The Big Uncle with the Big Moustache

I was the first one to call him the Big Uncle. I was afraid of him as a child because of this one incident that had occurred when I was seven years old.

I had developed a boil on my right arm which hurt terribly. Everybody had said that the only thing to be done is to burst it. But nobody had the guts to actually do it. Even my mother refused to do it because it was too gruesome for her. Big Uncle stepped in to do the job. He saw me writhing with pain and knew something should be done about it. He came to me and said, “All it will take is one minute of pain, I promise. After that you will feel nothing. This thing will be gone.”

“What will you do?” I asked him, cautiously.

“Nothing, only burst it.” The thought left me shaking with fear. But Big Uncle said it so cheerfully that I was confused for a minute. I ran, not knowing what else to do.

The sun burnt down on me with a vengeance as I held on to my right elbow tightly. I was running away from the big uncle with the big moustache. My mother insisted that it is for my own good, but my seven year old self refused to believe that a man willing to twist my arm is trying to do me any good. I held on to my right elbow for dear life. The boil that had developed on it the day before, now was the size of a 25 Paise coin and was oozing menacingly. Wedding preparations were going on in Painkulam and there were enough people to hide a little girl like me. I quietly found a little corner in the veranda and sat there for a while.

“I told you, you cannot hide from me!” the voice made me tremble uncontrollably. I knew who it was before I recognized the big moustache among all the million faces swimming above me. His smile looked so endearing yet so frightening! “I’m telling you it will not take more than a minute. You will just feel a prick, that’s all. I promise.” I shook my head wildly. “Come on. I’ll give you lots of chocolate after that.”

I felt my eyes watering. I wanted to be brave and fight him. But I could see him losing patience by the minute. “Come quickly or I’ll have to take your hand forcibly” he said ominously. I shut my eyes and told myself, maybe he isn’t that bad. May be my mother is right, is it for my own good. The gigantic boil on my hand is not going to get any better. Might as well let him do whatever he wants with it. So, I gingerly stretched out my right arm. Instantly he grabbed it and twisted it in order to take a better look at the boil.

As if this wasn’t frightening enough, he took the boil between index finger and thumb and squeezed it hard. The pain was excruciating. I screamed so loud that the entire veranda went silent. It was over in a second. But the memory of the pain is still vivid in my mind.

My hand healed quickly after that and Big Uncle gave me goodies to eat afterwards; for being brave. I would take the jackfruit jams and the juicy mangoes and ignore whatever he said. I was still soar from the pain he had inflicted upon me.

Now when I look back on that day I realize, he was the bravest of all that day. Nobody else could muster up the courage to get rid of that awful boil and make me better. Not even my mother could stand touching the thing. I did not speak to Big Uncle for the rest of my stay at Painkulam that year. It took me a while to get over my fear of him. But I learnt quite quickly that, although he caused me some grief, it was for my own good. Over time, I have grown very fond of the Big Uncle with the Big Moustache and a Bigger Smile.

Forgive me for this post. Out of boredom and ennui, it came... but enjoy

It’s a purple room. But the paint has faded and it looks more like a very light shade of baby pink under the white light. The elongated table in the far corner of the elongated room is animated. The giant computer screen occupies half the space making the other residents of the table press together in the other half. The stacked up cds in one corner is headed by the queen cd holder with a golden crown over her. There is a little stuffed lion hiding, behind a mug pretending to be a pen-stand. The mug is efficient, because it holds several pens without ink, unsharpened pencils some candle sticks and some nail-files.

The lion is now peeping over at the new comers, a stack of papers a colourful book, an empty pouch and a headphone. As if this table top was not crowded enough! The empty plastic bottle doesn’t seem to be pleased about being shoved to the edge. The large green file is also annoyed at being side-lined in this clumsy manner. A little wooden urn, another pouch and some other smaller things wish they had a say in the matter.

