Shala (11 page)

‘What is the name of that sir?’ Vijay asked. ‘The one who told you about Emergency?’

‘Manjrekar sir.’

‘Would he come here if we invited him?’

‘Yes, I am sure. He is a bindaas character.’

‘Then we’ll invite him one day. You did a good job today.’

‘We should include him in our group,’ Ashok suggested.

‘What do you mean include him? He is already in our group,’ KT said, looking at me. ‘Isn’t it so?’

I could not make out head or tail of their discussion, but the fact that I was part of their group made me feel very good. I felt I had suddenly grown up. I had grown in respect amongst the boys in my class and the girls too looked at me with a renewed sense of pride.

They believed that I had done something for the country. But only I knew the person for whom I had borne the punishment.

C
hitre had arrived before me when I reached the building. He was reading a book titled
Biographies of Great Scientists
.

‘When did you come?’ I asked.

‘Early,’ he said. ‘Ten-thirty or so.’

‘That early?’

He pursed his lips and kept quiet. I realized something was amiss.

‘What happened? Did your parents fight again?’

‘No yaar. That saali Devaki!’

‘What did she do now?’

‘She asked me to lie down on top of her!’

‘What?’

‘She finished her work and then lay down on the cot. She then asked me to lie down on her saying her body was aching.’

‘What did you do then?’

‘What could I do? I just left the house and came here.’

Devaki, their housemaid, is a horny character. Whenever we go to Chitre’s house, she hovers around us, sometimes dropping her pallu deliberately. She giggles for no reason to attract our attention. Surya says she is itching for some action.

‘How does she get so much time?’ I asked.

‘That’s easy. She comes in at eight-thirty. She finishes her work and my parents leave at half past nine. She’s free then and tries to flirt with me. She even said she would help me undress.’

‘Really?’

‘She tries to fondle Raju. Raju does not understand; he is still a kid. But he mentioned that she fiddles with him.’

‘Why don’t you tell your Aai?’

‘What can I tell her? She is Aai’s favourite. And Aai pampers her knowing she cannot get a replacement easily.’

I visualized Devaki and a shiver of excitement ran through my body. I felt a little jealous of Chitre.

‘I cannot concentrate on my studies, yaar,’ Chitre confided. ‘And the way she tries to hug me, I am scared my bottle may burst some day.’

I did not know how to advise him. For a moment, I missed Phawdya and Surya’s counsel. But then I realized had they been present here they would have ragged him to death.

We sat there lost in our own thoughts.

T
he work at the building was temporarily stopped. There were piles of sand and bricks, but all the workers had left except for the couple staying there. Surya said that his father’s money was stuck elsewhere. That was good news for us, because it meant his father would not visit us too frequently; we were free to use the entire building now. We used to reach there at eleven o’ clock. It was an addiction.

Paranjpe ma’am finally came in one day, wearing a sleeveless blouse. We had spotted her from the building. Surya got excited seeing her. It was his lucky day. By the time we reached the classroom, the girls had already written the day, date, period etc on the board. We then asked Dashrath, the tallest in class, to rub it off and write the previous day’s date a few inches higher. Those dumb girls could not understand why anyway.

The bell rang and ma’am entered the class. All of us waited with bated breath. Ma’am started a new chapter and, when she turned to write on the blackboard, she spotted the previous day’s date. She picked up the duster to rub it off. She had to lift her hands and stand on her toes to rub what Dashrath had written. We had achieved our objective and were enjoying the sight, winking at each other and smiling. Ma’am must have realized something was wrong and looked at us suspiciously.

‘The boys do it deliberately,’ Sukdi volunteered. She was a little older than the other girls and understood the real reason behind the prank. ‘They deliberately wrote the lines high up.’

It did not take much time for ma’am to understand what Sukdi meant. But it was not our fault. We had not asked her to wear a sleeveless blouse. She continued her class as if nothing had happened.

We were all pissed off with Sukdi. We could never do this again. Ma’am was teaching us grammar that day. The topic was figures of speech. She gave an example, ‘Ram hit Ravan.’

She asked me to give another example and I promptly said, ‘Suresh hit Mahesh.’

