Mango Fall (Excerpt)

‘Cring Cring’ an oblivious melody to oncoming pedestrians. He loves whizzing by slow trotters, surprising them with his bell. Shiny and small, it bellowed music when he rang it repeatedly. Much unlike his music teacher at school; she made him stand at the blackboard and write lessons…every class.

‘You croak like a Kola Bang, Ishwarer oshesh kreepa!’…she looked up as if He was watching over…listening. ‘Guruji never lived to see whom I teach,’ she used to snap at him furiously. The whole class used to chuckle; the muffled outbursts stopped when she sneered back at them through her spectacles. Much to his musing, it reminded him of ‘Sheyal Pundit ar Kumirer Shanar Pathshala’. Stories he longed to hear during the afternoon naps in his short stays at Nanu‘s in summer. That is no more, he thinks. Nanu is not well, she came to live at their house. Her dark eyes seem bleak as if someone has pulled out the life from them. She is hardly recognizable, frail and frightening. He does not fight with his cousin, his birth-date twin… Esha… anymore to sleep beside Nanu. Esha the favorite, Esha nimble feet…she clasps his hands and watched Nanu from a distant. Ammu says Nanu is going to a place. Kashmir Esha thinks.

Kcring kcringgg cring…’Are you coming to play football tomorrow?’ yelled Tito and wiggled the front wheels of his mountain bike and caught his blue eagle off guard. He yanked leftward to counter balance. Tito chuckled as the chains of the green racing bike rattled a downshift and whizzed by; all that could be made out from his fading voice was…'It’s a coke bet…losers pay.’ Tito loved to jump him like that, part of the aggression that represented a egotistical forward. He envied the racing bike a little; mostly because it stood out…no one else had a 21 gear aluminum casing fitted with racing seat and it sped like a phoenix.  He soared on the wings of his eagle, enshrouded in a thoughtless state –his frizzy hair brushing the gushing wind. He loved this state of being in tantric unison. He wondered whether Sheyal Pundit’s guru did the same…Ommm.. nisa rey.. SanI saAaaH…Om. He closed his eyes, lifting his chin towards the sky, hummed and drifted, ‘bomnisareysanIsabom…’.

A spec of water droplet exasperated his cheek –it was going to rain. He felt his locks near his temples; he did this often especially when he was unsure. Nimble feet would tip toe, pull at it from behind and make a run for it. She would giggle mischievously and hide behind Ammu while he chased her infuriated not at the pain but at her mischief. Ammu would grab hold of them in a tight hug close to her bosom. She would smell his hair; stroke it gently, drawing imperfect semi circles as if to calm him down and laugh at nimble feet; disapprovingly. Esha, glared a victorious tigress snare from her half hidden face. She had a beautiful glee in her eyes which sparkled by the warmth of love flowing from Ammu. Nimble feet never had her own. Ammu was her Ammu. He misses those moments; Ammu and Esha are both awfully quiet these days.

‘Ei Ei Ei….’ the brakes locked in and the tires screeched; the sounds brought him back from his quintessential neverland. He scratched his temples and looked deranged as if he was never at the crime scene –innocent. The tire was almost between the man’s legs; it was the local vegetable vendor Harun.  At that moment he stood on his toes like a practiced perfectionist ballet dancer. His legs perched like a tuning fork. His back arched like a bow, balanced by his hands. One was holding the edge of his lungi from falling off, the other holding the casket of Popeye’s spinach.  The crowd stopped around to have a laugh at the fading moments of the incidence but no one applauded the performance. Harun got back his to his balance, stepped aside and fixed himself like a true gentleman in a business suit –adjusting the tie, tucking in unwanted creases, plaiting hair from one side to another, sharp. ‘Choto bhai dekhe chalao. You’ll someone half.’   Resting a little and pacing his breath he continued, ‘Come from home. Your amma khoje…. Wrong again … search.  She tell me, I tell you come quick home. ‘Smiling wide he inquires, ‘My English better than the English now?’. He nods his head in assurance; better than the English. Harun continues, ‘Oneday I’ll land America by plane and tell English and sell vegetable you see bhaiya. I’ll take you too. We do business;  partner- partner’.  Content his message been delivered Harun rings the bell reassuring himself, ‘ting ting… Jao Bhaiya, go home.’