A Seductive Evening

It takes more than normal time to come out of a warm quilt when it’s the month of January. It is holiday day today on account of the happy birthday of a Muslim prophet. I wish I could know something about the Mohammed whose birth day is giving a day to rest and stay under quilt in the winter. I visualize him in some Mecca or some imaginary holy Islamic place. People say I imagine a lot. Nobody can stop his/her head from imagining the things.

I rise up as I’ve already slept for three hours and I can’t stay in bed for long and I rarely sleep for more than an hour in after noon. I feel the room cold as if my body has dived into a cold sea and fish into the heap of cloths for my heavy jacket. As soon I find it slip it on me quickly as if the cold would bite and tear my muscles into pieces.

Next step is to make tea. Tea looks sexy and intoxicating in winter. Isn’t it?

To make tea, you need to wash the cup that you’ve used to drink last tea and then tea pan needs to be washed. I put the cup in sink and pour some water into it so that it’s dry bottom of the tea that is left after last sip can melt and it’s easy to wash then.

The gas stove is on and supplying blue flame to the bottom of the tea pan which I fill with some water, some tea leaves and one teaspoon sugar. It takes some time to boil and then I add some milk into it to give it a nice color and taste.

I can’t stay standing in the kitchen, staring at the boiling mixture so I go out to balcony to see the world around me.

  The day is still and calm. I see some sun rays falling on the other side of the road at the open area which is generally used for parking cars. It’s a holiday but still I can’t see the place crowded with cars like every day.

I stand in the sun, which burning into white and when I look at it my eyes resist and can see only the orange envelope around it. I try to look into the sun but it’s still burning and trying to show it is superior to me. I'm habitual of looking into sun since I was a kid and the people around me would say you can’t stare at it or you shouldn’t. I took it as a challenge then and tried it many times until I got shifted to the metro city.

All good feelings and love for the nature die when you come to an urban place. And those who are born here are inhabitants, who look strange to me because I fail to understand the way they live their life. They wake up late in the morning. They try their best to earn more and more money. One thing that I strongly hate about them; the way they celebrate their parties in disco or pub or bar. I can’t imagine some people sitting, dancing, drinking wines and shouting in a room which is equipped with some musical equipment. This is the way people enjoy here!

The sun is warming my body that I can touch the full sleeve of my shirt and feel the warmth.

The trees are standing, lifeless. There is no wind and so their leaves can’t shake. They’re standing as if they want to stand without making any movement. It happens during summer when the atmosphere lacks air. Or as if their work is to stand and let the world see their disciplines.

Before me stand a series of street lamp poles in a row with a black cable connecting then with each other. Two lamps, sitting on each pole stare the ground as if they are trying to find something or they are trying to inspect like cops. Rarely, some cars come at speed slower than usually cars ram there and pass away, leaving behind some engine voice to die soon.

I see four black pigeons sitting on a cable that is connecting two poles. They twist their heads all around that makes the cable shake little. One of them gets bored with sitting on the same line so it flies to the other which is a pack of six black cables twisting together as if snakes have curled themselves to show unity. The other pigeons welcome him with a nod. After seeing the warmth welcome other three can’t resist themselves and flew to join their neighbor.

Everything looks lazy. One sardarji emerged out of a hut and begins bhrooming the ground before his hut. He looks slow. I look to the other side and find a tree that sheds its leaves in winter only. It looked like a naked beautiful girl with a curvaceous slim body with round healthy bosoms and long hair which is open and spreading all around her body.

I hear some birds chirping in the trees of a nearby park that is separated from my home by a small old government office. I'm listening to them after long. It’s been years, I guess. I go to park every morning and I find birds singing there but I fail to enjoy it. Many other things roam inside my head when I jog. I feel bad.

I look into sky when I hear some sound of an airplane passing over my head. I try to trace the plane but fail. May be the dense fog has gulped it. The milky blue sky looks beautiful. It was missing or I was missing it. I drink the view as if my heart and eyes were thirty for it since years. A white car arrives, posche this time with music at full volume. It forces me to look at it. I find it same as other cars like Mercedes, BMW, Ford etc. which are passing by. It looks as a dead body, getting dragged on some fuel.

I hope the tea would be ready.

I break my connection with the nature, the silent after noon turning into evening, the blue sky, the orange sun, the green trees, the naked tree, the people walking by, the cars and everything and walk straight towards the main gate.

Before the main gate I find a heap of white sand that has been kept there for the two weeks and it is blocking more than half of our entrance so we have to use another gate when we need to park our vehicles.

I don’t miss a chance to walk on sand when I find it anywhere. The dogs have played with it and have spread all around. The color of sand looks similar to that of the day. Milky and foggy.

