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Blind Man’s Buff
#TheWritingProject
© PoonamDesai
I have an eccentric roommate. Ahriman.
Parsi guy, loves to cook, fawns over me all the time, lazes by day and works by night, and has some disturbing taste in movies, at least they sound disturbing.
“Aman stop daydreaming! Breakfast is getting cold and you’re getting late.”
Ahriman’s voice pulls me out of my reverie. I touch my watch and jump to my feet. I am late. I push my goggles up my nose and
walk to the breakfast table.
“Eggs, toast, swallow. I’m off to sleep. You got all your things?”
Ahriman half yawns through the sentence.
“Yeah, Yeah. Mom, am good.”
He smacks my head and leaves.
I eat my breakfast and walk to the nearest bus stop. On to the bus, a metro ride, and a short walk later I am in front of Soul’s Music store.
Gautam, the owner is humming, probably hunched over something that he is repairing. He is a busy body.
“Hey Gautam.”
“Good morning, Aman,” he replies.
“Aman, Anita’s mother called. She wants to meet you. She will be here in a while.”
I follow the path to the studio at the back of the shop and settle in. Tuning the guitar is the best way to calm my nerves. A student’s parent wanting to meet isn’t new. I have taught music for a few years now but somehow people still doubt my abilities.
“Is Mr Aman in?”
I hear Anita’s mother from the counter at front. I brace myself and put on my best smile.
“Aman sir, Meera here, Anita’s mom.”
I shake her hand.
She sounds stern. Her handshake is firm, she means business. Her lavender perfume contrary to her body language is alluring.
I shake my thoughts and focus.
Her voice fills with pride as she talks on.
“Anita is talented and has a bright future ahead and I want the best teacher for her. You came with high recommendations but am not so sure now. Are you sure you are capable of teaching my daughter?”
I clear my throat.
“Ma’am rest assured. I have trained with the best and have been training students for the past ten years. Anita has had just 3 classes. I suggest you give it some more time.”
She seems to consider this.
“Okay, I will sit through her class today and then we shall see.”
I can hear Anita gulp. She is not comfortable I can sense it.
“As you wish.”
I take my guitar and motion Anita to sit on the stool beside me.
“Anita lets practice the chords that we learnt in the last session. Play.”
I listen as she plays.
“Ok check your finger position. Play again.”
She corrects herself.
We do this for an hour till she has gotten all her basic chords right.
Her mother’s impatience hits me in waves from across the room. As soon as the class is done, she drags Anita out without a word. Half an hour later Gautam peeps into the studio.
“Anita’s mom cancelled classes.”
I sigh.
“Some people just don’t get it.”
Gautam mumbles under his breath.
“Yeah, some people can be real….”
He walks away and I miss the end of the sentence.
I try hard to forget the incident and to focus on my other students. But somehow it keeps niggling in my mind. I am wallowing in self-pity by the time I reach home. Ahriman is already gone, and I slip onto the couch taking in the lonely house. Next thing I know I am fumbling around for my watch. I toss over a glass. It clangs on the floor, and I sigh.
Its way past breakfast time.
“Finally! I thought you were dead for good.”
Ahriman’s quip lifts up my spirits.
“Plate. Food. Eat.”
I quietly take the plate he offers and gratefully swallow the food. In my misery I have skipped my meal the night before.
“So how was your day?”
I ask.
“It was great. Met a girl today. Very interesting. And her perfume was alluring! Lavender, I think.”
I pause mid bite. The mention of lavender brings back the memory and my appetite is gone. I begin to place the plate down and he swats my shoulder.
“Ah ah ah! You better eat it. I come home from work, find you passed out on the couch and the dinner in the fridge, untouched. So now, You. Eat. It. All.”
He punctuates the last words in a warning. I don’t want to cross him, or I wouldn’t hear the end of it, so I eat.
“How was your day?”
He asks from inside the fridge. I am sure he is scavenging for fruits.
“Umm.”
“Umm? What Umm?”
“Nothing.”
Ahriman gasps. The fridge door shuts, and I am sure he has a frown on his face and his hands are folded over his chest. I am annoyed at his theatrics and in no mood to share my thoughts. I put the plate away and stalk to my room.
“Not so soon mister. You are clearly upset.”
His voice softens.
“What is the matter?”
I relate the incident to him, and we both sit in silence. He holds my hand and smiles.
“Don’t worry she is gone for good. Such people don’t deserve you. You focus on the others.”
With that he is gone, and I scurry to get ready for work. I can hear his snores by the time I step out. I smile. Speaking to him has lifted the weight off my chest.
It is pouring and I can barely manage walking the footpath. Mumbai smells like heaven in rains, but it’s difficult to navigate the barrage of umbrellas that hit the street. Everyone...
