Taking a right turn to enter the uneven lane, I stop my
scooter in front of the kirana store.
The guy sitting inside smiles at me as I climb the makeshift step to enter his
shop. I pick up a bread packet and 6 eggs and ask him “How Much?”. He smiles mischievously and asks “That’s it? Thumbs Up nahi lena aj Madam”. I smile back at his
witticism and leave the store paying him 50 bucks. Without heading straight to
my vehicle, I stop at the panipuri wala, who had already sensed my craving for the
day and started preparing to serve me puris. I start gorging into them with the
usual tamarind water ones and then switching to a sweet-tangy and finally
without water. The best ones are always the last two special ones.
Wrapping up this activity, I start my scooter and head home
at a real snail pace watching the surroundings and comparing the progress of development
in my mind with the day before. Just across the end of this real bad road (I would
still take this route everyday) in less a hundred meters is the half open gate
of the small residential society that has been my address for 3 years now –
Mithila Nagari. The chirpiness and energy always prevailed whatever time of the
day you visit, yet there was an unexplained tranquility amidst all the resonances.
As I slow down to enter the gate, the known faces of the security guards curve
into a smile and nod at me in a way of greeting, I reciprocate and move towards
my building. Watching the kids and toddlers playing all around, I make sure to
slow down almost at negligible speed and enter the parking area positioning my
bike next to the pillar. That was my favorite spot and somehow I always try to
occupy that space. Sometimes when this spot would be occupied by some other
vehicle and I would need to settle down for another place, I would make sure come
down multiple times later to check if it’s vacant.
Making sure that I have put my bike perfectly in a straight
line, I climb the five steps and reach out to open the lift collapsible gate. The
very adjacent door was Flat #2 which would always be at least a bit open. A
small head peeps out from inside the room hearing the noise which starts upon
opening the elevator gate. “Oh Aunty!” saying the little cute kid smiles at me.
This was a Punjabi family and a pretty weird one; while the kid’s father, a
really simple man would smile and have small talk when we would meet, his
mother always held a frustrated reaction on her face. I loved the conversations
with the kid, he would talk to me like I am his family member. On one occasion,
when I got some snacks on my way home from office in the evening, I met him
while parking my vehicle and almost came seeing what I got. I smiled back at
the kid, showed him a Ta-Ta and
ascended in the elevator to Floor No. 4. At no time, the elevator stopped and I
came out. Climbing down the few steps to reach the 3.5th floor, I do
my usual investigation of figuring out whether my maid came to work by closely
scanning the security door and the dustbin beside the door; Also multitasking in
parallel to reach out to the front pocket of my bag pack to get the keys.
Every day like a routine, I would key in to the security door
and stare blankly at the alphanumeric inscription D-20 – my little cozy world for the last few years.
