Spitting spree
A described earlier, I used to live very close to Thakurli station. I had a band of like minded friends, Aneema, Nisha, and Baby, another constant was Manjula, my domestic help's daughter. I would find one of these girls always ready to go out and have some pure fun. Funtimes included sitting under a lamp post just about 20 ft away from the railway tracks. We sat on a hillock like mound beneath a lamp post that had a cement median that acted as a big seat for us to sit on. We would grab a bag of peanuts and rush to that median around early evening. There used to be fast local trains that did not halt at this station. and fast trains were always on track no four. My station has platform number one for down trains and platform number two for up trains, meaning those going towards VT station (Victoria Terminus). Our mission was to try and spit on at least one passenger. We tried and aimed real sharp. But, all those two or three years we tried (till we figured other such mischiefs to keep ourselves busy), we failed miserably. Not just failed but our faces were covered with our spit... but, the beauty was, the more our faces got covered, we became more determined.
When there were no trains passing by, we used to look at the smoke coming out of the huge chimneys of the Chola Power House (Mamata Banerjee has promised to revive the Power House after it closed down almost 23 years ago) and wonder how they would be getting rid of that soot in those chimneys. We would then imagine all that soot and go cheee thooo. The irony was, if somebody was even to glance at our dirty mud soiled feet, they would have loved to give us that chee thooo expression gladly. By the way, I always had my sandals with me tied to my frock, skirt belt. yes, they were impeccably clean. In my young mind, I could get my feet cleaned, but sandals should not get soiled in the mud and dirt we played in. And then the 7 pm siren was a signal that it was way past prayer time, or reach-home-deadline. And then the rush and the run, sneaking in noiselessly and trying to clean my feet with some leaves from the banana tree we had in our verandah or some cloth drying on the clothesline. Lamps would be lit and incense almost burnt and evening prayers done with, my older brother would be poring over his books, journals and tidying his school bag and washing his fountain pen and filling ink for the next school day. And I would wish for some leader to be dead so that the state would declare a holiday next day...
Ranga Rajah
When there were no trains passing by, we used to look at the smoke coming out of the huge chimneys of the Chola Power House (Mamata Banerjee has promised to revive the Power House after it closed down almost 23 years ago) and wonder how they would be getting rid of that soot in those chimneys. We would then imagine all that soot and go cheee thooo. The irony was, if somebody was even to glance at our dirty mud soiled feet, they would have loved to give us that chee thooo expression gladly. By the way, I always had my sandals with me tied to my frock, skirt belt. yes, they were impeccably clean. In my young mind, I could get my feet cleaned, but sandals should not get soiled in the mud and dirt we played in. And then the 7 pm siren was a signal that it was way past prayer time, or reach-home-deadline. And then the rush and the run, sneaking in noiselessly and trying to clean my feet with some leaves from the banana tree we had in our verandah or some cloth drying on the clothesline. Lamps would be lit and incense almost burnt and evening prayers done with, my older brother would be poring over his books, journals and tidying his school bag and washing his fountain pen and filling ink for the next school day. And I would wish for some leader to be dead so that the state would declare a holiday next day...
Ranga Rajah
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