The mind is free
Cricket in Nilgiris has this quaint flavor of the British Raj. It is all the more in 1977-8. The teams that come to play here are essentially the district teams and the local teams. The best team is of the factory where my father works. I know of a few uncles who have given up promising careers in Cricket and are working at a reasonable paying job with this government owned factory. Of these uncles, I had seen Biswas uncle at play and overnight he had become my idol. He had these four bats of different makes that were always well kept and well cared for. He also had these gloves, for batting and wicket keeping that were just divine. On our social visits to this very eligible bachelor’s domain I only used to keep touching and ogling at these wonderful possessions of his. Biswas uncle, one day, took me aside and gave me my first tips to batting and wicket keeping. I resolved to only do as he told. As time went by I found that his advice coupled with Baba’s ministrations with the Tennis balls on our long verandah had developed me considerably as an opening bat a la Gavaskar, my ultimate hero. As the verandah was flanked on the on side by the living room wall, I had to make every stroke towards the point or the cover or hit in the straights. Baba was very particular about shots at ground level and used to get angry with my airy fairy shots. So, I had to quickly adapt myself to only cuts and drives, no hooks and pulls in my Cricket learning book. Pretty one dimensional, but that was it. I developed my catch practice through Tennis balls rebounds from the wall of the verandah. Yeah, I worked hard at what I did. The local teams had by then come to know of my efficiency at the wicket and I was invited to be a part of many budding clubs like Young mens(sic) Cricket Club, Nilgiris sports society, Aruvankadu Boys club, etc.
The Saturday has arrived and once again I am the most enthusiastic of all about the afternoon’s class match. Mr. D’Souza comes to the class in the first break and announces the teams. I am the captain of the inferior team in the class. I had expected a better team but this is a selection match and it does not bother me if the team does well, I need to do well and produce the goods at the right time. Murli again grins at me from the back bench and whispers, Da Sujit, you’ll lose da and losing captains do not get to be the captain of the class team da. I am immediately worried. Ms. Rajlakshmi steps in for the Science class and I am very oblivious as to what is being taught in the class. I spend my mental energy in trying to figure out how to better Murli during the match. I have in my team Anantha, who is the best athelete in the class but is weak at Cricket, does’nt do much except waving the bat around at head height. I have Venkat who is good but very temperamental and stubborn. Then there is Sharif, Paul, Satheesh, Dasan, Ali, Srinu and some others who are neither good nor bad. Satheesh and Srinu can bowl. Let me remark here that these were the pre One day days when there was no limits on the overs from one bowler and the team batted till they got all out and that was fast. Murli had a better team with Chandran and Venu decidedly better bowlers than anybody in our team. Murli also turned his arm over effectively. There was also a new boy called Atul who had come from Raipur in Central India. He had already told the class that he was good in all departments of the game. I am very skeptical about the outcome!
Murli wins the toss and as usual decides to bat. I lead the team out. The ground is a grassy one and a long rectangular one. Bowling is only from one end. The batsmen changes ends. Ajay is the opening bat with P C. P C is a good student and a stupid cricketer. He goes to the batting end. Srinu takes the ball to bowl first. I stand as a wickie at a respectable distance. We clap for the first ball which is wide. Kantham from the 9th standard is the umpire. He signals duly. Huge cheer for the first run. P C does not take another run through the over. Next over, I rush to Satheesh who has been given the ball and tell him to keep the ball on the stumps. 1st ball and Ajay hops forward and swings the ball for a six! Murli and Co. freak out near the boundary line. I am doing my ‘buck up’ scene at the back. Satheesh comes in again, the ball is outside the off stump and Ajay cuts it, Venkat falls to the ground, I raise my arms thinking he has got hold of the ball, but no!! It is next found at the boundary line. Four runs.
It continues like this for another 20 minutes. I am miserable and constantly swearing at my fielders. Murli, in the meanwhile has come in to bat in place of PC who got bowled out to Satheesh. But the score has reached 69/1 in 11 overs itself. I give Ali the ball. He is not a good bowler but I had not anticipated Satheesh and Srinu to go for so many and did not have any back up plan at all. Ali bowls, Ajay smacks him for four. I groan. At the end of the over another 13 runs to the already huge looking score. I give Venkat the ball. He is not wanting to bowl, the bugger wants to safely get into the class team. I shout at him, he glowers at me, I have switched to swearing in Tamil, which from me is quite funny. Venkat bowls, Ajay continues the mayhem. Last ball, Ajay manages to snick the ball and I dive, eyes closed, ten open the eyes to see that I have clutched the ball somehow. Rejoice!!!
They finally end at 138. All of this in just over an hour. In between Mahalingam lands up hitting another 26 runs full of edges, half catches that are nicely dropped and frantic heaves through the midwicket. Murli scores a sedate and captainly 33. Oh! Ajay scored 61. Somewhere, in between all this, D’Souza sir had landed up and watching everything with keen eyes. He must have heard my Tamil too. I, the very propah guy, grew tense with this thought again.
We are to bat next. I pad up. I am not speaking. I have heard that Gavaskar also does not speak before stepping out. I need to build myself up similarly. I step out with Dasan. I take strike. Chandran is bowling. We call him Chandra after the great Chandrashekhar. First ball is out of the stumps, I let it go with a flourish. All style. Some claps from the boundary. Next ball on the stumps, this is actually a long hop but a la Gavaskar, I shall not try anything silly till I have set myself thoroughly. I am on forward defence. I even say ‘good ball’. Ultimately, I take only 1 run on very average bowling from Chandran. Next is Venu whom the fielding team claps for. He is actually their best bowler. I grind through the over and on the 5th ball take a run. My team is already impatient after seeing such hitting from Ajay, I hear cries of ‘Hit, da’ from the boundary. I am steadfast on creating a settled impression and so I plod through the first six overs with only seven runs to my credit. Dasan also does not lose his wicket, amazingly!
Ajay is brought in for the seventh over and Dasan is to bat. First ball whizzes past Dasan’s ear. Dasan is horrified at the speed, he comes down the wicket and whispers to me, ‘Shit man, I don’t want to die, da.’ I tell him to keep his eyes on the ball and see nothing else. Everything will be fine. Next ball on the stumps, near yorker and Dasan conveniently moves away, watches his stumps shatter, puts his bat under his arm and walks away towards the boundary. I am speechless. Murli is already telling Ajay to give a loose ball to the next guy coming in , allow a run and then attack me straight away. Venkat walks in. I travel down the wicket and give the same advise about seeing the ball, Venkat gives a grim look and tells me that I should have taken more runs when I could. Now, we may suffer with Ajay’s bowling. I glower at him but I know he is saying the right thing. Venkat pushes the first ball to him confidently enough. In answer Ajay places a Forward short leg and a Silly point. Venkat gets through the next ball too. He manages to get through the over without further chaos. I play the next over from Murli now. I take single on the first ball. Venkat looks at me and then proceeds to quietly play out the over from Murli. I am left to face Ajay.
