Memory Lane:  Interstellar Overdrive!
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“Gara raksha saba ko, Pashupatinath…..” I could hear her low yet mellifluous voice from our bardali. Obscured behind the plants in her balcony, I could still make Shivani watering the "Tulsi" and doing her usual morning “puja.” She was wearing her vibrant black Kurta surwal, the one with tiny white flowers inscribed in them which I had seen from close range a week or so ago. The winter sun broke through the haziness of the morning like the spotlight on the stage highlighting her little better. It didn’t feel as cold anymore.

“Hyaa Oyss! Kata tolai ra..maile ta siddai saken! ” my sister broke me off.  Into our usual morning past times in winter, she had polished Dad’s right shoe to perfection. Unfazed,  I re-enacted the radio ad. “Paile  ali kati cherry blossom paalish line, brush le sabai teera laune, ani kada burush le ramrari talkaune. “  My sister giggled as I worked on Dad’s left shoe. “La hernus! Yo jadu mero hoina! Cherry blossom ko ho!”

As soon as dad made his way upstairs to the kitchen, my sister ran up to him and inquired “daddy, kasko ramro talkyo?” My dad, a trivial-perfectionist, began to scrutinize his shoes from every angle.  Finally, he decided that I had not paid much attention to the back of the heels unlike my sister. My sister jumped up in joy saying “dekhis dekhis!” On that note, we next went off to dry the Lapsi’s titaura Maami had made the night before.
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The dynamics of home changed drastically as soon as our parents left for work. My elder sister began to make plans with neighbors for a “Bhogate” session. My younger sister scurried off to Shivani’s home to have their doll weddings. Despite my sisters’ disapproval, I combed my hair with “tori ko tel”, put on my sweater, and slid out quietly like I did everyday that winter with my semi-sponged table tennis bat.  The stillness besieged Handigaon as soon as the morning session of “Bigyapan Sewa” ended on the radio.

I had only got out of our small gulli when I saw a congregation of  older men arguing vociferously with one another. “Yo  bato ma mari gaye ni  PITCHED huna dinna, Lazza ta!” “Bato pitch bhaye pachi Jatra ma k huncha hola?” “Harey! aba sadhai bhari Jatra Jatra bhanera, motor hidne bato chai kasari aucha?” I had heard rumors that the dirt road of handigaon would soon be black-topped.
 
Even from afar, I spotted Pawan Dai on the terrace of Tri-shakti club that stood overlooking the house of a pretty girl named  “Mona” that had driven Pawan Dai CRAZY. As usual, he was dressed in his long black overcoat and his shady leather cap that hid most of his shoulder length hair personifying “Khalnayak.”  He even had guitar on his hand that he could barely strum, but he had memorized the song “Oh Mona” that he often sang with his rugged voice. Not everyone called him pawan dai. Some called him Sanjay Dutt, some Khalnayak, but his most popular nick was self explanatory “Sadak Chaap Romeo” blessed from Mona herself. He barely played table tennis with us, but we felt comfortable in his presence.

As I did a usual go-around of Bhagwati Temple that adjoined the Tri-shakti club and a peepal -bot, I heard disgruntled mumblings from familiar voices. Debre Hemante, Fiste, Kaichi, Daare, and  Laloo were all huddled around the tree, that stood by the concrete table tennis board. I instantly realized it was Kale who seemed to be in trouble. The gatekeeper from the adjoining prominent Sardarji’s house that had visible four big TATA buses in the compound, who was our usual spectator, seemed concerned as well.