I smash sand under my feet that spread and let my feet sink into it. Some of it slips between my feet and slippers. I had developed a technique to get rid of the sand from my feet when I was a kid and used to walk down the river bank which was covered with white ret. I repeat my technique but stop myself soon as I find it nice under my feet and move inside my compound.

A dog is sitting, curling it body into a circular thing on the dry leaves that the naked tree has shed. It blinks its black dark eyes at me and closes them without moving. I push the heavy wooden door that opens into stairs that goes to first floor where I live. It gets closed on its own with a creaking sound that reminds me of horror movie in which doors always get shut by themselves with this peculiar scary sound.

    

An Evening

I'm back from office. It was a busy day as government officials are not supposed to do many works in a day but I'm the new one, the young one so I try my best to work hard and finish with all the pending public complaints regarding electricity. Yes, I work in the electricity department of the capital city and as a young man I understand my responsibility to repair the department which has been puncturing by old officials since the department was made.

I make some tea in kitchen, pour it into a cup, come into my single living cum bed room, place it on my study table and open a book; Rusty goes to London, the story of Ruskin Bond. I suppose he writes for kids but I liked his story because he has written the stories based on Indian places and I'm always fond of reading books about Indian villages. It reminds me of my childhood days that I’d spent happily in my village.

The book keeps reminding me of my early days and I can’t stop myself from missing those good days. A guy knocks on my door. I open the door and find the engineer who works in the electricity department but in another office at another place but lives in the same apartment at ground floor and makes and eats dinner with me. He is strange. He is of the same age as mine but he has lost his hair on most of the parts on his head. I ask him to come in and sit. He sits and I take my seat on the chair and take the book. I know he will sit and chitchat. I can read and chat at a time.

I get lost into the story soon and so he has to take a newspaper which is kept folded next to him.

‘Where is today’s newspaper?’ The expected question came from him. I knew he will ask for fresh newspaper.

‘It’s still rolled into a rubber band somewhere in balcony.’ I answer, visualizing the newspaper that I’d seen in the morning.

Suddenly I feel helpless and want to go out and buy some books of Ruskin Bond. And I can’t help myself when I'm in need of a novel. I can sell my course book or any another thing to buy a novel.

‘Is there any bookshop around?’ I ask.

‘Not here. But at some kilometers away.’ He answers, dipping his head into newspaper.

I switched to my phone and typed book shop in a red app called places in my phone. I find many book shops but all at a distance of more than two kilometers away.

Om book shop, I found it in a market which was some five kilometers away.

‘Let’s go.’ I say.

‘Okay.’

I know he can’t refuse to me. I have made him my friend and we go outside when we feel like eating something in the evening and I pay most of the times as he get less salary and I feel sorry for him.

I want to go to my favorite bookshop. I’ve a bike and I’ve just got it servicing done I want to ride it as much as I can and when I comes to night I love biking at night among head lights.

Within fifteen minutes, we reach to the South Extension part-1. I realize its Monday and the market is closed for the day and I am very confident about it because I’ve lived this place for years when I came to Delhi.

I park my bike before a down shutter and ran to my favorite book shop which is in basement. I find the narrow door opened. I ran downstairs.

‘Is there any Ruskin Bond’s new arrival?’ I ask the counter man, who is bald and he knows me since long.

‘Yes.’ He says and directs, one his guys to get me the one. ‘Second shelf with blue cover. Hard cover.’ He adds.

Before his staff would arrive I begin to search on the shelf but fail to get the one. His staff also struggles to get the book and another joined who knows which one to take out.

‘I don’t like it.’ I say.

‘Where are the rest of Bond’s book?’ I ask.

‘There,’ the bald man says, pointing to a narrow lane between big book shelves.

‘Go with him and tell him to do fast.’ I hear the bald saying it to one of his men.

I see a shelf full of books written by Ruskin Bond. I get confused which one take out. The staff and my friend stand on back. I sit on my legs to look at the titles clearly. Very few light reaches there.

‘Sir, please do fast. The shop is about to be closed.’ The staff says from behind when he finds me reading the back cover of each book on the shelf.

I take out two, pulled my wallet, pull my card and hand over to the staff and ask for get them billed and then ran to a corner which is very dimly lit and no light can reach there but I want to see some more books because I'm visiting my favorite shop after long.

‘Shit.’ The little light that was coming died and I can’t even look at the titles.

‘You’ve done intensely. Haven’t you?’ I ask.

‘It’s a time to shut the shop. It’s Monday. We already have little staffs and they want to go home.’ The bald says, punching the keys before him to bill the books.

I see another bulb flashing strong light only above the new arrivals. I run there to see some books. I read some more titles but don’t want to buy more otherwise I’ll run out of cash and have to think.