There are thousands of obsessions. Santosh Bakaya discovers two – one of Kanchan’s and one of her own as the amused Bulbuls chirp and sing in merriment.
Enjoy Morning Meanderings with a hot cup of tea or coffee and some cookies to munch on the food for thought. 😊 ☕️
The bulbuls were at it again.
Again, and yet again.
I don’t remember anyone ever upending a glass of water on my face, or jerking me out of my somnolence, by raucous yells or vigorous shakings, trying to make me get up.
But yes, many a time, I have clamped a heavy hand on that stodgy and ugly looking table clock which would burst into a rude sound to wake me up during school days, or later the cell phone which would beep away, admonishing me for my slothful ways, sometimes.
Once there was a bachelor, a temporary resident, in the next house, whose snores had the potential of disturbing not only the cobwebs hanging from the ceiling of his house, the crockery in his kitchen, making the fat cockroaches under the kitchen sink, scuttle for cover, but rattling the doors of our house too, with the result, I would judder out of my slumber, mumbling under my breath.
Well, these days, it is the mellifluous trilling of the bulbuls that wakes me up, and let me tell you, there is a profusion of them in my neighborhood, sometimes at their bellicose worst and sometimes at their mellifluous best.
As I stepped out of the house, I was greeted by a horde of bulbuls, and as I walked on, I was enchanted by a red-whiskered bulbul hopping in and out of Dharmendra’s forlorn looking sigri, a fluffy, feathery ball of spunk, lending it some colour and sound. Again Vincent Van Gogh appeared before me, with brush and paints, eyes fixed on the sigri, with keen interest in his eyes. What would he call the painting? The deserted hearth and the bulbul? I wondered.
Suddenly, there was the sound of the trilling of another bulbul, as the Red-whiskered bulbul flew away. It was Kanchan, the most talkative of the bulbuls of the vicinity.
“Namastey madam, can I walk with you a little bit?” she chirped, falling in step with me. Her eyes fell on a pregnant woman coming from the opposite direction, and she smiled at her, the woman smiled back, a trifle self-consciously.
“You know, madam, I was just an eighteen year old and pregnant with my first child, and would have these cravings, you know, to have ice-cream, golgapa and what not. Once I wanted to have moongfali and knew there was a packet in my mother-in-law’s room, so I merrily opened her cabinet and had a handful of moongfali. The next day, I found it locked.”
“Yes, she is that mean. Do you think I would ever criticise my saas (mother-in–law) if she really were not so bad? You don’t think that I am lying?”
The red-whiskered bulbul had come back and was looking at her quizzically, as she talked away breathlessly, with scant regard for punctuation.
“No, no, I don’t think so,” I said, with great emphasis. Then, in no time, she started playing songs on her cell phone.
“Yeh Akshay Kumar ki saas hai,” she said, excitedly pointing towards Reena Roy in a glittering costume, philosophically singing, Sheesha ho ya dil ho, aakhir toot jaata hai, with a stylish wave of her hand.
“Tumko saas ka obsession hai.”(You are obsessed with mothers-in-law.)
“Obse…?” She lifted a perplexed eyebrow towards me.
“Oh! Matlab?” (Meaning?)
“Kissi bhi baat main zyaada interest hona, (to be excessively interested in something). And she is Reena Roy, not Dimple Kapadia, who is his saas…”
“Oh, woh jhoot boley kawa kaatey vaali?” she trilled.
“Waisey aapko bhi filmon ka bahut obsession hai,” (Actually, you are also obsessed with films) she flung a naughty retort in my direction and raced towards the neighbour’s house, while I gaped behind her, furtively looking here and there to find out whether anyone had witnessed this scene .
There was no one, except a bulbul.
This time a black bulbul.
(Illustration: Bulbul pictures courtesy Pixabay, Sigri courtesy Santosh Bakaya)
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