Gypsy in the City

He was a common gypsy. I remember I saw him first time when we were waiting at the red light. A child came asking for some money for the sake of Ma Durga. He was carrying a tin box on in which there was a small picture of Ma Durga with a flower garland on it. Then came a young boy, he was trying to sell some balloons. Then a newspaper hawker appeared with some magazines and newspapers in his hands. Last time when we stopped there, a lady with one year old child came in front of our car. She was showing empty milk bottle and trying to gain some sympathy. I hate such tricks for begging.
As soon as signal was green, cars started moving very slowly. He went apart from a car’s window and walked on footpath. I would have never noticed him if he had not been carrying the flutes. He had been trying to sell them. We moved ahead. I didn’t notice his appearance. These people don’t have anything to get noticed.

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The next time I saw him when I had some spare time. I was gone to local market with children. Shruti & Mohit are very fond of water balls. They had been asking for it for last two days. I had to buy green vegetables. Sujeet was out of city, so I couldn’t delay it any more. I had bought veggies and was waiting for children to finish their dish.

He was standing at the tea stall, sipping a cup of tea. His flutes were standing with the roof of the stall. His face was not visible enough as he was wearing a turban and lower half was hidden behind a long beard. Probably he was about sixty because his beard was a mixture of black and white. I saw him properly. I had a weakness for flutes from my childhood, partly by Krishna-Katha and partly by the music played on the flute by Soordass in my mother’s village (Soordass is a natural name in villages for those who are blind by birth). He used to play flute so nice like the currents of Ganga play with each other, sometimes hugging, sometimes throwing, singing and dancing as they come to Sea and expand all over it. I had bought flutes so many times and broken but could never play it, only a long boring whistle came out! Now I had almost forgotten the tune played by Soordass.

He wore dirty clothes- seemed that for a long time he didn’t take a bath. He wore canvas shoes in feet which were torn, looked like he picked them from any garbage place. I couldn’t dare to see him again. Shruti and Mohit were calling me. I paid for their dish and drove back to home. Then I heard it first time. It was slowly being faded as I was driving forward but it was such a tune no one can describe properly. In a second, I thought that only that Bansuriwala was playing it, in next moment I laughed at myself. Krishna-Katha and Soordass have turned my mind, sharpening my imaginations.
“What is that sound mamma?” – Suddenly Mohit asked.
Shruti was saying-“Mamma, it is really magical.”

The sound was gone. Magic might be the right word for it, as far I could remember, children never read the Krishna- Katha and they never heard Soordass, but they understood the magic of the tune.

There was apartment’s gate in front of us; I gave horn to open the gate. I should have bought a flute, I thought, may be my children could master the tune I was not able to do. But it would be available in any music instruments shop also.
“Mamma, I want to get a flute, please get one for me.”- Mohit asked.
“Ok, I will get one for you.”- I replied without thinking what was he saying.

“Yes, buy it for him, you bought guitar for him, you bought piano for him! Now he should get a flute also! He doesn’t even know to play anyone of them!” Shruti was always ready to fight with anyone without reason. She couldn’t help protesting anything Mohit would say.

“Yes, piano and guitar are too big for me now. Even you also don’t know how to play! You will see what I can do when I am as bigger as you.”
“Mamma, I will beat him.”
“Enough both of you, just stop fighting.”

I locked the car and went for the lift. Someone has said right- One child makes you proud parents and the second one makes you a referee.

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It was third or fourth day when I again saw him. Shruti and Mohit had gone to school. I had just taken a bath and was spreading out wet clothes in balcony. I saw him at the main gate. He was there and some street children were standing near him. I thought of getting a flute for Mohit.

Children were impatient to buy one for them. He was asking to bring money. Two of them had already possessed their treasure and were trying to make out some noise from it.

I asked the price. He replied-“Fifty rupee for one.”
I got surprised-“They sell it for 5 rupees in Desehara Mela, are you trying to make fool us?”
“Madamji, please see this one. Have you ever played them?”
“No”. - I hesitated to reply.
He was excited- “Then you might never understand the difference between those flutes and these. These are made from a special bamboo, I make it myself. I search hard for thr special bamboo, cut them and do all finishing work myself. Three to four of them get wasted before I finish a right one. I don’t sell any faulty flutes. I don’t do fraud business Madamji, never.” He touched his both ears.