Ajay tells me something in Hindi which I cannot understand. My understanding of Hindi is very bookish and this was definitely out of the books. He comes in with the first ball, I drive, it reaches the boundary, a four! The boundary lines erupt in cheers. I am strutting around in the crease like a peacock. Next ball, I shape for a cut, the ball whizzes past my shoulder. I am beaten. Murli is giggling from the slips. I concentrate again. Next ball, I drive, my eyes close momentarily, I hear the clunk of fallen wood behind me. I don’t have to look. I am out for only 12 runs.
I have no interest in the rest of the match. I sit by the boundary, forlorn and lost. At the end I see Mr. D’Souza dusting his behind, getting up from where he is perched and open his diary. We all get up and crowd around him. I stay by the edge of the crowd. I think I know what is coming. The team is announced. I am a part of the team as a wicket keeper. Ajay is made the Vice-Captain to Murli’s captaincy. I do not perform when it matters and to my horror, D’Souza Sir walks across and tells me to be more sporting and get my team to go along with me rather than command them nonsensically.
I am spared from further humiliation. That evening Baba comes home to announce that we have been transferred to another factory near Nagpur, Maharashtra.
Tuesday, March 22, 2005
The mind is free
The mind is free
Cricket in Nilgiris has this quaint flavor of the British Raj. It is all the more in 1977-8. The teams that come to play here are essentially the district teams and the local teams. The best team is of the factory where my father works. I know of a few uncles who have given up promising careers in Cricket and are working at a reasonable paying job with this government owned factory. Of these uncles, I had seen Biswas uncle at play and overnight he had become my idol. He had these four bats of different makes that were always well kept and well cared for. He also had these gloves, for batting and wicket keeping that were just divine. On our social visits to this very eligible bachelor’s domain I only used to keep touching and ogling at these wonderful possessions of his. Biswas uncle, one day, took me aside and gave me my first tips to batting and wicket keeping. I resolved to only do as he told. As time went by I found that his advice coupled with Baba’s ministrations with the Tennis balls on our long verandah had developed me considerably as an opening bat a la Gavaskar, my ultimate hero. As the verandah was flanked on the on side by the living room wall, I had to make every stroke towards the point or the cover or hit in the straights. Baba was very particular about shots at ground level and used to get angry with my airy fairy shots. So, I had to quickly adapt myself to only cuts and drives, no hooks and pulls in my Cricket learning book. Pretty one dimensional, but that was it. I developed my catch practice through Tennis balls rebounds from the wall of the verandah. Yeah, I worked hard at what I did. The local teams had by then come to know of my efficiency at the wicket and I was invited to be a part of many budding clubs like Young mens(sic) Cricket Club, Nilgiris sports society, Aruvankadu Boys club, etc.
The Saturday has arrived and once again I am the most enthusiastic of all about the afternoon’s class match. Mr. D’Souza comes to the class in the first break and announces the teams. I am the captain of the inferior team in the class. I had expected a better team but this is a selection match and it does not bother me if the team does well, I need to do well and produce the goods at the right time. Murli again grins at me from the back bench and whispers, Da Sujit, you’ll lose da and losing captains do not get to be the captain of the class team da. I am immediately worried. Ms. Rajlakshmi steps in for the Science class and I am very oblivious as to what is being taught in the class. I spend my mental energy in trying to figure out how to better Murli during the match. I have in my team Anantha, who is the best athelete in the class but is weak at Cricket, does’nt do much except waving the bat around at head height. I have Venkat who is good but very temperamental and stubborn. Then there is Sharif, Paul, Satheesh, Dasan, Ali, Srinu and some others who are neither good nor bad. Satheesh and Srinu can bowl. Let me remark here that these were the pre One day days when there was no limits on the overs from one bowler and the team batted till they got all out and that was fast. Murli had a better team with Chandran and Venu decidedly better bowlers than anybody in our team. Murli also turned his arm over effectively. There was also a new boy called Atul who had come from Raipur in Central India. He had already told the class that he was good in all departments of the game. I am very skeptical about the outcome!
Murli wins the toss and as usual decides to bat. I lead the team out. The ground is a grassy one and a long rectangular one. Bowling is only from one end. The batsmen changes ends. Ajay is the opening bat with P C. P C is a good student and a stupid cricketer. He goes to the batting end. Srinu takes the ball to bowl first. I stand as a wickie at a respectable distance. We clap for the first ball which is wide. Kantham from the 9th standard is the umpire. He signals duly. Huge cheer for the first run. P C does not take another run through the over. Next over, I rush to Satheesh who has been given the ball and tell him to keep the ball on the stumps. 1st ball and Ajay hops forward and swings the ball for a six! Murli and Co. freak out near the boundary line. I am doing my ‘buck up’ scene at the back. Satheesh comes in again, the ball is outside the off stump and Ajay cuts it, Venkat falls to the ground, I raise my arms thinking he has got hold of the ball, but no!! It is next found at the boundary line. Four runs.
It continues like this for another 20 minutes. I am miserable and constantly swearing at my fielders. Murli, in the meanwhile has come in to bat in place of PC who got bowled out to Satheesh. But the score has reached 69/1 in 11 overs itself. I give Ali the ball. He is not a good bowler but I had not anticipated Satheesh and Srinu to go for so many and did not have any back up plan at all. Ali bowls, Ajay smacks him for four. I groan. At the end of the over another 13 runs to the already huge looking score. I give Venkat the ball. He is not wanting to bowl, the bugger wants to safely get into the class team. I shout at him, he glowers at me, I have switched to swearing in Tamil, which from me is quite funny. Venkat bowls, Ajay continues the mayhem. Last ball, Ajay manages to snick the ball and I dive, eyes closed, ten open the eyes to see that I have clutched the ball somehow. Rejoice!!!
They finally end at 138. All of this in just over an hour. In between Mahalingam lands up hitting another 26 runs full of edges, half catches that are nicely dropped and frantic heaves through the midwicket. Murli scores a sedate and captainly 33. Oh! Ajay scored 61. Somewhere, in between all this, D’Souza sir had landed up and watching everything with keen eyes. He must have heard my Tamil too. I, the very propah guy, grew tense with this thought again.
We are to bat next. I pad up. I am not speaking. I have heard that Gavaskar also does not speak before stepping out. I need to build myself up similarly. I step out with Dasan. I take strike. Chandran is bowling. We call him Chandra after the great Chandrashekhar. First ball is out of the stumps, I let it go with a flourish. All style. Some claps from the boundary. Next ball on the stumps, this is actually a long hop but a la Gavaskar, I shall not try anything silly till I have set myself thoroughly. I am on forward defence. I even say ‘good ball’. Ultimately, I take only 1 run on very average bowling from Chandran. Next is Venu whom the fielding team claps for. He is actually their best bowler. I grind through the over and on the 5th ball take a run. My team is already impatient after seeing such hitting from Ajay, I hear cries of ‘Hit, da’ from the boundary. I am steadfast on creating a settled impression and so I plod through the first six overs with only seven runs to my credit. Dasan also does not lose his wicket, amazingly!
