Say Deusi with me, O Brothers...

It was a decent, cold night. Not with a chilly wind, because I remember the candles that I placed on the terrace walls were not even flickering. I was half-soused in wine and Tong’s Garden sugar-coated green peas.

At some point, I began to hear a Deusi band in our neighborhood. They were borrowing visions of red mud on slippery roads to sing of gaping open hearts of the men of the house and their palatial abodes, and gently prodding the members to come out with trifles and gifts so that they can progress ahead on the tiring slippery red road and reach many other houses they have to reach by tonight.

The singers were of different age, gender and timbre. The leader was a benevolent man on a merry red waistcoat and a Nepali cap, and he had the knack of harnessing each individual’s vocal tides and weaving out a melody that seemed poignant yet cheerful and upbeat. He let a rebellious teen boy (lets call him ‘T’) to deviate from the group and sing out cheeky lines, but still kept him on a moderate leash. He even ensured that a small girl (‘G’, with a crude set of cymbals) was not assigned to an unimportant task, and let her contribute appreciably to their concerto. Also on correct moments, he would leap forward and dance into dizzying circles, his hands tracing out intricate patterns in air. It was overall a cohesive happy-snappy band.

T had a cylindrical twig-like device out of which came out basal rhythms that gave a sort of thumping characteristic to their songs. He also had a Madal harnessed tightly around his hip to which he resorted according to the demands of the singings, although he clearly preferred Twig because of its more commanding presence.

Women ceremoniously came out of the house with baskets of sweetbreads, and men with broad smiles and fat wallets. The singers were ushered into the premises, where sometimes there were makeshift stages made for their purpose. Girls shyly watched and giggled to T’s insinuations, while men laughingly slapped hundred notes in the leader’s palms and gave small chocolate sacks to children. As the gifts approached them, or when they had to softly prod the house members to hurry up, the boy would ease up the tempo of Twig and nobody would notice the change in pace until suddenly the song will have reached a crescendo and the house members will have by now felt compelled to give in.

Amused, I drained my glass and stepped out into my narrow balcony. The band was finishing up their rounds on Whitehouse across the road from mine. G kept looking back at me, sometimes failing altogether in her aim to clash the cymbals. I would smile and give a tiny wave. Hurriedly, she would turn back forward and try to concentrate on her part of the merry symphony. However, curiosity and consciousness both would compel her to take tiny, cute glances at me, which I attended to with similar pleasantries.

Meanwhile, the song reached the climax, and the house members hurriedly came forth to distribute sweets and money. The man of the house exclaimed that it was even better than last years’ and had promises made to return next year with an even better show.

The group finally turned towards our compound, and approached my house pleasantly, smiling. I decided to play them a joke. And it is important for you to know that I had not thought of this idea before this particular moment.

So I did not open the gates, and instead sat smiling nicely to the singers. Confused, and with some odd conscious smiles, the band proceeded to sing from outside of the compound, looking at me two storey up. They first played their routine song- Merrycoat crooning: ‘Tell me, O Brothers and Sisters! Sing with me in sync so that I can ask this gentleman to bestow us with what he wishes to bestow us with, so that it is merry and we can progress on our long journey up the red, slippery road; And we have much, much to go before we get to our bed‘. G timidly clashed her cymbals, stealing upward glances. And I just sat there, looking entertained. I decided not to even say a word.

After a while, Merrycoat started another song, a folk tune this time, and T took a backseat, while a middle-aged woman (‘M’) followed along in a dialogue-style duet. People from nearby houses climbed to upper storeys to catch a glimpse or witty phrases the duo threw elegantly at each other, and I joined the applause when that song ended.

T now stepped forward and started thumping out Madal an upbeat rhythm in a not-so-rebellious fashion- and Merrycoat jumped forward and pulled M along, and they both started dancing in swirls, tracing out individual circles, but this time leaning towards each other. It was all cute and delightful, especially towards the end when it became more and more difficult to keep up to the increasing speed, and Merrycoat and M did keep up to the speed. Suddenly, Merrycoat stepped on a loose stone and, tottering, smashed his head on the metal gate with a loud clang. Audible gasps were easily heard, and I could just about hear Merrycoat laugh apologetically and say ‘It’s nothing. It’s nothing. Come, let’s enjoy…’ and began another song, to which others slowly followed, but quickly came to cue and mingled with each other.

The first one to show signs of cracking was T. His appearance did not change, but he was staring somewhere on the ground on his right, and his thumpings now sounded loud enough to stand out from the rest. G followed, fixing her anxious gaze fixed at T, and starting to miss out some spots in her cues. M (who had started looking sternly up at me) stopped her chorus inputs in a mid-word. I now can see that Merrycoat was bleeding from his temple, and sweating on his face, but he did not seem to notice. His grin, first easy, grew tighter, and began to deceptively look like a scowl and it now seemed more tiring to look upwards at me with smiles.

This also had effect on my neighbors. I could discern the woman in Whitehouse from her Verandah visibly glare at my direction and, upon meeting my eyes, go inside. Some baffled men stopped at whatever they were doing to look at the sight (one was climbing the steps on his porch; the other was folding the plastic bag which probably held some goodies earlier). Still, I kept a pleasant face, offering no words or goodies. I still waved at G whenever she managed to look up, but at one point M reached for her said something, and they both looked up with a strange look in their face. After that, G did not look up at all.

After a while, T’s thumping stopped, and an uneasy silence followed. Some members wanted to leave, but Merrycoat shuffled about, obviously still feeling it would be too rude to walk away. He however had by now totally avoided looking up. Finally he declared that they ought to do one last song before leaving, and launched off in a line beseeching his fellow members to ask this house owner if he would benevolently give something, some object, as an undeserved reward to the group. T totally refused to join in, and the rest of the team, after a few reluctant chorus lines, trailed off.

After a moment passed, Merrycoat gave up, gave his last look upwards at me, and joined his hand above his head in a gesture of Namaskar, to which I promptly replied with a flippant salute and a perky nod. I got some glimpse of his face darkening as he quickly looked back to his now seething companions and made some gestures to get going. As they walked away, T, in his desperate attempt to level with me, pounded a few off-key beats in his Madal. As they were about to disappear around a bend, I gave off a small wave, pretending that they saw it, and with a final look at the team that amused me, I stepped inside with a quiet smile on my face.