"Yes, I got it! The trick is to use a novella to whack a fly.” He said with a triumphant grin as he brought it down on a fly that had been buzzing irritatingly around him. There was a small library in the lounge of the inn and some guests had been reading the books and had forgotten them on the table. “A novel is too fat and slow to attack swiftly”. He added as if this discovery had remarkably enriched his knowledge. “A small book of poetry will also work in a pinch”, he said as he whacked another fly with a sleek book of poetry. This was the first time he had been attacked by flies in the inn and was taken by complete surprise. This was also the first time that he had whacked flies with books. Maybe they came riding on the backs of newspapers that the newspaperman had just deposited on the table. Happy at his accomplishment, a tad guilty too, for having put the books to improper use, he looked at a cat that had made a sudden appearance from under the table. He also saw a waiter, heading toward him with an empty tray after serving tea and coffee to the guests in their rooms. “What is your name? ” The cat looked up as if about to answer.
“I am not asking you, silly!” The man said, smiling. "Saryu", the waiter, who looked not more than twenty, said diffidently, looking at the cat, who purred and almost smiled up at him. “Well, that is a very nice name.” Saryu smiled another shy smile. And the cat purred. “Please get me coffee – cappuccino and one butter toast.” “Okay sir”, he said, with a shy smile. He was to realize later that shy smiles were part of Saryu’s personality. “Meow,” said the cat, sidling up to him. He was sitting in the patio, looking at the verdant greenery, absolutely riveted by the birds chirping in the background, when it suddenly started raining. He raced towards the dining hall, covering his head with the newspaper, not forgetting to take the books along with him, and the cat followed him, already wet.
“Bheegi billi, you followed me here too.” He muttered, smiling, plonking himself on a table next to a window. The cat said, “Meow”.
Through the window, he could see the swimming pool, where children splashed about, squealing and screaming, while their mothers who stood on the edge of the pool, asked them to take it easy and be careful. It was no longer raining, but the sun was not visible, although it was ten in the morning. Right next to the swimming pool there were many recliners, and on one of the recliners under an Ashoka tree, reclined a girl reading a book, occasionally looking in amusement at the kids. She seemed to be in perfect harmony with the vibrant surroundings. Probably, she was the mother of one of the tiny tots in the swimming pool, the man, looking through the window, thought.
A ridiculously young mother. From the window, he noticed her lustrous black hair, cascading over her shoulders, and every now and then, she would give an impatient toss to her tresses, getting more and more engrossed in the book.
A girl, probably twelve, dived into the water, screaming a little before disappearing down under. A ten-year-old followed her, plunging back into the pool; soon a couple of more kids had thrown themselves into the pool amid giggles and merry laughter. “Didi, I am here.” The ten-year-old shouted to his twelve-year-old sister who surfaced, wiping wet strands of hair from her forehead and looking indulgently in the boy’s direction.
“Enough swimming for today, get out now, I am also coming out.” There was a big splash, a couple of kids had jumped into the pool and now were yelling and leapfrogging towards the boy. The girl glared at her brother, muttered something, and stomped off towards the washroom. Soon, the group of boys also came out of the pool, chasing each other towards the washroom, colorful towels slung over their shoulders. The man at the window continued looking at the girl on the lounger, who was still engrossed in reading the book. He noticed something else too. She had a plate by her side and was continuously nibbling on something. He started sipping his coffee guessing which kid’s mother she was. As she finished the coffee, and again looked towards the lounger, she was no more there. He looked around, but she had disappeared.
But, there she was again! This time just outside the garden in front of the dining hall, running round and round, with the exaggerated gestures and expressions of a soap opera actress. “Has anyone seen my sweetheart? Has anyone seen my cherubic beauty?” Shining black eyes dancing merrily in a piquant face. What was she doing? Suddenly, a toddler, clad in a floral frock, squeaky booties, and a red ribbon holding her golden ringlets in place, came racing towards her, arms outstretched, “Here is your booty ! Booty! Booty”, she squealed in pure delight, and flung herself at her. “Oh, where was my sugar plum hiding, where? Where was my dimpled beauty hiding? Where?”
She scooped her up in her arms, showering her with kisses. A few minutes later after some giggling and nuzzling, he caught a glimpse of the toddler, her hand in the reassuring hand of the girl, skipping towards the rooms on the left side of the huge, rambling garden.
He continued looking at them till they disappeared from sight, and then, went back to have another coffee. Through the glass window, he saw that it had again started raining and a chaotic medley of squeals and parental reprimands fell into his ears as he ordered his third coffee and sipped it thoughtfully. Excerpted from a work in progress with consent from the author.
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(Acclaimed for her poetic biography of Mahatma Gandhi, Ballad of Bapu, Dr Santosh Bakaya, a poet, essayist, novelist, biographer, TEDx speaker, has written twenty books across different genres)