But we all know; it is a power struggle. The bigger, the more influential...
Or that’s what you may think, if you don’t notice the carefully placed little box at the centre of the table with a pair of silver earrings awaiting to be worn.

Who’s table is this?

That first time again

This was it. I had to do this. It has been a while, and I might sound like a horse, but I need to do this. For my self. For my peace of mind. For me to know, that I can do this. I squatted on the floor, placed my hands on my lap, straightened my back, closed my eyes and took a slow deep breath. As I breathed in I took in the ring of the electronic shruti. The amalgam of three basic notes. I separated them, unconsciously and chose my note. And synced my voice with the shruti and sang my first note after a long time. I felt my vocal cords vibrate and my voice surrounded me. I felt myself swaying as if I was swimming in the tone of my note. I was almost out of breath but I held on until the end. Then I took another slow deep breath. The silence was deafening. I sang the next note until my breath gave way. Then the third, and the fourth and the fifth. I was singing again.

Strangers

A single drop of sweat ran down her temple and into the shallow cave under her jaw. The orange street light and the white light inside the bus reflected against that single line of sweat, accentuating her slender, oval face. An angry finger wiped it off clumsily. Little fringes of her hair stuck to her forehead, undisturbed by the rhythmic bobbing of her head. I couldn’t help being thankful for the humidity that day.

I was on my way back from work. On an impulse I had stopped for pani puri at the roadside chaat stall outside my office. Sairam’s stall was as usual swarming with young professionals refreshing themselves from a hard Monday’s work. I had to squeeze and push my way through to reach the panipuri wala. But I was in no hurry to leave. The traffic on the road didn’t encourage me to add my bike to it. I was rolling up my sleeves when the BEST bus came to a halt in front of the stall. It was so close to the pavement that the tires almost brushed against the concrete bricks. The bus was packed with the rush hour crowd. With every lurch of the bus, the crowd inside moved in inertia like a tribal dance.

She was a peculiar sight. I don’t know what was peculiar about her but there was something about her that caught my attention. She was seated in the front of the bus at a window seat. She had earphones on and an elbow stuck out of the window. She had long wavy hair that was tied in a pony tail at the nape of her neck. Tiny fringes of curly hair sprung out on her forehead. She was fair. There was a slight unconscious smile lingering on her lips. I couldn’t tell what her eyes looked like because they were hidden behind fat rimmed glasses. She was singing along with the music playing in her ears. I could see her only between a thickening layer of heads. But I saw that her eyes were shut, her head bobbed and her fingers tapped together in rhythm –

tap – tap tap – tap
tap – tap tap – tap

I suddenly lost my appetite. I asked for a glass of water instead. When the man gave it to me, I made my way out of the crowd around the stall. She had opened her eyes, and looked at the traffic jam ahead as if she had just noticed it. Silly girl, I said in my mind and shook my head as I poured some water into my cupped hand and splashed it across my face. I needed to cool my face badly. As I opened my eyes and looked up at the bus, still stationary. I noticed she was looking at me. She was longingly looking at the steel tumbler in my hand. Her eyes slowly shifted to my face and suddenly my face felt very hot. She looked at me with piteous eyes as if to ask something of me. A strange energy rose up in my stomach, past my chest. But as it reached my throat it came out in a sudden laugh.

I panicked. I knew that was the wrong reaction. And it wasn’t even what I wanted to do. I waited for her reaction. She looked at me one long second and giggled under her breath, a little embarrassed. I relaxed. The bus lurched further and suddenly I realized the bus was going to move. For the wildest second I considered getting on the bus. But I didn’t. And walked to my bike. And left.

The Addiction

A low beep was heard at the end of the room. The silence that followed was tantalizing. They looked at each other. They both knew what it meant. The elder leapt at the sound and ran across the room to grab the coveted seat. The other was left groping at her dress in order to prevent the inevitable. It was a matter of seconds, everything was a blur. All they could see was the cursed seat. Then there was that music, that evil music that can enchant, enthrall and captivate. It lasts for not more than 5 seconds, but it is a clear sign of the pleasures that await as the computer comes alive.

