“So, how is your new place? Got adjusted to it? Don’t you miss Hebbal?” are queries that we answer, on relocation. Some even had reservations on our move.
It’s just a month, but we already feel insiders. Slowly but steadily we have made friends. Our morning walks continue unabated, the reported spotting of a snake regardless. We greet other walkers with a smile when there is an eye contact. It helps us, as much as them, to start the day on a happy note. Many respond. Some even make sure to be the first the next day to greet us. A few maintain a stiff upper lip. No hassles. May be, they don’t wish their thought-process derailed.
The pathway is longer in stretch but narrow. I deploy the customary made-to-order mild cough to overtake those walking in pair. In Hebbal the pathway is so wide that five or six walk in a row, like they are rehearsing a Republic Day parade. Intense debates cover the local Corporator’s apathy to their garbage grievances, to things in store if Donald Trump make it to US President.
Given to R&D, two things went into reckoning while we selected the 19th floor. One, we wished the best of Sun’s heat to the guy on top floor, and the rest to us. Two, we wished the mosquito brigade to feel free to feast on the lower floor residents, while we live in peace. As usual, our calculations went awry on both counts. We absorb heat just a shade less. Like some bacterial and viral invaders have since become drug-resistant, the survival instinct among the mosquito species too has led them to change their very lifestyles. Their inability to reach higher floors is now history. They now start their dinner from the top floor down. That ascertained, now I will consult my friend, philosopher and guide, Dr Google, the reason for their extra thirst for a vegetarian blood - whether it tastes any better.
I would love to swim. But, with my village upbringing, I swim with my head above the water level. That is not probably the recognised method. But that is no reason for my delayed foray into the pool. I understand we need to wear a cap, hair or no hair. So I need to buy one first. The nearby kiosks are a welcome addition. (I wish my grandchildren were here to correct me, “No Thatha, it is not kiosk, it is called, “……..”.) With these shaded structures near the swimming pool, the place looks like a jetty where passengers wait to be ferried across the backwaters in Kerala. One could spend evenings sitting and chatting in these kiosks. But alas, as of now only ladies converge. Maybe, some day men too will. In Hebbal ladies occupy two benches in the park, and men the other two, and chat from 5.30 to 7 pm, till the mosquitoes drive us away earlier, occasionally.
Also, it is from this rendezvous, mostly of seniors, that plans for one-day or two-day trips to nearby temples or other places originate. It will be in groups of 8, 10 or 12, and we would hire a Tempo Traveller. It is fun-filled with Anthakshari from film songs (in any language), jokes, riddles, not to speak of ladies distributing their specialities - Ubbiddu, onion pakoda, samosa, Madur Vada… This starter in no way affects our scheduled stop at Kamat or Adigas for breakfast. Come to think of it, how about planning something over here? Anyone to organise it? Or, should it necessarily be done under the auspices of the Cultural wing of our Association? It could be on a working day so that the visiting places will be less crowded, and for seniors, unless one terms it discriminatory.
V V Sundaram
Maple 3195
03 June 2016
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