Balcony Musings
They said their goodbyes and she latched the door behind
them. Walked to the balcony to wave at them as they left for work , only to
return back late in the evening. She glanced at the wall clock. It was only
eight thirty . She had good eleven hours to kill once again, before having any
company in the house. Priya walked stealthily to the kitchen , took out a chunk
of chocolate powder in a bowl . Her face lit up seeing the amount of chocolate
coming her way.
She switched on the TV and sat down to see another day go by
. Two hours and umpteen daily soaps later , Priya looked out towards the
window. She dragged the old white plastic chair to the balcony. The
chair had been in the house for as long as she could remember. It had been a
shiny white once , but now had turned the ugliest shade of grey possible. It
seemed to get more comfortable with each passing day. She was pretty sure the
chair would be in their house till the day she lived.
She crouched in the chair, and slid her legs on the balcony
railings. The sky was starting to simmer , like the chair, with shades of grey
slowly taking over . She looked around to other balconies , to see if any one
had come out yet. The perpetually bored house
wives from three consecutive balconies opposite hers were out. One of them was
getting the clothes off from the railings, and the other exchanging their plans
for lunch , as loudly as possible. Chote
Laal , as always could be seen , sipping his tea , as he did every day at
eleven o’clock , while he waited for his charcoal to heat up. He ironed clothes
in the colony , and was the most
disciplined man she had ever seen. As he took the last sip , out came his beedi
. Chote Laal worked from eight in the morning to eight in the night. He took
three breaks , one at eleven with his tea and beedi , then one at two with food
, and then the last one again at five thirty , for a second round of beedi.
Apart from this , he laboured with his heavy iron , sliding it over the bundles
of clothes ,every single day.
Priya was grateful to Chote Laal , in ways that only she
could feel . Even on the quietest days in the colony, when she was all alone in
the house , whether it was a dreadful winter evening or a sweaty summer afternoon , and she stood out in the
balcony hoping to see a face , Chote Laal was always there. It didn't matter to
her that they never talked, she was glad that he stood there every day . The
faint unending rhythmic screech that his heavy iron made
every time he pushed it forward and backwards , was reassuring on many levels ,
that could not be explained. Many a days,
when the electricity was out for long hours and there was nothing but silence for company , she left the balcony
door open, so that the noise could be heard in the house. The screeches became
music to her during those moments , refusing to leave her alone , more loyal a
companion than the radio or television .
Even on the worst of days, when she felt the world was crumbling around her,
and there was no way out , a sight of Chote laal , taking one shirt at a time ,
from the heaps next to him, laying it down slowly , working on every crease
with the same amount of patience , folding it back , and picking up the next,
brought back a sense of normalcy into her. He never seemed to get intimidated
by the huge heaps of clothes at his table .There were days when even at six in
the evening , the pile of clothes kept
increasing , but not a moment of uncertainty came close to his face.
Chote Laal was back to work , and the ladies were now
discussing the dinner menu . The wind
grew heavier , and the sky darker. She could smell the rain coming closer . Rain
drops did not take long to hit the mud in the park , and soon the aroma filled
the air around. She stretched out her arms , and her cheeks , and pure joy took over.
