I was sitting on the settee, near the window, looking out at the rain-soaked world, where birds were having great fun playing in the rain, and cows looked around with phlegmatic equanimity; one crow had the spunk to take a free ride on the slippery back of the nonchalant cow.
“Bhookha hoon. Kuch khaney ko milega?”
I heard an old shaking voice, beseeching. Begging. The crow looked around with canny, curious eyes, fidgeting on the cow’s back, but the cow was least bothered.
“Bhookha hoon. Kuch khaney ko milega?”
The voice again fell into my ears. But I could see no one through the window.
Where was the man?
Then I saw a long, bushy flowing beard, continuing under tangled locks of hair almost covering the face. I guessed the words must be coming from somewhere in that jungle where, for all practical purposes, only one eye was visible.
“Bhookha hoon. Kuch khaney ko milega?”
The beggar’s (or should I call him a faqir?) neck was bowed down by the weight of bead necklaces, and in his extended right arm was almost a bracelet shop. In his left hand, he jangled a bowl full of coins.
I suddenly visualized him breaking into song, Iago-style, “and let me the canakin clink, let me the canakin clink…some wine ho!”
I chastised myself for my fertile imagination and shook away the image of the Shakespearean character from my mental screen. Then I again heard the pleading tone of the mobile beads and bracelet shop.
“Bhookha hoon. Kuch khaney ko milega?” He repeated, this time with more yearning, almost on the verge of tears.
There was so much craving in his voice that I immediately hastened into the kitchen, to get something for the old man. In fact, I felt it was hunger crying, in different tones and tenors.
I rushed out, with some rice and daal, and before I could hand over the plate to the beggar, three boys came rushing from somewhere, and took the beggar in a hug.
“Bravo,” said one patting him on the back.
“This was perfect. No more takes,” remarked another.
The third one tousled his messy hair and smiled a broad smile.
I gaped at them, and they at the plate with steaming rice and daal.
Morning Meanderings Season 4 – the weekly column by Santosh Bakaya
“Oh, Madam, this means my acting was perfect, and I deserve the lunch,” he quipped, pulling off his beard and wig and taking the plate from my hands, his face creased in smiles. Gone was the bent faqir. In his place was a strapping young man, and his makeup and wrinkled face looked completely out of place with his smile.
“Tu akela hi khayega kya?” Cried the three other boys, and pounced at the plate.
“Madam, we have just rented the house next to you. We are engineering students. It is our hobby to create reels,” one of the threesome offered helpfully in an enthusiastic voice, perhaps taking pity on my shocked expression that was still pasted on my face.
“Oh! That was wonderful acting. And that makeup! Did you get some Bollywood guy to do it?” We all laughed.
“Kudos and all the best for your creative hobby. But one plate will not be enough. I will get three more plates for you.” They beamed at this offer.
I hopped back to the kitchen to load more plates, smiling at how I had completely fallen for the “Bhookha hoon” act.
Click to Read all Seasons of Morning Meanderings
Dr Santosh Bakaya is the author of three mystery novels for young adults, and a book of essays titled
Flights From My Terrace, which was recently published as an e-book on Smashwords. Her poetic biography of Mahatma Gandhi,
Ballad Of Bapu has been published by Vitasta Publishers, Delhi, India in May 2015 and has been receiving rave reviews from everywhere. Although a Political theorist, with a doctorate in political theory, it is literature which has been her first love. She was awarded the Reuel international award for language and literature 2014 for her long poem
Oh Hark!, which forms part of the
Significant Anthology. Many of her poems have figured in the highly commended category in Destiny Poets, a UK based website and many are part of international anthologies. Right now, she is giving the final touches to her satirical novel, tentatively titled
Sanakpur Shenanigans.
All Posts of Santosh Bakaya
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