AN INDIAN SUMMER OF BOYS                                                                                                               Part IV

A True Short Story    by Ravi Anbil

What complicated matters even more was an insurgence of street dogs from as far away as China. The watchman had his hands full chasing them away. The elders were to give us the green signal when the coast was clear but such a signal never came by. Occasionally, we would hear the pleasing voice of Vaidhi from downstairs loudly proclaiming, “Jolly time for the dogs is over!” which meant that we were free to play. However, Mrs. Herbert took exception to Vaidhi’s boisterous announcements that prompted another meeting among parents. We were told to stay put. While we did not mind that Kukoosh, Remy and perhaps a few other street dogs were having a jolly time, we did harbor extreme regret that they chose our cricket field for their cheap thrills, holding us hostage for days on end. The Sokki Kulam boys had all the extra time to practice.

All was not lost, however. The time indoors gave the boys a chance to do other fun things together. One interesting activity was to show a film. Our aunt had presented us with a film projector which was from the Stone Age. Unfortunately, the lens had broken and the light inside had burnt out. So we had to reflect sunlight using a mirror onto an old light bulb filled with water, to a roll of film which was hand-cranked for movement, and the resulting black and white movie was shown on the wall in a darkened room. It lasted only a few minutes and there was no sound. Yet we put on the same show time and again because it required a team effort and we had nothing better to do.

     Another activity was posing for the camera. We had a box camera which could have been the first prototype of Kodak. Of course, it had no film. It was fun taking turns to look through this gadget and click, while the other boys elbowed each other to get into the frame and make the ugliest face imaginable.

     The fledglings in the balcony were now sporting a fine coat of feathers and would mock-fly beating their wings which brought us great joy. They were also beginning to chirp which made us proud. What had filled us with guilt, when we originally found them, was now replaced by a sense of fondness we were unaccustomed to.

     Also, during this period of ‘hostage crisis’, Songi Mani kept us entertained although he was not trying to. Just his 'songi'ness provided it. I had written a poem which Suresh was reading when Songi showed up. He immediately wanted to write a poem and locked himself in our bathroom with a pen and paper. We would bang on the door every fifteen minutes to see his poetry but he asked for more time. Finally, he emerged with his new poem. It read:

        I saw a bull

        Eating pul!

     Pul means ‘grass’ in Tamil. We were in stitches because it took him forever to write this. Songi was really our term of affection for his silliness. Suffice it to say that we kept ourselves in good spirits albeit Fate was playing havoc with our practice sessions during the final days.

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