The wizard of flowers

The maiden appeal of a certain token of luxury may befuddle you to the core at its first sighting and experience but after some time the same things appear as mundane as getting Farmville , Chefville, darnedVille requests on facebook. The scent and smell of a new car and the pleasure of driving it last for the first few days, the charm and sensuous wife you married seems to transform into someone else few nights later, and the charm of the first home cable connection dies out mostly in the first week. Something similar happens with me and the multi-star bejeweled hotels. The day you check-in and behold the enigma of the multitude of cafes, lounges and bars, you are certain that this ensemble of pleasure and luxury would even make Indra envious.(And we know what happens when he gets envious!) But a few hours later, after having uselessly browsed through all channels of your plasma TV, you wonder what to do next.

Such was my state as I was worthlessly pacing back and forth along the perimeter of the glass-windowed wall, as a soft drizzle was descending from the heavens and getting lost in the dense foliage of Koregaon Park. This was my first visit to Pune and all I had was a day at my disposal to cater to my explorer whims as I had to catch a late night flight back to Bangalore. The television channels no more seemed to care for the primary factor of entertainment, rather I was forced to switch it off when all of them started resonating sheer agony to my ears by consecutively firing songs of some new age singer who had “YO-YO” prefixed to his name. While I was at the mercy of this conundrum, the door bell rang. Jacob, one of my colleagues was at the door, wanted to know if we should venture out to tour a few nearby places. I asked him to wait and went back to the window to see that the drizzle had surprisingly stopped, though it was still murky. We agreed to step off the hotel premises in about 15 minutes after having breakfast.

It felt nice to have set foot outside the perimeter of artificial air conditioning of recycled air. We could see bunch of luxury cars with well dressed chauffeurs lined up outside, making us feel even more out of place. We walked a few paces and started looking for some generous auto-rickshaw driver who could take us to the first place we had in mind, the Aga Khan palace. When we reached the palace, it had started drizzling again, we wandered confidently to the main entrance of the palace. We were stopped at the palace doors by a couple of private security men who asked us to get the tickets in order to gain legal entry. We were directed to the ticket booth in the corner, and we obediently followed the instructions. The premises of the palace was forlorn except for a few enthusiastic foreign tourists and an Indian family who was looking forward to spending their Sunday amidst glimpses of Indian History, however reluctant their children be to do so.

The Palace was more or less a disappointment except for the few relics belonging to Gandhiji, his wife Kasturba and his secretary Mahadevbhai Desai. The main significance of the place was due to the time spent in captivity by Gandhiji during the Quit India Movement. Also his wife Kasturba and Mahadev Bhai had died in this very palace. In 1969 the successor of Aga Khan clan had donated the place to the Indian government to be preserved as a historical monument. I am sure if he comes back to see the state his ancestral palace is in, he would definitely sue the Indian government for millions.

After the palace we decided to head to the Po Laa landscape garden and the miniature railway museum. A seemingly generous auto-rickshaw driver surprisingly agreed to take us there on meter expense. And thus began the long bumpy journey which turned out to be much longer than we expected. As the meter soared over the 20km mark we knew we were being taken in circles as google maps had estimated the distance to be just ten kms. It took some 24 kms and a lump sum of 200 rupees to reach the Po La garden only to find it closed until 4pm. The auto driver finally showed some pity and agreed to drop us at another nearby garden called Saras Baug. Before leaving us at the garden he even suggested us to get some famous Pune Bhakarwadis from the famous store located at Chitle, as if showing gratitude after having robbed us.

The garden was not much different than the ones in Bangalore except there were fewer couples occupying the park benches. As we exited the garden premises, we could see from the signs that a zoological garden lay ahead. As we had a lot of time and had nothing to do, visiting the zoo seemed a logical move. We entered the park premises and Jacob went to the ticket booth adjacent to the gate to secure us a couple of entry tickets but what happened next was immensely surprising.

“Baccha hai?” asked the ticket vendor as Jacob approached the vending window. I stood puzzled assuming there was some serious misunderstanding. We then saw the board hanging from the ticket window which said:

“ENTRY ALLOWED ONLY WITH A CHILD”.

And thus was washed away our only hope of passing away a couple of hours.

We ignored the somewhat weird prerequisite for entrance and retraced our steps back to the Saras Baug gate. After a tryst with a road side Pav Bhaji stall and some wandering in the Main Bazaar we decided to head back to our hotel in Koregaon via the city bus. The day in retrospect seemed to be a disappointment as we boarded the rickety bus which croaked and squeaked for very turn of the wheel. Amidst the harmony of the sound emitted by every nut and bold of the bus I was lulled into a slumber only to have woken up by Jacob when the bus had passed our stop by some miles. The bus driver did concede to our request of stopping the bus immediately lest we would have to walk back several miles.

“Tiring day, wasn’t it?” remarked Jacob as we were walking through the Koregaon Park Lane No. 2 back to our hotel.

