Kamal Ghorui
If bad omen had a face, it would be his……….
The ominous November of 2018
The month began with Diwali festivities. The sound of phuljharis and anars electrified the otherwise silent evenings. All the houses around were adorned with gleaming fairy lights, colourful paper chandeliers and diyas, except Mrs. Kapoor’s.
Their white Toyota Innova was missing from the porch for the last few days and the front gate of the bungalow was locked too. Despite our regular ‘Morning Greetings’ over phone, I hesitated barging into her private space, so avoided asking her whereabouts.
5 November, 2018
It was Dhanteras. Abiding by the old beliefs and rituals, I went to the market to buy silver coins, steel glasses and other festival essentials for home.
I had just started driving back when an unexpected call from Mrs. Kapoor flashed on my phone.
“Are you at home?” Mrs. Kapoor’s voice trembled.
“No, I’m on my way. Is everything alright?” I asked sensing the urgency.
“A thief has broken into our house. We are just leaving for Delhi. Please take care till we come,” her words tumbled in panic.
“I’ll get there as fast as I can,” I assured her. I drove like a bullet as if my own home was in danger.
When I reached, I saw a handful of people gathered around Mrs. Kapoor’s bungalow, but there was no thief !
“He fled when he heard the chowkidar shouting,” Mr. Kishore (one of our neighbours) told me as I inquired about the incident.
He was a retired bank manager, one of the most responsible and revered men in the vicinity.
“Should I call the police?” I asked him ensuring the safety of the house.
“Nothing to worry now. We have been standing here for the past half an hour. The police won’t do anything,” he spoke confidently.
We waited for some more time in the side lane from where the thief had tried to enter the Kapoor’s porch. Everything looked normal so we retreated to our homes warning the chowkidar to be on alert.
I made a cup of coffee to shake off my tiredness from shopping and stress.
It had not been more than thirty minutes, when I heard people shouting again. Dreading the worst, I rushed towards my balcony.
It was him! The thief! He had come again!
Alarmed, I called the police before rushing into the lane.
I stood there, my eyes wide open in horror at the thief’s obsession to break into Mrs. Kapoor’s bungalow.
He was a lean man with dark complexion that blended with the darkness of the night. His eyes were bloodshot from alcohol. He wore a white dhoti with his hands and chest smeared with oil.
If bad omen had a face, it would be his!
“You are drunk. How will you climb onto the porch? You want to die?” the voices from the crowd overlapped each other in frenzy.
“I want to go inside,” the thief’s body swayed as he spoke.
Mr. Kishore held him by the neck, but he resisted. And then, he suddenly jerked Mr. Kishore’s hand and pounced over the gas pipe beside the back door and climbed onto the porch. A few men pulled him down and dragged him into the lane.
Finally, the police came and took him away.
6 November, 2018
It was Choti Diwali next morning when Mrs. Kapoor returned from Shimla.
I went to see her with some Diwali diyas and sweets.
She looked relieved as nothing was stolen from her house.
“Are you okay? You have lost a lot of weight,” I asked her worriedly.
She wobbled when she walked with her face paler than ever.
“Yes. I’m all well. I weigh 63 kg now, want to shed a few more kilos,” she smiled in discomfort. “But there is an excruciating pain in my back and leg that is not subsiding. The doctor said it is sciatica. I fell on the edge of the bed while cleaning my wardrobe in Shimla. It pains too much, God knows if I fell over the bed or it fell over me,” she laughed though she looked troubled.
“Please take care. I’m concerned about you,” I said as I left her house.
Little did I know that a shadow of doom loomed over my beloved ‘Jyoti aunty’.
Next part: The Earrings
END OF ARTICLE
