Ole and the goslings.

Looking out of the classroom window I spot the flock of white geese waddling on the grassy lawn of the campus. I noted happily that there were a number of goslings in the flock and mentally made a note to observe them closely later on. The college campus was not very large but beautifully landscaped with a sprinkler maintaining the grass a lustrous green.

The geese were a bold lot and managed to enjoy themselves on a campus they shared with boisterous students. They attacked cheeky boys and moved away suspiciously when a larger crowd approached them. I am a great admirer of all the feathered species. On reaching home that evening I described the goslings to my daughters who were four and seven at that time. They were thrilled when I offered to take them back to the college to feed the birds right away. So we set off on my scooter with a few loaves of bread. The campus wore a deserted look as we walked to the geese. The watchman helped us feed the birds, who eyed us warily even as they gobbled the pieces of bread. The children ran about happily trying to feed the goslings. But the elders in the flock ate most of the bread and the little ones just hopped around looking bewildered and frightened. For many days the first question I was asked on reaching home was, “Did you see the baby geese? Have they grown?”

April in Jaipur is a month that makes you forget you ever experienced the winter chill .It is blazing hot, and no amount of iced water and breeze from the desert cooler can ease the torpid summer heat. So I looked out at the cloudy sky with surprise and pleasant anticipation, having returned home early on a half day leave .The children loved the rain, and dancing in the rain is a pleasure you can indulge in here without the fear of colds and viruses. So we watched the afternoon grow dark and quiet and the claps of thunder signalled the start of a grand downpour. Standing in the balcony the kids screamed, “Mummy, look there is ice falling everywhere!” .Sure enough, the whole area glimmered with  hail stones and we found larger golf ball sized ones banging away on the roof .It was as if hundreds  of unruly urchins were pelting stones nonstop from above. ”Ole,Ole”, yelled the children racing after the magical hail stones. Many were slyly consumed while others were kept safely in the fridge to show their dad when he got home. Everyone relaxed as the temperatures and tempers cooled.

In college the next day I listened to stories of damaged vehicles and broken windshields. The morning newspapers had reported damage to crops. My heart was broken when the watchman told me ruefully that almost all the goslings were dead .The hail stones had come on too suddenly for him to chase them all into their shelter. But to my daughters I untruthfully kept up a story that the goslings were growing up fast and were big geese already; the other face of the cold hard Ole hidden temporarily from their innocent lives. 

Fine surprises!

                                                               

We are zipping on the highway talking and laughing, only moments before a khaki clad officer emerges from the thick foliage around the bend commanding us to stop. The radar speed control officer’s appearance, and the shock of almost knocking him down, renders us speechless .And while a challan is being made, scores of SUVs race past gleefully, trust me, much so faster , skimming the hot tar surface, getting away only because we hadn’t.

”75 kmph? That’s all? Look, the others are easily hitting 125 kmph”, we squeaked our incredulous protests into the calm face of the officer. Pocketing the fine and handing our receipt he disappeared into the thick vegetation, ready to spring more khaki surprises from its green depths.

This love for greenery and surprises is not restricted to the highways, believe me: I always wore a helmet to the college that was just a 15 min ride from home. On reaching home after work, I realized I had forgotten a bundle of answer books in my cupboard that needed to be checked that weekend. I raced back on my Scooty sans helmet and retrieved the bundle, narrowly escaping being locked in for the weekend by the diligent attendant who was locking up rooms. Much relieved and in all probability humming a song, I emerged out of the college gates dreaming of a hot cup of tea and the company of my little girls as I turned into the main road. A khaki clad apparition emerged from behind the lovely bougainvillea bushes and waved me to a halt.

I pulled out my purse hastily, not wanting any of my students to see their teacher breaking rules. I began by arguing feebly that I had been wearing a helmet  a little while ago, but  never got to the part of my forgotten answer books as he impatiently wrote out my fine.

”Look, Sir. Look behind my ear. Can you see the infection? The doctor has advised me not to wear a helmet”. Another young woman in a similar predicament was willing the eyes of the officer to her ears. I watched with amusement as the officer silenced her with, “Now, no stories please. You women break the rules and then your heads; let’s see what your doctor advises then. Pay up or surrender your license”. The young woman with the supposed ear infection seemed to have neither and began calling up someone over the phone in a shrill voice. I raced home with my eyes glued forward, away from the trees bordering the sidewalks.

