by Milind Bokil
‘Because he used to wear a hat,’ I completed the sentence on his behalf.
The boys around laughed out loud. The girls joined in. But Bibikar continued without getting perturbed. I glanced to find Shirodkar listening attentively.
‘What did Bhagat Singh do when Lala Lajpatrai was attacked by the British?’ Bibikar asked theatrically.
‘He cooked subji and rotis,’ I retorted.
The boys laughed, encouraging me to go on.
‘Bhagat Singh gathered his friends and told them, come on….’
‘Come on, let us have wada-pav!’ I said.
‘Come on, let us teach them a lesson. His heart was filled with…’
‘The fire of revenge,’ I added.
Suddenly I realized my ear was very hot. I turned back to see Zende sir bent over me, twisting my ear.
‘Your tongue is wagging too much, eh?’ Zende sir said, continuing to yank my ear. ‘You want to give a speech, eh? Why don’t you go on the stage? You need guts to do that. Did you hear what he said? Fame is the fragrance of heroic-deeds. Got it?’
He twisted my ear fiercely. I would have burst out crying but somehow managed to hold on. My head was reeling. I looked down, knowing well everyone—especially the girls, especially Shirodkar—was staring at me.
Zende sir continued his ‘ear treatment’ for a while and then left without saying a word. No words escaped my lips for the rest of the function. I was feeling dead. I dared not look up while Phawdya and Surya continued their pranks. I felt crushed. It would have been far better if Sir had marched me out like Chawre.
It was well past one o’clock when the function got over. I sneaked away like a thief and took the road through the paddy fields. I had been holding back my tears, but they were now threatening to burst out. The fields stood silent in the afternoon while the sun burnt brightly. I sat on my rock resting my back against the tree. The tears flowed freely.
I knew it was finished. It had been my own doing. There was no way I could impress Shirodkar now. She would, in fact, be more impressed with Bibikar. I sat there sobbing like a baby for a long time.
On reaching home, I could hear a heated argument at the base of the staircase. Ponkshe kaka was arguing with Ashok and Vijay. Nikam kaka joined in.
‘Do you have any freedom during this Emergency?’ Ashok asked Ponkshe kaka.
‘What do you need freedom for?’ Ponkshe kaka hit out, scratching his back. ‘Aren’t the trains running on time? Is work not being done promptly? What else do you need?’
‘Is that enough?’ Vijay asked. ‘What about your rights?’
‘Are you not getting your rights?’ Nikam kaka said, in his hoarse voice. ‘Chaila, earlier no one would reach the Municipality office on time. Now they are all punctual. See how they come on time now!’
‘Rights are different, kaka,’ Ashok explained. ‘We don’t need to declare Emergency for employees to come on time. We can teach them discipline.’
‘Impossible! Just impossible,’ Nikam kaka repeated.
‘Mukund!’ Ambabai had come out looking for me.
I gestured at her to keep quiet. I was enjoying the discussion. Such arguments take place often and they are fun. Nikam kaka and others have heated arguments. Ponkshe kaka speaks in a low voice but somehow manages to provoke the other person. And ever since Emergency had been declared, such arguments had become more frequent. Besides, those guys upstairs keep having meetings very often. I wish I could attend them once.
I was hoping Ambabai would go back after calling out once, but she stood there waiting for me. Vijay looked at her once and continued, ‘During Emergency no one is allowed to express any opinion. Don’t you agree?’
‘No,’ Ponkshe kaka said. ‘Nothing has been hampered. Everything is running smoothly, better than ever before!’
‘There is no point in speaking to you,’ Ashok said.
They started climbing the stairs when they noticed me.
‘Mukund, are you not going to the library today?’ Ashok asked.
‘No.’
‘Mukund goes to the library, is it? Which one?’ Vijay asked.
‘Don’t you know? He goes to the Municipal library. It is a great place to ogle at girls.’
‘Come on! Don’t joke,’ I said weakly.
‘Hey, Mukund; tell me the truth,’ Ashok said, putting his arm around my shoulders. ‘Do you get to see some good chicks there?’
