1) A typical South Indian
cook he was
Wearing a colored
dhoti tucked up to knees;
An old faded shirt with rolled up
sleeves
Up to his elbows
formed his typical dress;
A short towel always
hung on his left shoulder
Three bars of sacred
ash smeared on his brow
In sharp contrast to
his swarthy color
With grinning white teeth ; Viroo, our
cook
Whom we can never
forget in our lives;
His
final act of leaving us in the lurch
Ever remained imprinted in our minds;
2) As newly employed youth, three of us
stayed
In
a rented room with simple belongings
In a small village
in a corner remote
Almost with no
comforts at all;
A small wayside
canteen, a dingy place
Where stale biscuits
with dirty tea were served;
At last after a frantic search for a servant-cook
We found Viroo roaming in search of work;
His sickly face bespoke his wretched state
Given to drinking
and other vicious habits;
We found some
country quack to cure his state
Bearing all costs
with sympathetic hearts;
Viroo with
grateful tears gave word
Not to fall into
wasteful ways again;
He gladly grabbed
the chance of serving us
A small tin shed
turned into a kitchen
And as a simple
abode for his humble stay;
Viroo with agile
spirit served as a cook and servant;
His sharp smart
looks captured our tastes and hearts
A variety of dishes
he used to cook
Unlike other untidy folk
with nasty looks;
Viroo, always
appeared fresh, neat and clean
Never he seemed
exhausted or tired
He kept the cooking
place quite tidy and trim;
He made our morning
time lively and fresh
With steaming idlis
served with ladles of sambar;
A tribal girl
helped him in kitchen work
With wheat-brown complexion and
plaited hair
With three bluish
tattoos on her cheeks and chin;
She too appeared
decent in her cleaning work;
3) A few months passed; we felt our problem
solved;
All of a sudden
Viroo came with a perplexed face
And begged for help
to clear his pending debts;
Out of firm faith in
him we loaned him much
To get it back in
parts from his monthly dues;
He felt quite
relieved at our generous offer
And bowed with tears
surging in his grateful eyes
Profusely thanked us with
folded palms;
One day surprise
knocked on our door at once
No trace of Viroo
and his assisting maid
The kitchen-shed mocked us with
vacant looks
All utensils and
monthly provisions gone
Our old problems
returned, our hopes all torn;
“A sheep in wolf’s clothing”, someone shot
out
“Fools we are to have
faith in him
His knavish attitude hidden behind
His grin; he broke our
trust and cheated all;
We made enquiries to
catch the culprit
No use; he stabbed us in the back
Someone hinted at
police complaint
No proof to justify
our charge;
A heap of curses we
uttered and left;
We never recalled that
tragic dream again
To make ourselves a
laughing stock
To others by trusting
a wayward cook
With deceptive show of
jackal-faced looks;
4)
Years passed, no more
about Viroo we thought
A stranger from a
distant state
By chance in the
wayside tea-stall appeared
And told us about a South Indian cook
Doing good business in
the industrial town;
From him we got the
trace of Viroo
Who changed his name and
in course of time
Became the owner of
“Veerendra Vilas”.
He wedded the tribal
girl and fled away
Well-planned to start
his life afresh;
No more a wandering
vagrant life he spent
But a
decent livelihood with earnest work.
The wretch has ditched
us often we thought
Snatching away our
wealth by cunning means
Yet on pondering over
his present settled state
Our vengeful ire dispersed like
scattered clouds;
A grievous error he did make, no doubt
Using dubious methods
to gain his ends;
A wave of sympathy
arose for him
As he went for a better turn
in life;
He gave shelter to a
poor tribal girl
Made her his
life-partner with no vicious aim
His earnest and prompt
services ever remind
Him as a pleasing cook
enriching our tastes
With his cooking
skills; our loss we felt no waste.
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23rd July, 2019 Somaseshu Gutala
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23rd July, 2019 Somaseshu Gutala
