Straight from Papa's mouth - The Gum Boots

I have sometimes wondered how I came to possess a fervent imagination, one which is constantly itching to get down to business. The answer perhaps lies in the fact that I was born to parents who placed a high premium on good reading, listening and regaling skills. I grew up hearing Papa narrate comical incidents from his own childhood with such merry abandon and animated gesticulations that no matter how many times they were repeated, these tales of mischief would always manage to gather an avid audience. Mummy ‘s bed time tales from Aesop’s Fables, Grimms Brothers’ Fairy Tales and Mahabharata were also recounted with such aplomb that it was difficult not to picture the quixotic characters and places. Enraptured, I would listen to both sets of stories, building corresponding images in my mind while dreaming of someday being able to recapitulate with just as much gusto.

This is my first attempt to put on paper these tit-bits from the past and I hope that you enjoy reading them as much as I have enjoyed listening to them.

It was one of those late December evenings in Gwalior when merciless gusts of cold wind threatened to freeze those who dared to venture out and cups of hot masala chai (masala tea) and pakoras were handed out to those ensconced in the warmth of Buaji’s house. Three generations of family huddled around an old heater which barely managed to spout enough hot air to warm ice cold fingers and toes. Enveloped in sweaters, scarves and shawls, we braved the sub zero temperature that night with chai, pakoras, a rickety heater and an inevitable round of storytelling. Fuelled by the sweet gingery kick of chai, anecdotes and real life incidents soon started flowing in copious amounts. Several stories branched out, multiplying like neutrons in a nuclear fission reaction.

4 brothers (my father being one of them) – the biggest mischief makers of their time- figured in more than one tale. A story of one of these brothers, brother number 3 to be precise, who will be referred to as P (a respected doctor in today’s day and age) left everyone laughing so hard that tears trickled down most cheeks. Here goes……. Summer vacations had begun and the first day dawned bright and sunny - simply perfect for all the tomfoolery already mushrooming in his head. With much effort P shook off the drowsiness which lay heavy on his eyelids and looked around to check if he was the last one to get up. As conscientious as ever, his oldest brother S was sitting at his study deeply immersed in a book while brother number 2, R was nowhere to be seen. His youngest brother, brother number 4, also known as my Dad or D, sat on his bed fiddling around in general.

‘Let’s play Hide and Seek today!!!’ exclaimed P jumping out of bed in one quick leap and landing right in front of S. Keeping his book aside, S appraised him from top to bottom and replied with great disdain ‘At least brush your teeth and drink your milk before you begin hatching plans for the day’. P turned a questioning gaze towards D who was already nodding excitedly, giving his consent for a game of Hide and Seek. Within minutes all 4 brothers were outside in the courtyard along with their friends from the neighborhood all set to kick off the vacations in style. With a whole lot of cheating and some luck P managed to avoid being the Seeker and couldn’t help making fun of his poor slob of a friend who was conned into being one. As the Seeker turned his back to the rest of the boys and began counting, the group scattered in an instant. A few crouched behind nearby stone pillars while others slinked into the recesses between houses.

P took off as quickly as his legs could take him, determined to find the most ingenious place to hide. Soon he found himself standing at a road construction site a little further away from home. The place was littered with empty cylindrical cans of coal tar (dambar in Hindi) which were almost as tall as P himself. But crouching behind one of these cans seemed too clichéd to P. Just as he was about to take off once again in search of a perfect hiding place a glimmer of an idea lit up in his head bringing a broad smile to his face. He checked the can in front of him and found it devoid of its usual content: molten coal tar. Having checked a few more cans he was convinced that all the cans were empty and would serve as an ideal hiding place.

