Strange are the ways people react. I had a first hand experience of this very recently.
Or so I imagine.
For those who know me, I get these fancies once in a way. By fancy I mean that I suddenly get hung on a particular thing, generally an item of home décor. Well, the latest in this line of fads was a swing. For the past year or more, I’ve had this strong fascination, this yearning for a lovely swing that could adorn the balcony of my home. Brought up on generous doses of Hindi movies where the leading lady draped herself on swings of exquisite designs in impossibly exotic locales, I always nurtured this secret desire for a jhoola. The smaller ones in parks all over found usage and did fulfil the dream in one’s greener years, but with the onset of middle age and an ever-expanding girth, such swings not only seemed juvenile but became a threat to one’s well being. Anyway, to cut a long story short, to savour the joys of swinging gently, to loll on a swing and read-far from the madding crowd-was the ulterior motive behind acquiring this home accessory.
So, like I said, the hunt was on…and how! From Kirti Nagar to Panch Kuian Road, from assorted furniture shops that have sprung up in different sectors of Noida to remoter ones on Mehrauli Gurgaon road, from the cane stuff dotting the Sarita Vihar avenue to similar products in Atta market nearer home, my search for a good swing-be it cane, gun metal, iron or brass-was untiring. I went from shop to shop, the same old question on my lips: did they have a swing of these specifications and within this range please? A doleful, negative shake of the head met me in most cases and if at all, a swing did turn out to be there, it was either too dilapidated or way too expensive. Every friend I had in the NCR was instructed to be on the look out for one and the number of reminders my dear sis and sis-in-law got cannot be kept track of. It’s only their innate goodness and high tolerance level that kept them from throwing the nearest object at me when I was within range.
But the exclusive item eluded me with the kind of consistency that was not only maddening but at times almost mysterious! I mean, was a simple swing so very difficult to find? It was driving me nuts!
Till one fine day, I noticed a nice, simple, white iron swing -just the kind that would do-on the balcony of a house I passed frequently. My sensibilities having been heightened to the existence of swings only a few months previously, it was but natural that I should’ve noticed it for the first time. Being of a fairly forthright nature-and simplest solutions coming quickest to the mind-the best thing to do, I reasoned, was to enquire where the folks who owned it had got it from. Accordingly, on my very next drive down that road, I got out of the car, made my way upstairs and rang the bell. A rather dour-faced maid opened the door and to my query if there was anyone at home, said there wasn’t. They left for work early in the morning, she said. I asked her if she could give me a contact number, she replied in the negative. So I left my phone number and explaining the reason for my visit, requested her to ask them to call me. She assured me that she would and I made my way back. Not surprisingly, days turned into weeks, but there was no word.
Undaunted, I stopped by at the house again, late in the evening hoping to catch the inhabitants this time. The same flight of stairs, the same door bell and the same maid who answered. The funny thing was the answer was also the same-the chappies weren’t in; they returned from work late I was told. Had she, perhaps, been able to find out where the swing was from, I asked hopefully. No luck she responded and went on to reluctantly add that she had conveyed my message and given them my number.What could she do if they hadn’t called she asked belligerently? I beat a hasty retreat.
All this happened a good five weeks ago and I had all but forgotten this incident. A lot of water had flown under the bridge since then. My constant search had ultimately borne fruit and I stumbled upon the most beautiful of swings-abs out of this world, my dream-swing, and within my budget too. It’s proudly installed in my balcony, nestling amidst the potted plants and the greenery –and my favourite pastime is whiling away whatever free time I have swinging lazily, book in hand………lost to the world.
What reminded me of the white swing and its owners was the fact that I happened to pass by the same house this morning. My maid had to be dropped somewhere and was there in the car with me. As we approached the house, I told her the whole story and said I would show her the swing. We passed by the entire row of houses: 1,2,3,4,5,6,7….it had been house number 7 and lo!there was no swing!! The house was there, so were the stairs and the balcony but the swing was conspicuous by its absence. And then I realized what must have happened. My own theory but this is what I think.
Being told that some strange lady had visited their home in their absence and had even got information of sorts out of their domestic help, had possibly scared them. A sad reflection of the times we live in but this is what must have transpired, I felt. Intimidated by the fact that this lady had come making facetious enquiries-not once but twice-and on both occasions had made sure to visit their empty home- had sent them into a tizzy. Was it a gang operating? Was this part of a larger plan? Was someone eyeing their prized possession, the swing? Or was it perhaps, part of a more vicious strategy where their home had been identified for some sinister motive? A robbery? A hold up? The white swing on the balcony would be a dead giveaway if someone had to recognize the house even in the middle of the night!
I could visualize the theories they may have propounded about the unknown lady, the possibilities of crime that may have come into their minds. Rather than live in such uncertainty, why not remove the offending article from there? In other words, solve the problem at the very origin.
I could be wrong but live as we do in these shifting sands of doubt and uncertainty, where crime has made its insidious inroads into our very homes; I have this gut feeling that my conjectures are not all that unfounded.
Does anyone have a different theory?