I picked one of them and examined it. It was looking like the one I had seen in the hand of Hari Prasad Chaurasia, it was beautiful and strong. I once thought to play it but got ashamed- don’t know it was the thought of insult of the flute or me.
“What do you do?” – I asked.
“??”- He didn’t understand the question.
“I mean apart from making flutes you might have been doing something else for earning for your family. It doesn’t look like any profit-making business.”
“Oh, I know one more work Madamji; I get honey from honeycombs fairly. Although it is hard to find this work regularly but I get some money by doing it. I am single – few needs for me. Sometimes people give good money for flutes. Sometimes they enjoy pretty much my tunes and pay for it happily. Rest is His blessings.”- He showed a finger to the sky. I suddenly looked over and then restricted myself forcefully from laughing on myself. I take this kind of hints very slowly. Sujeet often complains about my common sense.

I tried to pick a good one. Although all of them were looking almost same but there is always a chance to be cheated.
A child appeared, picked one of them, gave twenty rupee currency and went away trying to play it. I had also picked one, asked-“Hey you, you told me that price is fifty rupee for one, and you have given him for twenty only! Do you think we are stupid? You people begin cheating when you see rich people!”
“Madamji, You don’t buy any if you don’t like to pay the price but don’t abuse me. I am not used to hear it. It takes 40 rupee or above to finish one right piece of it and I have to wander here and there to sell, no guaranty if I could sell one single piece of them in a day!”
“But you sold it for twenty rupee- right here in front of me!’
“I have sold for five rupee also Madamji, daughter of tea-shop owner has got it. Leave it Madamji, you won’t understand. You have thousands, you can pay for it. If I ask them to pay full amount, they might never get it. The happiness and smile you are watching on their faces, you might not get that even if you buy a big car!’

I was trying to understand the actual meaning behind the lecture. Probably he was trying to show his kindness, his generosity or trying to impress me. I wasn’t impressed. I suddenly felt bored and thought not to buy it. Mohit was too young to play it. I could buy whenever I wanted. He was trying to be over smart. Then another thought overlapped it, what if I spent 50 rupee on it? Children wasted this much daily for chocolate. I said giving the one I had picked before-“Play it, I want to hear if it works fine!”
I regretted for asking it. He was so unhygienic, probably never washed teeth or face. Looked like he hadn’t taken a bath for a long while!
“Madamji, don’t think for it. I check each one before taking them for sell. If there is any fault, I break it right there. They all are same; all are played by me….”
The security guard was standing behind us and was listening to the conversation. He came forward and demanded-“Madam is asking to play, why you are refusing?’
I was thinking to pay and get it; it was good if he wouldn’t play it, but he took the flute and began playing a tune.

I don’t know much about music, I can’t understand ragas and rhythms, neither I am able to play any musical instrument. My knowledge about music is as little as about bombs. I only listen them. Any music either seems to be good to me, or better or sometimes only boring. Many of the times it seems only like a noise making me annoyed enough to give a headache.

Tune was good, then it seemed better to me and suddenly I felt that it was that kind of tune I never heard before, but I always longed to hear, seemed that after hearing it, all other music would feel only a bitter noise and nothing else. He was playing and one by one everything began being dissolved………the Bansuriwala, the big gate, the guard, the huts in front of apartment, the sky, the earth…………….

It seemed that a wave of rhythm came flying, then so many waves behind it, dropping one by another on them, sometimes singing, sometimes hugging, and playing with each other, dissolving in infinite space, leaving behind a new serial of waves similar to these ones …….

The light whispered in my ears, singing a new tune, there were so many waterfalls with colors, the earth suddenly spread all over the sky, the clouds became the ground under my feet, behind all music there was a soulful calling for someone unknown but may be very well known…..then again new waves of music…..

Didn’t know how long I was in such trance. When he stopped playing I became aware of the real world. There was a long clapping.

I paid and took the flute, said heartily-“You play very nice. I never heard such tune before. Where do you live?”
“I am a gypsy Madamji, when the night falls; I sleep where I am at that time. That is my place for that night.”
“But you should have had a home village, your parents, a home somewhere….How long you are in this city?”
“Madamji, I have been here for almost one month, have seen every street, every road. There never had been a home village for me, a group of gypsies only; wandering one city to another; My Baba was in that group. Mother died in my very childhood, I can’t remember even her face. Baba was expert in making flutes. I learned the art from him. He knew taming snakes and the mantra and potions for snake poison. I couldn’t learn it, I was mad for Radha at that time.”
“Who is Radha, your wife?”
“No, she was my fiancée. Baba and her father made the decision and we were also happy with it because I loved Radha very much. I was her father’s disciple. He taught me playing the flute. He was very proud of me. He used to say-“When you play it, even a dieing person gets a new lease of life.”
“So what happened, you didn’t marry her?”
“Don’t know what happened Madamji, four days before our scheduled marriage, she eloped with a youth from our group. Nobody could ever know why and where they aimed to go. I had thought she liked me; she hadn’t refused to marry me. Yes, sometimes she did complain that I was too much in my flute and forgot her whenever I played it. But Madamji, it is a matter of excellence and goodness, no?”
“Did you never know where she was living?”

