ENIGMATIC LIFE

ENIGMATIC LIFE

“I was walking on the streets, a faded music was showering my ears, the night was cold and the moon was shining bright, the music somehow looked familiar in order to crack the mystery I walked down the street towards the tunes, slower and slower the lyrics started to elevate, my footsteps turned fast and alas

jeene k liye socha hi nahi

dard smbhalne honge

muskuraye to muskurane k

karz utarne honge

An old Hindi film song which means

Never realized

To live we got pains to bear

To smile we got debts to clear

Yes we never thought, I agree life is unpredictable well the night looked darker now and the moon felt sick now I walked back home thinking human psychology sucks. I reached the main gate of the house and uttered to myself ‘the streets are still empty, I can walk till the supper settles down in my tummy’ so rather than going in, I started toddling again, humming that song, and each and every lyric made sense. Plodding further tracing my shadow on the grass which was still wet after the downpour in the afternoon and the petrichor accompanied by the classic summery insect noises, made the moment tranquillize and the song became more sense full.

After a couple of minutes it started raining again so I stepped towards my place, I entered in removed my mask, washed my hands, sanitized my clothes and settled down beside the fire place.”

“A mask?” asked the group of kids to whom I was reciting this ordeal, terming this experience as an ordeal would be wrong, rather let’s say a pleasant ordeal.

“Yes kiddos a mask” I said “but why? Were you sick?” they asked curiously, I sighed and said “we were all sick in those days, ha-ha” “All?” the little boy sitting in a corner asked, he seemed shocked , he had a small face and big eyes with round, thick framed spectacles on them, he was wearing a dangri (A coarse kind of unbleached cotton fabric.) with a flower in one hand which he plucked from the decor plants behind the fencing of the community park which he planned to gift his mother, and a napkin was attached to his t-shirt as he always had a runny nose, the best thing was he wore a smile on his face every time creating a positive aura and he stated me as his best friend but I always forgot his name, thanks to aging. “Yes little one all of us were sick!” I exclaimed, the kids looked at each other in suppress, “why didn’t you took medicines? My mother gives me cough syrup whenever I feel sick” said Rohini, that retrophiliac girl “yes, and that syrup tastes really unpleasant” said the boy whose name I forgot. “But we soon feel better after taking syrups, don’t we? Why you all didn’t took cough syrup Amma! You would have felt better in the twinkling of an eye” Said Rohini’s younger brother.

These kids called me Amma, addressing me as their motherly figure (usually old), they adapted me as their grandmother and that’s why to play the typical grandmother character, I recited them stories from my past. “Not all diseases have cure kids” I said as I remembered the early times. Their faces looked expressionless, they simply didn’t understood anything of course these lights are on, but nobody’s home, so it was required to go the extra mile to make them easily grasp sarcasms, well for me it was a piece of cake, as I have been making up stories since I was a toddler like making up stories about how the black cat broke in the house and jumped over the fridge so I had nothing to do with the broken container of sweets, or stories like how the whole class got an easy exam paper except me because I am very studious so the teachers mostly get jealous, so the poor marks in chemistry are not my mistake, or stories like the same black cat crossed my way while I was leading to my tuition so I had to wait, hence I got late thereby I missed my test , black cats crossing roads are bad omen ( just an Indian superstition) no risk. So all these stories I made on the spot every time my mother came up with an angry face, and these worked, and why would they not, they were true till some extent.

Similarly to elaborate and stuff in some pictures of that scenario in kids’ minds I made up a story “well, do you believe in ghosts?” I asked, and even before their pale-shocked faces could utter something I added “I believe, ghosts are real” “I almost got a life threat by one” I said to pile it on thick. “Amma please don’t talk about ghosts, or else I will break out in cold sweat” Exclaimed Rohini. “ okay, if you don’t want me to continue, but let me inform you this incidence was worth listening, it was ironic how sixty years back we spent more than two years of our life as kids with that ghost” I said dramatically. “Two years?” asked those curious eyes. I nodded with a sigh. “It’s okay, I don’t want you kids to wet your beds out of fear” I said to tease their ego. “No Amma we won’t, I am strong” said the dangri boy, although fear reflected on his face as he bit his lower lip. “You sure? I don’t think you could bear the extreme elevation of swings the story might have?” I ordered. The kids looked at each other, then mutually nodded head and answered “yes, we are sure” nonetheless they were yet not ready for the climax I created.

Somehow I knew it would be really onerous for me to intricate the story behind wearing those masks.

Yes their was a ghost, a ghost capable to choke us, a ghost which ended us up in plastic bags, a ghost which ate us from inside

Those were some uncertain days

We never knew we would ever enter that equivocal phase

Because we never knew, To live we got pains to bear

To smile we got debts to clear…