Like most mothers who take their job too seriously, I was also busy trying to feed Ishi her ‘n’th meal of the day. Accompanied by an acute episode of logorrhea, I was also busy expressing displeasure with my 1 year old’s inability to appreciate the apple cinnamon cake baked by me. I loved it. How could she not like it!
That’s when I first heard of Bowler.
Mouli, the au courant friend from forever,
couldn’t resist the temptation of telling me about Bowler and sharing how he managed
an infant and a toddler all by himself without a single word of complaint. Bowler
would always be seen carrying one child in each arm calmly going about the ways
of life, never complaining.
Like many other things that Mouli shares from
his never-ending knowledge pool, I ignored all that he said and with some more
distracting tactics, managed to get Ishi to appreciate the Apple Cinnamon cake
that I had so enthusiastically baked. My day was made.
I got to see Bowler just a few days later. We
were leaving for Greece the next morning. It was late night and the kids were peacefully
sleeping. We were sitting and chatting in Club 25 (as our house is sometimes
known) and made an impromptu plan to go to the Irish Pub at the Bay. Fifteen
mins later, we were there. Mouli, Paritosh, Swapna, Nidhi and I. Others in the
gang were afflicted with ‘llamadas nocturnas’ and couldn’t make it.
‘llamadas nocturnas’ is a disorder that almost
40% Bangaloreans suffer from. Most prevalent amongst engineers and almost all
people doing Business with the western world, the person may seem normal all
day, but soon after dark till late into the night, is incapacitated and
unavailable for any social interaction. It’s almost like some nightly viral
fever and is spreading across the city but no one seems to be doing anything
about it. For the unacquainted, llamadas nocturnas is related to late night work
calls.
I can visualize that night so vividly. We were
sitting in the outdoor sitting area at the Pub. The sound of water falling from
the roof into the pool right next to us was extremely calming. So was the feel
of drops of water bouncing back and upon us. The loud music playing inside the
pub was not so loud outside. Like many other weekends that we had been there, there
were hardly any other guests. The pub is in an office area and busiest over
weekdays. On weekends, only people like us, privileged enough to be living in
the vicinity and lazy enough to not want to drive any farther would be seen
around. We were placing our order when Bowler walked past. ‘That’s the guy I
was talking about’, Mouli shared excitedly, a big grin on his face. As I looked
up, I saw an ordinary looking guy. Short and thin, wearing a simple striped
shirt with trousers and a very conspicuous flat cap. Not something you see on
men walking the streets of Bangalore. We all stared unabashedly at him as he
walked past, seemingly oblivious of us and the pub employees optimistically looking
at him, hoping that he would come in. In less than a minute, he was gone and we
went back to our chatter.
 |
| Bowler! |
The next morning we were on the flight to Abu
Dhabi, en route to Greece. The flight had taken off after a long delay and people
swarmed to the rest rooms as soon as the seat belt sign went off. I was sitting
on the aisle seat with Paritosh next to me, reading some eclectic poetry. We
were both busy trying to prevent Ishi from jumping off into the aisle when we
heard people around us whispering what seemed to include the name ‘Bowler’. As I
looked up, there he was. Wearing the same flat cap. This time he had the 2
children in his arms. An infant in one arm and a toddler in the other. Suddenly
I realized that he was without the kids when we saw him the night before. He walked
down the aisle, looking straight ahead, oblivious of the whispers all around
him. As he passed by our seat, I could see the calm in those eyes. Now I knew
what Mouli meant when he mentioned Bowler’s composure.
Ishi was showing signs of sleepiness and my
attention went back to her. We slept through the rest of the flight and didn’t
think of or see Bowler for the rest of the journey.
A few days later, I stumbled upon him yet again,
during one of many visits to the Manipal Hospital. I was carrying Ishi and waiting
in the queue for the lift, when he walked past, conspicuous immediately by the
flat cap and the two children, one in each arm. Looking straight ahead, with
the same calm and composed look, he went past me. I was wondering what brought
him there, when the lift came and once again, I forgot all about Bowler.