I just gave a small nod of approval as I was busy eye-balling the majestic British Era bungalows on both sides of the lane. Aerial shoots of banyan trees decorated the high walled boundaries of the bungalows and semi agile private security guards seemed to be carefully scanning each person passing by the houses. To our surprise we even spotted the “white house” styled bungalow of Mr. Cyrus Mistry, the chairman of Tata Sons, one of the biggest conglomerate of the world. The house closely resembled the palatial bungalows one often sees in movies which is often housed by the heroine’s rich father. The sprawling lawns were surrounded by a line of beautifully sculptured statues of maidens carrying pots of water on their delicate hips. The courtyard gave way to the front porch which was supported by four pillars leading to a massive doorway.

As we were admiring the majestic beauty of the magnificent house, someone called out to me from the other end of the road.

“Saheb magic dekhna he?” remarked a man in a typical Marathi accentuated Hindi. He was in a perfectly formal attire with an off –white shirt and pair of blue trousers.

He went on.

“Ye phul hai naa mere haath me ye ud ke aapke haath me aa jaayega.”

I took some time to comprehend that he wanted to entice us to a show of street magic and I could not resist after a somewhat monotonous outing we had already had.

There was a Hero Honda splendor parked beside the magician with a couple of elderly men standing right beside him. In India we have the constant fear of getting robbed, mugged or pick-pocketed but often my instinct gets the better of me.

“Chaliye Dekhte hain aapka jaadu”.

As soon as I had said this, a wide innocent grin spread across the magician’s face and it seemed that he had been charged by renewed sense of vigour and excitement.

Jacob also seemed interested in the unfolding of events as the magician directed us to take a seat on a discarded cement pole on the roadside. Once we were seated he started unraveling the contents of his “Jhola” which seemed to have housed a wide variety of items from an empty glass box to a ball made up of cloth. His “Jhola” was more like a Pandora’s box and with its array of mystic items it kept us intrigued.

He started off with the age old trick of the cups and balls where after a repeated shuffle of cups one has to guess the cup where the ball is actually present. Even after tracing the cup movements in entirety we could not get a single correct guess. Then he followed up with a trick of knots where he tied two pieces of cloth, large enough to be labeled handkerchiefs, into six knots and asked us to test the strength of his knot. After multiple tugs at the knot we were indeed satisfied with the strength of the knot. He uttered some words under his breath and Voila! The knot had been opened almost in the blink of an eye.

While doing all of this he kept muttering in Hindi, “Jaadu kya hai? Kuch nahi, bas haath ki safaai.”

After he was done with the smaller tricks, he said “Ab main dikhaata hoon asli jaadu”

He handed out to us a small bag so that we could verify if it didn’t have any holes. Once we were done he dropped a small ball in it and again uttered some words under his breath. Soon the bag was empty, and to our ultimate bewilderment the ball dropped back into his hands from somewhere after he had tugged a couple of times at Jacobs’ trousers. This remarkable act got us really hooked and prepared us for what came next. He went on showing tricks where balls , the size of coconuts, mere made to disappear and reappear in a glass box right before our eyes and so on.

After some time we arrived at the final act, where the magician claimed that he will get us the flower, we desire for, in an instant. He asked us to choose from a variety of flowers like Rose,Champa, Kewda, Lily etc. We both settled for the simple option of Rose. Then we were instructed to rub the back of our palms against each other and we obliged. When the magician subsequently asked us to smell the back of our hands, my amazement knew no bounds. My hand indeed smelt like a fragrant blooming rose and being a student of reason and rationality I could not help but stay in a fit of befuddlement for a while.

“Jo kuch banta hai de do sahib, agar acha laga toh” (Pay what you please if you really liked the show) ,said the magician with the familiar grin when he was done with all the acts.

Jacob fished a hundred rupee note out of his wallet and handed over to him and then he turned towards me with expectant eyes and I also obliged him with the same amount, after all it was a well earned prize for him.

“Aapka naam kya hai bhaiya?” asked Jacob while we stood up to leave.

“Sadruddin. “

“Aap magic show karte ho kahin stage pe”, I asked as my curiosity was already bubbling above manageable levels.

“Nahin sahib, baccha log ka party me magic dikhata hai kabhi kabhi bas. Nahin toh yahin kahin pitara khol ke baith jata hai. Ye budhe log ka bhi toh pet bharna hai”. He said pointing to the two elederly men still standing beside the Hero Honda gazing at us.

He continued.

“Upar wala jo chahega wahi hota hai saheb. Woh chahta hai toh khana milta hai nai toh nahi milta.”

In an attempt to sidestep the stark reality of life,he had presented in his philosophy, I said, “Thik hai bhaiya chalte hain” and bid our farewell to the wizard who had added a scent of excitement in our rather morose site-seeing trip of Pune.

We walked back to the hotel discussing the wonderful tricks we had just seen.

“At first I thought they were some pickpockets”, remarked Jacob as we were walking.

“Really?”

“Yeah they often do these things. While you are talking to them, their accomplice would pick your pockets. Its pretty common”

I smiled and said, “Well in a way he did trick us into giving him the money willfully, I am not sure if that counts.”