Microcosm

The weekly sabzimandi beckoned

So swinging our empty bags happily we sauntered through the park

In the park, encountering the serious evening walkers guilt clutched asphyxiating

The expanding girth caused the mandatory heartburn

But momentarily

Soon the titillating twinkling fairy lights of the sabzimandi brightened our vision

And lifted the slumped spirits

Festooned with gay lights the road looked like a fair

What sublime joy it was to behold fresh green vegetables

In their varied variegated individualistic greens

Some dark and blatant, others oh! So coy in soft hesitant hues

Some rotund and squat, other elegantly slender

Displayed strategically under complementary coloured lights

Red enhancing the colour of tomatoes, carrots and onions

Green beautifying peas, beans, gourds, cucumbers and pumpkins

Visible from far these tiny shiny lights ring in a festive mood

Lemons, green chilies, mint, coriander suffuse sharp spicy aroma

But mingling with perfumes, perspiration, powders and omnipresent Kesari whiff of Vimal

The sturdy smell assailed my sensitive sensibilities

And I winced

Then an electrifying cacophony of languages and dialects entrapped me

Engagingly teasing my trained ear

A young very-much-in-love Marathi couple

Were bargaining for coconuts for making Ganpati’s favorite modaks

I gave them a benevolent smile bit it didn’t reach them

They had eyes only for each other

Where I stood undecided near the mounds of vegetables

Two short dark emaciated women in drab dull salwar kurtas

Were selecting pointed gourds with perfect practiced precision and promptness

Admiring their deft wrists I noticed their white and red shakha pola

They were Bengali beyond doubt

I intently observed the patoles they had selected

Making a meticulous mental note of the parameters

For selecting prudently

When I was busy choosing

A hefty twosome requested for pronto delivery of pumpkin

Discussing the sweet and sour preparations of the same

Their Kashmiri pronunciation pinned them

I checked the faces to confirm my ears’ recommendation

Yes truly

The faces glowed as if from a lamp lit within

Such glorious was their complexion even though both were past their prime

Having filled my bags to my heart’s content

I let my nose lead me towards the roasting corns on live charcoals

my sprightly steps took me to the corn cob cart

Reaching there I stood waiting to catch the seller’s attention

And to pass time

Stole a furtive look at the person across my shoulder  

My glance fell on a fair face with a wart

Inch long white hair cascaded down from the wart

He was Conferring in an unrecognizable northeast dialect

With his consort

In a long skirt

And a t-shirt

And a scarf thrown around the neck for modesty

He himself wore a long pistachio green Khadi kurta

And a loud jingoistic silver India pendant

Could have been gold to show deeper respect

Wife didn’t cow down to his request

I complimented him on his silver India

But he paid no heed and left

The space was occupied by an elderly couple with broken dry dark skin

Not comprehending the price of corncobs paid double the amount

And put the humble seller in a quandary

To assist both parties

I explained the cost of one and multiples in English to the Kerala Christians

They happily accepted the returned change, thanked me and departed

I stood my ground because I had chosen soft sweet tender corncobs

And was getting them roasted on blinking charcoals

A pair of impatient sweaty stout tired Marwari sisters-in-law

Cavernously craving corn

In a jiffy chose two from the exhibited roasted ones

And uncontrollably salivating

Asked the man to coat the selected cobs generously with salt and lemon juice

Ah! But the bhuttawala’s cache of neeebus was over

Hence without any delaying long explanation

He ran to replenish his supply

I empathized with the two fat matrons

Being on the same boat

My corncobs were roasting unmonitored

So I wanted to go ahead and turn them over

Ahha! our man returned grabbing yellow lemons

With due haste but undue force he cut one juicy lemon in two

Smeared one with rock salt and daubed the cobs

The two ample Marwari sisters with uncontained saliva

Grabbed those swiftly and walked away enjoying

Mine were also ready

He handed them to me swathed in their original covers

Because those were too hot to handle naked and smoking hot

I thanked him for gift wrapping my bhuttas

Conversing with the bhuttawala brought forth my Bihar nostalgia

Patna was my home for four years

One home among many

Sprinkled all over India

That contained me as best as they could

In my vagabond life of fifty eight years

Walking back indulgently nibbling my bhutta

I realized this weekly Sabzimandi in Delhi

Was a microcosm of my India!

