The Kachori Jog

“I will never get used to it,” he said, shuddering and casting one furtive look at his paunch and another at his equally paunchy jogging partner.

“Get used to what?”

“This paunch. Never had it. This sedentary lifestyle has played the villain.”

“Don’t worry! You will be fine,” his partner said, trying in vain to hide his tummy, and picking up speed.

“Honestly, I can never get used to having hot lemon water early in the morning.”

“Put some honey in it. It will taste better that way!”

“What an irony! Even for reducing fat, you have to eat or drink something!”

“An irony indeed.”

“This humidity will kill me. Yesterday night, there was a power outage, and I couldn’t sleep a wink. Now, I am feeling sleepy. I think I will go home, have a bath and again go off to sleep,” the first one said, yawning.

“I don’t have a meeting till ten, so I can luxuriate in this indulgence.”
“Not a bad idea,” the second one remarked, with a bigger yawn. “I will also sleep, I think.”

All sorts of thoughts were roiling in my mind, as the two joggers were going full throttle, discussing the disadvantages of a sedentary lifestyle, not being able to go to the gym, the unbearable temperature, and the pleasures of sleep.

I was thinking of the therapeutic power of Nature, how effortlessly it can turn mundanity into magicality, the ordinary into extraordinary, the banal into beautiful. No, there was nothing beautiful about the paunches, they really did look gross. On second thoughts, I had no right to pass judgments on paranoid passersby, pontificating about protruding equator. So, I held my judgment in abeyance, steering my thoughts to the birds flying in the air, and hey presto!

The trite became thrilling! My eyes fell on a couple of mynas pecking on discarded chunks of watermelon with the reverential awe reserved for delectable desserts! But, alas, that scene was enough to trigger pangs of hunger in me.

“The problem with me is that I am always thinking of food. If anyone offers me a plate full of kachori, I will just gobble it up, not worried about the calories.” This was not me speaking. It was the first jogger, but he seemed to be echoing my thoughts. I suddenly had a deep yearning for kachoris. As if on cue, the kachori vala appeared on the scene, and a trio of gluttons made a dash toward, him. He had just put some tempting hot kachoris on a big thali and was delighted to see three gluttons heading towards him. He put two kachoris each in three plates, and with a broad smile covering his face, handed them to us.

The birds went into a litany of trills. A Common Kingfisher looked around with an uncommon elan, a lapwing gave a high decibel screech, and quiescent clouds suddenly rumbled loudly. They seemed to be happy for us, as we licked our lips in anticipation. But with horror writ on our happy faces, we saw another trio heading towards it, with purpose in its stride, and menace in its body language.
This was a trio of monkeys!
They very conveniently walked up to us, and took the plates from us; we were too bamboozled to offer any resistance. With the plates in their hands, they headed towards a sand dune under a tree, while we looked on, crestfallen.

I don’t know what happened (maybe our curses fell on them), but all three slipped on the dune, and the paper plates with the booty, also slipped from their hands. But before we could clap in malicious glee, they quickly picked up the sand-slathered kachoris and polished them off, casting more tempting glances in the direction of the kachori vala.

The kachoriwala looked sheepishly in our direction, furtively beckoning to us. We went towards him, looking over our shoulders for the simian menace, but their interest seemed to be caught by something more interesting., and they were heading in that direction.

With cautious tread, we walked towards the kachoriwala, who again offered three plates of kachoris to us, refusing to take money for the six kachoris which had satiated the hunger of three monkeys.

But on our insistence, he took the money, repeatedly saying, “Yeh galat hai, aap logon ney to kachori khayi hi nahin.” (This is wrong. You folks did not eat the kachoris.)

“Veh to hamarey rishtedaar hi they, aur humsey zyada bhookey they.” (They were after all our relatives and appeared hungrier than us) The first one quipped with a smile and all of us joined in the laughter.

Morning Meanderings is a musings column by Santosh Bakaya

We did not eat the kachoris there but prudently headed home, the kachoris prudently hidden inside our clothes.

When we looked over our shoulders, the spunky simians were slyly looking in our direction. But we were safely home! Safe to savour the kachoris within the four walls of our house.

As I sat on the sofa and sunk my teeth in the first kachori, I sensed some movement near the closed glass window.

I looked in the direction to see a monkey framed in the window. I was sure temptation would lead him into trouble and quickly gobbled up the first kachori, refusing to be tempted by the second kachori lying tantalizingly on the paper plate. I have always prided myself on steering clear of all kinds of temptations.

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About the Author

Santosh Bakaya ( 141 Posts)

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.
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