‘No,’ I said, brushing his hand away. I was blushing by now and turned to go back. They ruffled my hair and walked away laughing.
‘What were they saying?’ Ambabai asked, suspicious as usual. She stood with one hand blocking the doorway.
‘None of your business.’ I said, ducking below her hand to enter the house.
Surya was itching to find Pendse and teach him a lesson. I reached our haunt the next morning to find him on the ground floor, waiting, as he stood behind a wall of bricks. Phawdya and Chitre were present while Surya was accompanied by Chandya, his cousin. Chandya was in our class until class eight but had had to repeat the year when he failed.
‘Chandya, point out Pendse to me when he comes, okay?’ Surya said.
A few girls passed by, but Surya was too preoccupied to tease them. In a while, Chandya spotted Pendse coming along with some boys. He went to him and then accompanied him to the building. He was a very fair, decent-looking fellow; a little on the heavier side. He became alert when he saw Surya and the gang blocking his way. Surya stood there like a hero, his fingers hooked into his belt.
‘I am told that you have an eye on Kevda. Is that true?’ Surya asked, walking towards him.
‘Kevda?’ Pendse was at a loss.
‘Tell me the truth. Do you have an eye on Gupte?’
He nervously shuffled his books from one hand to other and said, ‘No. I don’t have an eye on her. Not me.’
‘Tell me the truth, bhenchod,’ Surya growled grabbing his collar.
‘I mean it. I am telling the truth,’ Pendse pleaded.
‘Listen. I need to hear the truth, okay?’ Surya said, changing his tone all of a sudden and sounding friendly. ‘If you tell me the truth, I will let you go. But tell me honestly.’
Pendse relaxed a bit.
‘Tell him the truth. What are you waiting for?’ Phawdya cajoled him. ‘Are you feeling shy?’
‘Yes, I do fancy her. But nothing serious, you know,’ Pendse confessed.
Surya jammed his fist into Pendse’s stomach.
Pendse doubled up, clutching his stomach. The books flew out of his hand. He stood up but Surya hit him again.
‘Will you look at her again, bhenchod?’ he growled.
‘No, I won’t, I promise,’ Pendse said, sitting down and clutching his stomach. That spared him another blow.
‘Keep that in mind,’ Surya warned him. ‘If I see you even as much as stealing a glance at her, I’ll bury you at the same place, okay?’
‘Yes, yes. I understand,’ Pendse said, shivering.
‘And tell everyone in the class—Kevda’s mine. No one dare look at her.’
‘Yes, yes,’ Pendse said, getting up hurriedly. His eyes were watering and he was trembling with fear.
Chitre and I helped him gather his books. Surya stood there, his face red with anger. We grabbed our books and proceeded to school.
The classes started on time, but the previous day’s episode rankled in my mind. In the Marathi class, Ganoba the clerk came in to hand over a notice. Bibikar and Kevda had got a certificate of appreciation. Paranjpe ma’am clapped and we were forced to join. We clap whenever anyone in the class gets an award; even for someone like Bibikar! The awards are handed over much later in a prize-giving ceremony.
Surya and Phawdya were, as usual, in their elements. I missed Naru mama. I wanted to ask him many questions. Shirodkar never looks at me. She looks straight ahead in all classes, even during the drawing class. The birdies are busy all the time chirping away. They argue with the boys, but no one bothers much ab
out them. But girls, in general, are idiots. They never look at you. How the hell do I then convey my thoughts to her? Perhaps we need to do what Surya does; proclaim your love openly. Write it on the school walls, maybe. But then I might as well be dead!