Ajay is brought in for the seventh over and Dasan is to bat. First ball whizzes past Dasan’s ear. Dasan is horrified at the speed, he comes down the wicket and whispers to me, ‘Shit man, I don’t want to die, da.’ I tell him to keep his eyes on the ball and see nothing else. Everything will be fine. Next ball on the stumps, near yorker and Dasan conveniently moves away, watches his stumps shatter, puts his bat under his arm and walks away towards the boundary. I am speechless. Murli is already telling Ajay to give a loose ball to the next guy coming in , allow a run and then attack me straight away. Venkat walks in. I travel down the wicket and give the same advise about seeing the ball, Venkat gives a grim look and tells me that I should have taken more runs when I could. Now, we may suffer with Ajay’s bowling. I glower at him but I know he is saying the right thing. Venkat pushes the first ball to him confidently enough. In answer Ajay places a Forward short leg and a Silly point. Venkat gets through the next ball too. He manages to get through the over without further chaos. I play the next over from Murli now. I take single on the first ball. Venkat looks at me and then proceeds to quietly play out the over from Murli. I am left to face Ajay.
Ajay tells me something in Hindi which I cannot understand. My understanding of Hindi is very bookish and this was definitely out of the books. He comes in with the first ball, I drive, it reaches the boundary, a four! The boundary lines erupt in cheers. I am strutting around in the crease like a peacock. Next ball, I shape for a cut, the ball whizzes past my shoulder. I am beaten. Murli is giggling from the slips. I concentrate again. Next ball, I drive, my eyes close momentarily, I hear the clunk of fallen wood behind me. I don’t have to look. I am out for only 12 runs.
I have no interest in the rest of the match. I sit by the boundary, forlorn and lost. At the end I see Mr. D’Souza dusting his behind, getting up from where he is perched and open his diary. We all get up and crowd around him. I stay by the edge of the crowd. I think I know what is coming. The team is announced. I am a part of the team as a wicket keeper. Ajay is made the Vice-Captain to Murli’s captaincy. I do not perform when it matters and to my horror, D’Souza Sir walks across and tells me to be more sporting and get my team to go along with me rather than command them nonsensically.
I am spared from further humiliation. That evening Baba comes home to announce that we have been transferred to another factory near Nagpur, Maharashtra.
Cricket in Nilgiris has this quaint flavor of the British Raj. It is all the more in 1977-8. The teams that come to play here are essentially the district teams and the local teams. The best team is of the factory where my father works. I know of a few uncles who have given up promising careers in Cricket and are working at a reasonable paying job with this government owned factory. Of these uncles, I had seen Biswas uncle at play and overnight he had become my idol. He had these four bats of different makes that were always well kept and well cared for. He also had these gloves, for batting and wicket keeping that were just divine. On our social visits to this very eligible bachelor’s domain I only used to keep touching and ogling at these wonderful possessions of his. Biswas uncle, one day, took me aside and gave me my first tips to batting and wicket keeping. I resolved to only do as he told. As time went by I found that his advice coupled with Baba’s ministrations with the Tennis balls on our long verandah had developed me considerably as an opening bat a la Gavaskar, my ultimate hero. As the verandah was flanked on the on side by the living room wall, I had to make every stroke towards the point or the cover or hit in the straights. Baba was very particular about shots at ground level and used to get angry with my airy fairy shots. So, I had to quickly adapt myself to only cuts and drives, no hooks and pulls in my Cricket learning book. Pretty one dimensional, but that was it. I developed my catch practice through Tennis balls rebounds from the wall of the verandah. Yeah, I worked hard at what I did. The local teams had by then come to know of my efficiency at the wicket and I was invited to be a part of many budding clubs like Young mens(sic) Cricket Club, Nilgiris sports society, Aruvankadu Boys club, etc.
The Saturday has arrived and once again I am the most enthusiastic of all about the afternoon’s class match. Mr. D’Souza comes to the class in the first break and announces the teams. I am the captain of the inferior team in the class. I had expected a better team but this is a selection match and it does not bother me if the team does well, I need to do well and produce the goods at the right time. Murli again grins at me from the back bench and whispers, Da Sujit, you’ll lose da and losing captains do not get to be the captain of the class team da. I am immediately worried. Ms. Rajlakshmi steps in for the Science class and I am very oblivious as to what is being taught in the class. I spend my mental energy in trying to figure out how to better Murli during the match. I have in my team Anantha, who is the best athelete in the class but is weak at Cricket, does’nt do much except waving the bat around at head height. I have Venkat who is good but very temperamental and stubborn. Then there is Sharif, Paul, Satheesh, Dasan, Ali, Srinu and some others who are neither good nor bad. Satheesh and Srinu can bowl. Let me remark here that these were the pre One day days when there was no limits on the overs from one bowler and the team batted till they got all out and that was fast. Murli had a better team with Chandran and Venu decidedly better bowlers than anybody in our team. Murli also turned his arm over effectively. There was also a new boy called Atul who had come from Raipur in Central India. He had already told the class that he was good in all departments of the game. I am very skeptical about the outcome!
Murli wins the toss and as usual decides to bat. I lead the team out. The ground is a grassy one and a long rectangular one. Bowling is only from one end. The batsmen changes ends. Ajay is the opening bat with P C. P C is a good student and a stupid cricketer. He goes to the batting end. Srinu takes the ball to bowl first. I stand as a wickie at a respectable distance. We clap for the first ball which is wide. Kantham from the 9th standard is the umpire. He signals duly. Huge cheer for the first run. P C does not take another run through the over. Next over, I rush to Satheesh who has been given the ball and tell him to keep the ball on the stumps. 1st ball and Ajay hops forward and swings the ball for a six! Murli and Co. freak out near the boundary line. I am doing my ‘buck up’ scene at the back. Satheesh comes in again, the ball is outside the off stump and Ajay cuts it, Venkat falls to the ground, I raise my arms thinking he has got hold of the ball, but no!! It is next found at the boundary line. Four runs.
It continues like this for another 20 minutes. I am miserable and constantly swearing at my fielders. Murli, in the meanwhile has come in to bat in place of PC who got bowled out to Satheesh. But the score has reached 69/1 in 11 overs itself. I give Ali the ball. He is not a good bowler but I had not anticipated Satheesh and Srinu to go for so many and did not have any back up plan at all. Ali bowls, Ajay smacks him for four. I groan. At the end of the over another 13 runs to the already huge looking score. I give Venkat the ball. He is not wanting to bowl, the bugger wants to safely get into the class team. I shout at him, he glowers at me, I have switched to swearing in Tamil, which from me is quite funny. Venkat bowls, Ajay continues the mayhem. Last ball, Ajay manages to snick the ball and I dive, eyes closed, ten open the eyes to see that I have clutched the ball somehow. Rejoice!!!
