The fiddler of Kodihalli and other stories

"Isn't she gorgeous?" Sid was gloating over his shiny new Swift. He liked the shape and copper hue of his first car. Rita, his fledgling girlfriend, wasn't so sure. She had never thought highly of the Swift's looks. "Ridiculous", she said to herself that Sid should direct his compliments of good looks at his car and not her. Her monopoly on Sid's attention (this being the early stages of girlfriendship) was under threat. But a man with a new first car doesn't need much reassurance. As he took Rita for their first long drive, he couldn't help observing aloud the various highlights of the machine. Rita developed a sudden liking for the song on FM and turned up the volume on the car stereo. "Hmm, I didn't know you liked RnB." came the remark from Sid. "I guess it's my wonderful JBL speakers that make it sound good." Rita realized that she had to give it some time. So when Sid suggested they do Nandi Hills as their next trip, Rita thought it wise to suggest company. "Let's call Hemant and Sheetal as well." Sid said it was a great idea. Hemant was Sid's college batch mate and buddy. A year ago, Hemant had bought a second hand Maruti 800 and Sid had shared many a ride in it. "Hemant keeps moping around in his 800. It's time he got a feel of cruising in a Swift."

In a few days, the two young couples set off to Nandi Hills in Sid's new Swift. Sid was playing his favourite songs. "Nice sound", Hemant observed. "Yeah.Thanks." said a visibly pleased Sid. "Did you notice you can actually hear the fingers on the base guitar?" Rita noticed Sheetal rolling her eyes and suggested, "Hey, let's play Antaakshari". Sid did not relish the prospect of switching off his speakers but the girls had made up their mind and besides Hemant had already attested to the quality of his sound system. "Ok. Hemant shuru kar." suggested Sid. But Hemant was given to a bit of daydreaming. Cruising along in a car that he wasn't driving made for a good opportunity to get lost in his own world. He loved the sound of certain words and had drifted at the mention of Antaakshari.

Antaakshari is a compound of 'anth' (meaning end) and 'akshar' (meaning letter). The 'i' suffix gives it a meaning '(game) of ending letters'. How beautiful and sonorous, thought Hemant. That led him to consider his own name, which also had an 'anth' in it. He knew that 'Hemant' meant winter. But he had never analysed it as 'Hem' plus 'anth'. That meant 'end of gold'. Perhaps, mulled Hemant, it described winter as the end of the season of golden rays of the sun. Thankfully, it didn't mean end of money. Funny, he thought, to have both him and Sheetal (meaning "cool") to be named after cold weather. Historically, most of hot tropical India has so eagerly awaited the cold season that even children were named after it. You don't find Indians named after the summer season (actually, he did know a Gujju girl named "Grishma", meaning "hot" but perhaps her parents were alluding to her potentially hot looks). In the middle of these ruminations, he heard a voice in the background, "Hemant, shuru kar". He recognized it as Sid's voice. Sid was short for Siddharth, boy name of the Buddha. And Siddharth meant one whose goals were achieved. Certainly apt for Sid today, thought Hemant, if one set the goal as owning a new Swift.

Hemant was jolted out of his reverie by a laughing Sheetal shaking him by his shoulder. "Quit dreaming dude, start singing." Ah Antaakshari, remembered Hemant and started off singing a sixties song: "ठण्डी हवा ये चाँदनी सुहानी ..." keeping with the theme of celebrating cool weather. He liked the lyrics as much as the music and often sang all the antaraas (verses) of a song as the game went on. The others were quite impressed by Hemant's ability to sing the entire song. "I wish Sid had ten per cent of your memory" complained Rita, "he can't even remember what my favourite songs are." Sid joked at Hemant, "Now I know why you don't upgrade your tinny car speakers. You just turn them off and sing the complete song yourself." Hemant smiled and thought to himself "Sid is too busy worrying about tinny sound and base guitar sounds to notice the obvious melody and lyrical beauty of a song." The vauge outline of a short story by Tagore came to his mind.

Three children were at play in a village on the outskrits of Calcutta. Two of them were from poor families, the third was well off. They were enacting a kingly parade. One of them (the king) was seated in a barrow pushed by the other while the third doubled up as vanguard and flower-showering-welcoming-maiden. The three were having a blast. The king was bouncing up and down on the uneven ground waving his flag made of leaves and branches to an imaginary crowd. The charioteer (barrow-pusher) was a trying a dance that kept in step with the undulation of the barrow, announcing the arrival of the mighty king from time to time. The child leading the processing alternated his expression from that of a grave looking, spear wielding guard to that of a welcoming maiden showering lotus petals on the king's train. It was a picture of mirth. Then the father of the rich child arrived on the scene. He had just returned from a week long business trip to Calcutta and had bought a gift for his child. A bright gleaming tricycle. After he left, the children resumed the game upgrading the king's chariot from lowly barrow to gorgeous tricycle. But the dynamics of the game changed. Everyone now wanted to be king and enjoy the tricycle. Tagore observed: "The toy had overshadowed the game".

"The games and toys have changed but the story has stayed the same." said Hemant to himself as the car drew to a halt at Nandi Hills.