The magical lamp

The magical lamp

The knock on the door on Saturday mornings is irritating..cause its usually the neighbourhood children asking for water...the bane of groundfloor house owners..and it does get tiring being the good Samaritan, when you have been at it for years and years!

Anyway back to my story, so when i opened the door, it was with a irritated frown, which didnt fade when i saw that it was a young, strange, bald 'Shakal' of Kulbhushan Kharbanda 'Shan' fametwentyfiveish North Indian man, whose uniform was more grubbier than his hands that rang my door bell.

"Im the gas meter man" he nastily sneered into my own snooty face,"im have to read your gas meter".

The first thought was "why do such creepy characters always come when im alone at home?" , but of course, i let him into the house without any word except the snarl in my eyes.

i kept a sharp look out for my mobile which was charging away, and to the other expensive disposables lying around carelessly,( a habit learnt from my father's way of functioning, which was never to keep anything under lock and key) while i guided him to my kitchen.

I had long ago, dispensed with the courteous offering of a glass of water and later Tea to any stranger who landed home,( a habit i learnt from my mother), especially the TV , washing machine or refrigerator repairers, as totally unnecessary in cities like Mumbai.

He climbed the platform with my permission, to check the gas meter, while i stood hawk eyed close by, when he suddenly exclaimed, "who uses this?"
I looked up to stare at a glass lantern, which i had purchased in Vasai years ago, and immediately old memories made me give a guttral laugh.

The lamp had been a gift by me to my husband in the initial blush of marriage, he had happened to mention to somebody of how he found such lamps adorable, which are totally made of glass, as opposed to the iron metal that most lamps have at the bottom, and so when i found it with a street hawker in a Vasai market, i immediately brought it.

Though, we never used it.as power cuts in Mumbai are rare( and getting kerosene is rarer, i dont even know where they are being sold), so the lamp lay on a shelf next to the gas meter, still treasured, but sadly forgotten.

"We dont use it any more" i grinned at him.

"Thats what i thought", he smiled back, you usually find such lanterns only in the villages."

Where are you from? I ask.

Uttar Pradesh. He answers.

Ok, I smile.

His work over, he turns to leave, and then suddenly thanks me for the lamp. Its years since ive seen one. It brought back my childhood memories, he sighed.

He leaves. I shut the door.

Both of us are smiling, warm smiles.

Though the magic of a simple village lamp, we both managed to cut through the 'akdu memsaab' and 'uncouth labourer' labels we had unconsciously given each other, and connected as human beings.

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