A is for Aala

Aala. No this isn’t about a clothes whitener. This is about a person- a woman to be precise- who lived in a Mohallla in a city in North India.  Aala was short and plump with a foul mouth. You could hear her screaming at her husband Eddy (pronounced Ed-di)  “Arrey Haraami, pacchi tamey jataveesh?” All the kids in the neighbourhood were scared of this crochety woman.  Every morning you could spot her limping to buy a half loaf of bread from the panwala just at the entrance of the Mohalla. She didn’t talk to any of her neighbours and no one really cared to even make small talk with this grouchy woman. No one had ever been to her house, except Mrs Sinha ,who had once ventured into this dangerous territory. “She is really weird. You know she keeps the bread on her table and no one is allowed to touch it. Not even her daughters”.

How do you know that? “Mrs Tripathi mumbled trying to chew her paan and spit at the same time. “You are antaryaami”?

 “ Na rey baba, I am no anataryaami. I am just a simple woman surrounded by paagal people. I know, because one day her daughter asked me for 2 slices of bread and so I went into my kitchen and got 2 slices on a plate but when I came back to the door she was now where in sight!  So I walked to their stinky apartment. And what do I see from the half open door? The small loaf sitting on the wooden table. Why would the girl, what`s her name ?

“Sillo”, Mrs Singh  provided the name helpfully. 

“Ya Silloo.  Why would she come to borrow 2 slices when she had that half loaf at home ? Socho ? And then she just snatched the plate without even saying thank you and shut the door. They still haven’t returned my plate! A few days back I ran out of milk and needed just half a cup to make tea- You know Mr Sinha cannot drink black tea, this man I tell you’’

“So what happened then behenji?” interrupted Mrs Tripathi.

“Arrey this Parsi woman scowled and said “doodh nahi hai”. I saw there was one small packet on top of the small refrigerator. I pointed it to her and she said that the packet is Eddy`s and he`s not home. And then slammed the door on my face. What kind of husband-wife are they? My loaf, your milk Hey Ram I tell you these Parsees".

“Mrs Sinha it is not about being Parsee. This woman is only paagal,” Mrs Tripathi declared.

There were talks that Aala came from a wealthy Parsi family and had inherited a few properties-even if they were old dilapidated buildings in a small town-and a trunk full of beautiful sarees. No one had of course seen her wear any. She was always dressed in an old chequered nighty which just fell short of her ankles. Grey hair with random and rare streaks of dirty brown bunched in a messy ponytail No not like the ones that girls deliberately wear these days! Some days she would look a little clean with a knee-length floral frock and broad flat brown sandals with straps holding on desperately on to knotty rough ankles.  On these days you could spot ugly veins protruding from her dry scaly calves. She would wear a chequered handkerchief tied like a scarf, knotted under her wobbly chin.  Apparently, on these rare days she went to the local bank to withdraw cash. Sanju and his friends would wait patiently on their balconies with their ammunition- paper planes and little stones. The minute Aala crossed their apartment and whoosh the planes would land all around Aala accompanied by sharp little stones falling like confetti all over her. Aala would look up viciously trying to spot the by now invisible devils , “Tamaara gadhera ma baap kiainya che?”  Sanju and his friends would duck down and giggle.

And then one early morning the Mohalla was rudely awakened by the screaming sirens of an ambulance. Aala had collapsed outside the bathroom. The whole mohalla gathered around the ambulance as they wheeled in Aala strapped on to the stretcher. Eddy climbed in wearily and the ambulance sped away. Days melted into weeks and then months. Aala did not come back. No one missed Aala`s loud screams, nor did they ask about her. Except the children in the Mohalla. They didn’t have their target for paper planes and stones. Little Sanju asked his mother one afternoon, “Mummy, when will Aala come back”.

" I don’t know beta and I don’t care".  Sanju slumped back in his bed dejectedly.