tamil, a helping more; crowds chewed their long walks home. Rama had her favourite Thampi and his best tasting kadalais; now they are not. A business is no more. Cannot walk into a home; cannot step into an office for hulloing a friend; cannot move into a mall to see Astu; ever security frisking; we are afraid; cannot joy. Thathastu.
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