people gazing

i hate this but can't help it. when i wanted to put shutters down totally and being totally enveloped by a phenomenon called sleep, i came about this memory about my house of 72 doors. one of my future writing if one day would do that.
but here it goes.. part of house of 72 doors.

people i saw from house of 72 doors on the road or from the roof or through the windows. somehow i could never see outside humanity through any door. doors led me to windows or roofs or balconies.
i spent many hours standing, many a times sitting on a chair all along parapet, cemented painted yellow outside and white from inside and using it as my companion i watched people. sometimes alone, sometimes with dog or few times with relatives and very few times in company of monkeys.

i watched hundreds no thousands, may be tens of thousands faces, heads. some coming from left and rest from right. many as pedestrians, in search for something, looking for something they could not find easily. many looking around on tractors, some on bikes or scooters or cars or jeeps. but i liked people walking as they were easy to track and more time to follow.

will write more later as its past 4am now... need to catch some sleep before it catches me.

There was no specific class of people i looked at. It was all and everyone, there was hardly any dislike but definitely some people could struck a chord easily.
There was a certain group of people, around 4-5 who used to come to clean the big naali in front of house and they used to clean those on both side of road as well as on the street. As the sanitation schema was open. They used to come with these huge brooms and those long wooden logs with one end like a broom or a bucket and they used to cream in everything and would pour a significant black and surely not sweet smelling waste outside and usually that would lie as a gathering on side of road. There was a man which i remember still. He used to come in a light colored shirt with sleeves folded and a khakhi colored trouser and that too folded just below knees. Dark skinned fellow was always holding huge broom and he looked the stronger. he had nice strong moustache and was so active always. I never saw him lull. Watching him at first look, i knew everything would get going and he can clean everything. Always looked so meticulate but never had any talk with him.
His group had some ladies who would use their brooms to clean up the road sides, i somehow never could debug how come the road gets such a significant layer of dirt and sand everyday. They used to sue their huge brooms and try to clean up the sand but i could always see that how sand particles would subside nearby. They also used to bring some iron /*stuff*/ to carry the waste mud and put it on the waste carrying vehicle. But he is one man i would not forget who made a difference somehow in our lives.

Then there was tailor who used to sit just outside the shop right in front of house of 72 doors. Will tell you more about the house in front later.
This man was stocky, short, dressed in a trouser with untucked shirt. He had a cool moustache colored black and pepper, giving some date for his age. He was the man who sued to return our tennis balls or sometimes even football, that sued to cross the roads from the verandah where me and my cousin used to have a blast. He was very talkative as i saw him talk while he sew the covers for tractors. He was usually busy on his machine but had time for bidis or tea and for some talk. I don't remember how he sounded now, but he is remember as our ball returning man. Sometimes he used to warn us but always had a funny smile on his face as if to encourage and hit more towards there.

Then there was this couple, i was always more intrigues towards them. They were old fellas, face of the old mans till fresh in memory. Largely build, always had this whitish small size beard on his face. I don't remember the face of old lady but i do remember they were always a company. They had this tea stall very next to the gate of the adjacent school. I don't remember the name of the school now. they had this shop and a covered area leading more towards the road where the desks would be put on. If i fainly remember there used to be someone who sued to keep his empty vegetable cart during night and sleep there. the old man usually was in his white kurta and lungi. they were a typical punjabi couple, always chattered in quick punjabi. I remeber very well that i sometimes had bought nice biscuits from their shop or had always looked for muching those salty or sometimes tasteless fun. These tea corners place those funs in glass jars and i simply adore and have hardly ever asked to eat those.

then there is one other tea stall which was on the left side There was a father son duo. this was again a punjabi family running the business in a very small stall right on the corner of the street that led to arya nagar. there's was very popular as that tea used to get boiled over and over all the time perpetually. And i do remember taking breads from there so many times and many a times Gold spot, then it changed to Coca Cola, thums up or Mirinda in new era of Coca Cola and Pepsi. the old man had his teeth broken all brown saying mroe about his age. His son matched his face but had kept moustache of late. Father always clad in white kurta pyjama while son usually had moderm look of shirt and trouser.

then medicine shop.
then omelette wala
the house in front.
the school kids and teachers
the baniyas at the back.. kalu, leela, their kites, their fights, their cries, their anger, their speech, their words, their coughs, their blows.. all got shared.
the suave baniyas in front. marriage, death.

the flood and the water marks on the other side of street.
the electric pole, transformer which used to blast itself or triggered by monkeys and the monkeys than used tog and bang the whole road.

the dharams and his sons. vedpal, the printerwallas.
the tenants on the ground floor. uncle aunty, their sister and her daughter kiran. how he used to wash the jewel which i never thought was actually a jewel. the way he used to cough. the aunty ji whom i was afraid somehow as i never could understand her language as well as could not get through her eyes.