He laughed.-“I have been searching for her Madamji, here and there, one city to another I only search her. Where ever I go, I search every street, every colony; don’t know how many years have been passed. I don’t know how to count but now I am getting too old, so it may be forty-fifty years. I went in north, east and west. Now I have to go south.”

“They will not understand your language there and you also won’t be able to know theirs.”
“Yes Madamji,”- He took a long and deep breath-“It might be some difficult being there but people understand its language.”- He showed the flutes.

“You know well that she left with someone by her own wish so why are you searching her? Why did you waste your whole life? You should had married with a nice girl and live happily?”

“Madamji”- He again laughed-“What do you think I didn’t want to live happily? Baba said to marry with Sunanda, the younger sister of Radha. Her father had also agreed, I had been his favorite disciple. But suddenly a strange thing happened. My tunes began loosing their rhythm. I tried hard but the excellent tunes I used to play didn’t come out. As marriage came nearer it became horrible to listen to my own music. I said to her father, my Guru-“Baba, it seems there is something wrong to me. I can’t play properly. It is quiet different and horrible now.”
“Let me hear it.”-He said slowly.
I played. He listened and remained quiet for sometime. Then he asked awkwardly-“Do you love Sunanda?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then don’t marry her. Wait for the girl whom you love, who could make your tunes divine. Marriage with Sunanda won’t make you happy.”
He said and left quickly.

“I didn’t marry her; I didn’t marry to any other girl either. I left my group in search of Radha. Now I am too old to live any life. I just want to meet her once. If she had said something about her feelings at the time of departure, I could make my heart strong enough to bear it. But she left without saying a word; I often think she is not happy with her life. Don’t know how to live happily but I want to see her once then probably I would die peacefully.”
So many questions aroused in my mind. What was it- love, possessiveness or madness? Really he was so attached to the girl or was making some kind of sensational story? Was it possible?

“Will she recognize you now?”

“May be I also won’t recognize her. She would be an old lady now. But my heart says I will recognize her, and she too will.

“Madamji, now I am leaving. These two are left now, if sold today, I will travel for another city tomorrow. I have never been twice in the same city, but look how many of them are still left to visit.

“I want to tell one thing Madamji,”- He said in a mysterious voice-“Don’t know how she looks now, but when I had seen her last time, she looked quiet like you are now.”
My ears turned red, didn’t know it was anger or blush, I couldn’t decide if I should scold him or say some sympathetic words.

“You will meet her one day for sure.”- That was what I could say and turned back to enter the gate.

“Jairamji ki, Madamji.God bless you.”- I heard his voice and again the tune was floating all over the air. I turned and looked back. He was going away, playing the same tune.
I was going to lift and the tune was trying hard to catch me back. Don’t know why sometimes I behave so strangely.

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Today Sujeet is coming back. I have made all arrangements to welcome him- house is well-cleaned, breakfast is ready, children have finished their home work- so we all could get enough time to spend with each other. I gave the flute to Mohit, he became happy and as usual Shruti had an objection.-“You buy all things Mohit asks, but never what I ask.”
Mohit tried to play it then kept it on the table. He was watching his favorite cartoon serial, couldn’t afford loosing it.
“I will play later.”- He said and absorbed again in TV.
Suddenly I felt a deep longing to listen the music again and again. I could feel the waves of music overlapping on each other, that heart throbbing tune! I thought – Alas! May be one day Mohit could play the music that makes us so blissful, so fulfilled that we want to give away everything without asking anything for us. I felt surprised by my thoughts- What was I thinking about? Then a new thought came to me- If that gypsy was still in the city, Mohit should learn from him how to play a flute! Then he might be able to play such tunes! But he had said that he was never been twice in the same city.
What has happened to me? Why I am thinking so absurd things? Why not I am able to concentrate any other thought? What was the matter?
The bell was ringing. Sujeet was back. Shruti & Mohit cried with joy and hugged him, he kissed both of them, and they asked for their gifts and opened it. Then as usual they again attracted to TV.
“Home work?”
“Done.”-They both cried, rarely they agree on anything.
Sujeet took me by arms, whispered-“Darling, which perfume do you use? It drives me mad!”
“You and your same old talks. Say something new.”
“Bring me a cup of tea first, I am tired.”
“Yeah, I also haven’t take mine, have been waiting for you.”
During sips of hot tea, he described briefly about his journey and meetings. He was hoping a big deal for his company. He was happy with his performance. Almost everything had gone according to his preparations.
“What is the time?”- He asked.
“It’s above seven. What is the matter with time?”
“Get ready to go somewhere outside. I had promised to children to go Pizza Hut once I would return.”
“But Sujeet, I don’t want to go anywhere today. I feel tired and upset. I want to sit with you and talk something.”- I hoped I would feel better after saying everything to him. But would he hear me? Won’t he make a joke of it?
“We can talk later whatever would you like.”-He whispered again-“Darling, I say don’t cook tonight, I want to take you out, you are looking so fresh, I don’t want to spoil your evening. I am also tired and want to go to bed early.”- He smiled mysteriously, only an old wife can understand that smile. I got it.

