1. A biker with “Jai maa Bhaanvari” passes by. It’s what they call as “whirlpool cave.”
2. Dhaniram spotted just outside Sulabh Complex with a yellow paper in his hand.
3. A tale about samosa:
They were practicing writing descriptive paragraphs. Based on the samples given the teacher asks her to write one about herself. She writes. A few words. Not enough. He then asks her to tell about her skills. She begins with languages she can speak. Then her ability to dance and sketch are brought into light by the teacher. It was near the aquarium painting on wall where he told her about deja vus he had. The very next day she had a fever upon her. The turmeric kadha. He told her in the end to write about her ability to cook and also told about his own abilities. He asked her if she could cook samose. Her answer was in negative.
The very next day as he went to teach: the mother greeted him with a strange appearance. Asked him to make the student sit for an hour even as it was Diwali. They offered him mooli as they were eating it. He politely refused because he had had breakfast just a while ago. She startled him only to tell him about not attending the class. It was Diwali day after all.
A few days ago: when he had received his payment : he asked about the crops in the field. The secretary told him that they were kharif crops.
That day she offered him to take some spinach to which he refused as it merely added to more expectations. Everything has to be paid one way or the other.
After spinach and mooli: as the guy who wanted to donate clothes, a twelfth class student, was taken to her by the tutor: he was again offered samosa that they brought for breakfast. Occassions matter?
He didn’t have samose by Asatiji. Everything has a reason. He didn’t eat kheer at home. It seemed that Asatiji wanted him to eat them. But it was only with Vaibhav that he enjoyed them. Then something happened and they appealed him no more, though he ate them sometimes when hungry. When he had to dance because of the stipulation created by Shri as he carelessly called her by her given name: he was force fed bananas.
Kela uncle. Little pittle. Rumpledstiltedskin. Kinnardoldrumlautarkrakenophibeliskilletiologyrationoisomesugasconade.
Today: Asatiji was standing near him as he played vocabulary quiz. It was the same reflex. Then he saw a guy taking samose at the usual poha thela. He wanted samose for a change on impulse. The poha guy suggested him to have poha instead because he wanted to tell him that he would be charged only ten rupees.
If he hadn’t inquired about his daughter’s tuition fee: the cardboard with price tags for poha wouldn’t have appeared.
If I had marijuana regularly: the story would have been richer. But that was only for thugs. Same with alcohol. Even my breakfast was questionable. Purushottam said something. The man reading newspaper asked about the price of the juice. The lawyer who had insulted me on that shop was again walking with a farmer like pagdi on head. He was there last evening as well. Deri road. Late road. The guy who came to play cricket with him in Shatabdi: a guy with dirty teeth like his. Though he ate no gutka. The bus going to Seedhi had Samaya Shatabdi written on it. The labour inspector examination. He had scored 130. He saw his aunt’s husband in dream. He said he was coming for rescue! Ah deliverance!
Who connects the dots but the creator! Satna was a pain but Seedhi was all temples painted with snakes. It seemed whole lots of nagas attacked him together. He had some samose to eat then he had dysentery. That was one of the most difficult of passages. He recalled the govindpur valley: a majestic beauty. A jeep with Bundela written was spotted outside the stadium as he entered. Who connects the dots but creator.
If the poha guy directed him away from samosa: the uncle of the kid offered him samosa: then it clicked.
It was orchestrated.
Samose were connecting thread. The class struggle.
Today he was again offered kaadha. He had suggested her to have some as a cure for cough.
A boy in white was wearing jercy number 09. Void and Shri. Police. Police. Police.
Two of them walked and another was on a bike smiling : he wore the cap similar to the one worn by the dermatologist.
I wanted to teach her Mudralankar. I am the teacher. The tutor. The Sutra kaar.
Tiwari and company were not found inside stadium today. I played only one jam.
The story took contribution from: Gandhi Smarak Bhavan. Asatiji. Rohan’s uncle. Dolly’s father. Couple of college guys. My memories. And grace from dancinglightofgrace.
The story wouldn’t have been possible without that exercise in descriptive paragraphs. Descriptive is deshgat. Deshraag. Dependent on local conditions. Narrative is minimal.
That was initiated by the student. The class was initiated after an agreement under banyan tree. A tree under which a Shivalinga is worshipped. I once captured a picture and later I was abused. I once danced near it and later I was abused. I taught under it when Vidyasagar was residing in this township.
The class was initiated by Ankit. The class was initiated by me. Kirti madam appeared as soon as I began teaching. I didn’t know I was surrounded by so many high profile people. Not yet.
I asked her about the publishers. I wanted to initiate Shri, Ankit, Golu into kabbalistic mysteries. I felt she was telling only bit of it. Those people looked with surprise at me. Madam said her daughter would attend the class. She didn’t. Not on that day.
Who connects the dots?
Who creates the dots.
What comes out of it?
It takes communication, words and connected action to bring it about. A guy was donning a t-shirt with ‘freedom’ written on it. Another rode a hercules bicycle. Hercules might mean Sankarshana as per Pancharatra or Sisyphus as per the myth. It means purgatory. Rolling stones.
Dancing light of grace 