With great dexterity P hauled himself over the can kept at the far end of the construction site and swiftly lowered himself inside. All this while, he did not take his eyes off the road as he knew that by now the Seeker would be roaming around like a wild animal searching for his prey. When he had almost sunk to the bottom of the can he happened to look down at his body inside the can and couldn’t believe his eyes. His lower body, beyond the waist, was submerged in a shiny jet black viscous solution of coal tar! ‘How could this happen?’ he thought in dismay. In his hurry, he had not checked all the cans and had assumed after looking into a few that the rest were empty as well. A little shred of panic wriggled its way into P’s heart as he sank deeper into the quick sand like coal tar. ‘This is no time to panic’, he told himself sternly. The gears in his brain started creaking and grunting as he mulled over plans to get out of his predicament

A few hours of struggle later an exhausted P heaved himself out of the can. Huffing and panting he stood on the road now but his troubles had not ended just as yet. His legs were covered in a thick layer of coal tar and it appeared as if he was wearing knee length dark black gum boots which stuck to the hot road as if they had adhesive on their soles. Slowly he inched back home as each step felt like a mile. ‘Maybe this is how it feels when one is walking on an iron road wearing magnetic shoes’ he imagined. Thoughts of super heroes swooping in and carrying him back home crossed his mind along with images of his favorite halwa-poori which painfully tantalized his fast building hunger.

Needless to say, P reached home and was received by a stunned group of brothers and friends. Not wanting to look like a complete fool in front of everyone, P began boasting about his adventures and clowning around showing off his coal tar boots. I can only imagine what must have transpired between him and his mother (my Dadiji) when she found out what had happened but I am cent percent sure that he wasn’t rewarded with halwa-poori. I am told that it took all of her patience and a gallon or more of kerosene oil to peel off the adventures of the day. In that moment all characters of this story must have been unaware of the number of times this incident was to be recounted in years to come and the generations ahead who were going to hear about it on cold winter nights drinking chai and devouring pakoras.

Pranay's Mango tree

Bright yellow mangoes with their characteristic heady aroma and juicy sweetness occupied most of little Pranay's thoughts these days. This was not an out of ordinary occurrence given that Pranay and his family were major mango fanatics. Year after year along with the summer heat a certain mango mania descended upon the Sharma household.

Mummy being the sanest of the lot had realized early on in life that the only way she could deal with her family's crazy love for mangoes was by ensuring that the brown wicker basket adorning the dining table was forever groaning under the weight of several varieties of the coveted fruit. However, despite her best efforts, Pranay who was the youngest in the family, suffered from a nagging apprehension that one day he would come home from school to find an empty wicker basket and no mangoes to sink his teeth in. What with a bully of an elder sister who shared his maniacal love for the fruit, he could well imagine his worst fear coming true any day.

As he sat one day contemplating this terrible consequence a sudden bright idea struck him like a bolt of lightning. What if he planted a mango tree of his own? Then all the mangoes borne by this tree would technically belong to him, thought a jubilant Pranay. Proud of himself for having hatched such a brilliant plan, he quickly approached his sole counsel for all affairs-Mummy.

What ensued was a rather long drawn process with an air of urgency making it resemble a high priority project concerning state security. The best mango of the lot was prudently chosen and sliced. Its oval seed was extracted and washed with utmost care almost as if a new born baby was being cleaned post delivery. After Vishnu Bhaiyya, the sahayak detailed to Papa (who was more a family member than a sahayak), had dug a pit of exact dimensions in the backyard, Pranay placed the dried seed in Mother Earth's womb. The cherished seed now tucked in folds of soft black mud was to be guarded and nurtured by Pranay.

Each day Pranay would eagerly rush back from school to water the seed and feed it manure.This ritual went on for over two months and as each day passed without any trace of the much awaited tiny sprout pushing it's way out of the layer of mud, Pranay's disappointment grew. Finally, no longer able to see him downcast and distraught, Mummy asked Vishnu Bhaiyya to dig out the errant seed so that she could figure out the problem. Vishnu Bhaiyya rummaged through the mud and pryed out a half rotten mango seed studded with nasty worms feeding on it. Mummy looked at the find in dismay. She couldn't help but picture Pranay's crestfallen face when told about the horrible end suffered by his beloved mango seed.

Making up her mind, she rushed Vishnu Bhaiyya to the nearest nursery instructing him to get the tiniest mango sapling available. Vishnu Bhaiyya returned shortly with a 4 feet tall plant which was nowhere close to the tiny sapling that Mummy was expecting. "There were no tiny saplings in any of the nurseries. I checked all the nurseries around this area", he said helplessly. "Pranay will never buy this tale", despaired Mummy.

