The sunny afternoons when I would return home from school after a tiring and noisy bus ride, drop the bag and waterbottle and run into my room, draw the curtains to make it cooler, turn on the fan and lie on the bed, eyes closed, to take some rest. Kalpona mashi ( our cook who had been with us since I could remember) would bring in some cool water melon juice and Bondie (my younger sister) and I would sit and relish it.
The balcony was my favorite place, I could sit there for hours watching the different kinds of people, their expressions, their lives...each had his own story. The school girls from the neighbourhood school returning home with their mothers, talking about how their teacher scolded a friend for not doing her homework and how the maggi in the tiffin box had become too cold by lunch time and how the test went well. The paan shop where they would stop and plead their moms to buy them cold drinks. The rickshaw wallahs taking a nap on their rickshaws despite the noise and heat. The ice cream vendors pushing their cart crying out 'ice cream ice cream' in a distinct tone that was recognized instantly by all the children like me in the neighbourhood. Instantly you could see little heads popping out of all the balconies, some lucky enough to buy one because they had the permission from their parents. Ma would always be at work at this time and Kalpona mashi was given strict instructions not to buy us ice cream since they affect our throats. Sometimes when the craving was too much we would look for coins that might be lying around in ma's dressing table drawer or baba's office table secretly. If we managed to make 2 rupees we would buy an orange candy and share. Bondie and I would fight over who would get the first bite.
There were other vendors like the ones who would buy junk at 25 paise per kg, ones who would re-fluff pillows and quilts, key makers, candy sellers and many more...their voices tired of calling out their profession repeatedly in order to make their daily bread...their sweaty feet tired of walking. All of them would stop at the paan shop for some refreshment, sometimes a smoke, sometimes just to rest for sometime under the shade.
There was this huge gulmohar tree right in front of our house where weary travellers and daily workers sought shade. The tree was my favorite. I loved to watch it grow.....the green leaves in summer which turned orange in autumn .... the small yellow flowers which looked prettier when they fell on the black tarred road flying in the air..... the branches which spread across the entire road connecting balconies from one side to another .... the crow nests and sparrows it housed and most importantly the way it stood....tall and majestic, wise with age. Ma told me that the seeds for this tree were planted when my grandfather built this house.
Sometimes we would play in the balcony, sometimes teacher teacher, sometimes hop scotch, sometimes ludo. There were times when I preferred reading, sitting under the clothes hanging on the rope to dry. Sometimes didu (my grandmom ,mom's mom to be precise) would be there to tell us stories which we had heard again and again. Sometimes ma would come home early and bring us cake from Kathleen and that was our excitement for the day. I don't remember waiting too eagerly for Ma other than those days when I had got my results and couldn't wait to tell her about it or if I had a tummy ache and needed her to give me the right medicine.
Some afternoons I would be too tired to do anything and try to sleep but Bondie wouldn't let me cos she wanted me to play with her. So everytime I turned off the light trying to darken the room she would come turn it back on. This would lead us to a fight and I would call Ma at work telling her to resolve the issue. Both of us would snatch the phone from each other trying to prove our point and she would try hard to be fair to both of us.
The noises, the faces, the voices, the scenes.... the afternoons are still distinct in my memories .... very distinct