I gave his clothes, helped children to get ready and after 40 minutes we were at the gate. It was the place where he played and I heard that amazing tune. Did Krishna really play such tunes that made Gopies come instantly to meet him leaving everything behind them? How would be the tune that made Gopies forget the whole world?

I would be looking tired or he felt a silence between us- Sujeet asked-“Why are you looking so silent?”
“Nothing, feeling tired only.”
“Want to take a pill?”
“No.”
Shruti and Mohit enjoyed pizza and company of their father. They talked a lot about almost everything they could do- from school to cartoon characters.
Once Sujeet asked me too-“Everything was fine behind me? I hope you managed well.”
“Yes, it was ok.”

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When children went to bed at night, Sujeet took me close and asked-“Darling, what are you thinking?”
“Nothing, I don’t feel well.”
“What is the matter?”
“Nothing.”
“You said you want to talk to me. Tell it now.”
“Nothing so serious. “
“Then anything unserious?”
“I once read a good line somewhere-‘If you don’t understand my silence, you won’t be able to understand my language.’ ”
I again got surprised by myself. Where did I read it? Why it came in my mind at this time? Someone has said-“Even those words which are said by someone else, match with your own feelings, they become yours also.”- I was again surprised by my thoughts. What was going on in my mind? I was there in Sujeet’s arms and thinking some absurd things? But was it first time I was somewhere else while I was with Sujeet?
“What do you mean? Am I God or magician who can read your thoughts? If you don’t tell me, how can I know?’
“I was just telling a line.”- I said and let myself loose in his hands.
What strange the fact is that when we women feel sad, hurt or worried and we need love desperately, this nature of love gives us extreme pain and the partner never feels it. These husbands might never know that we come out of our own body and travel all over the world leaving that body with them- kind of yoga, huh? I saw the shadow of the gypsy, that peculiar tune waved again and again and I flew forty years back, searching a young lady which name was Radha, who was more beautiful and admirable than me.

When Sujeet fell asleep, I sat beside him and saw his face – it was so cool and so dear to me. Two tears came down from my eyes and dropped over his arm. I loved him, how much I wanted that when he was with me, I also could be there as a whole. But was it possible? Which tune went wrong in our life’s rhythm - I never knew. May be it had never been played properly. There was Sujeet in this life, his children, and his wife which was me, his family, relatives, friends, prestige, desires, and hobbies. My own self began getting abandoned and unnoticed, and all my own being went in to a dark corner of my heart, waiting to talk to me when I was alone, but probably it will never find a suitable time. It is now totally hidden from everyone, lame and impotent. Now, it never comes face to face with me either.

Today it came for some moments, smiled, expanded all over the world and now refuses to go back to the darkest cage. It doesn’t want to be hidden or condensed. Now it is difficult to live without the rhythm. Being smaller and smaller, remaining unnoticed and hidden is unbearably painful. Now it hurts badly being apart from the body when you are desperately in need of love. What should I do? I love him too much to tell such stupid things. I can do anything for him, but living like this……….?

I laughed and I wept- again and again. I don’t know how the night passed. How much I wept, I might never know. When Sujeet was awaken and saw me in a still situation, and took me to a doctor, I don’t know. What the doctor said – is out of my memory. Sujeet told me later that first doctor said it was nervous breakdown. He sent me to a psychiatrist. The latter sent me to neurologist. They flooded me with medicines. The security guard had brought me the holy water from the nearby temple. My maid brought an enchanted flower and put it below my pillow. They both are agreed that the gypsy had done some black magic on me.

Now all doctors say that it is only depression and nothing else. It is hard to see the tensed Shruti and a fearful Mohit and Sujeet’s worried face. I am trying very hard to be as normal and healthy as I was. But when Sujeet falls asleep at nights, I listen the miraculous music with my whole heart, I try to replay it again and again until I feel I am showered with holy waters and become a whole again. Sometimes I fail to hear the music, and on those days I have to take sleeping pills. Although people say I am alright now, but sometimes I ask a strange question during the normal conversation - “Do you know how to play flute?”

The maid had thrown away the flute on the same day she brought me the enchanted flower. Doctors are doing their job very well. I am taking all medicines religiously. They are sure I will soon be alright, me too.

Date: 15/09/2006