See You At Auntie's Joint

See You At Auntie’s Joint


The photographs along the wall lead you into the heart of the homeliness. Here, that’s a Catholic “confirmation” picture of an angelic child with side-parted and neatly combed hair, that’s a college graduation picture with everyone in square hats and black gowns, that one’s obviously a family group gathered for a wedding with all the men in suits, another is of a company of men in uniform, and here, some studio formals, angled and lit and timeless.

This is the charm of the place. Being able to come in for a drink into Auntie’s home like this. And the brew might be illicit but it's safe. And there are fresh snacks all the time. Little boys in shorts and sweaty singlets run up the wooden steps from the alley below and along the veranda with papad now, chana then, and sometimes fried Kingfish or shrimp in sal-leaf
katoris from the Sardar’s tandoori stand at the mouth of the alley.

The serving, coming in and out of curtained off back room with glasses and soda and drink, is done by Auntie’s “niece” in the buttock hugging skirt. She isn’t really her niece but calling her that keeps the drunks from making passes. Filoo’s very good for business because looking at her makes you thirsty. And she doesn’t mind being looked at even though you’re dying to pat her on that butt. Filoo must know that also and about the other fantasies she inspires. But what we can say for sure is she definitely doesn’t mind you looking because she’s always smiling back.

The servings come in nips- those quarter bottles that hold about 175 ml. and encourage you to finish it at the rate of a drink each. So four drinks with a friend would account for a bottle. It is very hard not to get drunk at Auntie’s.

We sit on little wooden stools and drink off one placed in the middle. It is the only way to accommodate the clientele in the tiny front room with the pictures and the spillover on part of the narrow veranda outside. At a pinch, you could stand up and rearrange things quite easily. Especially when there is a runner down the alley with news of a police raid.

“You can imagine my plight”, says a podgy chap in a bush shirt at my right elbow, wagging his eyebrows. And his friend on the stool opposite nods in rapt comprehension. “No more than a little girl”, he continues, and I suddenly rear back because I don’t want to eavesdrop on a tragedy. “Snaps, snaps everywhere of her family, her wedding, her husband, but her hands,” and he strokes his podgy thigh.

Filoo comes though the curtain to flash her smile and tight buttocks at us. The joint is filling up. More glasses and nips for her to bring. More toing and froing for us to watch. More voices and laughter. Warmth suffuses my papad.

“Not dead a week mun”, drifts to my ear next. Oh God! “You have to feel my shock. Also joy, yes, definitely, can’t tell lies. I was very happy I tell you. A little humanity. Caring for each other. Comforting each other. What’s wrong? You can’t condemn it,” and my podgy neighbour makes this little hugging motion for his friend.

"Crying out for him she was obviously and I was not there at all. I mean my sitting with her, holding her, didn’t matter, didn’t matter one bit; she was mourning Him,” said with emphasis and a glance heavenwards, but he holds out his sly podgy hand for his friend to slap.

Filoo smiles at me going past and so I have to order another nip. “It is just a moment of human weakness. That’s all. For her I am actually nothing.” But you did alright for being nothing my podgy friend, didn’t you?

“I met her today again outside my building. Means, saw her. Wished her of course. Blushing. Pretty as a picture. So good to see. You can imagine my plight”.

But that’s the drink talking all by itself. It does that. It always takes you to “Rewind” and then, what else, it takes your podgy finger to “Play”!

(699 words)

6th October 2009
Gautam Mukherjee

Copyright Gautam Mukherjee 2009.