Narayana!!! Narayanaaaaaaaaaa!!!!!!

For the first time in my life, I was scared. And by that, I mean genuinely scared! I was taking part in a fancy dress competition. It was UKG (upper kinder garden). I remember that day very well, when we were being allotted who to dress up as. The theme for our class was mythology (comprehended Hindu mythology). In walked our miss (that term we’ve all used, when taken in its literal meaning may be quite rude given the context) and started calling out our names and handing each of us a piece of paper. The chit contained the name of the character we were supposed to dress up as. I still wonder on what basis we were allotted the characters. We sure as hell did not resemble any of our respective ‘Gods’! Maybe, just a little – no offence to Narad.

Yes, that’s who I was going to be. The divine messenger, the Vishnu bhakt, the ever so peaceful (????). There was this fair-faced fellow – Abhisek who was to be Jataiyu. Ashok, who was the fiercest child I have seen, was to be Hanuman and for Ashwin, the best choice according to me, given his mischievous nature, was to be Krishna. I could not even read the name of the character given to me at first and was disappointed anyway when I finally figured it out. Simply because I had never heard of him. The other kids (the South Indians), for their age, were knowledgeable enough about mythology to surprise you. I mean, REALLY surprise you. That did not help me too much anyway because they told me Narad wasn’t really a hero and so I was perfectly fit for the role (??!!). I caught quite a little bit of ribbing, which I returned in the form of a few punches and went back home in a soiled shirt…yeah that’s what we all did back in kinder garden!

I told my parents I had to be Narad. My father, like he does even today, immediately smiled that genuine smile, full of pride, like I was a hero already. It really was, and still is as genuine as it ever was. He tried explaining to me who Narad was. I had got enough of a mythology lesson from my classmates but my father put it in a really nice way, made it sound good! I wasn’t as unhappy about it anymore. Parents.

It looked like my father, at 38, was the one who was going to compete in the fancy dress competition. The spring in his step and the zest in his voice remains etched in my mind to this day. My class teacher, Tulasi Miss, had given me the address of a shop where I could find my costume. It was this very crowded bazaar, I don’t remember what it was called (Baba would surely remember but he’s probably asleep now). So my father took me there, holding my hand and explaining to me how interesting an affair this one was going to be. We arrived there, it was a stereotypical shop. Everything there looked used. Nay, overused. The grumpy old man at the counter really scared me. I remember him asking me in Tamil ‘So you’re going to be Narad?! Scrawny fellow!!’ He was obviously good at what he did. I had all what I needed – one of those triangular wigs, rosary, a saffron cloth and wooden slippers - in 10 minutes. My father had to make a deposit and that was it.
I wasn’t even thrilled about wearing my costume once we were home. Once I had done that, my father then tried to teach me to say ‘Naaraaayanaa! Naaraaayanaa!!!!’ - that was what I was supposed to say. I don’t think I have seen anyone else try harder at teaching something. Finally, after a lot of motivation, I shouted at the top of my voice. Almost loud enough to call God himself. But that was only to make Baba happy. Like I was going to say that on stage! I laugh at myself every time I think of it.
And so the big day arrived! I didn’t even know until that day, what most of my other classmates were to dress up as. Rajesh and Radhika, the twins, who were only six feet tall at that time, were Lav and Push. One really cute looking girl was Durga and we also had an Arjun amongst us, armed with a plastic bow and arrows that were blunted with those suction caps in front. Hanuman was there, in all his glory, his paper mace, not unrealistically huge, complete with a tail! The children playing the ‘heroes’ were proudly flaunting their weapons which were made out of paper Mache and plastic (do I sound jealous?!). For the record, I had a Veena and flower garlands around my neck and wrists.
We were all standing in a straight line, awaiting our turns when suddenly there was this commotion. Krishna and Hanuman had apparently got into a fight and both being invincible against their weapons, had to be pulled apart by Miss Tulasi. Ashwin (Krishna) had been going around poking everyone in the stomach with his flute but had bitten off more than he could chew when he did that to Ashok- Hanuman ( Ashwin had done that to me too but what could I do with my Veena? A miniature one at that). Krishna’s crown was absolutely destroyed when it met Hanuman’s mace. The mace too, was not spared. The circular part was now barely even connected to the handle by a small string of paper. But it hung on. All this contributed absolutely nothing to take away my nervousness away though. I was to go after Hanuman who was to follow Krishna. Krishna walked onto the stage, crown shattered, face all stained as the tears had ruined the make up, and mumbled something that was supposed to be a piece from the Upanishad. Hanuman seemed confident, probably charged up by his victory, because the piece of his mace that swung from side to side every time he walked didn’t seem to bother him at all. It was especially funny when he walked up to the microphone. He never had anything to say, not that he could anyway because of the cup-shaped piece of cardboard tied around his mouth. But he performed brilliantly. He pumped one fist in the air and made an almighty leap, sending the crowd into a frenzy. The next one to go was the not-so-popular Narad. I chanted ‘Narayana’ like I was chanting it in a mosque, after the Bombay blasts. My legs were still trembling when my parents picked me up later, from the section where the participants were sitting. I didn’t even bother to find out who won.
I went home and out came the confidence, all the openness, with thoughts of how well I could have done it. For the next few days, I really felt hurt. you know, at five years, such things matter a lot. I was hurt at letting my parents down, at letting myself down. I had also chipped one of the edges of the Veena, not intentionally though. My miseries were multiplied when I heard that the grumpy old man at the counter of that shop scolded my dad for the Veena. I was too scared to go back to return the things as Baba had warned me of that man’s wrath once he found out about the Veena. At that age, it really saddened me even though the way Baba narrated their conversation sounds hilarious today. Baba had said ‘ the old man asked me “who dared break this??!!!! Was it you?!!”
I wonder if this is what every kid goes through, the nervousness that is ( I may have deviated from describing it but believe me it was bad enough to be memorable). Well I know of one kid who may not have had to face a similar thing. My sister – she played a clown…..