The elder had long seated herself, while the younger stood by the seat sulking.

“Why must you always sit at the computer when I turn it on to do my work?”

The elder gives a gleeful laugh, “Because I’m addicted. Don’t you know that?”

“Mom, come on! Haven’t you played Solitaire enough already!”

Sunday Morning

“There's someone at the door.”

“I’ll get it. Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”

Early on a Sunday morning, fresh sun was streaming in through the open windows in the living room. It brightened up the whole house. The air was cool. She wanted to turn down the fan. Winter was on its way. Not yet, she thought, and pulled up the blanket around her. But sleep had left her. She stared blankly at the curtained window, tracing the yellow lines of the embroidered flowers on the red cloth. She could hear him talking to someone at the door. She wondered who it could be. What time was it? The clock was on the wall above her head. She would have to get up. She groped around the bed for her cell phone. She couldn’t find it. So she gave up and buried herself under the blanket again.

“Its 3 AM. I thought they were going to stay over.”

“What a mess! Come help me clean up.”

“It can wait.”

She smiled at the memory of how his voice tickled her ear. She turned over and closed her eyes. She felt his fingers run down her spine, her skin tingled. She felt him blow a strand of hair away from her face. She took a deep breath in. Last night was the best. She heard the door close in the hall. He was coming. They had slept may be an hour ago. But she didn’t feel sleepy. She felt restless. She wanted to get up and do something. But her body wouldn’t move.

“Bloody milk man. 7 AM on a Sunday! Do these people have no scruples?”

She sat up on the bed, “I’m not sleepy. Do you want some coffee?”

“Arey! You haven’t slept at all last night. Come, get some sleep.”

She didn’t want to resist when his hands pulled her down on the bed. His hands automatically circled her waist and her legs automatically intertwined with his.

“You have to call mom.”

“Shut up” he whispered back.

“We should wake up before noon, I’m not sure when your parents said they were going to come.”

“Will you please shut up and go to sleep?”

The temple bells were ringing for the morning aarti. The sun was trying to peep through the curtains that were fluttering in the wind. She breathed in the comfort and closed her eyes.

“Shall we just order for lunch? I don’t want to cook.”

“hmm”

“I hope my parents won’t land before 4 or something. This place is a mess.”

“hmm”

“Last night, the guys were just...”

“hmm”

He looked over at her face, “You’re asleep aren’t you?”

“hmm”

Home is where the Heart is

The wind was beginning to blow and the air was getting cooler. So, I picked up my sweater and took some money in order to buy coffee. On my way out I looked out the window to check if there was light enough outside to read. It was about 7 pm/ 19 hours and the sun was just beginning to kiss the trees good bye. I quickly made my way out of the dorm, bought a cup of coffee from the kiosk and headed for the little park next to my dorm that had been teasing my imagination for a while. It was a quiet little place, unkempt and ignored. Nobody seemed to go there. I saw a couple of rabbits hopping around nibbling. I tried to approach them but they ran away. So I left them alone.

I found a seat perfectly situated in the corner of the park but with decent sunlight still streaming in from the gaps in the trees. I took out my book and began to read. A little while later I felt a sudden movement under the bench, when I looked behind it was one of the rabbits that had just brushed past my legs. I was amazed. Within just a few minutes the rabbits had gotten used to my presence so much that they didn’t mind hopping past me. I couldn’t help smiling to myself as I sipped my coffee and went to my book.

I felt comfortable. The air was getting chillier by the minute and the light was quietly fading out, but I felt comfortable. As if, I was one of the bushes in the corner, or one of the rabbits. It smelt of damp earth. With the taste of strong German coffee swirling in my Indian mouth, the soft warmth it brought inside me against the chilly wind around me, it felt like home.