In the quiet of the night, I like to walk with Timmy. He is always greatly excited the moment he senses that a walk is possible. This excitement reaches a fever pitch when he sees me get his leash and stuff a couple of bags into my pocket. Lest the neighbours are disturbed with his excited yelping and barking, I try to curb his enthusiasm. He doesn't care. And off we go! I pulled along by this great big furry creature, whose frenzied pace slows down by the time we reach the next block. As he begins his scrutiny of bushes and street posts, I begin to slow down and fall into the rhythm of the night. I have had a long affair with the night. It is my time, I love it. Whether I am indoors or out, I just love the night.I remember my childhood, when I was frequently ill. I would lie awake in my parents bed, my mother's hand on me, a comfortable weight, heavy in her sleep. My parents had an wind up alarm clock, whose ticking became very loud when all else was quiet. I would lie awake listening to jackals howling, the screech of some unfortunate creature hunted by an owl and then the owl's own cries of victory. In the distance would be the sound of a night train, going to places I could only dream of.I remember a few years in Alipore in Calcutta, when in the night we would hear the 'coughing' sounds of the lions and tigers at the Alipore Zoo. A most chilling sound, given my obsession with dangerous big cats- but that is another matter.I remember my parents sitting in cane chairs out in the garden in the summer nights. My mother would sing, with a natural ease inspired by the setting,'Rajani tey tumi ashibey boliya, phutechhey Rajani gandha '(The fragrant Tuberose blooms at night because it knew you would come by night)I remember sleeping under the open sky in the summers at Gorakhpur. The heat would rise from the ground to meet the cool air above. In the safety of my mosquito net, I was safe from all those ghosts that wander in the night. I knew that extending my smallest finger or toe out of the net was to be in danger of being possesed. It was not easy to see the stars from within the mosquito net, but there they were- Saptarshi Mandal - the Seven Sages Meeting. I was enormously proud that I could identify them.The moonlit nights were more scary because there was more light; but also more shadows. Shadows made me imagine more frightening things. I had an encyclopaedic knowledge of ghosts, fed on a steady diet of stories from my mother and father. My great fears were of the 'Nishkandho Bhut' a headless creature whose multiple burning red eyes were fixed on its shoulders, of Nishi whose siren call would lure you away if you answered and the 'Banshbagan Bhut' who were flickering flames that lived in a bamboo grove. Later I learned of the Churail with her feet turned backwards and of Dracula, who I was convinced was reposing beneath my bed, ready to grab my ankles if I stepped out of bed and sink his fangs into my neck and drain me of my blood. Then by the next night I would be a vampire too. I remember an extremely awkward moment when I asked a newly wed 'aunty' if she had been visited by Dracula, upon seeing a hickey on her neck. My mother deftly turned the conversation away. The reprimands came later.One night when I was studying for my School certificate exams, I was staying with my great aunt and her attendant in Gorakhpur. There was furious barking amongst our dogs. It turned out to be provoked by the visit of a marauding elephant. What an exciting night, that was! I shall talk about it some other time.Then came the night when I met a 'Petni' (a female ghost, somewhat lika a Churail) in Kolkata, on a stormy night. That too requires a separate recounting.So here we are walking along the quiet streets in Evanston. There is a comforting safety of a plainsclothes police detail that guards the home of the Japanese consul who lives a couple of blocks away. That is of no concern to a raccoon mother and her babies who are out to plunder garbage cans. Timmy has more important things to do than to pay attention to them. He is checking out the calling cards left behind by other canine brethren along any upright structure, and leaving his own. He doesn't even notice the red fox, sittng quietly across the street, or does he? He raises his head, sniffs briefly in that direction and promptly returns to his investigations.We pass under a giant oak tree, its leaves whispering in the wind. The lights in most homes are out. There are a few lit windows. Ah! there are others like me, I note.We walk on; its been about a mile so far. Soon we are home.
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Sunday, October 7, 2007