Jai Shani Maharaj….

“And swishhh…., the paper was gone. And swooshhh…, ‘Is it a coin?’” And I don’t admit that it was not totally unexpected. And it was a fine Saturday morning……

One of the many palpable attributes of Bollywood which I tend to fancy in the least is a mere objective judgment. They advertise practices which are quite impregnable into pragmatic realms of reality. Two utter strangers come across each other, embroil themselves into a virtual and then mental and then physical state of supercilious antagonism and then one more stranger, completing the trio, after a short drool of emotional tirade introduce them as long lost and fatefully ramified siblings of the same mother who by utter coincidence is the same third stranger. Somehow, strangely though-to my own surprise-I find it too arduous to assume that such divine drama is actually possible in our brusque whiff of a life in the grand web of space and time. Nevertheless, it seems that, the omniscient and the almighty is unremittingly bent upon showcasing His all engrossing presence to us, mere mortals, rendering him prone to breaking the laws which He himself devised in order to keep the world’s entropy in order.

It is a fine Saturday morning and this inconspicuous element of R-land’s inordinately pro-active blogosphere is unhurriedly busy in his daily routine of gmail, orkut, twitter, toi and his own laws of notions. The day is quite normal in all the normal senses of the word. The Mother is preparing the breakfast, the Granny is suitably hunchbacked in a cozy armchair in the sunlit porch and the Father is out of the house, convening some unavoidable meetings with strangers.

Knock, Knock.

Mutterings in the background.

‘Bahu, there is a Baba, Get some mustard oil.’

‘Jai Shani Maharaj.’

Flurry of hurried footsteps.

Aroma of mustard. Swishing and gushing of oil being poured into a copper vessel.

‘Jai Shani Maharaj. Mai, can I have some water to drink? I am thirsty. You see. So Hot outside.’

‘Come in Baba. Make yourself comfortable.’

Some clanking and hoofing. And the scene dissolves into nothingness……

After twenty seven minutes. Precise……

A belch.

More clanking….. More hoofing….

‘Jai Shani Maharaj.’

The son arrives. Carries away with him the utensils. Smirking…. Comes back again. Petulant…..

‘Touch his feet.’

‘Baba, he has some kidney problem. Please do something. My dear ‘pota’(grandson).’

The bending of the vertebral column.

And whack: Water in the eyes.

Whack: A muffled shriek.

Whack: The stars in the sky…..Twittering hummingbirds….All at the same moment.

‘Jai Shani Maharaj.’

Hands on the skull. A bud. Pain….

‘Jaa, tera liver shani maharaj jaldi theek karenge. Jai Shani Maharaj.’

‘Liver nahi gurda, Babaji.’

‘Chup murakh. Baba sab jaanta hai. Gustaakh, Iska liver bhi kharab ho jaayega.’

Footsteps. The Granny on the ground. On stomach. Hands on the heels.

‘Jai Shani Maharaj. Jaa maaf kiya.’

‘Dakshina.’

More footsteps. A paper.

A picture of bespectacled old moron. Two circlets set against a nosy stick.

A Blasphemy. (?)

Paper on the ground. Unsullied.

The stiffening and the erecting of the body. (Unexpected?)

A current. Twisting of the eyes, of the nose, the mouth, of everything.

(A trance??)

The Son: drooping jaws and the bud on the skull. Befuddled….. Belligerent….

The Mother: sweat on the brows and a ‘belun’ in the hands.Fearful….

The Granny: hunchbacked. Hands clasped against the mouth.

The Father: still absent.

The Baba: stiff. The magical stick in one hand. The copper vessel in the other. Eyebrows raised. Ankle raised.

‘Itne mein tu gurda theek karvayegi? ’ (A gasp.)

Seconds later……

End of the moment. Wavefunction normalized. Event surpassed.

‘Get me the note, son.’ (A whisper.)

Order followed. With unerring infallibility.

Twisting and scraping and moulding of the paper.

‘Go. Take a round and come back.’

Paper in the hands. Paper of the bespectacled oldie.

‘Open your hand.’

Voila!! A coin? (Not unexpected.)

A trick. Clever one. But??

Hands on the feet. The Granny and the Mother.

‘Jai Babaji.’

The job done.

A groan.

Five hundred and one rupees.

The door closed.

Exit.

‘Jai Shani Maharaj.’

And it was a fine Saturday morning…..

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One Response to Jai Shani Maharaj….

  1. Anshul says:

    Hi buddy!!
    It's been long since i'd read ur blog.The earlier one was a story of certein guys. I couldn't read it the whole but uptill i read it was fantastic.So is this one…a shorter one though.
    Hoping the liver oops 'gurda' of the son gets well soon.
    Jai Shani Maharaj!

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