Happy Diwali or The Frame Between Juggernauts

My whimsical insight into a mundane everydayer

Poke your nose a little through the grills of the window facing north. Wait a second or two. Smell of garbage of all sorts hit your nose like a pungent punch from a rectangular clearing in a forest of buildings! Once a playground for tiny toddlers, it is now a ruin of modern greenery. I say greenery because in some mysterious way there is grass and a couple of stunted trees huddled in a corner of the clearing. Otherwise, complete rubbish! Mongooses lurk amid the rotten residue " day and night. You can call it a small strip of land. Who knows? Maybe someday well-dressed and perfumed agents from some big money-grasping developer companies will discover this Treasure Island! ZAP! Another piece of dying green vaporised! Thanks to those panting-like-dogs city-life fetishisers who are almost always ready to shower money on the crooked haloes of those land-grabbing laissez-fairers!
           Beside the land, there is a narrow line of a brick road- showing resilience against the wreaking havoc from the heavy monsoon rains. I never counted but I can say around hundred people pass through this road all day long. Through this jail-like window you can see those people shuffling along the road and vanishing behind the juggernauts- the buildings. But sometimes some fleeting vignettes stay in the mind reluctantly and peek at your thoughts when you’re not even near the window. That’s how the idle mind works I guess. Utterly useless things gather around in a few cubic centimetres of your skull!

           I remember a certain Diwali night! It was a pleasant evening; fireworks stretching into the night sky, taravati whirling with merriment in kids’ hands, neat lights called pradeeps lit under Tulsi bonsai, intermittent ear-deafening noise from the fireworks. It was lovely! The whole aura was somehow enchanted with the aroma from the incense sticks.       
          Two girls, probably sisters, came out in their verandah of their flat. Their flat was on opposite side across the road.
          They lit up the pradeeps with intense care and devotion. One of them was repeatedly staring up at me as if she thought I was learning how to light up one. They contemplated their illuminated verandah for awhile with admiration. They went inside and brought two taravati and lit them up, stretching their hands over the parapet of the verandah. The fiery tips of their wands momentarily poured bright amber glow on their faces. The girl who looked up at me before now started noticing me through her eyes’ corners. Then she did something stupid! Her sister followed suit! They threw their sparkling taravati in beautiful curves across the road and into the good old land of garbage! They waited for awhile and then leapt and ran into their room closing it shut.
         Fire! Fire! It wasn’t a big one. Thanks to the dad of these two girls who just came out after the girls’ retreat. The fire was doused with the help of him and some other big-muscled water-guys out of nowhere. No one knew who started the fire but me, I guess. But wait! Their dad knew definitely. He came up first with the bucket full of water! Happy Diwali mister!

       

         A leisurely elderly man enjoying his afternoon walk becomes visible once in awhile. Mistaken route via some hapless brick road. Three colourful kids frolic. A bald man with his wife buried in make-up. Two dj-type adolescents with goatee. A breath-takingly beautiful between-girl-and-woman.
        One brief glance, one fleeting stare never can say the whole story. Through this grilled window in some jail-house the outside world looks so tempting. But it’s only for a fleeting moment. Like a frame of a camera. You can see everything what happens in it but outside the frame you know nothing.   

Author's Note

photo credit: random taravati picture stolen from Google

Reviews

[Rosalind Gale]

Dear Sujash,
This story has a certain mistique to it: And I too enjoyed the 'secret' that was held - perhaps there are more secrets embedded within the text - or at least in the 'skull' - 'useless' yet incredibly engimatic that once brought to light can interweave a lifetimes with stories, short tales and poems. I like to think of the fire not only as a literal thing but also something you have - I suppose a loose metaphor for what you desire; it could be to write, to love, to achieve something - maybe all three, and more. Thank you for this peek into a life's moment.
Rosa -x-

[Priyanka Natesh]

It's beautiful, the way you put the concept in perspective. One should try to get in the frame though. Be a part of the frame. Change.

[Laura Maidah]

Beautiful. Write what you know; did you?

[Coyote Poetry]

A very good story. Fire can be dangerous and scary. I like the secret kept by father and friend. A very entertaining story. I like how other places celebrate life and death. Thank you for the amazing tale.
Coyote