© PoonamDesai
I have an eccentric roommate. Ahriman.
Parsi guy, loves to cook, fawns over me all the time, lazes by day and works by night, and has some disturbing taste in movies, at least they sound disturbing.
“Aman stop daydreaming! Breakfast is getting cold and you’re getting late.”
Ahriman’s voice pulls me out of my reverie. I touch my watch and jump to my feet. I am late. I push my goggles up my nose and
walk to the breakfast table.
“Eggs, toast, swallow. I’m off to sleep. You got all your things?”
Ahriman half yawns through the sentence.
“Yeah, Yeah. Mom, am good.”
He smacks my head and leaves.
I eat my breakfast and walk to the nearest bus stop. On to the bus, a metro ride, and a short walk later I am in front of Soul’s Music store.
Gautam, the owner is humming, probably hunched over something that he is repairing. He is a busy body.
“Hey Gautam.”
“Good morning, Aman,” he replies.
“Aman, Anita’s mother called. She wants to meet you. She will be here in a while.”
I follow the path to the studio at the back of the shop and settle in. Tuning the guitar is the best way to calm my nerves. A student’s parent wanting to meet isn’t new. I have taught music for a few years now but somehow people still doubt my abilities.
“Is Mr Aman in?”
I hear Anita’s mother from the counter at front. I brace myself and put on my best smile.
“Aman sir, Meera here, Anita’s mom.”
I shake her hand.
She sounds stern. Her handshake is firm, she means business. Her lavender perfume contrary to her body language is alluring.
I shake my thoughts and focus.
Her voice fills with pride as she talks on.
“Anita is talented and has a bright future ahead and I want the best teacher for her. You came with high recommendations but am not so sure now. Are you sure you are capable of teaching my daughter?”
I clear my throat.
“Ma’am rest assured. I have trained with the best and have been training students for the past ten years. Anita has had just 3 classes. I suggest you give it some more time.”
She seems to consider this.
“Okay, I will sit through her class today and then we shall see.”
I can hear Anita gulp. She is not comfortable I can sense it.
“As you wish.”
I take my guitar and motion Anita to sit on the stool beside me.
“Anita lets practice the chords that we learnt in the last session. Play.”
I listen as she plays.
“Ok check your finger position. Play again.”
She corrects herself.
We do this for an hour till she has gotten all her basic chords right.
Her mother’s impatience hits me in waves from across the room. As soon as the class is done, she drags Anita out without a word. Half an hour later Gautam peeps into the studio.
“Anita’s mom cancelled classes.”
I sigh.
“Some people just don’t get it.”
Gautam mumbles under his breath.
“Yeah, some people can be real….”
He walks away and I miss the end of the sentence.
I try hard to forget the incident and to focus on my other students. But somehow it keeps niggling in my mind. I am wallowing in self-pity by the time I reach home. Ahriman is already gone, and I slip onto the couch taking in the lonely house. Next thing I know I am fumbling around for my watch. I toss over a glass. It clangs on the floor, and I sigh.
Its way past breakfast time.
“Finally! I thought you were dead for good.”
Ahriman’s quip lifts up my spirits.
“Plate. Food. Eat.”
I quietly take the plate he offers and gratefully swallow the food. In my misery I have skipped my meal the night before.
“So how was your day?”
I ask.
“It was great. Met a girl today. Very interesting. And her perfume was alluring! Lavender, I think.”
I pause mid bite. The mention of lavender brings back the memory and my appetite is gone. I begin to place the plate down and he swats my shoulder.
“Ah ah ah! You better eat it. I come home from work, find you passed out on the couch and the dinner in the fridge, untouched. So now, You. Eat. It. All.”
He punctuates the last words in a warning. I don’t want to cross him, or I wouldn’t hear the end of it, so I eat.
“How was your day?”
He asks from inside the fridge. I am sure he is scavenging for fruits.
“Umm.”
“Umm? What Umm?”
“Nothing.”
Ahriman gasps. The fridge door shuts, and I am sure he has a frown on his face and his hands are folded over his chest. I am annoyed at his theatrics and in no mood to share my thoughts. I put the plate away and stalk to my room.
“Not so soon mister. You are clearly upset.”
His voice softens.
“What is the matter?”
I relate the incident to him, and we both sit in silence. He holds my hand and smiles.
“Don’t worry she is gone for good. Such people don’t deserve you. You focus on the others.”
With that he is gone, and I scurry to get ready for work. I can hear his snores by the time I step out. I smile. Speaking to him has lifted the weight off my chest.
It is pouring and I can barely manage walking the footpath. Mumbai smells like heaven in rains, but it’s difficult to navigate the barrage of umbrellas that hit the street. Everyone...
