Whistleblowers

Running down the slope
To the road
With a whistle
Small and plastic
To hail
The raddiwala pick-up
Before he zoomed past
I was reminded of
A different whistle in
A different age

My friend, Nannu
And I
Four or five years old
Arms across shoulders as always
(The neighbourhood aunties would say
Dekho, dekho, yeh do sar wala janvar
Aa raha hai:
Dono sar ko biscut khilana padega)
Walk down
Brass twenty paise coin
In each one’s pocket
For our haircuts
Not to Mr Moustache or
His Highness
But plain or garden
Raju bhaiya ki saloon

After the haircut
And dusting-off
We would get a lollipop-whistle
Or was it a whistle-lollipop?
From Raju bhaiya

So arms across shoulders
We would head home
The do sar wala janvar
Whistling away

There was a competition to
Lollipop-sucking as well:
Not whose would last longer
But rather, whose
Would continue to whistle longer
Sucking around the edges
Keeping the hole intact:
Whistleblowing as
Art form
Shall we say?