The gait was strikingly familiar. Not from very distant and past. Not from recent too. But from an approachable, reliable and revivable past. She slightly drags her left foot as she walks. The left foot had kicked out the polio as it was about to squeeze and reshape it like the moldable earth on a potter’s wheel. Perhaps the polio was drowsy and drunken. Enough victims. ‘Let me relax’ perhaps it was wobbling, dabbling and contemplating before being jerked and kicked out of the foot. “I will accept the defeat but you will live with my memoryâ€, the polio had declared in that brooding afternoon. Memory, long enough! Visible enough! Apparent enough. A dragging foot. A fighting soul. A winner gait. An unmistakable gait. Strikingly familiar and unique. Unforgettable polio.
She moves with a bagful of cheap Chinese toys and many useful and essentials- hair brush with a red button to vibrate it when required while combing the hair, mosquitoes repellant with that ultra-sound, inaudible to human but frighteningly audible to mosquitoes with a caution label-“harmful to kids below one year†equating kids below one year to mosquitoes and adding credentials to the credibility and effectiveness to the gadget and fiber molded laughing Lord Buddha which sings “om, om,om—,om†with a flickering yellow light which evokes immediate doubts in the mind of purchaser whether light will last long; whether it will sing forever; of course Lord Buddha will smile for ever for being sold in partly eighty rupees, a government declared daily labor rate for unskilled labor. All for sales at an affordable price, of course after a considerable efforts. The essentials also includes many including gadgets of different size and shape for acupressure points in hands and legs. A plate for standing, like the curved back of tortoise with triangular protrusions on which you stand as you stand on a weighing machine to check your weight, here of course to check your health. A hand roller resembling a baby jack foot. A wooden ball with triangular protrusion which shall replace the cricket ball on occasion while playing inside the house for the protrusion will give a nice grip for spin and it automatically activates the pressure points of your calf if it misses the bat. Of course she has medicinal oils in plenty. Hope for joint pain and arthritis. Hope for insomnia and migraine headache. Hope for stress and red eyes. All hopes are bundled in tiny bottles, each costing ten rupees. Cost small enough for medium man and affordable enough for small man. Big man never buys it from her of course. The air-conditioned doctor with air-conditioned mind and face always suggests him for buying those in an air-conditioned shop. It has a gurantee.It is genuine. Tested. At least it has a label to instill confidence of guarantee and genuineness. Does not matter if it is never tested but labeled only. It is supposed to work and it shall work.
She knows her customers. In the din and bustle of that crowded and congested bus-stand she can always find her customer as a daily traveler locates his bus for onward journey. A bus-stand or a bus-stop which sends you near to your destination or brings you near to your destination. It is one of the many journeys of the life which starts from here or ends here. Near to the destination but never exactly at the destination. It is a stop. It is a halt. It is a breathing place. It is a temporary inn for temporary halt. You know where you are going. You have decided where to go. The bus is yet to be on wheel. Hence, You are temporarily floating here amongst flotsam to sip a streaming cup of hot tea under hot the Sun perhaps to tease the scorching heat with a I do not care attitude; to sweeten your diabetic tongue with that stale sweet for which flies amass to compete with you; to buy a magazine with seminude, semi-aged, hanging belly film actress to discover with all sincerity, what beauty means and does and perhaps to halt for a second till the that yellow bus with that yellow skinned beauty with yellow saree and yellow flowers departs. Does not matter if you get a yellow look for it is temporary. Sometimes you help that aged and diseased to climb on the steps of the bus to reassure yourself with satisfying and triumphant look, see I am a human being, a social two legged, with a heart full of concerns and a mind full of rationalities.
A three-wheeler loaded with passengers arrived in front of the gate of the bus stand. The board on the three-wheeler announces from where it has brought the passengers. MEDICAL, the board says. She knows she has a chance. With bottles of medicinal oils she dragged her foot, which carries unforgettable memory of that defeated polio, near to that three- wheeler. Sale of hopes. Bottles of hopes. Tiny bottles with big hopes. Not labeled but genuine. Tiny cost. Affordable cost. It has worked. It will work. Not only supposed to work. But sure to work. The aged lady with semi-aged son threw an expectant looks to the tiny bottles and then to his semi-aged son. She has more hope in those tiny bottles than those air-conditioned syrups of air-conditioned shop prescribed by the air-conditioned doctor with that air-conditioned look, seated in that air-conditioned chamber. The semi-aged son understood his mother look, tried his level best to conceal his dissatisfaction, pretended to bear a smile by squeezing eyes in his palms as if something has fallen on those or as if he got up from a shallow sleep with a sweet dream. He floated a smile in his face while asking the rate of tiny bottles with big hopes. But the voice betrayed though the lips smiled. It conveyed a duality, he likes his mother for she is her mother but he does not like her old-fashioned attitude. Generation gap? It is astonishing to see how quickly it is closing on. The immediate offspring also feels the generation gap. It is no longer between Grand mother and Grand son or between Grand father and Grand daughter. The aged mother with semi-aged son left hurriedly with three tiny bottles of hope before she explained the benefits of acupressure gadgets. Rather the semi-aged son made it all hurried.
The uncle, perhaps with hyper-tension, who also got down from the three-wheeler is trying with acupressure gadget. She could feel and sense the uncle’s attitude from his sweet talk. He started talking as if he is an exponent on acupressure. His guesters are ugly. He has taken that baby jack fruit shaped gadget between his palms and started rolling it in front of her face. Eyes of the uncle are exploring. Those are hot and ugly. Eyes looked to her lips thick with thirst. The sun is boiling. So are the eyes of the uncle. He explored her face, slim neck full of prickly heat. The look traveled further down. The look is riveted now. The baby jack fruit shaped gadget started rolling fast in front of her eye. It is ugly and lewd. Next moment she snatched that gadget from uncle’s hand and moved away. It is not new. It is not uncommon. But she never expected that so early to the day, that to again from a father-figure. She wished to cry. Cry aloud. Anybody is listening? You ugly two-legged!----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The wind of MAHANADI brings serenity. The dusk drew closed to the palpitant night. It is not a muddled state of the night. It is big bright with smiling summer moon. The morasses of the ugliness is about to be extinguished into purgatorial ashes. The image of smiling Lord Buddha is singing “OM†in that divine yellow flickering light. John was her last customer of the day before she left that crowded and congested bus-stand with a gait that was strikingly familiar. This world will respect her. Respect her honest living. She will grow big. Big enough to remold the society like the moldable clay on potter’s wheel. A society where like of hers will be honored and respected for their honest efforts. The history of this country is littered with exemplary ladies who have commanded the history to halt and change its course. She is determined to repeat that in her small way perhaps her own way. The image of laughing Lord Buddha is crooning that divine “OM†and “OMâ€. It is increasingly appearing to John as “AMEN†and “AMENâ€. John looked to the sky with his customary smile. He could see thousands smiling parijats there waiting for a new day and new beginning. They know they all will fall before the beginning of the “NEW DAYâ€. Does not matter.
SACRIFICE IS THE OTHER NAME OF PARIJAT.
