[ad_1]
At 80, Jayantrao Chowdhary is spry. No hair on the head, only a monk’s fringe. So what. Dentures. So what. No paunch. Now that’s extra to the level. Yoga from age 15. He can nonetheless do the padmaasan with out effort. Ask Suman to do it. Tcha! Looks wiry however she’s all aches and pains. She bore him two daughters she’s going to remind him. His contribution? Just seed and identify. That’s one ace ladies have up their sleeves. But the truth stays. She can’t do the padmaasan. He can.
He tucks his shirt into his khaki shorts. Sujata the older woman says it makes him appear like considered one of the RSS oldies who play tenniquoits in the park. So what. His eldest uncle was an RSS man and performed a imply recreation of tenniquoits. Made the household proud.
He pulls on his ankle size socks, brown canvas footwear and he’s able to go.
Suman is studying the papers. He has stopped studying them since the hydra-horned virus arrived amidst them. Just numbers. So many lakhs contaminated, so many hundreds recovered, so many lots of useless. Suman takes these numbers very significantly and will get palpitations.
She sees him go behind the sofa in direction of the entrance door.
‘Where are you going?’
‘My hostel room-mate would return late from his depravities and start talking loudly to me, waking me up. “Oh sorry. Were you asleep,” he would say.’
‘Point taken. I have asked you where you are going when I can see you’re going for a walk.’
Jayantrao opens the door.
Suman says, ‘One minute. I’d prefer to make a superfluous level. We are underneath lockdown. There’s a virus wandering outdoors. It’s blind. It can’t see who’s match or unfit. Today’s paper says…’
‘The reason why I haven’t learn it’s I don’t wish to know.’
Jayantrao locations one canvas-lined foot outdoors the door.
‘In that case, there is something else I’d prefer to say.’
‘Make it quick.’
‘If you bring the virus home I’m going to mom’s.’
‘Your mother died 12 years ago.’
‘My daughter’s.’
‘They’ve self-remoted in two rooms. Akshay research and sleeps on the terrace.’
‘I’ll isolate you on the terrace.’
‘Why? We have a balcony. Isolate me there.’
‘Which means you are determined to bring the virus home.’
‘No. It means you should stop reading the papers and let me do my thing.’
Jayantrao permits his second canvas-lined foot to hitch the first.
‘Yesterday the police caught Dr Sharangpani. He had to show them all sorts of cards and documents and certificates to prove he was a doctor on his way to the hospital. You have nothing to show.’
‘Except my acting talents. It’s not for nothing that I received all these prizes for the financial institution in the State Drama Competitions.’
‘So you’ll ship a speech from Natasamrat and the police will allow you to go?’
‘You’ve by no means been on stage. You’ll by no means know the magic of adlibbing.’
Jayantrao disappears.
Suman folds her newspaper neatly and will get up. She’s going to want a powerful cup of tea to maintain her by way of what’s coming. Looking at the pot of boiling russet-brown brew, she frowns. He is cussed. Always has been. Comes naturally whenever you’ve served at a nationalised financial institution counter for years earlier than rising to managerial ranks. If you aren’t cussed, you’ll search for out of your work or tea or chat the minute some idiot shopper wanders in and asks you a query. But she’s cussed too. She needed to be to disregard baleful appears from the household and refuse to ‘try’ for a son after two daughters.
She carries her cup of sizzling tea to the sofa, picks up her cellphone and begins urgent the keys. The tea helps her to not lose her persistence when she will get an engaged tone, not a couple of times however roughly 12 occasions. 13th time fortunate. She’s by way of.
‘Are your men prowling in our area?’
‘?’
‘We live near the old Prabhadevi temple.’
‘*’
‘Oh good. In that case can you get onto your walkie talkie or whatever you call it and tell those men what I’m going to let you know now? You know Babrekar Marg. B-A-B-R-E-Ok-A-R. You do. Lovely. Now if you happen to take the lane that shoots off northward from Bhatia Building… everybody is aware of the place that’s. Ask Novelty Shoppee. They’ll let you know. So if you happen to go down that
lane you’ll come to a small Udyan on the left. That’s the place Vijay Club was once. Your sister performed kho-kho there? Fancy that! Yes. They used to win trophies proper left and centre. Pity it’s useless. The membership I imply. So sure. If you enter that park you’ll discover an outdated man in khaki shorts with tucked-in shirt and brown canvas footwear strolling round like he’s in a strolling race. Oh sure. He’s nicely over 60. Of course that makes him a senior citizen. Yes in fact that
means he’s at nice threat… sure sure… I do know all the guidelines. He is aware of them too. Look the man’s my husband. Don’t make me say impolite issues about him. I’m calling to ask you to arrest him. No no. Not put him behind bars. Just put the concern of the police into him. He doesn’t imagine the police really catch individuals. He thinks they simply sit in jeeps and drive round making bulletins that no one understands. Yes I suppose that’s a criticism. Sure make an observation of it. But coming again to my husband, make him imagine you really cease and query people who find themselves breaking lockdown guidelines. Yes. He is aware of his approach house. No he’s not touched in the head. He’s simply over-good. Wait. Don’t disconnect. Tell your males to not be taken in by something he says. He received the finest actor trophy for his financial institution at each State Drama Competition earlier than he retired. Oh you additionally act? That’s your Marathi manus for you. Theatre-crazy. True. Where’s the time for you as of late? You ought to do one thing about your responsibility hours. But now if you happen to don’t get onto that walkie talkie… proper. Thank you. Yes, we Marathi individuals should stick collectively. Jai Maharashtra.’
Suman sits again deeply glad. When Jayantrao struts in, chest out, she says, ‘You’re again early. Anything the matter?’
‘Nothing,’ he says frowning fiercely.
He appears at the empty teacup beside her. ‘A second cup? That’s not such as you. Anything the matter?’
‘Nothing,’ she says and buries her nostril in her newspaper.
Shanta Gokhale is a Marathi and English author primarily based in Mumbai whose works embody a definitive historic textual content on Marathi theatre, and novels comparable to Tya Varshi, which she translated into English as Crowfall. She obtained the Sangeet Natak Akademi Award in 2015.
Follow extra tales on Facebook and Twitter
[ad_2]
Source hyperlink