Musing Reminisce

  ”I am home!!” The triumphant voice of Neelkanth Eknath roared as he moved to the first step of his home territory. He was thrilled as the home column squares are always safe since no opponent may enter them. His final destination was now the victory triangle. He was now just five squares away from FINISH. At the centre of the battlefield was a large finishing square, composed of coloured triangles atop the players' home columns thus depicting "arrows" pointing to the finish. His other family members Neelkanth Diwedi, Neelkanth Tripathy and Neelkanth Chourasia were already safe and tucked away in the ’finish’ of their home territory. If all four of them managed to enter the ’finish’ safely and before their opponents reached their homes and their green ’finish’ triangles the Neelkanth’s would emerge victoriously.  It had been an arduous journey for all eight of them. And it was a race. A dangerous race where one could be ’killed’ and sent back to the beginning yard. Neelk...

  Bombay 1980. Jhooth Bole Kauwa Kaate!! Cawasji Jehangir was a fighter. He was a man with a heart of gold and fought for the rights of the downtrodden. Everyone lovingly called him Cawa Bawa. He was furious at himself for not being able to help the devotees who had approached him. He felt his hands were tied by the law. An idea started forming in his mind. He would have to play his cards right. He would have to make some people tell some lies. Well -- it was in the name of justice. Picking up the handset he started dialling on the rotary wheel of the phone base. As soon as he heard, ”Hello” he spoke into the mouthpiece. ”Govind, Cawa.” ”Meet me in 20 minutes at the usual place.” He put on his dark glasses, put on a hat, donned a thick overcoat, walked out into the street and mingled in with the crowds The setting sun provided a backdrop to this scene. ----------////---------- Govind was Govind Kaka. He was the chief trustee of the small Hanuman Mandir in the back lane of Kala Chow...

    Mumbai 2010 There was an artist on the street. ’Pakoda, garma garam Pakoda’ Screaming on the top of his voice the elderly man was trying to draw the crowds in.  A black mole on his left cheekbone was very prominent.  A vermilion tilak adorned his head. The burly moustached street vendor went about frying and selling his ware. He was in his makeshift shop which was a cart in a corner of the busy Mumbai street selling these pakoras. The crowded street was hustling and bustling with activity. The beautiful aroma of these savoury snacks filled the air  The fried fritters were limited in variety to just three types Onion, sliced potato and spinach.  Of the three, the Onion pakoras were the most popular. They sold like hotcakes. The vendor gently dropped in small portions of the spiced onion, gram flour dough in the hot oil. Frying on medium heat stirring occasionally for even frying he would then scoop out golden fried pieces from the oil in the black cast i...

11 September 2001 Mr Cucaracha was on Ground Zero.  He was covered in white ash. Looking around, all he saw was devastation. There was rubble and paper flying.  Dead bodies -- some whole, some dismembered but all burnt, were strewn around.  Along with the smells of burning fuel, wood, plastic and melting metals, the stench of burning bodies and death was thick in the air.  The flames had erupted when suicide bombers had crashed commercial passenger planes into the buildings.   Cucaracha was a bit weak but had survived.  He was lucky he did not get directly exposed to the fire and flames.   It would have been RIP!!  He would have become, ’Late Mr Cucaracha.’ ----------////---------- When the suicide bombers had attacked he was on the    85th floor of the North Tower of the World Trade Centre complex in Lower Manhattan. The first plane an American Airlines Flight 11 had hit his building between 93 and 99th floor. Seventeen minute...