They finally end at 138. All of this in just over an hour. In between Mahalingam lands up hitting another 26 runs full of edges, half catches that are nicely dropped and frantic heaves through the midwicket. Murli scores a sedate and captainly 33. Oh! Ajay scored 61. Somewhere, in between all this, D’Souza sir had landed up and watching everything with keen eyes. He must have heard my Tamil too. I, the very propah guy, grew tense with this thought again.
We are to bat next. I pad up. I am not speaking. I have heard that Gavaskar also does not speak before stepping out. I need to build myself up similarly. I step out with Dasan. I take strike. Chandran is bowling. We call him Chandra after the great Chandrashekhar. First ball is out of the stumps, I let it go with a flourish. All style. Some claps from the boundary. Next ball on the stumps, this is actually a long hop but a la Gavaskar, I shall not try anything silly till I have set myself thoroughly. I am on forward defence. I even say ‘good ball’. Ultimately, I take only 1 run on very average bowling from Chandran. Next is Venu whom the fielding team claps for. He is actually their best bowler. I grind through the over and on the 5th ball take a run. My team is already impatient after seeing such hitting from Ajay, I hear cries of ‘Hit, da’ from the boundary. I am steadfast on creating a settled impression and so I plod through the first six overs with only seven runs to my credit. Dasan also does not lose his wicket, amazingly!
Ajay is brought in for the seventh over and Dasan is to bat. First ball whizzes past Dasan’s ear. Dasan is horrified at the speed, he comes down the wicket and whispers to me, ‘Shit man, I don’t want to die, da.’ I tell him to keep his eyes on the ball and see nothing else. Everything will be fine. Next ball on the stumps, near yorker and Dasan conveniently moves away, watches his stumps shatter, puts his bat under his arm and walks away towards the boundary. I am speechless. Murli is already telling Ajay to give a loose ball to the next guy coming in , allow a run and then attack me straight away. Venkat walks in. I travel down the wicket and give the same advise about seeing the ball, Venkat gives a grim look and tells me that I should have taken more runs when I could. Now, we may suffer with Ajay’s bowling. I glower at him but I know he is saying the right thing. Venkat pushes the first ball to him confidently enough. In answer Ajay places a Forward short leg and a Silly point. Venkat gets through the next ball too. He manages to get through the over without further chaos. I play the next over from Murli now. I take single on the first ball. Venkat looks at me and then proceeds to quietly play out the over from Murli. I am left to face Ajay.
Ajay tells me something in Hindi which I cannot understand. My understanding of Hindi is very bookish and this was definitely out of the books. He comes in with the first ball, I drive, it reaches the boundary, a four! The boundary lines erupt in cheers. I am strutting around in the crease like a peacock. Next ball, I shape for a cut, the ball whizzes past my shoulder. I am beaten. Murli is giggling from the slips. I concentrate again. Next ball, I drive, my eyes close momentarily, I hear the clunk of fallen wood behind me. I don’t have to look. I am out for only 12 runs.
I have no interest in the rest of the match. I sit by the boundary, forlorn and lost. At the end I see Mr. D’Souza dusting his behind, getting up from where he is perched and open his diary. We all get up and crowd around him. I stay by the edge of the crowd. I think I know what is coming. The team is announced. I am a part of the team as a wicket keeper. Ajay is made the Vice-Captain to Murli’s captaincy. I do not perform when it matters and to my horror, D’Souza Sir walks across and tells me to be more sporting and get my team to go along with me rather than command them nonsensically.
I am spared from further humiliation. That evening Baba comes home to announce that we have been transferred to another factory near Nagpur, Maharashtra.
Monday, March 21, 2005
Days and Nights in Bangladesh
DAYS AND NIGHTS IN BANGLADESH
It has been about five months that I have been in Bangladesh now. Indians living and working in Bangladesh have mainly restricted themselves to the two cities – Dhaka and Chittagong. I decided to venture into the unknown. The city of Cox’s Bazaar is known to the average Bangladeshi, being the premier seaside town with a heavenly beach stretching for miles. My employers told me only as much when they contacted me in Kolkata. I came down to Cox’s Bazaar for a recce. Yes, the beauty was impressive and the hotel that I was supposed to head was even more so. My risk of relocation was lessening by the day. I started with Seagull Hotel here in August 2004. But did I know the country, the people and their natural suspicion of us Indians?
Here lies another story altogether. Firstly, I saw that Hindus ( Sanatanis, as they are called here) were not very involved in the political landscape of the country. In fact, there are not too many Hindus who matter in this country. Now, the Muslims, through their religious antipathy, have come to view any Indian with suspicion and that is very much understandable. But the Hindus here are of a very mean and cowardly variety. I have tried to understand the reasons and the oppression faced in the past seems to be the only answer that comes to mind. These people have a presence on both sides of the border. They are working and living in Bangladesh and awaiting the day when the powers that be here tell them to go over the border. I have met people who have it all planned and are hoarding their wealth bit by bit across the border. In fact, I met a doctor from Firozepur yesterday who has his brother in law in Kakdwip, West Bengal, India from 1992 onwards, in the aftermath of the Babri Masjid riots. He has very meticulously planned everything including the requisite ration cards in India. He holds a Bangladeshi passport and travels to India every three months to look at his benami holdings in West Bengal. He may be residing in the fringes of the urban world but he is exceedingly wealthy. What does my average countryman say to all these schemes!
On the other hand, the Muslims, with a clear majority in the country have not been able to regroup themselves after the liberation in 1971. The country has not gotten ahead in Education ( the urban population totally depends on other countries for receiving a good education, visit colleges in Pune, Bangalore, Chennai and Trivandrum and you shall know what I am talking about). Because of this subsistence on foreign education, the youth of the country are disconnected from the orthodox elders and have no idea about nation building. The political class consists mainly of businessmen who have their own causes and prerogatives to pursue. The space left in the middle has been taken up illiterate touts and agents of all hues who do not have anything to give back to the country. The rural and urban divide is at an all time high. Migration from agriculture to Manual labour in urban areas and India has been continuous thus fuelling another economic disparity. I find that this disparity is getting to be the real cause for a massive migration towards Indian cities in the last fifteen years and this has been continuous in the face of abhorrent living conditions in some areas in Bangladesh. In many ways, this has not been different from the migrations from Bihar, UP, AP, Jharkhand and Orissa in India.
