For a man of sixty plus, he was surprisingly agile. He had a spring in his step that even a ten year old would envy. Every time I saw him, I got the impression that he had just won a lottery or, probably, India had trounced Pakistan by ten wickets in a test match. His hair was oiled and neatly parted to the side; he wore a spotless kurta and pajamas that could easily pass of as those computer-generated advanced-white ones in the TV commercials. He hopped along the road jauntily and waved from a distance. I waved back and my eyes, habitually, focused directly at his shoes. I let out a sigh and silently thanked Saraswathi: they were muddy and dirty. Though he had never once failed to pay me a visit during his early morning walks, his pristine attire always gave me the goose bumps.
“Thatha” I called out.
“What Kanna? What’s up?” he asked.
He walked up to me, placed his shoe on the stand that I provided, drew a chair for himself and sat. He panted and said,
“Habbah, at least that’s over”
“What, Thatha! You look like the type who can do ten more rounds without tiring and you are thanking your stars”
“Age, my son—its age. You will know when you get to my age—though I don’t think you will even be able to walk when you reach there. Just look at you, all skin and bones! Don’t they feed you in that stupid school you go to?”
I didn’t reply for he made that comment almost on a daily basis, but began working diligently on his shoes. I am a cobbler-cum-shoe cleaner/ polisher. I am the latter only to Thatha. When he first came to our locality, two years ago, I was just starting up my business. He asked me if I would clean shoes for him and I said I would try—but there was not much cleaning I could do with those horrible modern sports shoes that he used to wear then. Within a week, he switched to Canvas shoes. I loved them. He paid me 10 rupees for cleaning his shoes—about 250 rupees a month.
“How do you get them so muddy?” I said, scrubbing his shoe diligently.
“Mm?”
“I mean, where do you go? How is there cow-dung on this shoe?”
“Oh, just here and there” he said distractedly.
I asked him that question regularly and he would either change the topic or give an uncharacteristically vague reply. I knew where he did go though—to the stream that lay behind his house. There was lot of muck around there. I wondered what Thatha would do there—he wasn’t the type who would sit around a stream listening to the twittering of birds or the roar of the water. That would appeal to him as much going to school does to me. Age hadn’t robbed him of his love for people, for company, for action. Probably he went there to smoke a few cigarettes. Yes, that was it! He did go to smoke—Pati hated that habit of his and it wasn’t too long ago that he had completely given it up for her sake. He probably didn’t want anyone to see him and what better place to go than the stream. It was as crowded as the graveyard; In fact, still better, for there were not even dead souls to spy on him.
“You seem to be very quite today, Kanna. What are you smiling to yourself about?”
“Oh, nothing. Actually—yes—no—I mean, I was just thinking about the funny way in which our English teacher talks. You must see her once, Thatha”
He looked slightly suspicious, but smiled indulgently.
The next morning, I woke up just as the goods train blew its horn out aloud and chugged past our station. It was the crack of dawn—an hour or so before my usual rising time. I cursed the train and tried getting back to sleep, but I couldn’t. It was with a sense of downright frustration that I made my way down to the lake to start my chores. And then, a mad idea struck me. It shook me up—I was no longer lazy or frustrated or sleepy. I laughed loudly and ran, shaking with excitement. I sprinted as fast as I could, didn’t stop at the tank but went further on. The morning was cold and a chill breeze, whose effect was compounded by the speed of my running, blew against my ears. I didn’t bother. I was determined.
In a few minutes, I spotted him. Thatha, dressed in typical white clothes, and a muffler around his ears, walked ahead, a few metres away. I slowed down—I didn’t want him to spot me. Given his age, Thatha was exceptionally brisk. I found it difficult to keep up with him for I had to be careful. The path gradually became narrower, the foliage thicker; the trees taller. It was easier to be unnoticeable now—my footsteps were muffled by the softness of the earth and the trees that were resplendent with birds that sung, shrieked and cried. I tried pretending to be the detective who comes in the TV show Thatha watches, running from one tree to another and then hiding behind them. I gave this up, feeling stupid and glad that there was no one to see me.
After some time of rigorous walking, I heard the roar of the stream—it was a violent, booming roar—like a caged lion roaring for freedom. Thatha was speeding up, and I had to literally run to catch up with him. The thundering of the water increased in decibels and I knew we weren’t far away. And there it was—pure blue, with white waves, flowing with a speed that was frightening.
Thatha made his way to the path that led to the stream. He was within feet away, when suddenly, he took a detour. I silently watched from behind a tall beech tree with bated breath. He sat down beside the muddy, brown, filthy muck that lay a little away. Aha! I thought, now for the cigarettes. He then removed his shoes and socks. He plunged the shoes carefully with his hands into the muck like a cook frying his papadams in oil; one after the other, making sure every area was equally dirty. He took them out and examined them and with a satisfied smile, put them on, and walked back towards the path leading away from the river.
*****
It was a little past seven in the morning. Thatha hopped gaily towards me, making me wonder if he had springs for muscles in his body. My eyes didn’t focus at his shoes, for I knew how they would be—Saraswathi was denied my prayers. He waved from a distance and I waved back, a little guiltily. He sat on the chair that I quickly drew for him and panted heavily.
“What Kanna—what’s up?” he asked.
I took his muddy and wet shoes and began scrubbing.