Guess what..this is what the crazy boy looks like now

 Nevertheless, Mummy and Vishnu Bhaiyya proceeded to place the plant in the exact same location where the erstwhile seed was buried. As soon as Pranay returned, he was welcomed with more than usual exuberance and a tall glass of his favourite mango milk shake. Unsure of what he had done to deserve it, Pranay habitually made way to the backyard to water the mango seed. Mummy and Vishnu Bhaiyya followed him shakily and waited a few steps away as Pranay stood rooted in his place staring at the mango plant which had magically appeared. A soft breeze made the long green and brown leaves of the plant sway. Pranay snapped out of his trance and let out a sharp squeal of joy. "Mummy, look my mango seed has sprouted and has grown so quickly!! I always knew that the manure meals will pay off someday" And just as suddenly Mummy and Vishnu Bhaiyya's grim faces broke into big smiles.

It has been 12 years since then and little Pranay is no longer little. He acts all macho and manly showing off his Elvis like side burns and his toned muscles but there is one thing that brings back the 6 year old boy in him-complete with a toothy grin and dimples. Till this day he firmly believes that the mango seed he had lovingly planted, miraculously grew into a fine looking 4 feet tall plant overnight all because of his love and care.

Santa Claus, the Tooth fairy, Christmas elves and the likes-that is the list which Pranay's mango tree belonged to. It was an innocent child's figment of imagination which proved to him how perfect the world was.
I wish this was something grownups could do as well. It would make each day so much easier to get by, won’t it?

The Sunglasses

Summer vacations had finally begun and 15 year old Mala was glad to be one of the few lucky ones amongst her group of friends who would be escaping the sordid Bhopal heat. Her parents had finally decided to take the long overdue vacation to Bangalore and they were all set to spend a glorious summer with the Shettys - her parents’ friends ever since she could remember. Better still was the fact that Anshika, Shetty uncle’s daughter was Mala’s best friend and when they were together, they needed no one else.

Mala stood in front of her tiny wardrobe trying to pick out clothes she could pack so that she had some chance of blending in with the hip Bangalore crowd. She had decided to enjoy herself to the fullest; after all she deserved the break. She had slogged hard for her final exams, as a result of which, not only had she secured first position in her class but Amma had also promised her a grand prize. Although Amma would have preferred to present Mala with a copy of ‘The Great Expectations’ by Charles Dickens, Mala was resolutely determined to acquire a pair of hip sunglasses. ‘Sunglasses are in, Amma. Besides, almost all my friends possess a pair’, she argued. Finally Amma had given in and Mala couldn’t help feeling over the moon.

As the sound of Papa’s loud guffaw drifted in from the living room, shaking her out of her blissful reverie, Mala said a silent prayer. She hoped against hopes that her family would not ‘be themselves’ and embarrass her in Bangalore. Even as she prayed she knew that it was too much to ask for because this year she also had her 26 month old brother - Mohit to cope with. In Mala’s opinion, had there been something like a competition for the ‘World’s most embarrassing family’, her family- Mohit with his stupid baby antics in public, Papa with his loud laugh and Amma with her nose always buried in some book or the other - would have won hands down. “Why couldn’t Amma bother more about how she dressed instead of what she read and why couldn’t Papa understand that his booming voice and resonating laughter could be heard from miles away”, she rued. At last a 24-hour journey later, their train pulled into the crowded Bangalore City Junction. Mala spotted Shetty uncle and Anshika who had come to receive them at the railway station. Exhibiting classic teenage-girl behaviour, Mala and Anshika instantly glued themselves together and bantered all the way home, totally unaware of the rest of the world.

That summer the atmosphere at the Shetty residence was one of gaiety as the families enjoyed each others' company. Over the next few days, the girls indulged in several fun activities together. They participated in swimming competitions at the club house, went to the movies, gossiped, played Uno and other board games and had a great time. True to its reputation, time rolled by quickly. Their vacation was soon approaching an end and the important shopping trip was yet to be made. So, one fine Saturday morning, Anshika and Mala pestered their parents into taking them to MG Road - the hip street which had all the branded stores and all the ‘cool’ people. The day had come when Mala would choose her perfect pair of sunglasses and that too from a fancy big store. Clad in her favourite t-shirt and jeans, Mala hopped from one room to another in an animated delirium.

