The Roseate Streak

There was no rain today, but the newspapers warned of the dire consequences of venturing out in the rain, because many areas of Jaipur had torrential rains and the roads were water-logged.

“Money can’t buy me love,” sang the Beatles from the neighboring house where the engineering students had had a late night, and now were all set to leave the house for an early morning class. Do the youngsters still listen to the Beatles, I wondered, gingerly avoiding a puddle, as I stepped out of my house. Before I could take another ginger step forward, out jumped a tadpole from the puddle and perched itself on my foot. My scream almost shook the neighbourhood, but one of the boys, seeing my sorry plight, smiled benevolently in my direction, taking a few steps towards me.

With the deftness of one who had been born rescuing hyperventilating, paranoid females from confused tadpoles, he bent down, scooped up the tadpole, and flung it away in the vacant plot adjacent to my flat.

Before the budding engineer knew it, he had been submerged under a profusion of thanks, which erupted from the innermost recesses of a near-petrified heart. I wondered whether anyone had ever thanked someone so profusely for rescuing her from a tadpole.

After this great escape, I could not possibly go back, so I walked on. Very, very gingerly. I noticed that the tea kiosk was well covered with a blue plastic sheet, but it was closed. I hoped the family was well. Rains can indeed wreak havoc on the unprotected heads of the invisibles of an imbalanced society. I shuddered at such a possibility.

Morning Meanderings by Dr Santosh Bakaya

“Strange, there is no rain here, in this part of Jaipur. Yesterday evening I was caught in a heavy traffic jam near Moti Doongri.”

“Ajmer came to a standstill yesterday. I was there for a meeting and saw a man almost being washed away in the rain water. It was such a blood curdling scene, but thankfully he was rescued by the people around.”  Snippets of conversation fell into my ears as I walked on, inhaling the rain- crisp breeze, but mind still wondering why the tea vendor and his family had not come .

As I sauntered on, I saw a tiny girl hopping and skipping towards me, mumbling something. Before I knew it, she had flung herself at me. She was Anouska, the tea vendor’s elder daughter- not yet three.
“Aunty!” she yelled, hurling herself at me, chattering excitedly. I scooped her up in my arms, eyes searching for the rest of the family. Her mother was right behind her, holding the infant in her arms.

“My husband will come late,” she said in answer to the query in my eyes.  The relief I felt was monumental. In no time, she had unlocked the kiosk, and had started pottering around with the pan and teacups. In five minutes the tea kiosk was again doing brisk business.

Everything was fine with the world, and there was a roseate streak in the east.

Picture: Santosh Bakaya

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About the Author

Santosh Bakaya ( 174 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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