walking down.. strolling around...
the evening crowd.. the push and the shouts...
brimming footpaths... dazzling lights...
houses, traffic, the people around...all in a disarray...
moods gone haywire... maths all crazy...
too much walk... the foot is heated... starts aching... can't sit down... finally i do.. and it's a cold seat... and i stand up.. to step in a puddle.
ciggi? can someone?no.
"... lighter..lighter..." the footpath vendor shouts in the semi-light of reflected flourescent tube under the Newroad gate, "..lighter with torch... twenty rupees, twenty rupees.."
no one gives a damn... why would they when 30 other vendors, big and small, men and women, children and child...all shout at the same decibel level... except some are little hoarser...some are high treble... some a little bass... cumulated... they are the loud evening noise around dharahara... with deep fried fish and boiled egg on the big black flat tawa of kanchhi to give the typical aroma around Mugling. Mugling reminds me of fish too... fresh fish and fried fish and fish on stick and ropes. Mugling reminds me of dal bhat in Thakali ko bhojanalaya.
the street under my window are all packed around this time too. As evening sets, the white glaring flourescent tubes at least 10 in each boutique light up one by one. As i snuggle in bed with some muse, evening prayer bells join the incessant traffic horns from different directions. Evening aarati reminds me of Dashain. It is the only time aarati is an in-house matter. Other days it is a friendly neighbourhood chime. The white light at ground level bring in scores of people out of their shell. Most of them come out bored of their wives and kids. Of their incessant talks, squabbles, complaints and demands. Or, else just to spend their evening as usual with a hot cup of tea and a circle of friends, and inconsequential discussions on politics, aishwarya rai and helpless nepalese.
The wives are different - they realize at six, dinner needs cooking. So they head towards bagmati ko evening bazaar for fresh red tomatoes straight from kalimati, and jyapu ko saag in a kharpan. The cucumbers are out of season, so are guavas... can't see them anywhere. The children are the ones in dire dilemma. Homeworks due tomorrow in one hand, and induplicable wrestling and cartoon on the other.. it's the toughest time to decide. So, most of them end with bad handwriting in front of the screaming TV screen. They are twice disturbed - one by the biting cold they pay for being in the drawing room or papa's room or the widely known TV room... and the other by the irritating punctuations of mom's scolding. He finds it a background score by now... like a commercial break. And like them, the little boy happily waits for it to end to get back to the cricket scores...
Merry Christmas!!
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