Once at the store, her excitement knew no bounds as she tried several pairs of sunglasses and finally had her heart set on a very glamorous one. Just looking at them she knew that she had found her sunglasses. Amma and Papa exchanged a look as she and Anshika drooled over this particular sample. In no time the deal was finalized and Mala walked out clutching her beloved sunglasses which were neatly tucked in a pretty black velvet case. Stepping out of the store, Mala entrusted Papa with her precious velvet case as their party of eight headed to a restaurant to celebrate the occasion. Settling down in an unoccupied booth at the restaurant Mala squealed “Papa; can I have my sunglasses please. I cannot stop looking at them!” Papa fumbled from one pocket to another, his expressions changing from pleasant to quizzical to apologetic. Mala had a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. Papa had managed to lose her brand new sunglasses! Mala could not believe that her happiness was destined to be so short-lived. She gave Papa an accusatory look and promptly burst into tears. Everyone sympathized with her and tried to console her, but no one could really understand her grief - or so Mala thought. Papa stood silently looking at his woebegone daughter and felt just as miserable. He blamed himself for Mala’s misery.

An ice cream and a promise of a new t-shirt later, a semi- mollified Mala headed back home. She knew that she would never forgive Papa. She had been a proud owner of expensive sun glasses for exactly 15 minutes and now they were gone. Her parents could not afford another pair this year and it was all Papa’s fault. “How could he do this to me?” she thought. On the way back, Mala was so dissolved in self pity and anger that she did not realize that ever since the dreadful incident, Papa had vanished. A couple of hours later, Mala had already tucked herself in bed. As she lay there moping, she heard a soft knock on the bedroom door and Papa walked in. Mala was in no mood to face either of her parents, least of all - Papa. “What do you want Papa? Should I give you something else that I like so that you can go ahead and lose that as well?”, she asked in an acerbic tone. Without uttering a word, Papa sat down next to Mala and placed a familiar velvet case in Mala’s tiny hand. ‘ I am sorry betu for causing you so much sorrow’, he said softly.

As it turned out, Papa had gone all the way back to the same store where they had bought the original sunglasses. He had laboriously checked all the available sun glasses along with the sales person and had finally been able to locate another piece of the exact same kind. Delighted, he had quickly made the payment and rushed back home to surprise his little girl. Mala jumped out of bed, gave Papa a quick hug and rushed to Anshika’s room with the new acquisition. Even though in her excitement she had forgotten to thank Papa, he was happy to see his daughter’s elation.

Today, sitting in her beautiful apartment, thousands of miles away from Bhopal and her family, Mala stares at the broken pieces of her favourite sun glasses in pin drop silence. Earlier in the day, her cleaning lady had accidently dropped them from their place on the shelf. Papa isn’t here to replace them for her, just so that he can see her smile again and Amma isn’t here to console her either. Today, there is nothing in the world that she would not be willing to give to be able to curl up in Amma’s lap and listen to her read, to hear Papa’s deep throated chortle or Mohit’s constant banter.

Life is like coffee and our coffee mugs are the jobs we hold, the money we earn and our status in society. These are just tools to hold and contain Life. The type of mug we have does not define or change the quality of life we live. Sometimes by concentrating only on the cup we fail to enjoy the coffee. Savour the coffee, not the mug.—> Courtesy-www.flickspire.com and Amma.

Kachroo

Today as I walked back from office I noticed a toy store which has recently established its presence in my already overcrowded, bursting-at-the-seams neighbourhood. Now, even though I am well aware of the fact that Bangalore traffic harbours an unhidden aversion to the nickel-and-dime pedestrian and the slightest negligence (even if it means trying to window shop) is often mete with harsh consequence, I paused for a moment to glance at the brand new store’s shining display window. Looking around I realized that I was not alone. Beside me stood a group of of 6 year old girls who couldn't stop oohing and aahing at the rows of pretty Barbie dolls and fluffy stuffed animals. Amused by the mayhem they were causing, I lingered around a little more, observing their childish prattle, when suddenly a rather nondescript rag doll caught my eye. To set the record straight here (since it is my first post on my new blog :) ) I am not someone who is predisposed to standing on a footpath and reminiscing about long forgotten memories, but somehow the sight of that discarded doll brought forth from the deepest crevice of my brain, a thought, a shadow of a recollection which refused to be buried any longer.