Manual Labour exists at many levels. But primarily, it exists at the various manufacturing factories. Bangladesh has a very poor manufacturing infrastructure. Here, even plastic goods are imported! There is no white goods, car, electronic goods, leather goods, machine tools, or heavy Engineering items manufactured in the country. The dependence on Chinese, Taiwanese, Malaysian, Thai and Indian good s is so high that they devalue their own goods. It is like what used to occur in India during our fathers’ times. So, smuggling constitutes a hefty part of the country’s economy. Custom Inspectors are millionaires having 3 to 4 houses in best locations of Dhaka and paying hefty sums to be at the check posts for duties. So, the Labourers needing to earn well have been finding the safe refuge of India.
Has India understood the entirety of this problem? - coming up.
It has been about five months that I have been in Bangladesh now. Indians living and working in Bangladesh have mainly restricted themselves to the two cities – Dhaka and Chittagong. I decided to venture into the unknown. The city of Cox’s Bazaar is known to the average Bangladeshi, being the premier seaside town with a heavenly beach stretching for miles. My employers told me only as much when they contacted me in Kolkata. I came down to Cox’s Bazaar for a recce. Yes, the beauty was impressive and the hotel that I was supposed to head was even more so. My risk of relocation was lessening by the day. I started with Seagull Hotel here in August 2004. But did I know the country, the people and their natural suspicion of us Indians?
Here lies another story altogether. Firstly, I saw that Hindus ( Sanatanis, as they are called here) were not very involved in the political landscape of the country. In fact, there are not too many Hindus who matter in this country. Now, the Muslims, through their religious antipathy, have come to view any Indian with suspicion and that is very much understandable. But the Hindus here are of a very mean and cowardly variety. I have tried to understand the reasons and the oppression faced in the past seems to be the only answer that comes to mind. These people have a presence on both sides of the border. They are working and living in Bangladesh and awaiting the day when the powers that be here tell them to go over the border. I have met people who have it all planned and are hoarding their wealth bit by bit across the border. In fact, I met a doctor from Firozepur yesterday who has his brother in law in Kakdwip, West Bengal, India from 1992 onwards, in the aftermath of the Babri Masjid riots. He has very meticulously planned everything including the requisite ration cards in India. He holds a Bangladeshi passport and travels to India every three months to look at his benami holdings in West Bengal. He may be residing in the fringes of the urban world but he is exceedingly wealthy. What does my average countryman say to all these schemes!
On the other hand, the Muslims, with a clear majority in the country have not been able to regroup themselves after the liberation in 1971. The country has not gotten ahead in Education ( the urban population totally depends on other countries for receiving a good education, visit colleges in Pune, Bangalore, Chennai and Trivandrum and you shall know what I am talking about). Because of this subsistence on foreign education, the youth of the country are disconnected from the orthodox elders and have no idea about nation building. The political class consists mainly of businessmen who have their own causes and prerogatives to pursue. The space left in the middle has been taken up illiterate touts and agents of all hues who do not have anything to give back to the country. The rural and urban divide is at an all time high. Migration from agriculture to Manual labour in urban areas and India has been continuous thus fuelling another economic disparity. I find that this disparity is getting to be the real cause for a massive migration towards Indian cities in the last fifteen years and this has been continuous in the face of abhorrent living conditions in some areas in Bangladesh. In many ways, this has not been different from the migrations from Bihar, UP, AP, Jharkhand and Orissa in India.
Manual Labour exists at many levels. But primarily, it exists at the various manufacturing factories. Bangladesh has a very poor manufacturing infrastructure. Here, even plastic goods are imported! There is no white goods, car, electronic goods, leather goods, machine tools, or heavy Engineering items manufactured in the country. The dependence on Chinese, Taiwanese, Malaysian, Thai and Indian good s is so high that they devalue their own goods. It is like what used to occur in India during our fathers’ times. So, smuggling constitutes a hefty part of the country’s economy. Custom Inspectors are millionaires having 3 to 4 houses in best locations of Dhaka and paying hefty sums to be at the check posts for duties. So, the Labourers needing to earn well have been finding the safe refuge of India.
Has India understood the entirety of this problem? - coming up.
Saturday, September 25, 2004
The Half Pant years
Year 1977. I cannot remember the month. Baba sitting in front of the big Phillips radio. His diary is in front of him. A fountain pen beside it. He is listening intently to the broadcaster. I am fiddling with my short buttons and trying to get his attention to my immediate problem. He turns around to look at me as he registers my presence.
Tell me, he says. I need a haircut, I say. Go, take money from Ma and have your haircut tomarrow, he says and turns his attention back to the radio as the broadcaster is now droning about some Jagjivan Ram.
Oh, I know it is all about that mother of all elections happening all over India. Baba has taken three days leave from the office to sit at home and dutifully note all the developments in the diary. Every morning I received The Hindu first as he had to be in office by 7.30 AM and that lazy newspaper boy never arrived before his departure. So, curt and familiar instructions were left with Ma that I was not to leave the paper in disarray and that it was to be left in a dry and cool place untouched by me and my brother’s filthy hands. He would have included Ma’s name in that list too but for the fact that she did not read English at all. But I managed to read the latest Ranji Trophy scores by heart before I neatly folded back the paper for him to devour this evening.
I go to Ma and tell her about my immediate financial need and she ruffles my hair and tells me that it is not large enough and the haircut can wait. I am getting fed up.
Actually, it is not for the haircut that I am worried. I have lost Sridhar’s Tennis ball and he has already given me an ultimatum that I dare not disobey. Sridhar is two years older to me, his Tamil is full of swearwords already, he has a penchant for keeping me bowling to his horrible batting for hours together and most importantly my father reports to his father at work. So Sridhar has to get his ball back and I am willing to tell lies at home to enable that. Actually, my fault. I never should have imagined in my head what happens when Vijay Amritraj plays a short ball from outside the off stump to the leg side and that too on a driveway at the edge of a hill in Nilgiris. That was the fourth Tennis ball I personally lost in the last three months. The lie was because I was generally tired of hidings from either of my parents.
On my way back from the kitchen I can hear the broadcaster droning – Congress (I) – 43, Janata Dal – 61, CPI-M – 5, etc. My father cannot even hear me now. His pen is flying over the diary pages as he writes away. The results of the election, I presume. I turn into our bedroom at the far end of the house. My brother is curled up asleep. It is only 8 PM but he is sleeping. He is always sleeping. If he is not sleeping then he is tagging along behind Ma. Oh, he is always hungry when he is awake. My share of biscuits also go to him these days.
I open my Social Studies textbook to show Ma that I am studying. I start to dream about Bahadur rescuing my Class teacher on horseback during a fire in my school and me rescuing Pramila from the same fire. Bahadur is the beloved comic book hero and Pramila is my beloved. My reading table becomes the playground through which Bahadur rushes through on horseback with Ms. Manimala, my class teacher. I am following him on another horse with Pramila behind me. Very romantic and thrilling stuff! Enter Ma.
