Monu's World: Bhola
Bhola was a gardener by profession and used to work in the big green lawns surrounding the office complex where Monu's father worked. There were other 'maalis' too, as they were called. After his official work during the daytime, Bhola would come in to work on the patch of garden in front of Monu's house to make some extra money. Almost all the other gardeners moonlighted too, as every house had a bit of garden patch to work on, and most households needed help on their green patches with weeding, sowing seeds for vegetables and flowers and watering and trimming the plants.
So, every evening around 4:00 or 5:00 PM, depending on whether it was Summer or Winter, Bhola could be seen working away at the garden in front of Monu's house. In summers, riding his rickety old bicycle, Bhola would come a bit late as the light would still be good well past 7:30 in the evening. But in winters, he would arrive sometime after four and leave after five as the dusk would quickly begin to settle in. Monu was rather fond of him and called him Bhola baba, the typically North-Indian informal surname added on behalf of his advanced years - he was well on the way to retirement and looked his age. Always dressed in khaki shirt and trousers (the uniform of the garden staff in Monu's father's office) with an olive green, worn-out, waist-length coat and a matching green topi in the winters, thick round glasses and an endearing toothless smile, Bhola was a comfort zone for Monu. She'd spend hours watching him weed, plow and plant various things with a 'khurpa' (a small, flat, hand-held trowel useful for planting and plowing). He made her feel comfortable; he was never bothered by her standing watching him and never asked her what she was doing or if she had finished her homework. He never seemed to mind her being around; he just went on with his work and made the occasional chitchat about the rose bushes looking in need of trimming or the tomatoes turning color. He was mostly a silent presence when working and they could enjoy each other's company without feeling the burden of making small-talk. Sometimes, when she would ask questions about certain plants or crops and why he was doing something, he would patiently answer her queries with replies that to a child seemed perfectly matters of fact. He never brushed her aside if she got too inquisitive; he just went ahead and explained why something had to done and how he would do it. He called her 'bitiya' as people in the North call little girls and the way he said it with a fair bit of missing tooth, always made her smile back in fondness.
To Monu, seeing the olive green coat hunched over weeds that needed to be pulled out or rose bushes that needed loosening of the soil, was a calming sight in a world that sometimes she could not make sense of. At times when she felt too bored to do anything indoors, she'd run out to the front and stand on the cemented pathway beneath the gnarled-old drumstick tree and watch Bhola baba dousing the plants with a welcome shower of water. There was a tap in each of the vegetable patches in front of every house and 'kachha paani' or used water from household washing and rinsing would flow through it. A grayish-black, thick rubber hose attached to the tap was used for watering the plants. This water was strictly meant for gardening and not for drinking or washing one's hands. It smelled a bit foul and whenever the front garden patches were being watered the nauseating odor would hang in the air for a sizable time and distance, warning the children that if they were playing nearby they were not to venture into the garden. For Bhola, however, it was all routine work and he never seemed the least bit bothered by the smell.
Bhola would work usually till the light got too poor for his aged eyes and would then ask for water to wash up. Monu or her mother would bring some fresh water and afterwards, when he would be done washing his hands and face with the cool water, he would sit down on Monu's front verandah to a cup of hot tea with biscuits or namkeen. Monu would hang about nearby and at times Bhola baba, in between sipping the tea and slowing munching the snacks, would indulge in some neighborhood gossip.That was the time he was relaxed and his toothless smile would break out now and again arousing Monu's curiosity as to the number of teeth he actually possessed. It was mostly harmless stuff as to who was joining or retiring and who had got a promotion at the 'bada sahib's' office. The people working at the office were all neighbors and the maalis more often than not got inside information from the chaprasis or the peons. While to the elders this was all interesting stuff, to Monu it did not make much sense at all. What did it matter to her if Mrs. Basu would be retiring next month and Mr. Iyer had got a promotion? At times, catching the confused expression on her face Bhola baba would kindly peer into her eyes and instead ask her about when she was going to have holidays next or whether school had been fun that day? This made her smile and nodding she would talk about her plans for the holidays or about the games they had played during the Games Period. That was the one period that most school children at school looked forward to and whenever it came, the sight resembled a flock of birds being released from a cage! There were a few exceptions too, unbelievable as it might seem. Those children who tended to be more on the rotund side would look visibly anguished and groans would be heard emanating from them as the class came out to meet the Games teacher. Monu would lean in and discreetly whisper to Bhola baba saying," Well, you know every Games Period the first thing our games teacher makes us do is run a few rounds of the school ground. And today girls X and Y almost fell over as they got breathless and girls A and B almost collided with the girls in front because they were talking while running." To a child's mind such sights were fun and in an otherwise strict Convent school run by austere-looking nuns with don't-mess-with -me expressions, occasions for smiling were few and far between. Monu loved telling Bhola baba about these episodes and the revelations made him grin merrily, looking like an olive-green Santa Claus.
After he'd had the tea and snacks, Bhola baba would get up and rub his hands together to shake off the snack remnants and to get them warm while in winters. He would proceed to put away the leftover snacks in his pocket and with an "achha ji" to Monu's mother, signifying a goodbye, wearily make for the two steps down the veranda. Passing through the cemented path to his bicycle leaning against the drumstick tree near the road, he would get the bicycle off its stand and swing his leg across the seat. Feeling a sense of moroseness descend, Monu would follow him down the pathway and standing by the gnarled old tree watch her friend laboriously peddle away and disappear around the bend in the road. She'd fervently wish that time did not get over so quickly when Bhola baba was drinking tea and sighing console herself that he'd be back soon the next day.
