Loonville

The rain was coming down hard. I cursed myself for picking just the wrong time to leave Mickey’s place. I had to leave, the delicious chicken notwithstanding, thanks to my dad hollering over the phone. Trust me, I love the rain. Lazing away on a rainy evening with some Doors playing must be closest to Paradise. But there is an occupational hazard involved when you wear glasses and ride a motorbike. A hazy picture of the Kilpauk garden road presented itself. So far so good. I see this wizen old man doing a waltz on the road and somehow i know i was going to hit him.

Kabuliwaala (the one from Kabul) is a old Bengali/Hindi tale by the master himself, Rabindranath Tagore. It’s about a street peddler and a little girl. It is a pretty famous one, made into a neat Hindi flick in the sixties. Most people must have a smile on their face by now, yes that’s the story we guys did in Hindi class, grade three (or was it four ?) While the names have long disappeared, the emotions still lurk. Even back then, when Tagore meant nothing to us, we knew we were reading some seriously good stuff. Though we had a crappy version of kabuliwaala, a guy that sold us jamuns outside the campus, I have always thought of my Hindi teacher Mr.Eugene as the kabuliwaala sans the beard; tall, well-built, funny and slightly alien-ish ( he was an anglo)

As I had earlier prophesied, I nearly hit the old guy, went into a skid and almost crashed into the makeshift median there. Mentally, I was going through a list of curses i could possibly throw at the old guy. I see a couple of people standing near Hunky-Dory but they didn’t look like the type that would get involved in a shouting match, especially, when nobody was knocked over and more importantly, there was no shattered glass. First the ordeal of missing chicken and now this, the last straw, and I am all ready to give some love to the senile b!@#$#%rd.

Kabuliwaalah was this really nice chap, separated from his daughter in Afganistan, peddling his wares in Kolkata. He meets this little kid here and for the rest you can do a Google.

“Enna nenaichukitu ___ “( what where you even thinking ?) I know those eyes from somewhere, my tone mellows down.

“Konjam paarthu poga ___” ( Couldn’t you have been a little more careful?)

Naidu thaatha¹. It had to be him

Naidu thaatha, a short, stocky man, with holy ash smeared across his swarthy forehead; ferried us (a brat pack of seven) to school everyday. I went to Union Christian then and I really looked forward to the ride on the cycle rickshaw everyday. A ride across Nowroji road, then towards the Zuebida hospital, onto the Poonamalle high road, near Pachaiyappas, New Avadi road, into Lakshmi street and Taylor’s road. Back then, it was Preethi’s house, Charan’s house, a couple of other houses and Karthi’s house i.e my home [yeah, it was never called Sidu's house ] Naidu thaatha, as he was called by zillions of school kids, was a wonderful man, who wouldn’t ever ride fast , like the other young urchins used to make fun of our rickshaw. Despite that, Naidu thaatha’s rickshaw was a merry lot. Songs, I now suspect must have been MGR’s², rang out loud. Thaatha thought himself to be a singer of sorts. We didn’t complain, it was pure fun. The best part was on hot, sultry evenings when he got on feet and pulled the rickshaw. One lucky kid got to ride on the driver’s seat.It was thrilling, your feet barely touched the pedals and you thought you actually did all the steering. Of course, how could I forget the bell ? The bell goes beserk. So like the English, all we wanted was bright, sunny afternoons.

Two years later, we moved.

“Neenga Naidu thaatha thaane ?” ( Aren’t you Naidu thaatha ?)

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“Nyabagam irrukka, naan Siddu, Karthik thambi, enna neenga thaan school kootitu poveenga?” (Do you remember me? I am Siddu, Karthik’s younger brother. You used to take me to school.)

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“Enga porenga? Naan kondu vanthu vidruen” ( Where are you going ? I’ll get you there)

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Thaatha doesn’t seem to recognise me or the names. Well, I did only two years on his rickshaw and my brother did seven. He isn’t very coherent either. Keeps staring at me and then starts looking around. Senility, I think.

” Thambi, mazhai peiyuthu illa. Paarthu poganum paa” ( Son, it’s raining. Better be careful)

He goes across the road and keeps walking. Least disturbed by the close call or by the madcap yelling his name from behind.

All I could do was take his advice. After all it comes from someone that has delivered generations of school-kids safely. My very own Kabuliwaalah.

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1. Thaatha – Grandfather. used to address elderly people.

2. MGR – Don’t kill me for this, but MGR (M.G.Ramachandran) was a film star from the sixties , one that invariably played a do-gooder and was a major hit among the cycle-rickshawallahs. Ended up being one of the most loved chief ministers and politicians across the country.