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…..