Chauffer driven Auto Rickshaw

His day begins when most people still haven't finished with partying the previous night off. 3 am is when he starts, so as to reach the milk depot on time and grab as much milk as he can carry before others like him come and take it all. He delivers all the milk at people's doorsteps and sells some of it. Close to a rupee every liter is what he makes through all the deliveries, and that amounts to almost a thousand rupees every month. It's not too bad according to him as he spends only two hours for it every day. At around 5, he rushes to the housing colony near his slums and starts with washing cars. Fifteen cars are what he is allowed to wash as the rest is shared by others like him. Once all that is done, he goes to work. Driving an auto rickshaw is what he does....that’s his job he says proudly. The other chores are just to make ends meet. He plies between Maitrivanam and Madhapur, a 'share auto' as they're commonly called. But that is not what he does all day. Once the office hours (7 am to 11 am and 6 pm to 8 pm) are over, his isn't a share auto anymore, just an ordinary one. The office hours are the most lucrative he says as he can carry 5-6 people at once and it was during one of those hours that I met him for the first time.
It was just one of those days and one of those auto rides and one of those bad moods, not looking forward to college. I was sitting in front, to his left and clinging on for dear life as he was snaking his way through heavy traffic. We were about to reach the point where I was to get off and catch a bus when we were stopped quite abruptly - by the police. The share auto system wasn't allowed during that time (it still isn't but the police have stopped caring). All of us were made to get off and could go our own ways. The driver though, was called to the 'express court' set up there consisting of two policemen with challans meant for fines. The justice system was simple. Pay a huge sum of four hundred rupees or collect your vehicle from the police station a day later with an even heavier fine. The cops that day were some how in no mood to accept bribes for reasons best known to them so the driver just stood there not knowing what to do. I called him aside and gave him the money for his fine. I still don't know why I did that, probably because he was my age or....I guess its just one of those things I've done for which people call me a fool but that’s alright. He couldn't believe what I had just done and thought it was a joke but once the challan was duly signed and his vehicle released, he walked up to me and asked me where I wanted to go. He took me to college free of charge, despite my offer to pay the usual fare and gave me his number with a promise that he would reach me anytime I needed an auto no matter where I was.
Satish was the name of my new friend. Turned out that he was Marathi, his parents living in a small village somewhere in Maharashtra. He had been living in Hyderabad for 3 years and has been doing the same things I wrote about earlier, every day of the week except Sunday ....when he just delivers the milk and washes the cars. The rest of the day is spent either sleeping or watching movies. The opportunity cost in doing those things is very high but at 20, can anyone blame him?
Quite a major part of his earnings go into paying the rent for the auto he drives and also the hut he lives in. He sends some of it home and makes sure his kid sister is able to go to school. He told me his sister was the class topper and the brightest kid he’d ever seen. He told me all this on our 20 minute ride to my college on that very first day!
Life is funny, as the cliché goes. The money that I used to pay the fine had been saved up with some difficulty, as part of a plan I had with my friend to eat at this really expensive restaurant in town. College life makes it almost impossible to save and yet I was sure the call I had taken that day was not for nothing but, I was not sure why I did it either. I know for certain it had nothing to do with my conscience, my mind. What I am still sure of though, is that I had made a friend that day. A good one. He told me more about himself than I could have imagined there ever was. We developed respect for each other. Him - because he thought I had done the unimaginable and I - because I thought he was doing the unimaginable….. every day. Life is funny because everyone, no matter how unassuming they may appear, has a story to tell.
