As Damayanti presses her Russell Hobbs iron over the green cardigan, she finds it strangely satisfying that the creases are gradually easing out. And she has the most ridiculous memories resurface...the neighbourhood Istiriwala* back in her hometown standing by his little kiosk, ironing clothes at an industrial scale in the stifling Calcutta heat.
The man would stand for hours, doing his job, his sweat and sighs blending seamlessly with the general humidity of the afternoon. Beside him, would be a portable radio, that would belt out Bollywood numbers like nobody's business. And the man would go about his job, the temporality of the work possibly broken a tad bit by the melodies of a Lata Mangeshkar or a Kishore Kumar.
With a wry smile, Damayanti realises how similar the chores are, in their sheer mundanity. And how music elevates the chores to a tolerable reality - hers, a middleclass requirement, and his, the only source of livelihood. Another marked difference is that she is listening to 'Northern Sky'.... the magic of the song reminding her of glorious impossibilities. But hang on a bit. Maybe, even the Istiriwala would be a bit dreamy eyed sometimes, listening to Yaad Kiya Dil Ne, remembering his little girl walking to school, his wife braiding the girl's hair, while waiting for the man to get home. Maybe he too thought of the most fantastical kind of love....
Damayanti's reverie evaporates suddenly with the oven timer going off...dinner is ready indeed. And her mind journeys back to the present, across time...across the rough seas, the pebbled beaches and over the sycamores, to a pleasant English May.
*Istiriwala - Laundry Man
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