A Journal of Mahatma Gandhi Antarrashtriya Hindi Vishwavidyalaya

“Saheb, the real fun starts when two
parties happen to visit the place at the
same time. They fly at each other’s throats
like paramours of the same woman. Anyway,
it recoils to the advantage of my mistresses.
These buyers compete with one another
in pleasing them. But I know it for certain
and so do the people living around here
that this kothi will not change hands during
their lifetime nor will they leave this place.
I am myself in a fix. Although we have
gained freedom I am still reeling under
the slavery of these two women. I can’t
usurp the small one-room outhouse in
which I live and turn my face against
them. After all there is something called
humanity also. Nurie is no less faithful
than their dogs.”
“You are right, Nurie.”
“Saheb, I don’t know what’s right and
what’s wrong. We all seek our own interests.
Oh, I forget everything once I start talking.
They are expecting another caller. They
can smell your presence right at the gate.
These callers come thinking that they are
too clever for these women but one never
knows who is cheating and who is being
cheated.’’
Kothi or no kothi (for the question
of the will was a complicated matter) to
spend some time with Grace and Ruby
was no less entertaining than watching
cheap TV programmes. I enjoyed their
company after racking my brain over books
the whole day. Sometimes my wife and
daughter accompanied me. The two sisters
were lavish with their comments on their
dresses. “Mrs Nath, you wear beautiful
saris. Is this your favourite colour? I also
like pink in all its shades.” Grace has a
keener eye. “Look, Ruby, what beautiful
material! Is this an Indian-made sari?
Really? I just can’t believe it.”
It is a winter evening. Sitting by the
fireside we are basking in their past. Grace
complains about the prohibitive price of
firewood and says that she prefers to lie
in bed rather than sit by the fireside.
I feel happy that I had arranged for some
firewood for the house. As the firewood
crackles into a blaze the two sisters forget
their woes and turn the golden pages of
their past. Puffy starts purring and then
cuddling herself in Ruby’s lap starts dozing.
The sisters’ eyes remain fixed on the swiftly
moving kaleidoscope of the past. They
mumble transforming the pictures into
words. They take into their stride cities,
elephants, horses, armies on the march,
constituting a whole cavalcade of the past.
Many a time Grace has taken me to
the room where her piano rests.
It is a wonderful experience to see
her playing on the piano. At a gentle
touch of her fingers each note leaps up
to caress her and the crowmarks on her
face start fading. It would appear as if
she has reversed half a century and returned
to her thirties.
120 :: January-March 2012