katha corner-Garuda

The highlighted section was given and the challenge was to complete the story...read on!


I looked at my watch again. She had said 9.45. She was late. I looked around me. The mall wore a strange forlorn look. A cleaning woman mopped the floor. Her mouth drooped and her eyes stared at the floor as her hands moved pushing the mop this way and that.
What did she think of that entire she saw here? I wondered. The abundance. The greed. Hungry mouths. Grasping hands… I shuddered. Malls frightened me.
"Are you out of your mind?" I had said when she suggested we meet at Garuda Mall.
"At that hour, you don't have to worry about the crowds," she had said with a laugh. "Think of it as a social experiment. A mall at an unmall-like hour.What happens there? Bring your notebook..You can make notes..(anita nair)


(my insertion)
When you are thirteen going on seventeen and the most prominent feature on the landscape is an oversized bobbing apple a la adams, you do not think about blinking twice- you just accept your fate, roll on that underarm deodorant, splash on some aftershave you have carefully hidden among the Amarchitra katha edition of the “Vishnu’s Vahanas “and head for the door before the brat (otherwise known sister) and Chief (otherwise known as amma) begin their third degree interrogation.
After all, it is not every day that a slightly breathless voice (and female to add) calls you at midnight with an invitation to meet (with notebook in hand) at the Garuda mall. The mall at an unmall hour / social experiment angle gave the whole meeting a mysteriously intellectual dimension which suited my current state of sensibilities. Lately, my current sense of sensibilities to say the least has completely alienated me from my class mates, my family and even my pet tortoise-I find myself worrying about where the planet is headed to on the highway of disaster it cruises on-pollution, poverty , crass consumerism -and suddenly school, exams and algebra class just does not make sense. Externally, this manifests as a potent combination of indifference, glazed eyes and monosyllabic utterances. The chief thinks it is growing pains , the brat sniggers that it is a girl, or rather the lack of it.

I dread the nightmares-when I close my eyes, I see humming malls , headless torsos, neon lights and soda machines shriek.. Set us free ,, set us free…
The mall at 9:45 am is deathly quiet. The calm before the crowds storm. It is almost spiritual. The eerie glow of neon, the mannequins conversing in muted gestures and the swish of the cleaning lady’s mop.
It is 10:00a.m. A cruel joke. I close my eyes ,surprised to feel the first sting of saltiness..

“Yenn beku?” , a breathlessly raspy voice interrupts. I find myself staring into the eyes of the cleaning woman.
“Yennilla…” I tried to piece together my thoughts in chaste kanada.

It begins with a tinkle and then gurgles into the most delicious laughter I have ever heard. The mop falls to the floor shattering into a million crystal pieces. Tiny white pearls of wisdom. Dark brown tresses sweep the floor. Skin the colour of bittersweet chocolate clothed in layers of cloth of many colours. I cannot bring myself to look at her. Beauty can be frightening.
Relax…I normally don’t do the cleaning lady routine. Just a little fun..friends..?..Her fingers touch mine lightly
What am ..Who are …?..The thoughts speed ahead of my guttural utterances..
She smiles. Did you bring the notebook.? Good, record everything. You are going to make history. you are the chosen one.
And then she disappears.

I feel my palms perspire and my Adam’s apple bobs overtime. This must be the mother of all my nightmares. You meet a cleaning woman who turns into a diva in a mall in the heart of a city and names you,” chosen one”. Not you’re average Sunday morning.
And then the humming begins. Slowly it builds into a crescendo. one by one, the lights come on. Each store vying with each other .The escalators growl, the soda machines gurgle ,and trapped mannequins shatter glass. Transfixed, I watch as the headless torsos circle me, swaying their hands wildly-a primitive dance spelling liberation. And then the chanting begins…
Set us free…set us free…no more humans buying…no more. take us away…
I feel powerless. Why me? - And then I see her.
You care. You feel. You are real. That is your power. Use it, damn it. Her eyes radiate liquid fire
I close my eyes. I feel their pain.
I grow lighter .. The ground slips beneath my feet. Then I see the wings.
I am the protector.
You are Garuda, she says

I head towards the ground again. In one sweep of my talons, I carry a trail of swinging torsos, soda machines, neon lights but something is missing.
She looks tiny. I am coming back for you, I say.
“No. You and I have work to do. There are so many malls out there…”
Across the distance our eyes meet .And as I fly higher and higher , my wings breaking the multicolored glass ceiling, I look down again .I learn my lesson of a lifetime .
Two people can kiss without touching.

And I fly , past city scapes,hills ,mountains, until we reach the blue green ocean. As each mannequin dives into the water, my load becomes ligtehter.I feel their joy . and sing…

Monday morning and I am thirteen again. Headlines scream of an empty mall and sightings of an unusual bird. I turn to my notebook. It is blank. I feel small again. May be it was just a dream. A school boy fantasy. And then, I see it. A feather on my table. I hear the laughter of fallen mannequins. I close my eyes. I feel it. The kiss.
Like any other Monday, I head for school. Still the same but so different. I look at the mass of humanity and smile.

I am your protector, I whisper. I am Garuda.