“Tell me a happy story, Abu kaka”, demanded little Tahira as the phone rang unexpectedly.
Set atop an ornate table, the old-fashioned phone and the faded interior of the house looked like relics from the past. “Tell me a happy…”, Tahira’s voice drowned the faint ring tone of the phone. Her eyes were lit up, ready to immerse herself once again into the world of Abu and Jonathan, his beloved late English Terrier. It was Abu’s grandfather who had named the terrier Jonathan.
“Keeping with the firangis”, Abu often joked reminiscently.
An errant caller was not going to get in the way of Abu kaka’s story time, Tahira decided. “Wrong number!” she yelled into the hallway for Ammi to hear…
“Pleased to introduce Jonathan Nathaniel, the terrier who is seldom genial”, Abu's story began the same way every day. Tahira's squeals of laughter and excited snorts rang through the decaying wooden walls every day. Abu was always a remarkable storyteller.
“A comical man”, Ammi often remarked.
A comical man, everyone thought when he came home running that day many years ago, his eyes empty and face remarkably serene, and screamed, “Jonathan Nathanial the terrier who is seldom genial”. Abu’s comical fripperies… “Rubbish”, someone had smirked.
“Where's Jonathan and what happened to your kurta?”, Ammi’s voice had echoed after him as he turned around the corner, the slit of his white kurta fluttering in an insipid wave.
The phone atop the ornate table had rung continuously that evening many years ago.
“Jonathan, that mad dog, it bit someone”, bellowed the speaker from the other side. It rang again, “Jonathan bit Prakashji”, somebody exclaimed. And again, “Jonathan bit the temple priest’, someone screamed. Ammi had picked the phone by then.
Abu had returned later that evening many years ago, his kurta torn and face remarkably serene. But his empty eyes, they were seething in the dark…
“Tell me about the time Jonathan stole the neighbour's newspaper, Abu kaka”, Tahira eagerly extended her foot to nudge him. He was seated on the ottoman while Tahira had climbed onto the diwan next to him. This was her favourite story.
It was dark by now and across them, the phone atop the ornate table began to ring again piercing through the hallway beckoning Ammi from her room.
Abu animatedly continued his tale about Jonathan's mischief. “The neighbours loved him”, he exclaimed, “for he was such an endeari…”.
“The Masjid at Vijay Chowk has been burnt down by some hooligans”, gasped Ammi, the receiver in her hand. Her eyes were empty and remarkably serene, just like Abu’s that evening many years ago. “Abu Kaka, endeari… what?” The heedlessness in Tahira’s tone broke the heaviness that had suddenly swept the air.
“The past haunts us not as ghosts but as a ringing telephone”, whispered Abu quietly. His eyes, they continued to seethe in the dark…
DoubleSpeak 
Lovely read.
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