Blowing bubbles gently, watching them soar into the clear blue sky, Shambhu smiled as always. Next, he pulled out the flute. He had crafted it patiently. As he took it to his lips, blowing gently closing the holes, coaxing it to emerge as a pleasant melody…
The melody floated on the gentle sea breeze and mesmerised everyone who cared to listen. Those who were too busy with living their lives, wrestling with tensions and decisions, simply walked through it, oblivious.
The day was coming to a close. The crowds had slowly started pouring out on to the warm sands, dipping their feet at the water’s edge and the more adventurous had simply dived into the waves. The shrieks of joy, laughter and the hawkers’ calls rented the air.
The palette of sunset hues tugged at the kites and the balloons. Oh! how tantalizing they were. Dancing in the breeze, bobbing up and down, sometimes left and sometimes just out of reach. Its just that they were tethered to the bamboo stick of the balloon wala, else they would have broken into the blue, pink and mauve sky long ago, like free birds, like the sea gulls, whooping with joy!
As the music reached the balloon wala it brought a gentle smile to his lips. ‘There’s bloody magic in that boy’s flute…. Sometimes I feel its Krishna himself!’ he muttered. Somehow the music penetrated his soul and with renewed zest he called out to young and old to buy balloons.
The beach was crawling with people. The crowds just seemed to ooze out like toothpaste from a tube pressed right in the middle. The sweat from the closely seated bodies could be perceived, in spite of the generously doused deodorant, till quite some distance. The children ran around like crazy, feeling relief at being released from close cloistered spaces. They laughed the loudest.
It was the favourite time of the food hawkers. Be it spicy, tangy pani puri; hot scalding pav-bhaji; or chilled, sweet, golas tantalizing the tongue, while they froze the mouth- the delectable syrups running down the chin, throat, and all the way down the dress. It was the time the ladies, with their most fashionable dress donned, poured all their makeup waiting to be magically transformed into Katrinas and Bebos. And almost always they were escorted with Salmans and Shah rukhs, whose adrenaline was clearly discernable. It was the time the pesky women with loads of gajras suddenly erupted like acne on a teenager. The fragrance of the mogra, chameli and champa lingered long, uplifting the moods.
Hands dipped into pockets and purses; brisk business seemed to be going on in every corner.
Shambhu too had sold his kits of bubbles and musical flutes. He carefully counted the money he had received. 213! Two hundred and thirteen rupees. He was supposed to earn the princely sum of rupees 200 only. Now what?
This was a problem. What could he do? He looked all around, was he supposed to return some change? Was someone going to call the police? Would someone beat him up? His temple furrowed with worry. Till the sinking sun’s last golden and ruby red rays fell on it and filled him with a strange joy.
He ran all the way home. He also laughed now and then. His lanky long legs could not go as fast as he wanted them to. Approaching home, he slowed down. Rushing into his little kholi he quickly closed the door, lest someone followed him in. His mother was busy over the flame, cooking. His little sister limped up to him and gave him a tight hug, ‘My dearest bhaiya!’
‘Come here quickly Ma,’ he said, desperation evident in his voice. Or was it excitement? The urgency pulled the poor woman in a jiffy, while the little girl bobbed up and down. Her eyes sparkling.
“Now close your eyes you two!”
“Oh, what is it? You think I have the time to behave like a child?”
“Ok, now you can open”, saying so he handed a shiny pink balloon to the little girl who squealed in delight. How many times she had cried to get one… till she learnt not to look at them, or at children playing with them. The mother stood speechless, with shock or delight, not easy to tell. As she gaped, she found something warm in her hands, while the little room was filled with the aroma of a freshly prepared Vada-pav. “Enjoy!” said the nine-year-old as he went off to give the day’s income to the Seth, his precious flute emanating his special music.
