A Poetic Evening

It was a Sunday evening. I was tossing and turning beckoning sleep to wash away the lonely feeling that had taken over me. But, to no avail! Giving up, I decided to spend some time reading in the nearby park. No amount of description will ever be enough to get across that moment in the park when, with Jose Saramago in my hand, I willed the time to freeze forever. Certainly, Herculean wishes of this kind are not meant for His ears, He has more important things to attend to if He still glances down occasionally to see whether His creations need Him.

As the evening light began to fade, a cool breeze rustled the leaves and as if on cue, the birds joined each other in shouting their hearts out. It was a mad shout of joy but people in their frantic exercise regime of fast walking below in the park, had ears only for earphones. Whenever one walks in this fashion, a preoccupied look sets in that borders on indifference.

Coming out from the park, I got in to the first bus that stopped and later wondered why. At times, our actions don’t make sense to ourselves especially when we are alone and yearn for some sweet experience.

4^th block welcomed me. Now that I was there, I remembered that I had to shop for some necessary items. The heavens were making up their minds to drench the lands and it was only a matter of time before tiny drops would descend. Trying to take in the sights and sounds, I found that strangely enough, I was able to hear only a muted drone. Busy shopping centres often invoke that sensation but it passed soon enough.

Walking along one of the numerous cross streets, I spotted a shop selling Kulfi and all manner of fruit juices. Children were pleading with their parents for Kulfis. A child was trying her best to understand the different ways in which each flavor would taste before making the important decision of choosing one. As she got herself a Kesar Badam, even before taking a first bite, she ran towards her mother – Whether it was genuinely because she wanted to let her mother take the first bite and consequently out of pure affection or selfishly wanting to hear her approval would be hard to tell. But, I was a little sure it is the former, for children don’t act with a motive of clearly concealed guile.

I grabbed a Kulfi and listened to a few boys talking about the boring evenings after IPL. Some were arguing that Euro had filled in but cricket enthusiasts outnumbered…A few steps ahead, I spotted a vendor selling Ice Golas – that mouth watering large piece of ice made into a fanciful shape and dipped into liquid of any flavor you demand. He was trying his best to cater quickly to his increasing customers among whom there was a small group of boys and girls who were obviously meeting each other for the first time. At least, a few in that little group had not been introduced to each other.

I could figure out that Orkut – that social networking phenomenon to which we are more or less addicted to – had once again served to bring people together. Their animated conversation involved much gleeful responses, elated exclamations and exchanges of experiences in Bangalore. With the occasional cry of ‘Orkut Zindabad’, this group was quite a sight. I could hardly suppress a desire to join them and share their happiness.

Surely and firmly, rain drops started teasing the shopping crowd. Some carried on indifferently while some started to look for cover. More than an hour had passed and all I had found worth buying was Chetan Bhagat’s ‘The 3 mistakes of my life’. Entering Pavitra to grab a masala dosa, I found that it had become a refuge for people seeking shelter from rain.

Three girls had gathered around a table and were trying to get one of the hotel boys to clean it. They finally manged to get the attention of a disinterested lad and with appreciable disdain, he barely used the cloth on the table. The result was a bigger mess and one of the girls contorted her features to best convey her disapproval. It was comical at best for the lad didn’t bother squarely.

At another table, a family was struggling with their little son. As with most families, the mother was trying to feed him Rice Bath. He was teasing her and watching her reactions. He would let her bring a mouthful near his lips and at the last second, firmly close them prohibiting any entry. This continued in the same vein for nearly 10 times before the father took it upon himself to cajole and feed his son. If the mother fails, can the father triumph? The kid started to show signs of wailing but never once opened his mouth.

Nearby, a girl was helping her younger sister wear her shoes. They appeared a size too large for her little feet but nevertheless were cute ones.

Outside, the rain had increased in ferocity and I somehow managed to catch a bus back. I couldn’t help hold a contented smile for all the little experiences I had had in that one evening. Through the windows of the speeding bus, I was able to spot two girls walking on the pavement. They were both sharing a dupatta to escape the rain, one was engaged on a call and the other was struggling to eat her ice cream in the cramped space!