I saw him many times over the next few visits. It
seemed like we were both frequent visitors to the Hospital. I would stumble
upon him at the entrance, during the security check, waiting at the reception
or in the lift queue. Always carrying the two children, with the same calm
expression and not to forget that conspicuous flat cap. Finally, one day we
ended up sitting next to each other in the waiting area. I grabbed the
opportunity and started a conversation. It was mostly me talking and him
answering in mono syllables. In days to follow, we started acknowledging each other
when we met at the hospital. From conversations in the lobby, we went on to
having coffee in the small little Café Coffee Day just behind the hospital.
Eventually one day, I invited him home.
Like most weekend evenings, the whole gang
turned up that evening too. The evening was followed by many others and Bowler
soon became part of the gang. Whenever Swapna, Mouli, Nidhi or even Hema, who
lived some distance away, would throw a party, Bowler was always invited and was
always there. Always coming in with the two kids, one on each arm.
In one such party, he shared his story.
Bowler used work in the armed forces. His work
kept him away from family at most times. But that day, he was coming home after
a year. His second child was 3 months old and he had not yet seen the baby. He
was looking forward to seeing his family after so long. The train reached the
city very early in the morning. His home was close by and he got into a cycle
rickshaw after some haggling. The neighborhood was still asleep when he reached
there. There was smoke in the air. His first thought was that someone had burnt
something while cooking. As he got closer, he realized that the smoke was
coming from his own house. Suddenly he realized that it was way too much smoke
to be coming from a burnt dish. Panicking and fearing the worst, he jumped off
the rickshaw and ran towards the house. It was locked from the inside and he
had to use his body as a hammer to break it open. As he entered the central courtyard,
he saw the children sleeping in mosquito nets on charpoys and smoke coming from
the isolated kitchen on the side of the house. He ran towards the kitchen, stumbled against
something and fell down, hitting his head against the hot kitchen slab. As he fell,
with blood gushing from his head, he saw his wife. Lying face down, charred
black. It was her that he had stumbled against. Coughing vigorously, he pulled her
body out into the courtyard. The children were still sleeping peacefully, oblivious
to it all. None of the neighbors had woken up or noticed anything amiss,
probably because of the strong wind that blew away all the smoke. “She probably
woke up to make milk for the child and was too groggy to notice the smell of
leaked gas in the kitchen”, said Bowler. For the first time ever, he took off
his cap and showed us the scar from he had hit the kitchen slab.
We had listened to the entire story without anyone
uttering a single word. None of us remembered when during the story, tears
welled into our eyes. But our relationship with Bowler grew much stronger that
evening.
For many years subsequently, Bowler was part of
the gang, always around. And then one day, he just vanished. His phone was
unreachable and no one knew another way of reaching him. Just like that, he was
gone from our lives. No reason, no explanation.
I was pondering over where or why he may have
gone, when Ishi gave out a loud cry. As I opened my eyes, I saw her sitting
next to Paritosh, ready to drop her body backwards onto him, a favorite act
every time she woke up in the middle of the night. As I lifted my head, I felt
something wet on my cheek. I had probably cried during my dream and the pillow
was wet with tears. I glimpsed into the phone on the side table and saw that it
5:30 am. Just 90 minutes since I last fed Ishi at 4:00. She can’t be hungry yet.
She had probably just seen a dream. So had I.
As I put my head back on the pillow, I realized
that I had known Bowler for less that 90 minutes. In that one dream since 4:00
am, I had met known and also lost him. That explained why Ishi or Bowler’s kids
never grew up through the years of knowing each other. Why we didn’t know where
Bowler came from or where to find him once he vanished. Why so many people
seemed to know such an inconspicuous man. Or why I had no idea why he was
called Bowler and what his real name was.
I wonder why Bowler came into my dreams and am
still struggling to understand why I feel this emptiness, having lost someone
who was just a figment of my imagination for barely an hour. Maybe, Mr. Freud
could help. But given that he’s unavailable, I’ve called the au courant Dr. Mouli
over for dinner. After all it’s he who brought Bowler into my life. Although he
doesn’t know it yet.
