"You know the fisherfolk in the bazaar are very friendly."
Up there in the sky, the Sun had decided to turn up in its steamiest best and down here we were all bearing the brunt of its attire. We sat along on the benches that shot out of the wall of Mount Mary's Basilica, Bandra. It was 9:40 in the morning and the crowds had begun to thin and burgeon every other minute. We were waiting - albeit rather impatiently - for Father Dearest who was involved with the proceedings of the 9:15 Mass. And since the wait and the people milling around us were irritating us no end, we began to talk.
Sister Dearest spoke of food and Mother Dearest, as usual, chose the marketplace to fish for topics. That's her favourite - after the inflation of course. If she isn't complaining about the rising prices, she is busy explaining how these days a small piece of fish or a kilo of chicken is worth such a lot of money.
But this particular day, she left all that aside and instead brought up the nature of the fisherfolk she buys pomfrets, prawns, and what not from. We had nothing much to do other than wait for Father and listen. So we let Mother continue with her tale of humanity from the fishmonger's section.
"They are sweet you know," I heard her saying, as I kept one eye on the people climbing up the Rosary steps and the other on Father.
"Really?"
"Yes that day I had gone to the bazaar and there was this fisherwoman I always buy fish from..."
"Hmm..."
"So she said..." and Mother said something. However, all of what she said fell into oblivion.
My ears had stopped listening. I had let my gaze wander down the bamboo barricades dressed up in white and blue cloth and for a moment, something arrested my attention.
Now for the life of me, I don't remember what that was, but what I do remember is that when I brought my ears and attention back to Mother and Sister, they both were giggling.
So I also began giggling.
"What happened?" I asked in a manner as casual as possible.
"Were you even listening?"
"Yes I was. I heard Mother praising the fisherfolk."
"Yes that was it."
"Then what are you laughing at?"
"See? You were not paying attention!"
"I was!"
"Then why were we laughing? - tell me."
"Some joke obviously. About the fish or something."
"You're horrible! And then you say WE don't listen to you."
"Fine," I said exasperated, "I wasn't listening. What was it?"
"Mother," Sister began, "was saying that that day she went to the bazaar and passed this fisherwoman's stall."
"And?"
"And I," Mother said, "was in no mood to buy fish. But those bombils (Bombay ducks) looked really fresh. They were shining you know."
"Really?"
"Yes, and she also was telling me: 'Ghe ga, taazi haan.' (Take no! They are fresh.) And I said: 'Tujhya sarkhe!' (Yes, like you!) So she started smiling and giggling. And her friends sitting nearby started to laugh as well."
"Haha! So Mother," I said, after I had heard it all, "you called her a fish!"
"What?!"
"Yes, effectively," I explained, "you actually complimented her for looking like a fish?"
"Oh don't talk rubbish."
"But of course Mother. That bombil might have been covered with blood - with its mouth all ugly and all. And you said it looks like her! You actually told her how ugly she was!"
And then Mount Vesuvius erupted.
"What rubbish! Really!"
"Goodness gracious!"
"This fellow-" began Sister and left it for us to guess what she wanted to say.
"Really! His mind is so perverted!"
"What?" I asked, pretending to be innocent amidst my laughter, "It looks like that, doesn't it?"
"Shut up there!" said Sister quickly, "You talk all rubbish! All rubbish!"
"What?-"
"Oh shut up!" insisted Mother.
"Not one word!" commanded Sister.
"Really!"
"You need to go do your confession!"
"Yes! Better go do your confession."
"Extra only! Has to think out of the way!"
"Talking to you is so useless! And you're laughing? So shameless, really!"
"If I don't laugh," I said, laughing, "what am I supposed to do? Mother called her a bombil! Haha!"
"Shut up there! You're such a bag of nonsense!"
And finally, as we got up to go (for Father was through with the Mass), Mother wrapped up the explosion with a classic shake of her head and the line that says so much more than what she wants it to: "Wonder who you're friends are!"
