Street17

It was almost 7pm and we were still playing in the dusk. Hours of play made the shuttle cock look bigger.
Growing up in the steel township of Bhilai has given many memories.

We lived on street 33 then. The triple storey building had 18 units. Usually the light at the stairs was not working and a huge tree grew to envelop the dim lamp post which sent down a small beam of light.

“Babli, come home, Datta aunty called out and bring babloo too”
“Coming, ma”, Babli called out. We hurried to wrap the game.
“Babloo, Babloo”, Babli called out.
“You go. I’ll come later.” He was keeping wicket for the match.
“Oh! It’ll be dark soon, There is no light on the stairs. You’ll be afraid”.
Babloo was about 10 and younger to Babli.
“ Oh No. Iam brave. Iam not afraid of the dark,” he piped up.
“OK. Then just cycle down stree 17 and come back by street 19”, said I.
That did it. He went upstairs with his sister.

Everyone was scared of street 17. Even the elders avoided it. I had cycled down it once in broad daylight and it scared me. Street 17 was long and winding. After the first two blocks, there was an open ground on one side and the street took a blind curve after the ground. At night the street light threw down a golden ring of light. But the huge trees with thick foliage almost blocked it. After the blind turn the street again had rows of blocks on either sides. A large banyan tree stood right in middle of the road. Hindu belief and reverence had let it be there. Someone had started pooja at the small hanuman idol placed under the tree. A small lamp burnt there. It also had a chabootara(platform). This tree was the most ominous, for in the nights, a solitary Baba wrapped in a blanket used to sit and sleep here. He looked almost like Rabindranath Tagore. He towered over six feet and had greying long beard and a huge bump on his forehead which gave him a sinister look. I had never seen him speak. He used to be seen around the market are in the evenings. At the paanwaala, he will just stand there. The paanbhai Kashi gave him a benarasi after some time and he will accept it and move away. I was always intrigued by this person but never had any courage to speak to him. My dad’s friend for some reason, used to called him guruji.

When I was fourteen, I went to friend’s place in the nearby sector and it was almost 6 when I returned. A storm was brewing in the horizon. As I did not have a raincoat, I decided to the short cut through street 17 and take a diagonal cut through the ground to reach street 32. A solitary girl on a cycle had given ideas to some rogue and he started following me on the cycle. I regretted my decision. There was no one on the road to call for help. I cycled as fast as I could. It was now dark and large droplets started to fall. I took the blind curve and the banyan tree in front of me looked real scary with the branches whistling in the wind. With prayers on my lips, I cycled past the small mandir. As soon as I sped by, Baba came out and stood right on the road. The rogue was scared and retreated. I went home and related the incident.
“He knows you right from the days you were a small child”, Dad said
“Who is he?”, I asked
“ He was a Professor at the University. You might have heard Chaubey uncle refer to him as Guruji”
“Then….Why is he like this?”
“His family broke up. He could not take it”, replied Dad in a final voice.
I wanted to ask more but kept restraint.

There are still things I never knew.