Touch reflection in water.

Normally rain does not fall in the month of February in that town. It is one of those places where one does not need a weather forecast. Everyone knows what the day's weather will be like. But sometimes ... . That is that town - my town. There are many places we call our own but they really are not our own. We also have a need to call some place 'my town', 'village', 'city' whatever. Same with me. Same with 'my town'. If anyone I know can call it her/his town, it is she. Having lived there all her life and had a lifelong ambition to move there when she was not there and having moved there ... proud and happy.


It rained in the afternoon almost till the sun set. I finished my work without getting caught in the rain and parked the scooter in front of the house. A cup of tea was the next normal step but the offer did'nt come as I put my stuff on the table and began to remove my shoes. " Do you have some time?" "Hmmm, yes", I wasn't sure what was coming. Could be a small errand, could be something else but the time of the day was not for any such things. It had been for a long time the time to be home. "I mean now" almost reading my thoughts. "Well yes..." "I just wanted to go to the Khandoba*(for details : see also Wikipedia) temple. We just take the scooter and it won't be long. Have your tea as soon as we come back". "OK" I said, retying the lace of my shoe.

A cool breeze blew about and the scent of the wet earth was in the air. It is unique, I tell you, that scent. It is not a scent that you would find in many places on earth. I can't describe it and you would either know it or not know it. Hope and wish you are one of those that has known this scent.

I started the scooter an she sat pillion Amazon style (some are very surpirsed that this is the normal way (it was then) as was I when I saw ladies sit straddled on seats) and went to the hill at the top of which was the Khanderao temple. One parked at the bottom of the small hill and walked up. We did the same. The path went through small bushes and the almost setting sun provided what little light was needed to make this 10 minute trek. Twigs, normally dry but weakened by the day's rain snapped ubder our feet as we went up. There was not a lot to be spoken. There was a lot to be thought. The temple itself is a small cement structure and not one of those mini real temples. As we we approached the door the interiors came in to view. Mostly dark. A small oil lamp flickered in front of the deity. The image of the deity riding a bull / buffalo was clear even if the stone statue had worn with time.

*(Khanderao : Khandoba
Khandoba, also called Khanderao, is a local deity of the Hindus, worshipped by the people of the Deccan regions, Maharashtra, parts of Andhra Pradesh, and Karnataka states of India. It is believed that the worship of Khandoba developed during the 9th/10th centuries, and he is believed to have developed from a folk deity into a deity having composite characters and attributes of Shiva, Bhairava, and according to some scholars, also of Surya.)

The cumulusclouds gave way to more cirrus types and the western sky turned pink. Real pink. I had till then only read about a pink sky but had never seen one. Strange, that we can go through life not knowing what we don't know and assume what w know is what is there. I had alsways assumed that the color orange that was commonly seen by me was a representatio of the pink sky.

We did not spend a lot of time t the temple. A namaskar, a few quiet moments and we turned back.

We walked quietly back. Just as I was about to start the scooter she said ' do you know the dargah by the KLE Socity building?' . I said Yes. ' Could we go there?' Hmmm...yes. Why not. OK then let us.


I had passedd by the small grassy track that led to the place by side of a guest house of a bank that was the KLE society. Once in a while I had sen people go in there and out but never been there myself.


I parked by side of the sanotorium. The untimely rain had left the streets deserted and quiet. A cool breeze blew carrying around the scnet of the rain. It was much darker now and the street lights ahd come on. The dargah itself was just a place with a grave and a tin roof supported by four bamboos. Whiel it the grass track was unlit the light from the street and the tube light that was on in the dargah made the walk easy. Only around the middle of the path did one experience total darkness. As we came near the dargah I could see the details. Just that there was not a lot more. The bamboos supported the tin roof and I culd see what I had not seen from the street. A grave covered in a green cloth. What was there to be painted oncluding the grave was painted white. The tubelight's white light shone off the whiete color and it was almost as if there was a continuous exchange of light between the tube and the floor. The place was very bright. And clean. I was lost. What does one do here. I looked around to see what she was doing and was surprised to see that it was for her a temple. She had her hands held in a namaskar and was praying with closed eyes. I was amused. Those days, the animosity was nowhere near what it is today but to be and even if I was not brought up (or grow up) a fanatic hindu...praying in a dargah Hindu style was still strange for me.

This visit was short too. After the prayer, she turned around and started to walk back, the silence deeper.

By the time we came back home, there rest were already there. She disapperaed in to the kitchen while I lingered around the house till my quiet had sufficiently disappeared and then joined the rest . 'Where did you go?" oh just around here... . The question was more a formality that curiosity.

Soon the household was normal ... food, chit chatting TV.

I went off to my room early. The silent images of the evening moved in front of my eyes... slowly. The rain, the sky, the temple, the dargah, temple - dark, red, old lamp flckering, dargah - white green tube light bright but steady, what would be happening in those places for the rest of the day? A visitor to one would have awakend to a silent prayer in his home would have done his day's work and been to the temple to sing amidst taal and part with a prasad. The other would have been awakend by a Mullah's call over the loudspeaker, said the namaz through the day and visted the dargah.


Dark and white, green and red, silent and loud, food and water. That was completeness. The prurposes of the two visits was clear... if they were verablized or just felt or undertood I do not know. It was also not prudent to ask...like touching the reflection in water to check if it there.