Episode 6                       
                                           
                                            GYPSY WANDERINGS 

                                         

                                          REACHING CLEMENT TOWN

                                                                          

                
           Sketch of my first glimpse of Summer House by my grand-daughter - SUHANI

                            

The trucks, with a crunching grind underfoot,  probably halted with a jerk and I must have slid to the edge of the cot.  My feet felt cold, so I burrowed further under the quilt. Hearing Didi’s voice, I stirred, "Come on Guddi - wake up- let’s get down- we’ve reached.” She was shaking my shoulder and I whimpered, not understanding what was going on.Thoughts of the journey, were too far recessed in my sleep fogged little brain.  With one eye peeping out of the quilt I tried to look out.

Chains clanged and the truck shuddered as the boards at the back were flung open and shadows, crossing and recrossing in the moonlight moved around, as the drivers and orderlies tumbled out of the trucks.

 Picking me up, she wrapped me in a shawl and carried me to the edge of the truck, where one of the orderlies downloaded me. Knuckling my eyes, I tried to look around. I was dreaming and was in fairyland. Then someone stood me on the ground; as I wobbled, trying to balance on the rough and uneven surface, Bhaji held me, keeping me from falling. Elder brothers can be a blessing, till they grow up and start bossing around!

So, what does a five year old remember? It would be difficult to put all the fragments of memory together, though I know that it would make a pretty picture if I succeed. There is so much of memory, from such a long time ago, mixed with subsequent layers of memories about so many people. Yes, difficult it might be, but I shall still try, because I am tempted by the possible outcome.    

 I blinked my eyes wondering where I was.

A vast expanse of grass, around ten feet high, rose all around us. Topped with silvery, feathered heads, their shimmer enhanced by the moonlight, it swayed with the wind, creating a rustling sound, which was both musical and surreal. Short spells of palpable silence interrupted the rustling.  Was I in Wonderland like Alice?– I wondered, feeling
dwarfed as the grass swamped around us. It was all I could see, from where I stood.

The dogs sniffed and gave low growls, sensing strange surroundings. Suddenly, a loud, eerie, mourning howl tore through the quiet night air followed by a series of many more. I shuddered as Bhaji held me closer still.

“Jackals,” said someone.

 Myriads of tiny lights glimmered in the long grass, as also in the flowery bushes- hundreds and thousands of glow worms, their magic lanterns twinkling, confirmed my belief that I was in fairyland. The rhythmic chirping of a cicada, punctuated by intermittent silences, provided a regular beat to the music played by the wind, as it wove its way through the rustling grass.

In the centre of a rectangular plot stood ‘the bungalow’ - a building of sorts, with bricks and mortar and other construction material scattered all over; bamboo poles and planks shuttered around it. A gravel pathway ran in front of it, running backwards on the sides;  some rose bushes and night jasmines grew on one side, lending a heavenly fragrance, wafting with the wind
                            
 Two yellow lights with two legs each came swinging towards us like two pendulums, from the back of the building. Two ‘maalis’ (gardeners) carrying kerosene lanterns, came trotting, their dhoti clad legs outlined against the glowing yellow lights. They were bundled in heavy coarse blankets with monkey caps covering their heads, all but the eyes.

They touched Mummy’s feet, greeting her with a respectful ‘Namastey, Memsahib.’

' Namastey Bhaiya, kaise ho tum log?' (How are you?)

'Theek hain Beebi ji.' ( We are alright.)

'Kya naam hain tumhare?' ( What are your names?)

'Mera naam Ram Din hai aur iska Damru,' spoke the tall and thin one. Damru who

actually resembled a damru ( a small hand drum) in shape and size, was a short stocky

fellow as  broad as he was tall or rather short ! . 

 The dogs started sniffing and growling slowly at first then barking ferociously, chafing at their leashes but the orderly held them at bay.

From a pile of bricks close to where we stood, came a faint scratching sound, like an insect's wings grating on a rough surface – then a glistening black shadow, slithered out from beneath the pile, with a menacing clicking sound, vanished into the grass, sliding along its edge.