She spots me with my rubber riding my pen and me mumbling the appropriate running commentary and goes ballistic. Now, she hails from rural Howrah, a district adjoining Calcutta in Bengal. Some ten years ago she shifted from Bengal with Government Servant husband but instead of progressing from that milieu in Howrah, she has happily stagnated at home since then. So, her language and the abuses also carry that rural Howrah feel and with matching decibels! I hurriedly put the pen and rubber away before she can cause any more damage to the situation and pick up my Social Studies textbook again.
Ma wakes me up from a dreamless sleep at my study table by my left ear. This is an old scene. I cannot stay awake beyond Nine PM if I have my textbooks in front of me. My mother feels that I cannot grow up to be the great scientist or Professor that I am supposed to become if I have not studied till ten PM. I have learnt to be tolerant of this ‘pull by the ear’ concept. I am ordered to come for dinner. I loll towards the dining room. Baba is still with the broadcasts. Even now I do not know whom he supports because he did not go to vote as all the neighbouring uncles and aunties did. We did not have our names in the Voter’s list. Why, I do not have any idea. He never discusses his politics with us, the rest of the family. I sit for dinner. It starts to rain outside. Typical weather of Nilgiris. Ma is waiting for Baba to come and sit at the table. She will serve him and only then the eating shall start. She calls out to Baba. I can hear his grunt of assent. Baba is fond of good food. Ma makes reasonably good food. So, Baba is never late at the table. But today is something else. He has more things on his mind than just his stomach. At last, I can hear his chair scrape and simultaneously the volume of the radio go up.
Baba is at the table. Ma serves him his dinner. Bhaat, Begun Bhaja, Dal, and Moti fish fry. Simple and yet hugely effective for me and Baba. We both love the combinations. Baba relaxes after the first few gulps. Ma is also calm. I can sense Baba’s happiness. My first question pops out by itself, ‘what happened, Baba’.
Baba patiently starts to relate to me and Ma about Jaiprakash Narayan’s crusade against the Emergency misrule by Indira Gandhi. He tells us about the emergence of Jan Sangh, the apex Opposition party pitted against the Indira Congress. He tells us that India is moving into a new era with this change and who were the leaders those who were responsible for this change. I had heard of Morarji Desai, Charan Singh, George Fernandes, Atal Behari Vajpayee and others before too. But I did not know the specifics and I had no patience with The Hindu frontpages. The Back three pages were far more interesting. But now the cobwebs in my mind cleared. Baba is quite descriptive while telling us all this. He also tells us of a new era dawning in West Bengal where the Left Front was coming into power. He told us about a very dynamic barrister who shall be looking after Bengal, Jyoti Basu. I was quite impressed with these new names and mentally told myself that my new game would consist of all these characters.
Presently, Baba stops to listen to some more results coming over the radio. Ma tells him to eat and then sit and relax in front of the radio. He glowers at her. She shuts up. I am through with my meal and Baba also finishes. Ma waits for all of us to finish before she starts her meal. This is customary. I have never questioned this system. While Baba is finishing he tells me that if Janata Dal comes to power then he will buy me that Fruit cake from Lingam’s shop. Ah! The cake means far more to me than any Janata Dal Victory. I only ask him by when is Janata Dal expected to win. He smiles. I can see who he supports now. I go off towards my bed. I can still hear the faint noises of the radio from the living room among the pitter patter of the raindrops. I sleep off.
I wake up next morning to find my brother, Rajat riding me. I push him away. There is a bright sunshine outside. The radio is still on. Baba is on the verandah having his Tea and talking to the next door neighbour Mr. N.K.R.S.Rao. Mr. Rao is waving the Indian Express Firstpage to Baba and Baba is reeling out facts and figures from the diary. Very animated talk! Rajat has pushed my toothbrush into the water tank. I spank him. He starts to cry. Ma arrives, retrieves my toothbrush and takes Rajat away from me. I put the brush into my mouth and stand listening to the political debate happening outside. Baba no longer has that Bengali accent in his English but he retains the slow and deliberate cadence of the speech. In any debate his style of speaking always proves very effective. Mr. Rao falters in his extempore debate. Baba has won a small battle of his own and also the Tea is over. He comes back inside. Ma tells him that since he has his leave today too, it is prudent that he goes to the market for the fish and vegetables. Baba gives her a dirty look. She goes away grumbling. Baba sits down with The Hindu. I sit down on the floor in front of him with my glass of Horlicks and try to read the back page of the paper. I am a fast reader and there is not much to read on the back page. I finish and wait for Baba to turn pages. But he seems to be taking his time. I rush off to the radio. It had started wheezing for lack of care in tuning. AIR is back in full bloom. I hear that Indira Gandhi has lost the election. Baba also rushes from his chair near the verandah. The newsreader is good, Barun Sen, if I remember correctly. There is a lot of statistics told. I do not understand that but I can feel a suppressed excitement in me. This is my first exposure to politics, my new game. Now there was something that I could understand beyond my books, cricket, football, tennis and Pramila!
Chapter 2
I have no inclination of what Mr. Balan will say when he calls me into the school library today. It has been a pretty boring day for me today. Gavaskar was toiling his way to a fruitless century against the Pakistanis in an uneventful drawn test match somewhere in Pakistan. Baba tells me that he is the most self serving player in Indian Cricket. I cannot believe that but I cannot discard what he says too! Anantharajan, my hero in class has not invited anyone to a fight today. The English class has passed without Ram Sir committing grammatical errors while teaching us. Sharmila’s shirt did not pop up from her tuck – in for me to glimpse her bare back. So no luck there too! Oh! Back to Mr. Balan. Now, Mr. Balan has never taught me, he being the primary school teacher looking after those ABCD fellows. But he has always struck thunder whenever he has happened to cross my path. All because I have heard from Sridhar that during Volleyball practice Satish of 9th Standard was hit on the face purposefully by him for not being able to lift the ball correctly. I know it is true because I trust Sridhar to tell me the right things. Mr. Balan sees me entering the library and gestures me to get over to where he is. Mr. Balan looks a bit like the Amar Chitra Katha wolf, only with a lot more curly hair than any self respecting wolf would have. I sit at his desk. He folds the notebook that he has been correcting. He looks at me with suitable horrific facial expressions geared to increase my heartbeat to extreme levels. He speaks up in his malayali tones, “Sujit, have you ever stood in an election or do you know what an election is”, he asks. No Sir, I meekly answer. ‘Well’, he says, “it is like all your friends select who they feel can lead them best if they have to choose a leader”. I could not get what he meant to say. I knew what an election meant in great detail through Baba’s efforts but I was not about to tell Mr. Balan that. He continued, if you put in your candidature for such a selection from your class VII A, I will see to that you are supported enough by other students in the class to become the Class Monitor. Ah! So this was the issue here. Last year I was not able to become the monitor because Ms. Sakina, my Class teacher did not like the way I interrupted her during class. Also, she had caught me writing I love you in Pramila’s notebook. For Ms. Sakina these were not the characteristics of a good leader. A pity, because I was at the forefront of every activity in class. Cricket team Vice Captain to Murali, Football team goalkeeper, Hockey team forward a la Govinda, I sang all the Hindi solo songs and even some Tamil ones that were put up by the Orange House. I acted in all the plays and even directed some that came my way. This I picked up again from Baba who had to convert our living room into a rehearsal stage two months every year before the Durga pujas. I was already reading the ‘Thought for the day’ in the morning assembly. I had still not broken any test tube in our Chemistry Practicals that had started this year. My handwriting still won prizes every year monotonously although I was starting to go bad. But Ms. Sakina still did not select me and gave the honour to Shaktivelu who came first in class and did nothing else. I happened to be second in class.