As I grew closer, I heard Kaichi trying to console Kale  “hyaa Pele, naro k. Tyo Sagar tyastai ho kaile kahi” Pele was the euphemism for Kale because Kale loved giving guffs about Pele all the time. The very mention of Sagar dai  made snse on what had happened. Playing table tennis all day nearly entire winter, we had gotten so good that we’d beat most of the senior guys around Handigaon. Of course, some like Sagar dai who had one of the most volatile tempers, didn’t receive this well  getting beaten by fucches. To avoid their wraths, I often intentionally lost to them not only to be on their good side but also with the hope that they wouldn’t ban us from playing on the only TT board around the neighborhood. Kale didn’t have a Libran heritage like mine, and his only fault that morning was that he had celebrated excessively after beating Sagar dai .
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“Yo ta atti nai bhayo. Sadhai yini haroo ki pitai khane? M***, ma  ta aba kehi garchu garchu! ” Fiste sounded serious flexing his muscles.

“Garis Khub? Talai pitai khana maun cha, Fiste?” Daare responded wryly exposing his two incongruous canines.

“Hoina yaar! Eklai bhaye po pitai khane. Hami sabai sangai bhaye ta kasle pitcha?” Kaichi (which was just a literal translation of his first name) had a point. “Oye oyss! K garne bhan na!” Surprisingly, most of them called me by my first name. Rarely, when irritated they did call me Nashe.  It served two purposes:  to highlight my thin frame like Fiste and to purposely skew the compliment of “Nashalu Aankhen” given by Daare’s sister about my druggie eyes.

“Khoi! Gang banaune ho ta ?” I proposed a whimsical solution to which all five of them including Kale raised their eyebrows. Laloo, who was sort of foolhardy,  was the most excited as he quickly demonstrated his roundhouse kick which he had been learning in his karate lessons “banne bhaye bhanne, Gangfighter!” he beamed with confidence. Just like that, just there and then, under the vigilance of the Sardarji’s gatekeeper and Romeo Pawan Dai, we formed our gang and vowed to look after one another against the tyranny of Handigaon Bullies. The only uneasiness was the inclusion of Debre Hemante who we talked with a slight apprehension than with others.  It was not due to his left handedness, but rather of him being the brother of a REAL infamous gangster of Handigaon who was talked on the same breadth as AASU (AAwara  SUman),  who terrorized Maligaon at the time.

contd...

“Pele ko penalty ahile samma kasle rokeko cha thaha cha?” Kale had completely recovered from his earlier distress.

“Kasle?” I replied returning his mediocre check service. “Pele ko penalty ni kasaile rokna sakcha ra kale?” Fiste responded keeping the count of our game.

 “Hyaa fiste! Pele ko bhai thiyo ni!” I overhit his return at this and our game stopped. “Pele ko bhai le Pele ko penalty ekchoti rokya thiyo”
“Hyaa guffadi! Pele ko bhai re aba?” I inquired.

“Napatyaye naptya na ta. Pele ko bhai le Pele ko penalty rokda, ball le chati ma lagera tyahi mareko thiyo kya! “ Fiste and I had heard many stories about Pele from Kale but non as fascinating as that. Whether he made it up or not, it was accepted by default from that day onwards that Pele did have his penalty blocked  by his brother at the cost of his death, and that was that!

We were only about to finish the game, when Daare and Laloo came back with three brand new “Chinese Itta”each . “Nakkali ko ghar banai ra raicha, truck batai lyayeko!” Both were proud of their achievements. It was the first time we had Chinese bricks for nets. As we were replacing, Debre hemante and Kaichi made their way to the board. When Laloo exclaimed  about his bravado, it brought displeasure to Debre Hemante’s face. “hyaa khatte! Khub garis. La herr ma dekhauchu timi haroo lai.”

We suspended our table tennis game. As we watched by the tree, We saw Debre Hemante run at full speed towards a vendor carrying a tray of “Bombay Laddu on his head. Without him noticing, he jumped up mightily, grabbed a laddu, ran on for a moment, U-turned with a prize in his hand smiling at us. The ease with which he pulled the stunt scared me.  We all ran behind Bhagwati Temple. As a good gangmember, he shared the laddu with us but also making sure that he still had more than half of it.