So, every evening around 4:00 or 5:00 PM, depending on whether it was Summer or Winter, Bhola could be seen working away at the garden in front of Monu's house. In summers, riding his rickety old bicycle, Bhola would come a bit late as the light would still be good well past 7:30 in the evening. But in winters, he would arrive sometime after four and leave after five as the dusk would quickly begin to settle in. Monu was rather fond of him and called him Bhola baba, the typically North-Indian informal surname added on behalf of his advanced years - he was well on the way to retirement and looked his age. Always dressed in khaki shirt and trousers (the uniform of the garden staff in Monu's father's office) with an olive green, worn-out, waist-length coat and a matching green topi in the winters, thick round glasses and an endearing toothless smile, Bhola was a comfort zone for Monu. She'd spend hours watching him weed, plow and plant various things with a 'khurpa' (a small, flat, hand-held trowel useful for planting and plowing). He made her feel comfortable; he was never bothered by her standing watching him and never asked her what she was doing or if she had finished her homework. He never seemed to mind her being around; he just went on with his work and made the occasional chitchat about the rose bushes looking in need of trimming or the tomatoes turning color. He was mostly a silent presence when working and they could enjoy each other's company without feeling the burden of making small-talk. Sometimes, when she would ask questions about certain plants or crops and why he was doing something, he would patiently answer her queries with replies that to a child seemed perfectly matters of fact. He never brushed her aside if she got too inquisitive; he just went ahead and explained why something had to done and how he would do it. He called her 'bitiya' as people in the North call little girls and the way he said it with a fair bit of missing tooth, always made her smile back in fondness.
To Monu, seeing the olive green coat hunched over weeds that needed to be pulled out or rose bushes that needed loosening of the soil, was a calming sight in a world that sometimes she could not make sense of. At times when she felt too bored to do anything indoors, she'd run out to the front and stand on the cemented pathway beneath the gnarled-old drumstick tree and watch Bhola baba dousing the plants with a welcome shower of water. There was a tap in each of the vegetable patches in front of every house and 'kachha paani' or used water from household washing and rinsing would flow through it. A grayish-black, thick rubber hose attached to the tap was used for watering the plants. This water was strictly meant for gardening and not for drinking or washing one's hands. It smelled a bit foul and whenever the front garden patches were being watered the nauseating odor would hang in the air for a sizable time and distance, warning the children that if they were playing nearby they were not to venture into the garden. For Bhola, however, it was all routine work and he never seemed the least bit bothered by the smell.
Bhola would work usually till the light got too poor for his aged eyes and would then ask for water to wash up. Monu or her mother would bring some fresh water and afterwards, when he would be done washing his hands and face with the cool water, he would sit down on Monu's front verandah to a cup of hot tea with biscuits or namkeen. Monu would hang about nearby and at times Bhola baba, in between sipping the tea and slowing munching the snacks, would indulge in some neighborhood gossip.That was the time he was relaxed and his toothless smile would break out now and again arousing Monu's curiosity as to the number of teeth he actually possessed. It was mostly harmless stuff as to who was joining or retiring and who had got a promotion at the 'bada sahib's' office. The people working at the office were all neighbors and the maalis more often than not got inside information from the chaprasis or the peons. While to the elders this was all interesting stuff, to Monu it did not make much sense at all. What did it matter to her if Mrs. Basu would be retiring next month and Mr. Iyer had got a promotion? At times, catching the confused expression on her face Bhola baba would kindly peer into her eyes and instead ask her about when she was going to have holidays next or whether school had been fun that day? This made her smile and nodding she would talk about her plans for the holidays or about the games they had played during the Games Period. That was the one period that most school children at school looked forward to and whenever it came, the sight resembled a flock of birds being released from a cage! There were a few exceptions too, unbelievable as it might seem. Those children who tended to be more on the rotund side would look visibly anguished and groans would be heard emanating from them as the class came out to meet the Games teacher. Monu would lean in and discreetly whisper to Bhola baba saying," Well, you know every Games Period the first thing our games teacher makes us do is run a few rounds of the school ground. And today girls X and Y almost fell over as they got breathless and girls A and B almost collided with the girls in front because they were talking while running." To a child's mind such sights were fun and in an otherwise strict Convent school run by austere-looking nuns with don't-mess-with -me expressions, occasions for smiling were few and far between. Monu loved telling Bhola baba about these episodes and the revelations made him grin merrily, looking like an olive-green Santa Claus.
After he'd had the tea and snacks, Bhola baba would get up and rub his hands together to shake off the snack remnants and to get them warm while in winters. He would proceed to put away the leftover snacks in his pocket and with an "achha ji" to Monu's mother, signifying a goodbye, wearily make for the two steps down the veranda. Passing through the cemented path to his bicycle leaning against the drumstick tree near the road, he would get the bicycle off its stand and swing his leg across the seat. Feeling a sense of moroseness descend, Monu would follow him down the pathway and standing by the gnarled old tree watch her friend laboriously peddle away and disappear around the bend in the road. She'd fervently wish that time did not get over so quickly when Bhola baba was drinking tea and sighing console herself that he'd be back soon the next day.
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