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Thursday, November 23, 2006 

Pawn To King 4


It all started with a scrap heap. It used to be in front of the office, on both sides of the path that was the entrance. Repeated attempts at clearing it were to no avail. The more I got the area cleared, the more junk used to get dumped there by assorted passers-by.

Then one day we had an idea. Through a concerted effort, got the area levelled; mud that was being excavated from a nearby area was dumped into the place. A few workers who still retained rudiments of their childhoods, spent in labouring away in orchards, scrounged around and came with saplings. We made a garden.

And you cannot dump garbage in a garden.

It is now around 10-12 months since the garden was planted. The garden is more lush than beautiful, more a labour of love than landscaped. The workers show it off to everybody: remember there used to be a garbage heap here ? I planted that, look ! Their enthusiasm has meant of course, that it is dreadfully haphazard. Except for one pathway of grass that was my own and hence inviolate, there is a riotous profusion of flowers everywhere. One of my favourite areas in the whole place, it is where I used to come to when some imbecile or the other had driven me mad. And when I had to receive calls on my phone, since the building had poor reception.

We’d cleared the area on the other side too, and the requisite paperwork done, had a cemented patch that we used as a parking lot. A rail made of discarded scrap, brightly painted over, made a festive fence for the parking lot on one side and the garden on the other.

Last morning, as I stepped out of the office heading for a meeting, I saw an officious-looking man with a few welders, cutting away at the paring lot fence. With a few crisp words about his ancestry, relations with the female members of his family and such like, I summarily told him to get the hell out. He scuttled off, and I went for the meeting.

When I came back, all hell had broken loose. A Big Name was there at the parking lot, questioning my subordinates as to who the hell was stopping Law And Order from doing its Duty. I went across and shooed away the minions. Instantly I saw there was trouble. Did we cringe ? Did we grovel ?

You bet we did. We ‘umbly submitted and respectfully put for consideration. We gave weaselling grins and spoke in wheedling tones. Big Name, sadly, did not agree. This is a Public Place, he said. And you cannot put a fence in a Public Place. I did enough to make Uriah Heep sound a churlish rebel, but to no avail. The fence went. For a moment, I considered letting it go, then decided that we would revert to type. I told Big Name that yes, I was mistaken. This was a scrap yard, I said. And it was Public Place. Under Big Names. And basically, Big Names dealt with garbage dumps. With them and their misbegotten whelps in charge, no wonder anybody who made a garden, or a parking lot, was making a Big Mistake. Big Name was unfazed. He gave me a considering look, and informed me, with just that tinge of satisfaction, that the garden fence would go next. Public Places, tsk tsk.

We were just mulling it over this morning, regretting the outburst, when a phone came. Another Big Name wanted to speak to us. His deputy was leaving. We had been picked for the job. Could I join yesterday? And yes, welcome and looking forward to meeting you. Bye.

The whole day was spent fending off congratulatory phone calls. As the sun set, I walked down, gesturing to the gent behind, who, as was custom, followed with a cuppa.

I saw the garden, and the fencing, now torn down. Soon this would be a Public Place again. I thought of my new job. Like a dog thrown a bone, I was expected to scarper with joy on the news. And I heard Boss To Be, with an undertone that asked why I was not.

Because we forgot we were a pawn, you see. Pawns are shifted, not asked choices. Pawns should not make gardens. Pawns should be eternally grateful, just dreaming of surviving the next move ahead, serving their Kings till they reach the last square, where, Glory Be, they might become a Piece. A Queen, even. (Because they would be impotent enough by then).

Hehhhhhhhhhh.

Non illegitimis carborundum, dear heart.


10:20 PM |

A post about a posting? :)

Kid, let the Heeps heap up the garbage and slip slide up the mounds to reach the top of the heap. You just have fun playing your own games, ok?

And to end this 'superior' comment, whats all this about impotent queens, huhn?

Posted by Blogger Shankari | November 24, 2006 7:54 AM   

Non illegitamus carborundum ... Kind of learning to live by it!

cheers ... thou shalt be remembered for the garden by many more than those who tore it down..

I guess we should derive our solace in that..!!

Posted by Anonymous Anonymous | November 24, 2006 4:27 PM   

heartbreaking. sorry.

Posted by Anonymous Anonymous | November 24, 2006 4:33 PM   

It was good to read the title, pawn to king's 4. 'e4' is so clinical and cold.

May this pawn reach the eighth rank and be promoted to a piece. Be a knight. I like knights.

Have you considered taking to bonsai? Portable, very portable.

Posted by Blogger Lalita | November 24, 2006 8:49 PM   

Sh: Oh, we have our own amusements, not to worry : ) And of course the remark about Queens was to denote emasculation, not a sexist attitude!

AKM : Take a banner printout and put it on the desk : )As for being remembered : the only Gardener remembered is E.S : ))

Nanhi mouse : Don't be. It's all to the good, just our cussedness interfering.

Lalli : Sigh. When you read my obit, you'll probably proofread and smile if there are no errors. We whine and moan, ma'am, and all you can talk about is a title ? And Knights errant ? Tilting at windmills only all the time. And bonsai ? Oh, you did not read what we wrote about bonsai ?

Posted by Blogger ?! | November 25, 2006 8:00 AM   

Hmmm...populate the garden with snakes (and an apple tree?) and put the fear of Vipera russelli into them? OR Naja naja? can also supply with horrific pics of what happens to ppl who get bitten by a russels?

PS: do you think they would be so cruel as to kill the snakes???

or would you be so foolhardy as to try and catch/save them?

Posted by Anonymous Anonymous | November 25, 2006 10:20 AM   

is this gardener that we mean ... ?

http://www.lysator.liu.se/~unicorn/sweden-sf/Gardner,_E_S.html

Posted by Anonymous Anonymous | November 25, 2006 6:29 PM   

Avicenna: Wise guy, aintcha ? Sighhh. I thought it was a cute baby python, so sue me.

AnKnownMouse : Try this : )
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Erle_Stanley_Gardner

Posted by Blogger ?! | November 25, 2006 11:48 PM   

We be delightful
At the insightful
Look at the Gardener
And his Mason ..

Posted by Anonymous Anonymous | November 26, 2006 2:51 PM   

We already said congratulations and yay. But did not know about the garden. Not good. Maybe its time not to get those phone calls then. :)

Posted by Anonymous Anonymous | November 27, 2006 4:44 AM   

This comment has been removed by the author.

Posted by Blogger ?! | November 27, 2006 7:15 AM   

we reserve comment @mistaking mr. russel for a python. hyuk hyuk hyuk hyuk

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