So, I was ripe for a fair competition and that has been noticed by Mr. Balan very well. He tells me how this election is going to take place fifteen days from now. He tells me that I have to canvass for myself within my class. I ask him as to how I am going to do that. He tells me that I should be preparing a list of future achievements that the class should be doing and my help in getting those achievements. I am also to prepare a list that speaks about the disciplinary and cleanliness measures that I shall introduce in Class. I listen to him intently. This is new to me and I do not want to queer my pitch by saying that what discipline and cleanliness can I achieve!
I wait for Baba the same evening. Baba is seemingly late. I get a little bit impatient. Ma is feeding Rajat and the pranks he is making is irritating me. I sit down with some linseed oil to re-oil my bat. The strokes this afternoon were not really thumping. It must have been the tired wood of the bat. I can hear Rao uncle shouting at the gardener. If Rao uncle is back then Baba must be really late. Baba is always home before Mr. Rao. I start to rub the linseed oil into the surface of the bat. The conversation with Mr. Balan does not leave my head. I cannot understand that I will get my Classmates’ votes on the basis of promises for the future. I always thought that one always becomes famous on the basis of past deeds and performances. But Mr. Balan must be telling this to me on the basis of something that he already is aware of. Baba can sort out this issue of mine but I do not know when I can see him. I have rarely waited for him in this impatient manner.
Tell me, he says. I need a haircut, I say. Go, take money from Ma and have your haircut tomarrow, he says and turns his attention back to the radio as the broadcaster is now droning about some Jagjivan Ram.
Oh, I know it is all about that mother of all elections happening all over India. Baba has taken three days leave from the office to sit at home and dutifully note all the developments in the diary. Every morning I received The Hindu first as he had to be in office by 7.30 AM and that lazy newspaper boy never arrived before his departure. So, curt and familiar instructions were left with Ma that I was not to leave the paper in disarray and that it was to be left in a dry and cool place untouched by me and my brother’s filthy hands. He would have included Ma’s name in that list too but for the fact that she did not read English at all. But I managed to read the latest Ranji Trophy scores by heart before I neatly folded back the paper for him to devour this evening.
I go to Ma and tell her about my immediate financial need and she ruffles my hair and tells me that it is not large enough and the haircut can wait. I am getting fed up.
Actually, it is not for the haircut that I am worried. I have lost Sridhar’s Tennis ball and he has already given me an ultimatum that I dare not disobey. Sridhar is two years older to me, his Tamil is full of swearwords already, he has a penchant for keeping me bowling to his horrible batting for hours together and most importantly my father reports to his father at work. So Sridhar has to get his ball back and I am willing to tell lies at home to enable that. Actually, my fault. I never should have imagined in my head what happens when Vijay Amritraj plays a short ball from outside the off stump to the leg side and that too on a driveway at the edge of a hill in Nilgiris. That was the fourth Tennis ball I personally lost in the last three months. The lie was because I was generally tired of hidings from either of my parents.
On my way back from the kitchen I can hear the broadcaster droning – Congress (I) – 43, Janata Dal – 61, CPI-M – 5, etc. My father cannot even hear me now. His pen is flying over the diary pages as he writes away. The results of the election, I presume. I turn into our bedroom at the far end of the house. My brother is curled up asleep. It is only 8 PM but he is sleeping. He is always sleeping. If he is not sleeping then he is tagging along behind Ma. Oh, he is always hungry when he is awake. My share of biscuits also go to him these days.
I open my Social Studies textbook to show Ma that I am studying. I start to dream about Bahadur rescuing my Class teacher on horseback during a fire in my school and me rescuing Pramila from the same fire. Bahadur is the beloved comic book hero and Pramila is my beloved. My reading table becomes the playground through which Bahadur rushes through on horseback with Ms. Manimala, my class teacher. I am following him on another horse with Pramila behind me. Very romantic and thrilling stuff! Enter Ma.
She spots me with my rubber riding my pen and me mumbling the appropriate running commentary and goes ballistic. Now, she hails from rural Howrah, a district adjoining Calcutta in Bengal. Some ten years ago she shifted from Bengal with Government Servant husband but instead of progressing from that milieu in Howrah, she has happily stagnated at home since then. So, her language and the abuses also carry that rural Howrah feel and with matching decibels! I hurriedly put the pen and rubber away before she can cause any more damage to the situation and pick up my Social Studies textbook again.
Ma wakes me up from a dreamless sleep at my study table by my left ear. This is an old scene. I cannot stay awake beyond Nine PM if I have my textbooks in front of me. My mother feels that I cannot grow up to be the great scientist or Professor that I am supposed to become if I have not studied till ten PM. I have learnt to be tolerant of this ‘pull by the ear’ concept. I am ordered to come for dinner. I loll towards the dining room. Baba is still with the broadcasts. Even now I do not know whom he supports because he did not go to vote as all the neighbouring uncles and aunties did. We did not have our names in the Voter’s list. Why, I do not have any idea. He never discusses his politics with us, the rest of the family. I sit for dinner. It starts to rain outside. Typical weather of Nilgiris. Ma is waiting for Baba to come and sit at the table. She will serve him and only then the eating shall start. She calls out to Baba. I can hear his grunt of assent. Baba is fond of good food. Ma makes reasonably good food. So, Baba is never late at the table. But today is something else. He has more things on his mind than just his stomach. At last, I can hear his chair scrape and simultaneously the volume of the radio go up.
Baba is at the table. Ma serves him his dinner. Bhaat, Begun Bhaja, Dal, and Moti fish fry. Simple and yet hugely effective for me and Baba. We both love the combinations. Baba relaxes after the first few gulps. Ma is also calm. I can sense Baba’s happiness. My first question pops out by itself, ‘what happened, Baba’.
