deviousways

It's a beautiful evening, starlit and quiet. Babe and I are walking, singing silly songs, having fun. We walk past a parked jeep and babe shouts Hi. I laugh.  Why did you do that, I ask him. It's a vehicle, it cannot talk back to you. Then Amma, he shoots back, why do cars talk in cartoons. What can I tell him, really. My all-knowing self is stumped. So I make a glib reply--cartoons are not real life, baby. Our little boy skips on, happy creature that he is. In my heart I quake, marvelling at this child, his insight. In my 35-odd years, such thoughts don't occur to me. Yet, being with this child, I learn something new every day. This is a walk I'll always remember, I think. Such moment are what memories are made of, I tell myself, feeling a warm glow, feeling secure in my role as protector, as mother. We come to a turning. It's particularly empty at this late-evening time. A teenage security guard is standing inside a small gate. Why is he staring fixedly at...

We were going somewhere, I forget where, to Brigade Road or some such place. Stuck in traffic, I did my favourite thing--people watching. Men and and women, grim, scowling, smiling, laughing, joking. Then I spotted a frail body stumbling through the traffic, hand outstretched, supplicating, beseeching. People kept smiling, staring, scowling, laughing...as if this less-than-human being didn't exist. They turned away so they wouldn't see. But who am I to moralise? The minute I spotted that old woman, I felt a sinking in my heart. Oh no, I thought, another beggar. Another grimy hand thrust into the car, carrying God Knows What Infection. What if she accidentally touches my child? What if I touch her? I shrank inside, mentally cowering away from that image. Hoping she would disappear. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw movement in the autorickshaw parked beside our big, flashy, shiny car. Three little heads peering out. The auto driver's children. He reached into hi...

A friend killed herself yesterday. I cannot understand why a girl I thought so spunky, gutsy and intelligent would do something like this. It's not like we were great friends or anything. We were colleagues six years ago and well, I didn't even like her when we first met. Because she was pretty rude, stuck-up and well, quite un-ignorable. Then I realised she's as prickly as a hedgehog but quick-witted and fun to be around. And she was a darn good journalist. Wrote descriptive, lively pieces that were a treat to read. Yet, I never really knew her. Because never in my wildest dreams did I imagine she would kill herself. So how much do we know of another person? Or even someone we love? I used to occasionally read this vital young woman's updates on FaceBook and smile. That's it. Now she is no more. I wish I had taken the trouble to keep in touch.

There's a park near our home. It's pretty okay, by Bangalore standards. Not as well-kept or as large as parks in Mysore, of course, but good to walk around. And it's now THE hangout in our area. In the past three months, a new Corner House has opened on one side, a new Au Bon Pain has opened on another.  Walkers now have an array of delights to keep them exercising hard! Right next to the Au Bon Pain (which, in turn is very close to French Loaf), is a mobile chaat cart. A man and his wife run it. They have three kids. Practically every evening, there's a beeline as famished couples and families head for nourishment. Bikers, slightly poorer families and office goers head to the chaat cart. A more upmarket clientele troops into ABP. Ergo, everyone's happy. The chaatwala and his wife work hard and since they have three children, I'm glad they do good business. Their smallest child, a little girl, is two or three years old. Every evening, as I do my walk-then-...

I have my father's feet He has his. I have my father's skin.  Filter coffee, not much milk. He is honey gold and glowing A babe still. I am grown up, fully formed In my head. In my hates, likes, loves Dislikes, prejudices. I learnt from those around me, you see. He is learning too. He knows my moods Reads my emotions. Don't learn from me, my child. Stay innocent. For I fear I am too good a teacher.