A Pocketful Of Peace

2. The Home Turf

Two days of an endless train journey and six hours of bone jarring bus ride later, Aman was left standing at the main bus stand at the heart of his town. Taking in the surroundings, Aman realized how much this place that he called a home, had changed over a period of time. The laid-back town had, over the years transformed into a hustling and bustling holiday destination, packed with tourists round the year. The people in this place had the foresight to update themselves with time, as along with the tourists, technology also filtered in, transforming their lives in a huge way. No longer was it a sleepy town. This place and its people had purpose and it reflected in their stride. Small hutments that were home stays had expanded and improved architecture with which to attract their tourists and the little shacks that were shops lined along the paths had better, sturdier roofs overhead. All in all, the town of Madikeri had had a face lift. But Aman knew better than that. Though the locals had progressed with time, their zeal for life and the warmth in their hearts was the same. If Aman was to barge into his Parvathi auntie's house unannounced, he would still be treated to a full meal by his neighbor... whatever time of the day it was. Uncle Thomas would still hand him a candy or two, over and above the change if he was to buy a few condiments at his provisional store. He doubted whether he really had to buy anything at his store to get the little treats. He could still remember the times, when as a child he used to stop by the store waiting for his school bus when uncle would call him in and hand over him a few 'keep alive' treats! Had the place really changed that much, Aman wondered and realized that it was actually the same as it always used to be.

As he walked down the street towards his home, he was literally walking down a memory lane. Every by lane, every archway, all the nooks and crannies had stories to tell... positive heartwarming stories from a not so distant past that was his childhood, spent here, in the hills, amongst these warm-hearted people... his people. It was such a pleasant walk. Only if his destination was to be equally pleasant and welcoming but alas! That was not to be. With a heavy sigh, he resigned himself for what was to come. Hastening his pace, he walked on towards what was his home... his Uncle's cottage, his inevitable doom closing in with every step that he took.

Prasanna Katti was anything but prasanna... or happy as his name translated in his vernacular language. He was perpetually cross with just about everything in the world. At least, the kids in his neighborhood pointed it out that way and Aman was more than willing to agree with them. Katti Appa was not only famous for his short temper but also very well known for his other 'temperings'. Well, he was not in the habit of improving characteristics of metals per say but he did play with temperatures and characteristics of different ingredients in his domain that was his pride, his diner... Katti Appa's Kitchen!

Aman reached the rickety double gates of the cottage and tentatively peaked in. Everything on the inside seemed quiet and peaceful. One look at his watch confirmed his suspicion. It was almost noon... nearing lunch time. The time to make the most from people with any kind of appetite. Why on earth would his dear Uncle be home to receive him, an unwanted burden of a nephew; when there were mouths to be fed and money to be made? He contemplated going to the diner to get the keys from his Uncle but then thought better and decided against it. He was not exactly looking forward to an unpleasant interaction this early in the day. If possible, he would have liked to avoid any kind of interaction, much less an altercation with the said person. Aman opened the gate and walked in. A small but beautiful garden welcomed him. If anything, Aman was thankful for the love and care his Uncle bestowed on the flora and fauna. The plants, flowering and non-flowering alike, were doing far better than Aman in this place. He did a quick round to see what new additions his uncle had done to the gardens. Having surveyed each and every corner, he settled himself in his favorite place under the mango tree. The melodious chirping of birds and the bright colorful butterflies kept him company. The exhaustion from the journey finally caught up with him and Aman drifted to sleep, dreaming of the powerful fiery wings, which took him to greater heights. From high above, he could see the winds blowing and making the trees sway. He could even hear the rustling of leaves from the great distance and it kept growing constantly, as if beckoning him to touch down to earth. Aman woke up with a start. For a moment, he was confused about his whereabouts but then reality dawned on him. At the same time, he realized that the sound of leaves rustling had not been the mere product of his wayward imagination but was a reality indeed. From his position behind the tree, he could see every corner of the garden, yet he himself was hidden from the view. It had served him well in his childhood when he had needed to get away from his Uncle's wrath. Craning his neck in the direction of the sound, he found a kid struggling to get past the begonia hedge planted along the boundary of the plot. The boy was desperately trying to reach something on the inside.

As casually as possible, trying not to startle the boy, Aman called out "Why don't you try walking in through the gate? It might just be open, you know."

The boy jumped back with a start. He nervously looked around for the source of the voice. Aman stepped out from behind the tree and dusted his pants. He casually walked towards the small group of kids. "Do you want me to open the gate, so that you can get in? I am sure it would be much easier to get in that way", he said.

The poor kids exchanged a few nervous glances. There were a few words whispered amongst them and finally, the boy who was earlier trying to get in spoke up on everyone's behalf. "We were not trespassing."

"I am sure you were not." Aman replied casually.

"Please don't tell Kattappa" the boy said.

"Who?"

"Umm... Kattappa. The landlord?" A few more whispers by his friends and his ears became red with embarrassment. "I mean Katti Appa. Please don't tell him we lost yet another ball in his garden."

"You lost a ball in here?"

"we were playing cricket outside. I was batting and the ball just sailed through the hedge."

"Did you hit a boundary?"

"A six, actually." Aman could detect the faint traces of pride in the boy's tone.

"Great work!" Aman complemented him and the boy seemed extremely pleased with himself for the compliment.

"Why don't you come in? Here, I will open the latch for you..." Aman offered. The boy was about to reply an affirmative reply, when his friend nudged him in the side and he backed off.

"Oh! No no no... It's okay. Would you just toss the ball on our side?" the boy asked. "It's just over there, you see? Just beyond the bush."

Aman looked around and sure enough, there it was, lying under the hedge, barely concealed behind a few bigger stones. He scooped it up and with an effortless flip of his wrists, just tossed it outside, into the waiting palms of the boy. The group thanked him gratefully and rushed away to resume their play.

The kids were jubilant that they had their ball back, without having to undergo a meet and greet session with Katti Appa and having become a meat themselves in the process! Such were the pleasures of childhood, thought Aman. They reveled in their freedom, had small worries and didn't have the fear of taking on the world on their own. Only if life remained that simple as they grow up. He smiled wistfully and turned to go and resume his place at the foot of the tree when his eyes fell on the main door of the house. Rather, the figure perched up there.