I've seen him just four times since. He offered to pay the money back in installments but I refused for reasons even I am not quite sure of. Our meetings after the first day include a couple of them owing to sheer coincidence - when I got into his auto on my way to college and another couple of times when I did have to call him as it was raining and there was no other way I could have reached home before midnight. He was there in a flash.... quite unbelievable because I still remember how badly the traffic was jammed on those days. He took the fare only after a great deal of persuasion from my side on all four occasions and I had to use lines like 'your sister needs to go to school' in order to get him to agree to take the money.
It's been almost 3 years since that first day when I helped him pay the fine and a couple of months since I've seen him last. He has not gone home to his parents in over a year. I know that he still wakes up around three in the morning and drives his auto till around eleven in the night as he can get higher fares. He still has his standards and doesn't work on a Sunday. He still has dreams of owning his auto or better still, drive a sedan. His sister still tops the class and he still, will reach me no matter where I am, whenever I need an auto.....

Unreal Estate

"And THIS thing costs so much?" was what my father bellowed as we walked into our newly constructed apartment. I hadn't really thought about it until then but it struck me instantly - so this is what it is! There are 2000 of them, identical, well planned, outrageous! each selling at almost 4 times their original price.....makes me wonder if they were really made for people to live in. All I can imagine is they are the perfect machinations by realtors who construct them and just sell them over and over and over again till some unfortunate soul has to start living in them as they are too old to sell anymore. Our apartment though, was beautiful.....I thought the walls and the floors and the interiors ( of what was there) were a little different than the 900 other similar flats. We were delighted as this was the first home we had ever owned and my sister and I had already decided which room each of us were to take. We were speculating on what the club houses and the community centres in the township were all about when my father enquired 'How about selling it?' I asked him how much he could get for this place just as a strong current of sorrow was sweeping my heart at the very thought of 'my room' becoming somebody else's. 'Three and a half times the original price', he replied....And that was it! Then and there! Right there! All the attachment vanished at once and the current of sorrow was now barely a faint stream! 'Sell it!' I shouted...a little too loudly. I thought why not? we sell this one and buy a bigger place in a better area! and then I will have a ......no no no! then we could sell that and get a bigger......I was into it before I had realized. Greed....not greed! I would like to call it this constant want for betterment that we humans have in us. I felt like kicking myself for having such a thought....I am not a very materialistic person you see. 'You know what? We should probably keep it' ...my father was looking at me now....' I think this one is special '....he smiled at me....yeah, it was special..it was the first wasn't it?
It's been 3 months since that happened and we still have the place but haven't moved in.....probably because we haven't found a suitable buyer (its funny how the parents want to meet the foster parents before they give up their babies for adoption sometimes) or maybe, just maybe my dad still remembers what I had said that day. Only time will tell if we will have our dreamhouse one day.