The first few classes are a real bore. And History tops it all! Pethkar ma’am keeps on droning in her monotone. I think she’s not interested in teaching at all. She has her notes ready and all she does is read out from them. We have a huge syllabus this year; the dominion of the French and English, the rise and fall of the British Empire, feudalism, colonialism, what not. The boys doze off during the class. It is difficult to concentrate when Pethkar ma’am is busy delivering her sermon. We have to be very alert in Bendre ma’am’s English class though; we cannot afford to be caught napping. But History is one subject where one is tempted to shut one’s mind. Today she was busy teaching the French revolution. Unfortunately she has no sense of humour. She does not scold or hit us. She just goes on teaching. She would look at you once if you tried to crack a joke and then continue speaking. There is no point in saying anything in her class. We are lucky that Manjrekar sir teaches us Geography and Social Science.
The next class was that of Zende sir’s. He looked at me, but I avoided his gaze. I was afraid he might rake up yesterday’s episode, but luckily he focused on the subject at hand. There was a strange ache in my ears, though.
Getting bored in the evening, I decided to visit Chitre. He was, as usual, busy with some experiment in the verandah.
‘Come, let us go inside,’ I said. I like the inner room, which is always cool and cosy.
‘No,’ he said. ‘Daddy is busy having his drink and Aai is just back from office. They had a fight a little while back.’
Chitre tells us that this happens often. His daddy comes home from office and likes to enjoy a peg or two in the evening. We do not understand what exactly that means, but his mother does not like it and they end up having an argument. Chitre had once found the key to his father’s wooden cabinet and shown us the coloured bottles lined up inside; bottles of amber, green, brown and other colours. There was one in the shape of an eagle.
Chitre says after the argument his daddy shuts himself in the room and doesn’t open it for a long time. He is quite a gentleman actually and never shouts at us. In fact, he entertains us once in a while, playing some old vinyl records.
Chitre was referring to a book to make a magnet-powered car. The parts lay scattered around him. I could not spot his younger brother Raju. His mother was probably busy in the kitchen and I could hear their arguments out in the verandah.
‘Joshi, do you promise me not to tell anyone?’ Chitre asked, while tying the battery cells with a rubber band.
‘What about?’
‘Kevda had come visiting our house last evening.’
‘Don’t tell me!’
‘Yes. But don’t tell anyone; especially Surya.’
‘Why did she come?’
‘She came with her mother. They had some errand in this part of the town.’
‘Did you speak to her?’
‘But of course! I had no choice you see. She was sitting right there! She asked me whether I liked her speech.’
‘What did you say?’
‘I said it was quite nice. I also told her that we clapped for her.’
‘Did you tell her that Surya pines for her?’
‘Of course not! Are you a chutiya? And promise me not to tell anyone. Surya will kill me if he finds out.’
‘Did she stay for long?’
‘Yes. Her aai is a chatterbox. They were here for quite some time.’
‘What all did you talk about?’
‘Nothing in particular. I don’t remember anything.’
‘Come on saale. Tell me!’
‘I swear on my mother! I don’t remember anything. Time just flew. We spoke of everything and nothing, actually!’
‘Saale, you like her, isn’t it?’
‘Come on!’ he said, trying to brush me off. But I knew that his voice lacked conviction. He avoided my eyes and I knew. I was about to probe him further when his mother came out and sat down to read the newspaper. The discussion remained incomplete and I left soon after.
I was jealous of Chitre. How I wished Shirodkar would come to my house someday? Chitre was a lucky bastard. Kevda had visited his house on her own accord.
I then decided to make friends with Misal. One day when Desai was absent, I asked him to sit next to me. We can sit wherever we wish during Redkar sir’s class. I casually approached him saying, ‘Don’t you stay near Natyamandir?’
‘Yes, that’s right. But not near it,’ he clarified. ‘I stay near the road leading to the big stone well.’
‘Does anyone we know stay towards your house?’
‘No one from our class. Dhande stays that side, but much ahead; closer to the other village, in fact.’
‘Good. No girls living that side,’ I added, hoping he would talk about girls.
He was quiet for a while as he was busy copying some equation, which Redkar sir had written on the board.
‘Actually; Mande does live near my house and so does Shirodkar.’
I suddenly sensed the hollow in my stomach. Despite knowing for a fact, hearing him say so made me nervous. I had to tread carefully now.
