by Milind Bokil
‘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.
The 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 l
ady 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.
The half-yearly exams loomed large after Dusshera. Surya and Phawdya wanted us to meet at our adda before the exam to study together. I helped them with English and Chitre, as usual, would solve all problems in Maths beforehand. But it was impossible to study for long when we were together. Surya talked of Kevda all the time. We whiled away most of the time chatting, whilst the books were mute spectators to our activities. I would come home and study. But it was not easy to concentrate there either.
The exams began. For the language papers, we were made to sit with the eighth standard students, stoking Surya’s hopes of being in the same room as Kevda. But to his dismay, we were with Eighth-D, while Kevda was in Eighth-A. We are made to sit in alphabetical order, so Chitre would sit ahead, followed by me, Phawdya and finally Surya. Surya’s neighbours were Dashrath and Harishchandra, and of no use to him. If he was lucky, he got to sit in the row next to mine. That’s when he could copy at least the ‘fill in the blanks’ and ‘match the following’ type of answers from me.
But Surya needed help in all the papers. We could help with the answers in Maths, but how could one help him copy the equations? Halbe sir once wondered how he had got the answer right when all his steps were wrong. Anyway, it all depends on who the exam supervisor is. If it is Bendre ma’am, then we are screwed. There is no point in having Manjrekar or Zende sir either. They may be friendly, but they do not allow us to talk when the exam is on. Our best bet is Rajguru sir or Halbe sir. Even Prem Chopra is fine. He likes to believe pacing the aisles is a sufficient deterrent; but then we know how to copy.
Since Shirodkar’s name begins with ‘S’, she sits far away from me; in fact most of the time in the next classroom. The eighth standard rooms are cramped and stuffy. But things changed suddenly before the social science paper. We were asked to move to the laboratory, which had been converted into a makeshift exam room. A row of cupboards, lined up in the centre of the room, acted as a divider. But there were just three cupboards. The teachers arranged them in such a manner that they left wide gaps between them. The benches on either side of the divider faced each other.
I came in early. I was on the first bench while Phawdya and Surya were far behind. An eighth standard girl shared my bench. The bell rang and all the girls and boys streamed in to occupy their respective seats. I could not believe my eyes when I looked ahead. Shirodkar and I sat facing each other. It was unbelievable!
I was conscious of the hollow in the pit of my stomach. The tension before the exam added to it. A tremor passed through my body. She saw me staring at her and quickly looked down.
Paranjpe ma’am was the supervisor. I was on the first bench so there was no question of helping anyone copy from me. I had no such plans in any case. Ma’am distributed the question paper and answer sheets. The nerds started scribbling the moment the teacher gave the signal to begin.
Shirodkar glanced at me once before she began writing. She quickly put her head down when she found me staring. I realized this was too good an opportunity to lose. The next exams, the finals, were six months away. There was no guarantee we would be seated this way again. I was not going to let this godsent opportunity go waste.
I continued to stare at her. She must have guessed and did not look up again. Ma’am came to sign the answer sheets. Normally teachers do no
t converse with students during an exam but, seeing my pages blank, she asked, ‘Why, what happened? Haven’t started yet?’
‘I will,’ I said, muttering under my breath.
I continued to look at Shirodkar after ma’am moved away. Her face radiated freshness; as usual she was wearing aboli flowers in her hair. Her uniform was neatly pressed while her hair was tied into two plaits with yellow ribbons shaped like flowers. The ribbon flowers shook as her hand moved on the paper. Her earrings too moved gently.
I continued to stare while she continued to write without looking up even once. She knew I was staring at her so there was no question of her looking up. No girl would ever do that.
I then decided to concentrate on the question paper. Normally I would attack it with great gusto, but this time the questions were weird: reasons for formation of Prussia, special rights given to the French aristocracy, differences in opinion between Mazini and Garibaldi and so on. We had to write the name of the person who said, ‘If they do not have bread why don’t they eat cake?’ I would have answered these easily on any other day, but today I could not remember a single answer.
I then decided to attempt the ‘fill in the blanks’ section. That turned out to be easy. Manjrekar sir says we should always attempt the best answers first. The examiner is impressed if he or she finds correct answers in the beginning of the answer sheet and then does not bother to check the rest of the paper with the same alertness. If you impress with the first few answers, you are likely to get good marks.
But I was unable to write much. I was worried she may look at me while I was busy writing and I would miss the opportunity. But she never did. The girl next to me seemed to know very little and had a huge blot of ink on her answer sheet. Chitre and I used to help the duds in the senior classes especially in Language or History examinations. But she did not seem to be the kind that deserved help.
The bell rang indicating the end of the first hour.