Baba patiently starts to relate to me and Ma about Jaiprakash Narayan’s crusade against the Emergency misrule by Indira Gandhi. He tells us about the emergence of Jan Sangh, the apex Opposition party pitted against the Indira Congress. He tells us that India is moving into a new era with this change and who were the leaders those who were responsible for this change. I had heard of Morarji Desai, Charan Singh, George Fernandes, Atal Behari Vajpayee and others before too. But I did not know the specifics and I had no patience with The Hindu frontpages. The Back three pages were far more interesting. But now the cobwebs in my mind cleared. Baba is quite descriptive while telling us all this. He also tells us of a new era dawning in West Bengal where the Left Front was coming into power. He told us about a very dynamic barrister who shall be looking after Bengal, Jyoti Basu. I was quite impressed with these new names and mentally told myself that my new game would consist of all these characters.
Presently, Baba stops to listen to some more results coming over the radio. Ma tells him to eat and then sit and relax in front of the radio. He glowers at her. She shuts up. I am through with my meal and Baba also finishes. Ma waits for all of us to finish before she starts her meal. This is customary. I have never questioned this system. While Baba is finishing he tells me that if Janata Dal comes to power then he will buy me that Fruit cake from Lingam’s shop. Ah! The cake means far more to me than any Janata Dal Victory. I only ask him by when is Janata Dal expected to win. He smiles. I can see who he supports now. I go off towards my bed. I can still hear the faint noises of the radio from the living room among the pitter patter of the raindrops. I sleep off.
I wake up next morning to find my brother, Rajat riding me. I push him away. There is a bright sunshine outside. The radio is still on. Baba is on the verandah having his Tea and talking to the next door neighbour Mr. N.K.R.S.Rao. Mr. Rao is waving the Indian Express Firstpage to Baba and Baba is reeling out facts and figures from the diary. Very animated talk! Rajat has pushed my toothbrush into the water tank. I spank him. He starts to cry. Ma arrives, retrieves my toothbrush and takes Rajat away from me. I put the brush into my mouth and stand listening to the political debate happening outside. Baba no longer has that Bengali accent in his English but he retains the slow and deliberate cadence of the speech. In any debate his style of speaking always proves very effective. Mr. Rao falters in his extempore debate. Baba has won a small battle of his own and also the Tea is over. He comes back inside. Ma tells him that since he has his leave today too, it is prudent that he goes to the market for the fish and vegetables. Baba gives her a dirty look. She goes away grumbling. Baba sits down with The Hindu. I sit down on the floor in front of him with my glass of Horlicks and try to read the back page of the paper. I am a fast reader and there is not much to read on the back page. I finish and wait for Baba to turn pages. But he seems to be taking his time. I rush off to the radio. It had started wheezing for lack of care in tuning. AIR is back in full bloom. I hear that Indira Gandhi has lost the election. Baba also rushes from his chair near the verandah. The newsreader is good, Barun Sen, if I remember correctly. There is a lot of statistics told. I do not understand that but I can feel a suppressed excitement in me. This is my first exposure to politics, my new game. Now there was something that I could understand beyond my books, cricket, football, tennis and Pramila!
Chapter 2
I have no inclination of what Mr. Balan will say when he calls me into the school library today. It has been a pretty boring day for me today. Gavaskar was toiling his way to a fruitless century against the Pakistanis in an uneventful drawn test match somewhere in Pakistan. Baba tells me that he is the most self serving player in Indian Cricket. I cannot believe that but I cannot discard what he says too! Anantharajan, my hero in class has not invited anyone to a fight today. The English class has passed without Ram Sir committing grammatical errors while teaching us. Sharmila’s shirt did not pop up from her tuck – in for me to glimpse her bare back. So no luck there too! Oh! Back to Mr. Balan. Now, Mr. Balan has never taught me, he being the primary school teacher looking after those ABCD fellows. But he has always struck thunder whenever he has happened to cross my path. All because I have heard from Sridhar that during Volleyball practice Satish of 9th Standard was hit on the face purposefully by him for not being able to lift the ball correctly. I know it is true because I trust Sridhar to tell me the right things. Mr. Balan sees me entering the library and gestures me to get over to where he is. Mr. Balan looks a bit like the Amar Chitra Katha wolf, only with a lot more curly hair than any self respecting wolf would have. I sit at his desk. He folds the notebook that he has been correcting. He looks at me with suitable horrific facial expressions geared to increase my heartbeat to extreme levels. He speaks up in his malayali tones, “Sujit, have you ever stood in an election or do you know what an election is”, he asks. No Sir, I meekly answer. ‘Well’, he says, “it is like all your friends select who they feel can lead them best if they have to choose a leader”. I could not get what he meant to say. I knew what an election meant in great detail through Baba’s efforts but I was not about to tell Mr. Balan that. He continued, if you put in your candidature for such a selection from your class VII A, I will see to that you are supported enough by other students in the class to become the Class Monitor. Ah! So this was the issue here. Last year I was not able to become the monitor because Ms. Sakina, my Class teacher did not like the way I interrupted her during class. Also, she had caught me writing I love you in Pramila’s notebook. For Ms. Sakina these were not the characteristics of a good leader. A pity, because I was at the forefront of every activity in class. Cricket team Vice Captain to Murali, Football team goalkeeper, Hockey team forward a la Govinda, I sang all the Hindi solo songs and even some Tamil ones that were put up by the Orange House. I acted in all the plays and even directed some that came my way. This I picked up again from Baba who had to convert our living room into a rehearsal stage two months every year before the Durga pujas. I was already reading the ‘Thought for the day’ in the morning assembly. I had still not broken any test tube in our Chemistry Practicals that had started this year. My handwriting still won prizes every year monotonously although I was starting to go bad. But Ms. Sakina still did not select me and gave the honour to Shaktivelu who came first in class and did nothing else. I happened to be second in class.
So, I was ripe for a fair competition and that has been noticed by Mr. Balan very well. He tells me how this election is going to take place fifteen days from now. He tells me that I have to canvass for myself within my class. I ask him as to how I am going to do that. He tells me that I should be preparing a list of future achievements that the class should be doing and my help in getting those achievements. I am also to prepare a list that speaks about the disciplinary and cleanliness measures that I shall introduce in Class. I listen to him intently. This is new to me and I do not want to queer my pitch by saying that what discipline and cleanliness can I achieve!
I wait for Baba the same evening. Baba is seemingly late. I get a little bit impatient. Ma is feeding Rajat and the pranks he is making is irritating me. I sit down with some linseed oil to re-oil my bat. The strokes this afternoon were not really thumping. It must have been the tired wood of the bat. I can hear Rao uncle shouting at the gardener. If Rao uncle is back then Baba must be really late. Baba is always home before Mr. Rao. I start to rub the linseed oil into the surface of the bat. The conversation with Mr. Balan does not leave my head. I cannot understand that I will get my Classmates’ votes on the basis of promises for the future. I always thought that one always becomes famous on the basis of past deeds and performances. But Mr. Balan must be telling this to me on the basis of something that he already is aware of. Baba can sort out this issue of mine but I do not know when I can see him. I have rarely waited for him in this impatient manner.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)