“Aba Fiste, Oys ra Kaichi le ni kehi garnu parcha!” Debre Hemante began to dictate the norms of our newly formed gang. Kaichi shook his head munching on the Laddu and revealed a belt carefully from the inside of his faded BMW jacket. It was a worn out belt but had pointed nails laden all over it. I didn’t know where he got it from, but it looked potent. “Aba kasaile haat matra halos na, maile janya chu” He looked at Kale sympathetically. However, seeing the strange weapon, I felt uneasy. It didn’t bode well, and I could feel that the sweetness of Bombay laddu turn bitter in my mouth.
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By late afternoon, we had argued every possible scenario where we could use Kaichi’s nail-ridden belt. Finally, by unanimous verdict we decided to test it on the road. Though Handigaon dirt road didn’t get a horde of vehicles, we occasionally got taxis and tempos that came to gahana pokhari for cleaning

“Oiee fuche haroo! K garna la timi haroo huh?” Pawan dai inquired from the terrace of the Tri-shakti club following our restless movement all afternoon. Debre Hemante and Kale were on the terrace with him explaining our test of the weapon. Laloo was on the other side of the road signaling any vehicles that could potentially swing by. Somehow, Fiste and I could only lean by the peepal tree and watch the spectacle. Finally, Kaichi making sure that no one was watching him on the street, spread the booby trap right on the middle of the dirt road and camouflaged with some grass and sand and scurried back to the Bhagwati temple.

Within seconds of laying out the trap, a three wheeled, black tempo whizzed past our territory. No sooner had the tempo made it past the belt, it screeched to a halt with a loud thud on one of its hind tires. Bravo! The belt had indeed done its job. Unexpectedly, the fuming driver got out and realized instantly that he had been set up and looked around for the culprits as we all tried to duck for cover. It was too late. Fiste and I were in the open by the tree. He instantly spotted us and began to charge at us like a drunken bull. Seized by fright, Fiste and I jumped over the fence behind the table tennis board, into Dinesh Dai’s Bari. We ran through the neatly lined rows of cauliflowers and saag, to the edge of the adjoining vast backfield of Sardarji’s compound that ended on the boundary of maligaon and back alley to our homes. We looked back and noticed the driver was still fuming coming after us “oiee rokk fuche haroo! Aja timi haroo lai janya chu, gadha  haroo!”

Fiste was much faster than me and easily outraced me till he reached about the middle of the Sardarji’s backfield and stopped unexpectedly. “oiee fiste, kina rokya……..tempo driver ajhai aai racha” Panting heavily..he motioned me to stop talking “Sun sun, sunis?” To my horror, I heard the distinct barking of the dog. We looked to the side of the Sardarji’s house, and Rocky, their ferocious, Alsation, had sniffed the trespassers and was coming to us at full speed.

“laa!  Marne bhaiyoo..bhag oys bhag!” Fiste shouted and took off in a flash, with me right at his heels. The barking got louder and louder and I knew the dog, which I had always presumed to be a brother of a wild wolf, would soon rip me to pieces. We had reached almost the edge of Handigaon/Maligaon boundary when I heard the barking slow down. I saw Fiste reach the wall of his house and was throwing rocks to distract  Rocky. Fiste saved my life!  I climbed the wall of one of my neighbors, and reached the small gulli and leaned by Shivani’s house door  to catch a breath when I heard a sharp laughter coming from above.

To my embarrassment, I noticed Shivani , still in her black vibrant kurtha surwal , laughing at me. As soon as she noticed me looking at her, she bent down as if to pretend not seeing me. What I realized few seconds later was that she had only bent down to hold her stomach as she could no longer bear the pain of seeing my entire fiasco with the dog. I sighed and stood there for a while, as she furtively stole a glance  at me, and I couldn’t help notice her black Bindi and her almond eyes barely hidden behind her resplendent hair. I knew then the forming of a gang was a pretty lame idea. I knew what I always wanted to become as I limped towards my home behind the discontinuous , pungent laughter from an angel.