This couldn’t be fairyland!

Frightened by the snake, Didi immediately took charge of us. As we hurriedly stumbled and tumbled over mounds of bricks, sand and other rubble, Bhaji held on tightly to my hand- was he too as scared as I was ?
Damru guided us into one of the rooms, leaving a lantern on a window sill.

We used the makeshift bathroom of which a detailed description I will give elsewhere!

Inside the room was a tad bit better; the cold was less biting than in the open, but it still was freezing cold.

The doors and windows were gaping spaces in four concrete walls- they had no ‘chowkats’(jambs), leave alone glass panes or door panels. The roofs of three rooms were dripping, as they had been laid just that day.

The drivers and the others were stretching their limbs, stiff from the long journey.

Mummy immediately took charge before they lost the tempo, ordering them to start unloading the trucks and take everything inside ‘the bungalow’, placing each item methodically, to avoid double labor. The few items of furniture which amounted to four charpoys(string cots), two cupboards, four chairs and a small study table were quickly unloaded and kept together, whilst all the trunks and boxes containing clothes and other personal stuff went into another space.

The kitchen paraphernalia in wooden crates went into the kitchen, which was a large four walled, square, door-less structure, almost as large as today’s one bedroom flats; it was built apart, about ten feet behind the house.

One room which had a dry roof, was large enough to accommodate four ‘charpoys’ (string cots) on which mattresses were immediately laid, with blankets over them, covered by thick bed clothes called ‘khes’, which are woven with thread spun on a spinning wheel. I hated them as I found them too coarse and would feel itchy at the very mention of them. But all I itched for that night (or was it already morning!), was sleep!

 The men worked fast, breathing heavily out of their mouths, as puffs of warm breath spewed out and froze in the air like small misty clouds; long legged shadows reaching and receding as they carried the remaining pieces of luggage inside. One orderly nailed tarpaulins on the two doors and bedcovers on the two large windows; these Mummy had thoughtfully carried separately, to be available on arrival. Uncle had already informed her of the climatic conditions in the last postcard, received just before we left Meerut.

Winters are harsh in Dehra Dun and the cold still pushed its way in gusts, with the wind flapping the improvised doors and window panes, making mournful whistling sounds. Added to this was the moisture oozing out of the freshly plastered walls, permeating everything with the smell of wet cement. For a floor, there was a layer of gravel mixed with bits of broken brick.

There was no semblance of a home here.

The shadows cast by the kerosene lanterns added to the eeriness and our own monstrous shadows moving on the roof scared me. Expecting more snakes and prowling animals creeping into the room we stood shivering and frightened.

 Didi hastily shoved us under the heavy quilts, telling us to sleep, keeping our shoes under our mattresses; I could not understand this odd order but found it quite funny. She herself crept under one quilt, cradling Kaka in her arms, to warm the bed for him.

Mummy was supervising the unloading of the trucks, her small frame wrapped in a blanket over all the woolens she was already wearing. This diminutive little woman was a powerhouse of energy and had set the men to unload and make a place for themselves to sleep in the kitchen, before she relaxed a hold on things and came inside herself.

The 'maalis' had taken charge of the cattle, taking them to a shed at the back of the land. Soon their wives, Laxmi and Durga, came with a brass bucket of hot milk and some brass tumblers.

I was delighted, for nothing makes me happier than a hot glass of freshly boiled milk, with a thick layer of frothy cream floating on top. The aroma is enough to spike and satiate my need and greed for this, my favorite ‘comfort food’, as it is called today! I gulped the hot sweet milk and as it trickled down my throat, I could feel the warmth spreading in my body, reaching my tiny tippy toes.

Comforted by the warmth, I gripped the metal glass warming my frozen hands. My head nodding and my eyes drooping, I was at last ready for la-la land and some dreaming !

                            
                                              PLEASE LEAVE YOUR COMMENTS ON THIS PAGE