Musings

Maakadwala In Hindi, he would be called Madari. English will loosely translate him as a 'Monkey man', but like all things touched by English, the translation alienates the reader and makes them assume it is a characteristics rather than being titular. Marathi has it rather straightforward --  Maakadwaala (Person with monkey(s)). Maakadwaalas don't exist anymore. A very rigorous and welcome activism from powers-that-be as well as a sensitized public has put an end to the likes of him and their 'monkey acts'. But maakadwaala was a regular feature in a Pune that I grew up in -- the late '70s and early '80s. His patrons knew maakadwala only by his trade -- maakadwala. Ironically, his pair of monkeys had better defined names -- Raju and Sita, Dharmendra and Hema or any such to which not only the monkeys but even the public responded. But makadwala was deprived of the common courtesy of a name. Maakadwaala would saunter into our compound in the early evenings or l...

My Namesake The first time I saw her I was balancing a huge bag of mithai in one hand and trying to juggle out money from my wallet to pay the auto driver with the other. She stared at me for a moment and once I had paid off the auto guy, walked close and demanded to know what was in the bag. I smiled. I did not know her, and neither did she know me. But something about the 'difference' in our ages made her demand seem very valid. I tousled her hair and instead of answering her about 'what was in the bag', I shot a rhetoric, "Khaanaar?" (Would you like to eat it?) Her eye shone and face lit up like the brightest lamp on diwali. "Ho," she answered in the affirmative and followed me inside the building. Seeing her walk after me, the building watchman put up a show of fake alertness, "Tai la sod (leave tai alone)," he hissed, and looked at me expecting a thank you. But luck had abandoned him long back and unfortunately he had to bear my tongue...

Malinbai As her name suggests, and those of you who are aware of the trade, she was a vegetable vendor. She would come home almost everyday, balancing  toplya  (wicker basket) on her head. To make sure that her neck did not strain under the weight of the two  toplya,  she would rest them atop a coil of cloth. She wore a nine yard saree, a huge bindi, hair well-oiled and tied back, and would walk in at her fixed hour every morning. While one basket carried essentials like onions, tomatoes, potatoes, ginger, garlic, green chillies, etc., the other had a more exotic fare. Seasonal fruit, seasonal vegetables, leafy greens -- everything that was in limited supply and called for swift consumption. Sometimes she would also book orders for the following week, especially for sprouts and seasonal fruit, excluding mangoes of course. The baskets also held her set of balances -- old but firm with an accompanying array of miscellaneous weights. For all the minor quanti...