Up there in the sky, the Sun had decided to turn up in its steamiest best and down here we were all bearing the brunt of its attire. We sat along on the benches that shot out of the wall of Mount Mary's Basilica, Bandra. It was 9:40 in the morning and the crowds had begun to thin and burgeon every other minute. We were waiting - albeit rather impatiently - for Father Dearest who was involved with the proceedings of the 9:15 Mass. And since the wait and the people milling around us were irritating us no end, we began to talk.
Sister Dearest spoke of food and Mother Dearest, as usual, chose the marketplace to fish for topics. That's her favourite - after the inflation of course. If she isn't complaining about the rising prices, she is busy explaining how these days a small piece of fish or a kilo of chicken is worth such a lot of money.
But this particular day, she left all that aside and instead brought up the nature of the fisherfolk she buys pomfrets, prawns, and what not from. We had nothing much to do other than wait for Father and listen. So we let Mother continue with her tale of humanity from the fishmonger's section.
"They are sweet you know," I heard her saying, as I kept one eye on the people climbing up the Rosary steps and the other on Father.
"Really?"
"Yes that day I had gone to the bazaar and there was this fisherwoman I always buy fish from..."
"Hmm..."
"So she said..." and Mother said something. However, all of what she said fell into oblivion.
My ears had stopped listening. I had let my gaze wander down the bamboo barricades dressed up in white and blue cloth and for a moment, something arrested my attention.
Now for the life of me, I don't remember what that was, but what I do remember is that when I brought my ears and attention back to Mother and Sister, they both were giggling.
So I also began giggling.
"What happened?" I asked in a manner as casual as possible.
"Were you even listening?"
"Yes I was. I heard Mother praising the fisherfolk."
"Yes that was it."
"Then what are you laughing at?"
"See? You were not paying attention!"
"I was!"
"Then why were we laughing? - tell me."
"Some joke obviously. About the fish or something."
"You're horrible! And then you say WE don't listen to you."
"Fine," I said exasperated, "I wasn't listening. What was it?"
"Mother," Sister began, "was saying that that day she went to the bazaar and passed this fisherwoman's stall."
"And?"
"And I," Mother said, "was in no mood to buy fish. But those bombils (Bombay ducks) looked really fresh. They were shining you know."
"Really?"
"Yes, and she also was telling me: 'Ghe ga, taazi haan.' (Take no! They are fresh.) And I said: 'Tujhya sarkhe!' (Yes, like you!) So she started smiling and giggling. And her friends sitting nearby started to laugh as well."
"Haha! So Mother," I said, after I had heard it all, "you called her a fish!"
"What?!"
"Yes, effectively," I explained, "you actually complimented her for looking like a fish?"
"Oh don't talk rubbish."
"But of course Mother. That bombil might have been covered with blood - with its mouth all ugly and all. And you said it looks like her! You actually told her how ugly she was!"
And then Mount Vesuvius erupted.
"What rubbish! Really!"
"Goodness gracious!"
"This fellow-" began Sister and left it for us to guess what she wanted to say.
"Really! His mind is so perverted!"
"What?" I asked, pretending to be innocent amidst my laughter, "It looks like that, doesn't it?"
"Shut up there!" said Sister quickly, "You talk all rubbish! All rubbish!"
"What?-"
"Oh shut up!" insisted Mother.
"Not one word!" commanded Sister.
"Really!"
"You need to go do your confession!"
"Yes! Better go do your confession."
"Extra only! Has to think out of the way!"
"Talking to you is so useless! And you're laughing? So shameless, really!"
"If I don't laugh," I said, laughing, "what am I supposed to do? Mother called her a bombil! Haha!"
"Shut up there! You're such a bag of nonsense!"
And finally, as we got up to go (for Father was through with the Mass), Mother wrapped up the explosion with a classic shake of her head and the line that says so much more than what she wants it to: "Wonder who you're friends are!"
Comments
as for the closing line, i hope you havent told mother about me. :P