Hullo or palms raising smiles as we walked away every morning for close to 16 years. We never went beyond. Rao saheb and me when Borivili (W) had mangroves, rice fields and green hearts not Link Road and ponds, not Eskay Club. A month of mornings, Rao saheb is not at the stone bench near Gossip cafe on Link Road; he is going away, slipping away, from his friends and me; or is it that we are moving away from Rao saheb; a midnight, his family found him at Gossip; alone; checked out with friends; 'maloom nahin, bhool jata hai,' they tell me. Trudged, turned into LIC Colony with Rao saheb, Mohan Agashe of Marathi film Astu and Julianne Moore of English film Still Alice. A poke on the back; turned round quickly; my dear Old Lady in jeans and tops, all teeth out, with her bent and aged walking stick on my behind; 'where are you,' she asked and invited me to a breakfast spread out by her strays, donkeys, flying fox and assorted pigs; settled down under a silk cotton tree to vada pavs, sandwiches, pizzas; seemingly they pooled funds for a breakfast goodbye to their and mine Old Lady; 'Ganapathi Bappa is coming today; me am going,' she whispered; the Lady could never go beyond that note scale. 'I am tired of noise; cannot take any more of Mumbai; every time a loudspeaker opens up, my heart thuds, cant take it,' she said as dogs, pigs and donkeys nodded; titched, titched warblers; a koyal hooted. The Lady has negotiated a room for two years at Banasura overseeing Banasura Lake and hills in Wayanad; at Banasura, foreigners bivouac for six months, one to a room, rarely talk, go for long walks inhaling and exhaling quiet, watch birds and elephants; 'Will leave Ganapthi Bappa for my animals and meet up wild elephants at Banasura; we cannot do without elephants in our lives,' the Lady said. Goti was in tears being most near to the Lady; if she was absent a day on LIC Colony, he would visit her, make inquiries, take her to a doctor if ill; Goti has to be with the Lady daily; somewhat like Rao saheb and me. 'You do not have phones, mobiles, TV, nothing, except Swamy and Friends of R. K. Narayan, how will you be with us,' asked Deva, the donkey; many, many readings and she knew all of the book; she reads and wheels it out without the book like Goti; the Lady likes the manner Goti rests near the Shiva temple, rolling out Swamy sentences from memory; some Shiva shlokas. Lady squeezed a Pichko on a pizza, bit into it and warbled: 'Will tap messages on trees in Banasura and there are many; they will relay to the banyans, pipals and silk cotton trees in LIC Colony. You can hear into their titter; tap back.' Claps. Breakfast over; The Lady took an Ola to Vile Parle for the afternoon flight to Kozhikode and further to Banasura, quiet, elephants.
Sunday, September 4, 2016
My Old Lady
Hullo or palms raising smiles as we walked away every morning for close to 16 years. We never went beyond. Rao saheb and me when Borivili (W) had mangroves, rice fields and green hearts not Link Road and ponds, not Eskay Club. A month of mornings, Rao saheb is not at the stone bench near Gossip cafe on Link Road; he is going away, slipping away, from his friends and me; or is it that we are moving away from Rao saheb; a midnight, his family found him at Gossip; alone; checked out with friends; 'maloom nahin, bhool jata hai,' they tell me. Trudged, turned into LIC Colony with Rao saheb, Mohan Agashe of Marathi film Astu and Julianne Moore of English film Still Alice. A poke on the back; turned round quickly; my dear Old Lady in jeans and tops, all teeth out, with her bent and aged walking stick on my behind; 'where are you,' she asked and invited me to a breakfast spread out by her strays, donkeys, flying fox and assorted pigs; settled down under a silk cotton tree to vada pavs, sandwiches, pizzas; seemingly they pooled funds for a breakfast goodbye to their and mine Old Lady; 'Ganapathi Bappa is coming today; me am going,' she whispered; the Lady could never go beyond that note scale. 'I am tired of noise; cannot take any more of Mumbai; every time a loudspeaker opens up, my heart thuds, cant take it,' she said as dogs, pigs and donkeys nodded; titched, titched warblers; a koyal hooted. The Lady has negotiated a room for two years at Banasura overseeing Banasura Lake and hills in Wayanad; at Banasura, foreigners bivouac for six months, one to a room, rarely talk, go for long walks inhaling and exhaling quiet, watch birds and elephants; 'Will leave Ganapthi Bappa for my animals and meet up wild elephants at Banasura; we cannot do without elephants in our lives,' the Lady said. Goti was in tears being most near to the Lady; if she was absent a day on LIC Colony, he would visit her, make inquiries, take her to a doctor if ill; Goti has to be with the Lady daily; somewhat like Rao saheb and me. 'You do not have phones, mobiles, TV, nothing, except Swamy and Friends of R. K. Narayan, how will you be with us,' asked Deva, the donkey; many, many readings and she knew all of the book; she reads and wheels it out without the book like Goti; the Lady likes the manner Goti rests near the Shiva temple, rolling out Swamy sentences from memory; some Shiva shlokas. Lady squeezed a Pichko on a pizza, bit into it and warbled: 'Will tap messages on trees in Banasura and there are many; they will relay to the banyans, pipals and silk cotton trees in LIC Colony. You can hear into their titter; tap back.' Claps. Breakfast over; The Lady took an Ola to Vile Parle for the afternoon flight to Kozhikode and further to Banasura, quiet, elephants.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment