Joy
Back at the Waudby Road signal this morning. A truly beat up tempo in front of me. No roof. Just a tattered tarpaulin draped over the framework. Inside, there is a high platform abutting the driver’s cabin, leaving storage space on the floor towards the open back.
On the platform sit four women. They lean against the sides of the tempo, completely at ease. Alert and relaxed all at once. Their legs are stretched out, feet crossed at the ankles. Two of them are younger, two are jolly older women. The older ones are dressed in nav-vari (nine yard) sarees, nose rings flashing and green bangles interlaced with gold. Their hair is put up in buns, decorated with gajras of flowers already wilting in the heat. The younger ones wear shiny salwar kameez and apparently all the jewellery they own.
They chatter, laughing out loud at some comment passed by the sly eyed younger girl. In front of them are their baskets, hidden from my view. I imagine these are full of fish and crabs and prawns, the ice packed around them.
A crow lands on the back of the tempo. One woman waves a careless hand at it. Then a second crow and a third. They eye the women and the baskets in that curious way Mumbai crows have – one eye on the prize, the other on the threat.
The young woman picks up a broom and brandishes it. The older one flicks some water at them. All this while laughing, still relaxed. The crows sway on the back of the tempo, wings outstretched to balance themselves as the tempo inches forward. This is a daily game. The crows know they’re not getting much from this lot. The women know the crows will try their luck and maybe pinch a prawn or two.
One crow decides to dive bomb the loot. Immediately, there is a chorus of shrieks and hands flying in the air. He is startled and wheels away, only to land a second later on his recently vacated perch. The women settle back down.
The tableau is beautiful. The easy camaraderie between the women, the flashy clothes in that dank and dark interior, the laughing banter, the friendly contest of wits with the crows. These make me smile. The women smile back at me ruefully. The crows still sit between us, one beady eye on the chance, the other on the traffic light.