I must have been walking since I was a toddler. Of late, however, I rediscovered the joy of putting my feet forward one step at a time.
It has been almost two years since I revived the good old habit that most elders in India still swear by: the morning walk. Each day, at slightly varying times as the sun rises, I pull myself out of bed, freshen up, and head out to the nearby public park. There, in the company of fellow walkers, birds and squirrels, I walk—first in a rambling, easy manner, and then at the brisk pace advised by doctors to diabetics like me.
There is a certain heavenly freshness and vitality during the morning. The quality of the breeze amidst all those plants and trees is indeed something else.
My walks have once again brought me closer to nature and allowed me to take a bite of this divinity—before the devils of everyday living claim the remains of the day.
In these morning walks, as I move along the footpath that goes across the park as well as encircles it (‘enrectangles’ it, rather), I notice scores of people walking, jogging or just wondering what brought them here. Some of them do make me curious.
After months into my routine, I began filtering out the “regulars” from the “occasionals” and the “not-seen-befores”—even as I made no conscious effort for this mental segregation. These things happen on their own, no?
And then, gradually, among the regulars, there emerged five souls that particularly caught my attention.
Initially, for a few days, I just ignored their presence. But as time went on, I couldn’t help but notice their peculiarities. Now, they have become as much of a habit as my two-speed walking ritual.
Let me introduce you to each of these five people I keep meeting in my walking heaven.
The speechless soul
At first I thought there was no one behind me and it was an illusion. But there he was, when I stopped for a moment and allowed him to pass me by: a thin middle-aged hint of a man walking quietly and slowly. When I again encountered him in one of my rounds, I saw his face. I think I noticed a quivering movement of his lips but no words came out. He had a slight grayish stubble and a patch of cloth was sewn on his shirt, around the chest. It had a mobile number and an address.
It is possible that this speechless soul has dementia or something and is prone to forgetting where he has to go after he finishes his long, quiet tours of the park. I often thought of asking him about the patch but couldn’t bring myself to do it. I just let him be.
And as if in a quiet token of return appreciation, he allows me to pass by so that I can pick up pace if I so wish.
Lady first, lady second
There are two ladies that do their “conversational rounds” in the direction opposite mine. I often catch phrases such as, “Aaj main gobhi banaoongi” (Today I’ll cook cabbage), “bahut zyada kha liya” (ate too much) and “Meri kahan koi sunta hai?” (But who listens to me?)
It took me a while to figure out that most such phrases escaped from the jaws of only one of the dames. The other lady would mostly nod or speak in monosyllables. And the more she would listen, the more our chatterbox would let loose—primarily complaints and recipes of a bewildering variety. The lady who claimed that nobody listened to her indeed had an ear tuned toward her at an optimal frequency each morning.
The always-on talker
Then there was this boy—must be in his early twenties—who would pace a particular portion of the path while talking on his mobile. He had so much to talk and so little to walk (on). Each day, I noticed, he would choose a particular spot, pace back and forth for about 20-30 feet, and go yakking into his beloved device.
Sometimes, as is the habit of a lot of folks in India, he would put that part of the phone where the speakers are, close to his ears and listen for a few minutes—then he would put it to his lips and speak for another few minutes. And he would go on doing this alternately for countless number of times.
Once in a while, he would stop pacing and find a place to sit down. But his phone talk would go on uninterrupted.
I think he is a morning talker.
The bucket buddy
Among the five, he is my favorite. Each morning I see this guy wearing pajamas and carrying a bucketful of water to fill up the small earthen pots kept underneath certain trees. These are meant for the birds of the park but usually get depleted by the end of each day. Our man would repeatedly fill his bucket at one of the taps in the park and walk around, looking for empty pots. One by one, he would refill them until each had sufficient water for the chirping thirsty.
I often thank him silently on behalf of our winged friends and admire his commitment to do this simple act of goodness, day after day.
I haven’t really “met met” these five people. But I do greet them in my mind when I see them in our shared space—and continue to be amazed and amused with what I end up observing.
Now, did I just see a red-vented bulbul flit past, mocking me with a curious song as it landed on a twig?
I guess so :)