It dates back to an era when I was about the same age as these young girls. Those were the days when we lived in one of the many army cantonments in India, although in my opinion this was a slightly prettier one as it nestled between hills which were almost always topped with snow. The apartments all looked the same and there was a comforting similarity that wrapped itself around the inhabitants like a warm snuggly blanket on a cold winter night. This was also the period when I enjoyed the status of being a single child, at the focal point of my parents' love and attention (although believe me this was not always very enjoyable). Being a very social kid, I always had a whole gang of 'chuddy pals' whom I would happily gallivant with. However, amongst all the pals I had, cousin G was my most favourite. She made an appearance once every few years with her parents who were based in the Middle East. We were roughly the same age and got along like a house on fire. This year however, things were going to change. Little did I know that this year's visit was to bring immense sadistic pleasure to one of us and an equal amount of distress to the other.

The first thing that I noticed when G walked in through the front door was this limp rag doll hanging on her arm. The doll was about 2 feet long and had an over sized face with buttons sewn in as eyes and a couple of stitches with black wool forming a crooked smile. The rest of the body was made of stuffed old socks which contributed to its pitiful appearance. Unlike my own set of precious dolls, all of which had a crown of shiny blonde, brunette or black hair, this specimen which claimed to be a doll had a head full of Medusa-like tresses which were also bits of wool of varying colours sewn onto her head. All in all, this was the ugliest inanimate object that I had ever set my eyes upon. Hard as it is to believe, kids too have a very strong sense of comparison and one-upmanship and even though we might prefer otherwise, these traits aren't reserved for the more conniving and worldly wise adults. I smirked at G's new acquisition and was satisfied with the thought that my doll collection would kick her sad little doll's butt without a fight.

As the days passed by, things turned out to be quite contrary to what I had believed in the beginning. G's doll was not just a mere doll, it was an obsession. G carried the thing everywhere -from the ice cream shop to the park and from the institute to our outing to the zoo. Even though the doll was named 'Kachroo' which literally meant trash, she was a permanent fixture in G's life. This thing which started out to be an annoying nuisance was slowly turning into an enigma. A mystery which I desperately wanted to unravel. But this could happen only if and when I had a chance to lay my hands on the damned thing. Alas, G was violently possessive about Kachroo and the most devious of my plans failed to pry Kachroo from G's clutches. I fought, threw tantrums, tried to poison G with dairy products (I had overheard my parents discussing G's lactose intolerance. Yes yes go ahead judge me...I was quite an evil child then), whined and finally gave up on ever being able to own the world's most beautiful and unattainable doll (who else but - queen Kachroo).

As always, days flew by and now it was time to bid farewell to G and Kachroo. The previous night I had cried myself to sleep at the thought of never being able to see Kachroo again (sometimes I feel that doll was cursed with black magic...remember the movie Child's Play) and I woke up with red rimmed eyes and a very irritable disposition. Such was my grief that I refused to come out and see G off. After her departure, I spent the whole day moping around (my mother rarely gave in to my tantrums and so I had no sympathy from her either). Finally I decided to retreat to my favourite place - under the bed-where I could hide and mope a little more with my thumb firmly stuck in my mouth (I didn't dare reveal this nasty habit in public lest I became the butt of all jokes).As I crawled into the little space, I saw a strange pile already occupying my zone. I reached out and turned it over only to realize that it was nothing but the coveted Kachroo which had fallen off the ledge and mistakenly left behind. In the next few minutes my overjoyed brain concluded that this meant that Kachroo would be mine for the next two years till G returned for her next visit. “Mummmyyyyyy....G Kachroo le jaana bhool gayiiiiiiiiii”........... and there was joy in the world again, birds started to chirp and flowers bloomed to their fullest and brightest self. My day was made. I was later told that G fought, threw tantrums, whined and tried to poison herself all the way back home.