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(PS: Today, the ruin of TT board is overshadowed with moss, weed, and bushes after years of neglect.  The rumor has it that, Bobby dai, in one of his drug fueled Shivaratri moods, mistook our beloved table tennis concrete board for wood.  The prominent Sardarji died a few years ago and so did their business, prompting all of their family to return to India. The four TATA buses are gone too, and so is Rocky. The new owner of the house is supposed to have a royal aura about them. Hence, the amicable gatekeeper has been replaced with a military personnel, who stands with his semi- automatic rifle pointing at every passing pedestrian. They have encroached the vicinity by putting speed breakers up to half the width of the narrow street. Furthermore, the little grill and the carpentry shops owned by the locals that lined the opposite side of the street have been forced to shut off as the noise they generated distracted the afternoon beauty sleep of the concerned parties.  Bhagwati Than temple has been robbed of nearly all of its outside statues.   Nobody saw or heard a thing even when each statue was carefully dug out with metal ores.  Despite all that, one thing has remained perennial : there are lot more Romeos  on the terrace of Tri-Shakti club.  Romeos who can strum their guitar well. Instead of just O’ Mona, they also sing lot more songs of fun-filled bygone days.) 

Love the Pele reference...
It was huge story.

Oys,

As usual awesome! I love the meticulous details you provide to your story which help us visualize the scenes much more vividly. Your TT memories brought back my own memories when we used to play 11am to 5 pm almost every weekend in different TT boards around Patan.

By the way, is your dad a Virgoan? (because you mentioned he is a perfectionist!)

Your mention of Shivani in every episode adds some salt to it.

Keep it coming!

. Aye Oys, you sure you didn't get bitten by the dog? ;-)

Thanks for screening another episode of your memory lanes - it was not less than a Sunday matinee for me! Needless to say, you've become a maestro of memory lanes with each episode and please do take us down to those lanes whenever you get time!

Hehehe Mappey - you know how Virgoans are, donchya? Hope all is well.

Connection Failure

Oys, loved it. I particularly liked the ending..very nicely written.

Oys, this lane took me back to the TT days of my own. Sifal Chour ko concrete TT board and those winter days. Ganging up to defend ourselves from the senior dais. Good ol memories.

Oys,

Thanks for the sublimely carved memoir.

Well, let me tell you another Pele kissa that too was popular while I was growing up:

Once he couldn't score  goal from the penalty spot; the ball hit the woodwork. That was the first time he had missed and his impeccable record was blotted. On further examination it was revealed that the post was put incorrectly. Had the post been in correct place it would have been a goal.

What about the gang-name ? You should have taken that extra pain to coin a fiery name.

 

 

Oys bro,

Once again you took me back to where I still live somewhere deep inside my heart. That bhagwati temple has witnessed us (myself, and my buddies) doing all kinds of stuff back in the days. In the beginning, we were a bit scared of bhagwati -- but then we quickly realized she was cool.

tyo gahana pokhari --tyo club -- tt board ...and how can I forget gyan singh sardar's house? paani pareko belaakaa ti hadigaule baatoharu---man! those were the days ... ek choti angreji cinema herera farkida suparile "tyo america kya raamro hai" bhnada bangele le "america ta tyastai ustai ho supari baru ti american taruniharule chai malai aja sutna delan jasto chhaina " bhanthyo --- maile chai " yo kuiya hadigaumaa chai na bato raamra na chwak taruni haamra" bhanda Twak le "tyo america yo hadigau jatti ramailo chhaina -- america matrai k yo hadigau jattiko ramailo tham duniyama katai chhaina" bhanyathyo -- then we thought "twak was under the influence of "star" --- kura usko munasib re chha...

Naashe bhaneko ki Looshe re? ;)

Enjoyed the piece as usual.

ajhai pani lekhdai garnu hola.

- hajur ko fan.

What I liked most on this one is how you opened your memory lane with Shivani and closed it with her. A calm start,a rush and again a calm pensive end with  revealation and determination.

you have such a wonderful memory and then you weave it so beautifully into words- all too perfect, all too harmonious. especially loved the post script and the way  it  is narrated. beautiful!
::smiles::
amber