Timepass chats at SFV park bench

We do our morning walks in all seriousness. In the evenings, it is more a stroll, to meet people and have a chat with co-residents, depending on who sits near you or, more precisely, near whom you get a seat in the park bench. And the person by your side will hold the key for the topic. I would be a passive listener. 

Sometimes it will be on the best Ayurveda treatment for back-pain; or, whether to go for physiotherapy before or after or, instead of, surgery for knee replacement; or life becoming domestic-help-centric… 

On occasions, food will figure in. Suggestions would include engaging a cook and train her on Mor Kozambu, Avial, Mysore Rasam or Vatta Kozambu if the cook is from North; and, on Dal Makhani, Malai Kofta or Palak Paneer if she is from South. Another lady who believes in hassle-free life, would suggest ordering with Zepto or Zomato, and what dish from which restaurant. 

The other day it was on mango pickle - Andhra Avakkai, to be specific. The lady explained how they would go together to market in Hyderabad with a bucketful of water, a hand towel, etc. select the mango (like the Ramkela variety in Delhi), wash it individually, and dry them with cloth.  The cutter cuts them with such finesse that the seeds bail out, the shell portion stays inalienably with the cut mango pieces. Back home they are ready with the Three Mango (?) brand masala, til or mustard oil, and Guntur special chili to get on with their annual ritual. “When marinated,” the lady by now transported to a live situation, “get a plateful of hot rice, add ghee to taste, and mix the avakkai (majorly the masala portion) and eat to your heart’s content.” We too felt we were having an early dinner in the park bench, with just the aroma missing.

Yesterday, we had just completed our day’s quota of walk and were looking for a seat to relax. It’s summer vacation; children are playing with gay abandon, and parents are watchful for their safety. Hence it was house full.

Luckily, we saw two ladies getting up. We walked towards that bench. One of them changed her mind on seeing us heading and sat back. Probably she wanted to chat for a little while more.  She extended a spontaneous smile. 

As though to explain the reason for holding a walking stick with four-leg support, she began unfolding her life. “My husband died of cancer early in life, leaving me to fend for myself and three small kids. For over 35 years my legs stood by me to weave sarees and dhoties to support my family. The legs have since worn out and I need a walking stick for support.”

Regardless, she felt happy and proud that she braved life and reared her children. They are now settled well in life.  Her solitary grouse was that her children - and grandchildren - are busy at home in their own ways and have very little time for others. Yes, from the way she began the moment we sat by her we could guess how badly she was starved for company. May be why she stayed back to have a bonus chat.

Now time for her to ask about us. We shared that our children and grandchildren are abroad. I saw a sudden glow in her face. She felt one up. “In my case, I can at least see them move around the house,” she said, now beginning to count her blessings.

Probably she had already overstayed her evening-time-out session. A few more minutes, and chances are her daughter/son would have deputed grandchildren on a search mission. We parted ways. A few steps, and she turned back, called my wife and whispered into her ears something. 

Way back to our lift, curious as I was, I asked my wife about it. “Oh nothing.  She said, “on reaching home do ‘drishti’ for both” - the age-old method of holding a handful of salt and rotating it back and forth around one to drive the evil away. 

Until now we thought we only envied others.