‘Correct,’ she said. ‘Suresh hit Mahesh.’

The boys laughed out loud. Some of the girls tried to stifle their laugher with their handkerchiefs. I turned to look at Sukdi. She was cursing under her breath, looking down at the bench. Ma’am, quite obviously, was unaware of our prank.

The boys had got the hint. For every example we had Mahesh as the subject now. Ma’am continued, explaining some other parts of speech and said, ‘Boy drinks milk.’ She asked Bibikar to give another example. He said, ‘Mahesh drinks milk.’

For some other example, the response was, ‘Mahesh gets beaten.’

Ma’am could not understand why we were using Mahesh as the only subject. She asked, ‘You seem to like Mahesh very much; don’t you?

‘Yes, Ma’am,’ Chitre said. ‘We all love Mahesh, Ma’am. And some of us love him too much.’

The class erupted in laughter. The girls did not know how to react. They wanted to laugh but were not sure. Sukdi was fuming with anger, but she had no choice but to put up with it. She had been taught a lesson.

I
decided to visit Misal that evening. I didn’t inform anyone at home. I hadn’t told Misal either. Had I met him on the road, I would have said I was coming over to visit him. I knew he would not be at home as this was his time for tuition class.

I took the road from Subhash Vidyalaya. I did not go towards the stone well. It was getting a little dark, but there was enough light. I could not dare walk directly into the lane leading to Shirodkar’s house. I was worried I would be tongue-tied if I ran into her on the road. I went around the block, turning at Radheshyam Dairy. A few men sat reading the newspapers at the free library near the tamarind tree. Two tongas stood waiting for customers.

The two coconut trees at the gate of Shirodkar’s house were visible from where I stood. My chest was pounding now. I could feel the hollow in the pit of my stomach growing. I realized standing there on the road would arouse suspicion and bravely decided to walk into the lane that directly led to her house.

The lane was silent. An old man walked by, carrying a small cloth bag. I ignored him. Old men are prone to start talking, especially seeing young boys. I reached Shirodkar’s gate and had made up my mind not to look at the door but could not resist. The iron gate was ajar. A lamp burned in the verandah, but I could not see any movement inside the house. I stared at the house for a moment. It felt good. Then I continued walking and reached the end of the lane.

A lane there led to Misal’s house. For a moment, I thought of visiting Misal but then decided against it. He would not have returned from tuition and visiting him without any reason may lead him to suspect me. A few people walked by. I lingered for a few moments and decided to return the same way.

I walked around casually, looking at the houses as if I was an outsider in that locality. I passed the Devgiri bungalow and was stunned to see the same old lady in a white saree standing in the balcony. She seemed to be looking straight at me. Luckily, it was getting dark and I was sure she couldn’t see my face clearly. I was worried she would begin to wonder why a young boy was pacing the lane in the late hours of the evening. In all likelihood, she would have seen me go the other way only a few minutes back. I quickened my pace.

Shirodkar’s house was enveloped in silence. I walked a little slower, but there was no one to be seen. I observed the house carefully but decided not to stop on the road. Then I walked all the way back to the tamarind tree.

I could not go back. There was the danger of that lady at the Devgiri bungalow spotting me again. I decided that it was enough for the day. In any case, it was unlikely I would meet Shirodkar on the road. I was happy I had been able to spot her lane and house.

I was feeling light. The place, unknown to me till the other day, seemed very familiar now. It felt like home.

I
was keen to go back the very next day, but I knew I needed to be careful lest the people there suspect my movements. I allowed a day to pass and then decided to go for a walk the next evening. I was carrying a notebook and a Mathematics textbook in hand. A school boy, and that too carrying a few books in his hand, is left alone and no one doubts him. One needs to carry something in one’s hand—a book or even a bag would suffice. People have a habit of staring at anyone walking empty-handed. That jobless old lady at Devgiri bungalow; she would be sure to notice. I had an excuse ready for Misal if he spotted me—I would tell him I was on my way to his place.

I walked into Shirodkar’s lane with confidence. A rusted iron name-plate, secured to an electric pole, proclaimed the name of the lane. There was an overflowing garbage dump nearby. It was a good landmark, unlikely to be missed.

