One afternoon I hear a woman shouting outside my door, “Joshi, Joshi, stop playing and come here!”.
I’m stunned. You can imagine my apprehension. My fevered mind races, ‘who are you woman and what game am I playing with you.’
I muster enough courage and slightly open the door to survey the situation, worriedly wondering if my face is going to run into the path of a flying sandal, deliberately and furiously curled at my direction.
But no! a woman is leaning over the balcony railing and barking orders at someone else. I’m instantly relieved. The person at the receiving end of her verbal assault is someone at the play area, which is directly below my house. The culprit is out of my view, but one thing is clear. There’s a new Joshi in the society.
In the next days, I come to know that the new Joshi is indeed a kid and a notorious one at that, and that he is one my immediate neighbours who moved in recently. Soon, the mother’s shrieking calls to her son becomes less startling to my ears and I get used to hearing my name thundering through the air several times a day, until one day when another neighbour calls me over the phone and asks, “What happening, why’s a woman shouting at you.”
I’m worried again. I realise that the only Joshi the society knows is still me, and all the good will I have created could be scuppered by this kid.
That’s why I have written this post to warn you of the presence of a new Joshi and any wild calling of my name you hear is not directed towards me. It’s not me. I have nothing to do with that. I swear.