Fiery flowers

         

In the mountains, each new day brought a new joy and a new song on my lips. The dire trepidation and tribulation of the day past were fast forgotten. There was a spring and dance in my steps as I ran around the orchard plucking an apple here and a peach there. The Early June variety of crisp green apples was my favorite. Green apple tree was right in front of the porch and was most visible from the windows and also from the front veranda. I loved it when it was fully covered with its delicate pale pink blossoms with not a leaf to break the monopoly of the gorgeous pink splendor. After spreading splendor for a while the flowers shed their pink petals and metamorphosed to baby apples which grew into big crisp ones that I relished. I loved it when the green hesitantly crept in as tender new leaves and then little by little completely took over from the pale pink blossoms.

I yanked a huge bite from the apple I had just plucked and fully savored its tingling sour taste. Enjoying my apple, I reached our English landlord’s house in the neighboring Sunset View Estate. The tall statuesque octogenarian English lady stood in the porch wearing a beige floral-print knee length frock and an amused smile. She welcomed me and asked me, “How do you do?” I did not know the appropriate rejoinder so I responded with my gay gummy smile. Everybody called the old English lady Mummy. Mummy called me in. Before entering, I discreetly discarded the core of the apple I was eating, in the open ground. Mummy offered me freshly baked cookies. I knew from experience that they were marvelous so I quickly grabbed as many as I could in both my hands. Mummy indulgently laughed at my greediness. I wasn’t discouraged by her laugh. I knew Mummy liked me because there were hardly any children around except for the smelly dirty ones of the village who did not dare to enter an Englishman’s estate. Without saying thanks because I had not yet learnt these graces and etiquette, I walked away with still warm biscuits.

            On my way out, I observed gloriously gorgeous orange spikes resembling a fully ripe corn cob. These were flowers of a Yucca like cactus. Yucca bore sedate white flowers but these were dazzling orange. I wanted these orange spikes and was mulling over how to reach them without getting hurt from the scary sharp thorns guarding them. Tika uncle, Mummy’s only surviving son, was observing my contemplation from far. I thought Mummy could not have named him Tika but everybody called him Tika Saheb. I found out from the local helpers that he was called Tika because he was the crown prince and would be coroneted by applying a Tika on his forehead. So while he was waiting to be coroneted they called him Tika Saheb. I never did find out his real name. I may have heard Mummy call him by his proper English name but I may not have understood. I saw him taking long strides using his height optimally and coming towards me. He strictly warned me that even touching these fiery orange flowers caused severe itching. But what were a warning or two when the appeal was so great. Cleverly I postponed plucking them while Tika uncle was with me.

            My keenness to get those flowers did not allow much time to elapse before I came back braced with a stronger resolve albeit without a plan. The flowers were at a great height and their stems were as thick and strong as bamboos. The thorny leaves spread all around a single spike of flowers. I observed all these foreboding arrangements nature had designed to keep the precious flowers secure but in my unwise alacrity I failed to gauge the scope of risk. As I leapt towards the thick stem multiple thorns scratched and gashed my eager tender arms and legs. The instantaneous immeasurable itching and burning sensations immobilized me. I fell down and lay there writhing in pain. My brain was incapacitated by intense insufferable pain. I had never before experienced such severe discomfort. I thought I would die then and there. Tika uncle, though grown up in years, had a child’s brain, so he could precisely predict what I would do. Having construed correctly, he came to my rescue, really quick. He found me on the ground, contorting in agony and wailing loudly. He picked me up and carried me home. Amma  was aghast to see my skin so badly bruised. She was in tears empathizing with me. Tika uncle fetched some ointment. The local help knew about the herbs – antidotes which could provide relief. Under the supervision of maanji, Tika uncle and the house help amma cleaned my wounds and carefully checked to see if any vicious thorns were lodged in my skin. The prolonged cleaning process, administering the ointment and also the local herbs prolonged my torture and I cried loudly throughout. The crescendo of wailing was high because I was surrounded by sympathizers. Extreme pain and loud crying caused extreme exhaustion and made me groggy. Amma gently put me in my bed and let me sleep. Sleep as well as the medicines repaired my injuries to a great extent. Body’s repair system worked exceedingly efficiently in the wondrous childhood. Next morning, I sprang up to near normalcy, much wiser about the dangerously deceptive beauty of the flame colored flowers arranged in a spike. I had learnt a lesson for life that these orange flowers were to be admired only from far. In future, I would never fail to share this wisdom with others whenever I would see these bewitching flowers.