In my younger age, I thought wine as something profane which makes man drunkard, senseless and vulgar. I carried
that notion for a long time; I brooded fear and contempt for wine.I did not
know the difference between beer whisky or
rum To me they were all under the same category “wine”!
.
The background
story of my contempt for wine was nobody in my family used to drink liquor But some bitter experience remained in my
childhood memory.
There was a row of servant-houses adjacent to our bungalow, as the British officer enjoyed that lavish life. They left
the country but those team of servants
possessed those company’s rooms permanently. On the day of salary, they thronged
in front of my fathers’ office. They looked excited as they talked. From 12’o
clock one by one their names were announced. The sweeper/cleaning staff were the finishing touch of ‘salary
ceremony': monthly reward of sweating toil of the labours.
At this matured stage I appreciate the divine power of wish in their blood to enjoy
life to the lease for some moments by breaking the day-to-day routine of monotonous life, the courage to greet the freedom of soul, refuting the adversities of life.
On that very day, another drama or ‘ceremony of hell ‘in the outhouses went on of which we were an unwilling receiver, We had to tolerate, ….. prolonged scream of pigs as they were butchered mercilessly with a red hot iron spear
which gave a filthy odour in the air. The cheerful chat of women-folk and their playful children rejoicing around the
open kitchen of the courtyard for the expected ‘feast’ they were waiting! The children clapped their hands more excitedly when some escaping pig was chased with that fearful red hot iron rod up to the end of the cruel game.
( Cruelty was an item of entertainment !)
My father made a wall to restrict their way towards our
side so that no pigs could enter.
I often saw them taking late lunch with an earthen pot and glass, from the roadside, during our play-time in the
afternoon. We whispered to each other “don’t look at them, they were
drinking! ’We pretended not to look but every one of us threw cryptic eyes out
of curiosity and fear also. AS if, If we are caught to see them they might beat us or bite us.
.Actually, the
scenario looked like a festive community enjoying
feast…roasted pork with country liquor known as 'handy', often made at home by themselves from rotten rice, 'Mohua-juice' collected from forest tree or juice from the stem of palm -tree. Trading of the country- liquor in the community was common business among themselves.
From the evening different
scenes of drama started to roll on the outhouse complex of our bunglow. In the beginning the arena was full of enthusiasm and joy. Most of the time in the opening scene of the 'first Act(!)' started with the beat of drum and flute, lots of giggling followed
by a nasal folk song in highest vocal pitch that cracked the voice in coughing or vomiting, or
bursting into tears, followed by dance with uncontrolled hands and legs and falling
on the ground and trying to stand
to dance again, but in vain; finally lying down straight
like a corpse, facing the starry sky, murmuring or fell into sleep.
Standing on the window we peeped over the wall to view the
free drama from our study- room; we amused to see their crazy activities ; we giggled keeping our palms on mouth..……..but for a short time ,keeping the youngest brother as a guard
to alarm us to avoid not to be caught by the elders. In a word, we enjoy hide and seek game against the background of the front- stage-drama outhouse complex.
.Suddenly, in the next phase of drama the climax of the drama, the giggling and singing voice turned into a quarrel and commotion ; the quarrelling voice began to rise high resulting in brawling, abusing vulgar words, ultimately leaving the place a battlefield by midnight!
Next day obviously in the late morning
some of them used to come to my father for complaining against one
another and for judgement, Some with a fractured hand, or bandaged forehead, while some were with a bruised face and bloodstained nose!
My father gave them
medicine who have a minor problem and referred
the serious to railway doctors.
Sometimes funny things happen .
One day, my father was taking
his lunch at a late hour. A sweeper came crying severely.
My father asked what
happened?
The man throws his body to my father's feet and began to cry more loudly.
Somehow slurred, “ my wife died!’
Died? What happened?
Instead of answering
he cried more violently, striking his chest.
The neighbours and children of his community standing around seemed to enjoy the fun of comic scene with mocking faces!
When died? And how?
“Sir, it is just 30
years back! answered in a distorted crying
voice.
“That’s really
sad!” somehow hiding smile my father murmured,
“ Totally drunkard!” my father asked the fellowmen to take him to
his family.
Lots of such stories
are in my memory box which is both
funny and some times, fearful.
One day ,in early morning my
mother noticed from the kitchen
window a man lying on the middle
of the road with overturned face pitched on the road. He laid there a few hours like
a dead man My mother sent our servant to report it to his family. No sooner a young man, his eldest son, came out; he gripped his feet in hands and
began to drag him like a dead animal on the rough dusty road. A kind passerby riding on cycle stopped and held the head with blood-stained face
carefully to help the boy carrying. All on a sudden the skinny dead-like man
sprang straight on his feet and slapped the passerby so vigorously that he fell
down on the road. He looked puzzled with a silent question in the eyes,” What’s
wrong”!
The skinny drunkard
in roaring voice announced , 'my boy' !
The respectful
boy( looking proudly to his boy), has such honor for me that he was dragging me with my
feet,(thudded his feet striking the
ground) and you bastard, rascal ! (blowed another violent slap on his face } how daring are you to touch my head?
{In Hindi, the dialogue is: " hamara beta kitna maanse mera payyer khichke le jata hai ,aur tu sale kaun aaya mera sheer pakerne-wala?"}===========================================
Celebrating handiya (taken from the web)
Selling handiya(country liquor)
(taken from the web)
