this was posted in Wrahoolz Wramblingz TWICE, yet it failed to gather much … popularity because y blog was still in its infancy then … lets see how you people like it on wordpress!
the following write-up is meant to be mere cheap humour, with not even an iota of deep insight. The topic is derived from one of my school English language exam essays, which I had attempted. A few people who had read it, might recall. Nevertheless, the write-up is fraught with complex sentence constructions, and you are requested to give some time, in reading it carefully and slowly. If you like it, do let me know!!!
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If someone were to ask you, which is the most happening place in town, what would your answer be? Well….if you are the typical…er…type, you might blurt out something like, say, the Forum, City Centre, or some other similar stuff….or if you are the slight daring sort, you might just vote for nightclubs, and discotheques. But, if you are not aware by now, I tend to be slightly obtuse in my opinions, which turn out to be quite acute, to others. Whether they are obtuse, or acute, they seem quite right and straight to me. So I would cast my vote in favour of the market-places, for which our city is so well known.
Yes I mean those market places, that shout out loud, that this is India or better (worse?) this is (quite ironically) the City Of Joy. The same market-places that bring to the thousands of hawkers, a daily meal, and an income. The same market-places that seem to denounce, every bit of the government’s ‘Save the Environment’ policy. And the same market-places that have today, given me a topic to write about.
Now, first, let me clarify your doubts, regarding my alliance, or better allegiance … whether I’m for these markets, or against these markets. For one thing, in no way do I have any affinity for these popular hotspots, neither do I intend to in the foreseeable future, but coming back to where I started off from, there IS reason enough for me in casting a vote in favour of these historical monuments.
I happened to (quite unfortunately) visit one of these masterpieces, a few days back, which provided all the reasons to do so.
The market place under our forthcoming experimental discussion, sprawls over 10 acres, of fertile alluvium, and black pitch, of the Lansdowne Aveneue, and like most other markets, does not possess, a name of its own. It had been there for the past fifty plus years, and owing to the prevalent confusion, regarding its nomenclature, it got quite unanimously, named as the
The Lansdowne Market. It is this name we shall adhere to, during the latter course, of this fascinatingly boring journey.
Coming back to the story of my visit, it was a not so cloudy Monday morning, when I was sent by my folks back home to buy tomatoes, and not knowing any other shop in my locality, that sold tomatoes, I headed straight for Lansdowne Market. The same market, which my grandmom sanctified every other morning during her groceries, which needless to say, should have tomatoes to satisfy the whims of my kitchen … and it did. The good old market lived up to its name and reputation, and I was pleasantly surprised, at the quantity of redness, I beheld in almost every shop.
This calls for a clarification. The word ‘shop’ utilised in the previous line, happens to be an exaggeration, because these were more of… bivouacs (those who went through the ICSE in 2007, may recollect this word from the far-flung reaches of their brain …. it essentially means a temporary battle camp … where in this case, it refers to the hawkers’ … mad battle, for possession of more territory for enhanced display of their inventories. Whatever they may be, I headed for the nearest establishment, where a grumpy old woman, sat squatting on a low stool. She looked rebellious, and seemed more inclined to fending off customers, than welcoming them in. Naturally, I succumbed to her repulsion , and headed for the next shop, which looked, equally repulsive, but slightly less offensive. It was here, where I obtained my tomatoes, and had no sooner turned about, to head back home when the thing happened.
the thing that happened, was the sort of thing which tells you that its going to happen, by making the hairs at the back of your neck, stand on end, before it actually happens. Honestly, I did seem to hear that voice of conscience, sounding from my gut, that something was about to happen to the grumpy old woman. But oh! If only my gut would have been a bit more informative, I would perhaps have gauged the near future, but some things in life don’t happen the way you want it to happen…so I had to be content with it.
Now this GW (grumpy woman) had just managed to postion her centre of gravity between her feet, and was looking slightly happier owing to this achievement, when the protagonist of my tale, made an entrance. And that too on a bicycle.
And than I realized, the profoundness of what they call ‘a gut feeling’.
The protagonist made an entrance all right, but at the cost of the other character. I dion’t mean to say that she did an exeunt, but rather fell down. The moral of the story: Mr. Protagonist had barged right into her.
… and the market place scene changed. The whole load of tomatoes she was carrying, broke free, and spread all around her, till it seemed as if the Red Sea had flowed into this city. Passers-by crushed them under their feet, scooters ran over them, auto rickshaws squashed them, disfiguring their geometry to a great extent, but that did not deter the tomatoes, no sir. They had broken free, and intended it stay free, outside all baskets, out of all polythene bags. So they did one thing, that round bodies are very good at. They rolled, they rolled, and they rolled, till it seemed that V = Rw was certainly, not a myth. Till it seemed that the round bodies were meant to take over the world, owing to their sheer rolling power. And till it seemed that, someone at Pizza Hut, had ben a bit too generous with the tomato sauce, and had mistaken this market place for a big pizza.
The GW? guess what happened to her? She did one thing that middle aged women are very good at. She screamed, she screamed, and she screamed. The gravity of the situation, had taken its time to enter her brain, but when it did, she looked helplessly around for help, and finding none, had to be content with her screaming. After a few minutes of star-rated wailing, when she realized, that Mr. P was the cause of her fate, she looked desperately around for the culprit. But clever Mr. P. He was gone!!! If there is one person to whom this story is dedicated, it is indeed him, for it is he who gave me this story to write about. Meanwhile, dejected, and looking murderously vindictive, the GW tried her best to collect as many red stuff she found lying on the road, but were attempts were futile: the good round ones, had made a getaway. The ones who hadn’t succeded, were left either crushed, or wasted on the road.
With this I end this great saga. I am not sure whether you have enjoyed it. But if you have, do let me know. If you haven’t, than forgive me for wasting your time. To cap it all, a note of caution: be on the lookout for rolling tomatoes in and around Lansdowne Avenue. If you do spot one, well you might just know, whom it belongs to!!!
July 23, 2009
Categories: original, story . Tags: original, story . Author: wrahooligan . Comments: 2 Comments