‘No. I don’t think she stays there,’ I challenged him. ‘Does she not stay near Kanifnath temple?’
‘No. That’s in the other direction. She stays quite close to my house, in fact,’ he clarified.
I did not want to pursue the line of conversation further lest he smell a rat, and changed the topic.
‘I would like to see that old stone well. I am told it’s massive.’
‘Yes, that’s right. It is really a big one.’
The big stone well is one of the key attractions of our town. No one knows when it was built or who built it, but it has been around for ages. Earlier, everyone used to draw water from the well, but ever since the Municipality has laid water pipes, it has been out of use. It is rumoured the well never goes dry. I had seen it long back but did not tell Misal so.
‘Will you show me the well some day,’ I asked, ‘if I ever come that way?’
‘Yes, of course. There is nothing much to see, though. It is just a well.’
‘When shall we go?’ I asked, not allowing the opportunity to pass.
‘Any day you wish.’
I was eager to go the same day, but unfortunately he had tuition classes that day. We decided to meet the next day. I asked him for his address and he gave me the directions: ‘Come down Subhash Vidyalaya and turn left at the Dhekne Laundry’. Next to the laundry was Sumangal Store followed by a narrow lane where his house was.
I came home and gulped down my tea. Luckily Ambabai was not at home to ask unnecessary questions. I had carefully noted down the directions and had no difficulty in locating his house. It was the oldest part of our town. The houses had tiled, sloping roofs. There were many mango and coconut trees around. Despite the rains having ended some time back, the entire area was lush with big trees extending a cool shade.
Misal’s house was part of a chawl with five or six rows of houses. Each house had two rooms. There was a tiled area in front of every house with a small garden adjacent to it. A few children were playing outside Misal’s house. It was getting dark. When I got in I noticed his mother wiping the floor, her saree tucked into her waist.
‘Aai, this is Joshi, my class fellow,’ he said. ‘He wants to see the stone well.’
‘Then show him,’ she said, continuing to wipe the floor. ‘But have your tea first. And don’t come into the house now. Your feet will leave stains on the floor.’
‘We will have tea when we come back,’ I suggested, winking at Misal. ‘Let us see the well first.’
The well was really enormous. Its wall was more than three feet wide, with three places for drawing water. It was full of water, a little greenish black in colour. The shadow of the walls
made the water look darker. It was scary to lie down on the edge and look down at the water. There were fish inside. ‘Are there turtles too?’ I asked. A few women were drawing water. The pulley made an eerie creaking sound, which echoed from the bottom of the well.
We hung around for a while. I was, quite obviously, not interested in the well itself. Misal took the road leading to his house when I suggested, ‘Why don’t we go for a stroll?’
We walked along the narrow lanes. There were a few independent houses hidden partially by trees. Misal continued to tell me some facts about the well, and about how some people performed animal sacrifice at it. I was least interested. I looked around the locality, but I couldn’t find what I was looking for. I knew that Shirodkar stayed in this part of the town. I wondered how I would react if she were to come and stand before us. As usual, the hollow in the pit of my stomach grew.
‘Are we not likely to come across that Mande or Binde or whoever stays somewhere in this part of the town?’ I asked casually.
‘No. She spends her evenings studying,’ he said. ‘She borrowed my notebook. She did not come to school today, you know?’
‘Does she speak to you?’
‘Yes, of course! We were together in the other school earlier. She bunks a lot and then borrows my notebooks.’
I had no knowledge of this arrangement. Boys like Misal do not reveal all this to the rest of us in class. So Misal does not speak to any girl in school but exchanges notebooks with Mande! Smart cookie!
‘Doesn’t Shirodkar borrow your notebooks?’ I asked, trying to sound casual.
‘No. I don’t know her well enough. She just smiles at me when she sees me. Besides, I don’t try to make friends with her. They are rich folks, you know.’
‘Does she not stay this side of the town?’
‘A little further up. They stay in a bungalow of sorts.’
‘Bungalow?’
‘Not their own. They have rented it.’
