The Window without a Pane

I parked my car in the shade of a big Caesalpinia tree that was, probably, as old as the house I was about to enter. For some reason I was nervous about meeting a retired professor of sociology, as old as my mom. All my movements, right from opening the gate to walking down a path leading to the door to ringing the door- bell, seemed tentative.

I was lead into the house and was asked to wait in what seemed to be an antéroom and was handed a journal to read as I waited, an indication, perhaps, that my wait was not going to be very short. I sat beside a window that let in the light that filled the room and provided a lovely breeze on this overcast day.

I was a bundle of nerves, for some reason I could simply not comprehend. I placed my bag on the floor and checked my recorder and went through the questionnaire that I had prepared carefully. I just hoped that I did not sound like an idiot to this wonderful lady I was about to meet.  

I could hear the strains of the veena and suddenly felt like I was in familiar surroundings! I looked outside the window and wondered how clean the pane was, only to discover that there was none!! And I wondered what might have caused the pane to break – maybe the window banged shut and the glass broke in the process (?), or someone threw a stone, aiming at a mango in the mango tree that stood outside the window, and had a bad aim (?), or may be some kids playing gully-cricket just got too enthusiastic and broke it (?)…So, I was going to sound idiotic today!

The veena continued in the background of this wonderful act that my silly mind was playing out and I looked outside as the breeze ruffled my neatly brushed hair. Now, I was not only going to be idiotic but I wasn’t going to be presentable enough either… But the sight outside just drew my attention – a squirrel chasing another up the branch of the old mango tree, tiny mangoes that hung on delicately against the breeze, birds chirping and hopping from one branch to another, the jasmine shrub slowly breaking into buds, marking the start of the season, the gardener watering the garden with a hose pipe that was supplying the water with great difficulty…I smiled at the simplicity that this entire scene portrayed and yet it seemed so philosophical! The sounds of nature and the strings of the veena soothed my nerves and I seemed ready to meet the lady I was waiting for until I realised she was already in the room! I stood up to greet her and found that my voice was shaking as I introduced myself to her. Damn!

She sat in front of me; her grey hair oiled and tied in a ‘bun’  that rested at the nape of her neck, a small string of flowers creating a semi-circle around it. Her saree was draped to perfection and her face was radiant with a large red ‘bindi’ on her forehead. I noticed the couple of gold bangles that adorned the lovely arm that had aged so gracefully. Trying to make myself comfortable, I commented rather nonchalantly on the veena recital that I had heard. “Oh, I just try to keep senility at bay”, was her response! I smiled as I began to get my papers in place and start the recorder when she asked me “Shobha, did you read the article that I had marked for you in the journal? We could start from there…”

Prof. Dr. J, if you read this ever, you will know why I had not read the journal!

‘Bhaja Govindam’, Smt. M.S. Subbulakshmi