Musings

Keliwaale kaka Keliwaale kaka with my niece, Rukmini and nephew, Rudra Keliwaale kaka is how he is known to everyone. And he got this name because of his trade -- he sells bananas. I suspect even his family may be calling him by that name. He has been around since I went to school -- that is a good 20 plus odd years. He comes pushing his cart into our lane every afternoon. Standing below each house he calls out the children in his rough voice asking if they want bananas. Being a firm believer in decorum he only calls out to the boys. Shouting out a girl's name is way to impolite and a total no no for him. The mothers or aunts or any other 'decision making' member of the female clan from the family then rush out to tell him if the family needs bananas for the day. Most times they are still feasting on an earlier stock, but not to disappoint kaka, they may buy a couple. Keliwaale kaka has been repeating this sequence at each house. Patiently going from house t...

Laximbai Laximbai was bent over when I first saw her.  Quite like the sickle she so unassumingly wielded.  Frail and with a few intact teeth, you almost passed her over, hardly noticing the frail woman busy at work. But then something about her struck you.  And you turned and of course it was right there, bright as day -- Laximbai wore no blouse under her saree! Her breasts were wrapped in a pleat of her saree. She seemed not to notice it at all as she sat on her haunches weeding out grass with her iron sickle.  I recall someone once asking her why she chose to forgo of this garment  (blouse)  of modesty. Blinking into the sun that shone into her eyes she had replied, "We tribal women have forsaken the blouse for Sita's sake. When Sita was condemned to live in the forest with her husband Ram, she chanced upon a golden deer and desired its skin to stitch herself a blouse. Ram set out to trap the deer, but in the meanwhile Sita...

Vasudev All that is gold does not glitter, Not all those who wander are lost; The old that is strong does not wither, Deep roots are not reached by the frost. ... So goes the first verse of J. R. R. Tolkien's poem All that is gold does not glitter which appeared in his trendsetting novel The Lord of the Rings .     Most of us are familiar with the movie version of Tolkien's fantasy novel and the tale of the weird and brave that it lovingly narrates.  It talks of dwarfs and giants and orcs and fairies. People who were once a part of 'middle earth'.  Like the lost and lonely from Tolkien's book, our great city too has its share of the unseen and unsung.   To borrow a page from Tolkien's book then, I attempt to create a world of people and faces who are fast disappearing from amongst our midst.  Unlike Tolkien however, my narration may be marred by flaws.  Occasionally you may encounter a hiccup as I attempt to recreate 'a blast from my past'....

My earliest memory of spotting Sinhagad was from our terrace. I was fairly little and my grandfather would point at a distant hill in the hazy horizon and proudly declare, "To bagh, to Sinhagad ahe" (Look there, that's Sinhagad). Happy at having spotted the famous gad (fort) which had made a distinct impact on my imagination, I would rush down from the terrace to share my exploit (of having spotted the fort) with anyone who was willing to hear. Most times I would not find audience, and would retreat to the safe cocoon of Amar Chitra Katha to validate my sighting. The illustrations in the comic book only ignited my curiosity about the fort further. Kalyan Darwaja, Yashwantichi samadhi (Yashwanti, the iguana's memorial), Tanajichi samadhi (Tanaji's memorial), Udaybhan (the fort keeper), the sheer rock face from where Maratha soldiers are claimed to have made a daring entry into the fort -- all clamored for attention in my young mind. And while my mind raced with wha...