“I wonder how you get them so muddy, Thatha. Seriously, where do you go?”
“Eh?” he said vaguely, and then with a dash of his usually enthusiasm, he asked,
“Did you see Tendulkar’s ton yesterday? He’s back. I tell you, he definitely is back”
I smiled to myself and nodded my head in agreement. Some things never change…..
“Thatha” I called out.
“What Kanna? What’s up?” he asked.
He walked up to me, placed his shoe on the stand that I provided, drew a chair for himself and sat. He panted and said,
“Habbah, at least that’s over”
“What, Thatha! You look like the type who can do ten more rounds without tiring and you are thanking your stars”
“Age, my son—its age. You will know when you get to my age—though I don’t think you will even be able to walk when you reach there. Just look at you, all skin and bones! Don’t they feed you in that stupid school you go to?”
I didn’t reply for he made that comment almost on a daily basis, but began working diligently on his shoes. I am a cobbler-cum-shoe cleaner/ polisher. I am the latter only to Thatha. When he first came to our locality, two years ago, I was just starting up my business. He asked me if I would clean shoes for him and I said I would try—but there was not much cleaning I could do with those horrible modern sports shoes that he used to wear then. Within a week, he switched to Canvas shoes. I loved them. He paid me 10 rupees for cleaning his shoes—about 250 rupees a month.
“How do you get them so muddy?” I said, scrubbing his shoe diligently.
“Mm?”
“I mean, where do you go? How is there cow-dung on this shoe?”
“Oh, just here and there” he said distractedly.
I asked him that question regularly and he would either change the topic or give an uncharacteristically vague reply. I knew where he did go though—to the stream that lay behind his house. There was lot of muck around there. I wondered what Thatha would do there—he wasn’t the type who would sit around a stream listening to the twittering of birds or the roar of the water. That would appeal to him as much going to school does to me. Age hadn’t robbed him of his love for people, for company, for action. Probably he went there to smoke a few cigarettes. Yes, that was it! He did go to smoke—Pati hated that habit of his and it wasn’t too long ago that he had completely given it up for her sake. He probably didn’t want anyone to see him and what better place to go than the stream. It was as crowded as the graveyard; In fact, still better, for there were not even dead souls to spy on him.
“You seem to be very quite today, Kanna. What are you smiling to yourself about?”
“Oh, nothing. Actually—yes—no—I mean, I was just thinking about the funny way in which our English teacher talks. You must see her once, Thatha”
He looked slightly suspicious, but smiled indulgently.
The next morning, I woke up just as the goods train blew its horn out aloud and chugged past our station. It was the crack of dawn—an hour or so before my usual rising time. I cursed the train and tried getting back to sleep, but I couldn’t. It was with a sense of downright frustration that I made my way down to the lake to start my chores. And then, a mad idea struck me. It shook me up—I was no longer lazy or frustrated or sleepy. I laughed loudly and ran, shaking with excitement. I sprinted as fast as I could, didn’t stop at the tank but went further on. The morning was cold and a chill breeze, whose effect was compounded by the speed of my running, blew against my ears. I didn’t bother. I was determined.
In a few minutes, I spotted him. Thatha, dressed in typical white clothes, and a muffler around his ears, walked ahead, a few metres away. I slowed down—I didn’t want him to spot me. Given his age, Thatha was exceptionally brisk. I found it difficult to keep up with him for I had to be careful. The path gradually became narrower, the foliage thicker; the trees taller. It was easier to be unnoticeable now—my footsteps were muffled by the softness of the earth and the trees that were resplendent with birds that sung, shrieked and cried. I tried pretending to be the detective who comes in the TV show Thatha watches, running from one tree to another and then hiding behind them. I gave this up, feeling stupid and glad that there was no one to see me.
After some time of rigorous walking, I heard the roar of the stream—it was a violent, booming roar—like a caged lion roaring for freedom. Thatha was speeding up, and I had to literally run to catch up with him. The thundering of the water increased in decibels and I knew we weren’t far away. And there it was—pure blue, with white waves, flowing with a speed that was frightening.
Thatha made his way to the path that led to the stream. He was within feet away, when suddenly, he took a detour. I silently watched from behind a tall beech tree with bated breath. He sat down beside the muddy, brown, filthy muck that lay a little away. Aha! I thought, now for the cigarettes. He then removed his shoes and socks. He plunged the shoes carefully with his hands into the muck like a cook frying his papadams in oil; one after the other, making sure every area was equally dirty. He took them out and examined them and with a satisfied smile, put them on, and walked back towards the path leading away from the river.
*****
It was a little past seven in the morning. Thatha hopped gaily towards me, making me wonder if he had springs for muscles in his body. My eyes didn’t focus at his shoes, for I knew how they would be—Saraswathi was denied my prayers. He waved from a distance and I waved back, a little guiltily. He sat on the chair that I quickly drew for him and panted heavily.
“What Kanna—what’s up?” he asked.
I took his muddy and wet shoes and began scrubbing.
“I wonder how you get them so muddy, Thatha. Seriously, where do you go?”
“Eh?” he said vaguely, and then with a dash of his usually enthusiasm, he asked,
“Did you see Tendulkar’s ton yesterday? He’s back. I tell you, he definitely is back”
I smiled to myself and nodded my head in agreement. Some things never change…..