I entered the lane and glanced at the Devgiri bungalow. Luckily the old lady was not around. I felt relieved and stopped opposite Shirodkar’s house. There was a young boy playing with a cricket ball in the garden. I was sure he was her younger brother. He must have been in class four or five. I stood for a while at the gate watching him play.

The thought of engaging him in conversation by asking him for directions to some fictitious address flitted across my mind. I had learnt this from Chitre. He says it is a good way to strike up a conversation. He advises that one should carry a chit with some incomplete address. There should be some landmarks like ‘near the station,’ or ‘across the hospital,’ and so on. It makes the address look authentic. When you ask someone for directions with a written note as reference, people take you seriously. Chitre has tested his hypothesis with many people. He can keep a straight face and the fact that he is fair-skinned acts in his favour. People normally trust fair-complexioned boys. Phawdya and I would simply burst out laughing. No one would trust Surya seeing his face! And in any case, he does not care about such pranks.

I realized I did not have a piece of paper on me. There was no point in asking a small kid for some address. He would immediately call out for his ‘Aaiiiiii!’ Mothers are still manageable as they do not suspect you easily, but if there were an elder sister, that would make things quite difficult. Elder sisters have been coached not to talk to strangers. I would be dead meat if Shirodkar herself were to come out! I dropped the idea.

I did not linger for long and continued walking up to the tamarind tree. I turned to go for another round of the lane. Shirodkar’s brother was still playing with the ball. I hoped that the ball would fall outside the gate and I would get a chance to speak to him. Luckily for me, he was her younger brother. Elder brothers take it upon themselves to protect their sisters. I could have brought Surya along to thrash an elder brother, but then if you thrash the brother, you cannot expect his sister to fall in love with you, can you?

The child continued to play with the ball, which refused to fall outside the gate. I had a good look at the house. There was a small verandah outside the main door with three steps leading to it. There was a longish window covered by a curtain. A flight of steps from the side led to the top floor. The house looked big but was probably narrow and long. There were a few trees in the garden outside—hibiscus, firecracker and other flower shrubs. The garden was well-kept. The grass too had been trimmed.

I walked upto the garbage dump and turned back immediately. I could have paced the lane many times, but unfortunately I spotted the old lady in white saree standing at the gate talking to some other lady. She peered at me as I walked by. I reached the tamarind tree but lost the courage to turn around. The two women were still chatting away at the gate. They were sure to have accosted me if I had gone past them one more time.

I was at a loss. I did not know what to do. If only there had been a few shops around, I could have spent some time roaming around. I looked at the open library below the tree. Men sat there immersed in newspapers as usual. A board at the library proclaimed ‘Shrirang Library’.

An idea formed in my head. I had solved the problem of whiling away time. I went to the library and picked up a newspaper kept in the wooden pigeon-holes. I kept the books on the side and pretended to read the newspaper while holding it across my face. The paper was a local one, full of notices and tenders. There was nothing to read in it. I could see the lane clearly from my vantage point. The ladies continued to chat, standing at the gate. It was a perfect place to wait.

I picked up another paper after sometime. There were all kinds of newspapers kept there—
Navakal, Navashakti, Loksatta
, etc. Each person read his newspaper, and keeping it properly folded at the rack, pick up another one. No one spoke to another. One man, sitting next to me, shuffled his paper and loudly exclaimed, ‘These bastards should be skinned alive!’

I turned to see he was muttering to no one in particular. No one paid him any attention. He was wearing a striped pyjama and a baniyan. He had white stubble on his chin and reeked of alcohol. I moved a few seats away.

I was enjoying myself. I felt like a daredevil detective. I had a vantage point to observe the lane. I could sit here for as long as I wished, and spot Shirodkar the moment she arrived.

It was getting dark. The shops had switched on their lights. There was not much light below the tree. The people reading the newspapers too had left one by one. The municipal lamps were switched on in the lanes. I could see a faint silhouette of the gate now. I realized I had to leave. But I was feeling good. I now had a place to wait. No one would suspect me of anything even if I sat there for a long time. After all, school children are supposed to read newspapers. I returned home with a spring in my steps.