The boy in the Xerox shop should be blamed. Two pages to be photocopied and I park my blue Scooty with the Rajasthan registration plates outside his shop. It is late morning with hardly any traffic on this lane. “No problem Ma’am. Don’t worry; see my bike is also parked outside”. Five minutes later I emerge outside to find that my scooter has disappeared into thin air. New to Bangalore, I gaze at a passing pick- up van carrying bikes. There is a blue Scooty just like mine and when the van passes by, I notice that it also has a Rajasthan registration, what a coincidence, I think.

”No wait, it is mine!” I yell suddenly and run behind the van. The boys standing behind on the pick -up van watch me running .Posing like some strange charioteers they stand beside the confiscated vehicles looking unconcerned; the rice merchant idling in his shop and his neighbors, the garage mechanics sit back to enjoy the fun. Free entertainment when business is lean is always welcome. Finally the van screeches to a halt.

Of course the ,‘ I- parked- there- for- hardly- 5 min ‘ ,excuse to the officer seated in the front seat falls on deaf ears. And when I was Rs. 300 poorer, the ‘charioteer’ boys spring magically into life and hoist my poor Scooty down. I throw dark looks at the Xerox shop owner and his bike still standing peacefully outside his shop.

After a hard day’s work and worrying about dinner in all probability, a friend’s friend was carrying radishes in her helmet slung over the handlebar. The officer at the signal was so surprised and amused that he let her off with a warning saying that she would make a pretty picture for the local newspaper. The red faced lady was a school teacher and dreaded the thought of the laughs her pupils and colleagues would have seeing her thus in the morning papers. She vowed to secure the helmet on her head in future. And the chuckling officer had his finest ‘fine less’ surprise of the day. 

Shadows and sunshine.

My father is at the gate looking worried. It is mid-morning and he should have been at work. My Second PUC results have been announced in the college premises.

His usual confident gait is slow and measured. We are waiting-mother and daughter united in the urgent need to know my fate. He comes inside and says,” I had sent a junior officer to check the results. He returned saying you have failed. I will go and see it for myself”. He drinks a glass of water and leaves. It is a journey of maybe 25 km from our house to the college( in the days before the results began arriving on your laptop). The worst nightmare of a student had come true for me and my world with all its dreams disintegrated with that announcement.

It was as if I had been thrown off a great height. I began to cry –shock and disbelief shaking words and sobs from my heart. Amma began crying too. My mind raced over various possibilities: Had I not written my roll number correctly? Had I failed in Hindi, a subject neglected in my pursuit of science and maths? That seemed like a plausible explanation. I was sure I had done well in all the other subjects. I began telling my mother that I had been a fool to neglect Hindi. Now what should I do? The shame and taunting I imagined a close community would throw at me when word got around that I had failed, threw me into further despair. I had lived all my 17 years here and we knew almost everybody.

A carpenter was at work in the garage hammering out huge crates from sheets of plywood. He stopped his work and looked at us questioningly but resumed his work when the two crying women went indoors to weep within the privacy of closed doors. We were moving to Mysore in the anticipation of my getting an engineering seat there. How futile and over confident it seemed now. Amma soon collected herself together and consoled me saying we should wait for my father. In the worst case, she said I would just have to write the Hindi paper again in the supplementary exams.

When I saw my father at the gate again he was still not smiling. He looked tired. As I ran down the path I saw a large bar of chocolate in his shirt pocket and turned to his beaming face. The irresponsible chap in his office had seen the results of a number above mine and had not thought it necessary double check.

What a great relief it was to eat chocolate and laugh once more! But I had come so close to despair and the world had seemed a closed dark space pressing on me from all around. If the nightmare had been real I would have just given the exam again and tried harder. My parents would still have been supportive. Of this I am hundred percent sure. I am 27 years further down the road from that day but no matter what life has thrown at me I have taken it. Maybe I stood with my head down, letting the tears flow unhindered, mourning the loss of a shattered dream; but I always pick up the pieces and start again.