by Milind Bokil
‘She’s okay; not that bad.’
‘We had asked her to practise daily; but she wouldn’t listen. You must be practising daily, I suppose?’
‘Yes… No… I mean, sometimes.’ I wanted to tell her I won because she was there, but the words eluded me. I was unable to believe my eyes that she was still there.
She fumbled for words. She looked again at both the sides of the lane. I knew if I did not continue the conversation, she would walk away. My mind was whirling fast.
‘Who all are there at home?’ I asked.
She raised her eyebrows quizzically and said, ‘Aai, Pappa, two sisters and a brother. What about you?’
‘I have an elder sister. She’s in college.’
I knew, but asked nevertheless, ‘How old is your brother?’
‘He is in class four,’ she replied. ‘My elder sister goes to college. Little One is in class seven.’
Little One! That was a new term. We never use that word to address a younger sibling. But I liked it.
‘What does your dad do?’ I asked.
‘He works in a bank,’ she said and then started laughing. ‘Why are you asking all these questions?’
What could I say? Time was ticking by. I should have asked Naru mama how to take the conversation further. My chest continued to pound away.
‘The tuition teacher teaches well, isn’t it?’ I said.
‘Yes. But we don’t like him much. We feel sleepy in the class. I prefer Zende sir.’
‘Then why did you join this class?’ I asked.
‘It is close by,’ she said. ‘But it is so boring to attend classes in the evening. What made you join this class?’
I was tempted to say I joined because of her, but I was worried it may upset her.
‘Just like that,’ I said. But I knew that she knew. She smiled a sweet knowing smile.
‘What is the name of that girl? The one who walks with you back home?’
‘Oh, that one? She’s Juvekar. She’s at Subhash. What about her?’
‘No, I just wanted to know her name,’ I said. ‘Most of the students here are from Subhash, isn’t it?’
‘Yes. Deshmane sir is from the same school, you know.’
‘If any sir from our school starts a class no one will attend.’
‘True! No one knows how to teach well. Look at that Redkar sir and Bendre ma’am!’
‘Zende and Manjrekar sir are nice.’
‘Right,’ she said.
I did not know that the girls had the same opinion as the boys. The conversation was progressing well. I was feeling better and my chest had calmed down a little.
‘Why did you not participate in any competition?’ I asked.
‘I don’t know any games. I can play games like carrom. We have a board at home. Do you play carrom?’
‘Yes,’ I said confidently. I had played a few times with Ponkshe kaka. ‘People play carrom every evening in our building.’
‘How nice! We are forced to play at home.’
‘Our building is a lot of fun in the evenings,’ I said, warming up. ‘All the people assemble in the courtyard after dinner to play or watch chess games, carrom, and exchange some gossip!’
‘Aiyaa! How nice!’ she repeated. ‘It must be fun. We don’t have any neighbours.’
‘Who stays on the first floor then?’
‘Our landlord,’ she said. ‘He is a grumpy, old fellow, can’t tolerate even a little noise from our house. Immediately comes down to complain.’
I was enjoying the talk. No one had passed by—it was as if they had wanted us to be alone and had made a collective resolution not to come this way. Not that I would have bothered if they did. She had stayed back and spoken to me. That was enough. I was floating in the air, and all I could see was the blue sky with pure white clouds.
But this could not go on for eternity. She must have seen someone enter the lane when she said, ‘May I go?’
I wanted to ask her to stay back, but then I realized this was enough for one day.
‘When will you meet again?’ I asked, steeling myself.
‘Na re baba. I cannot manage all this.’ She started moving away. ‘And don’t wait for me over here. There are a lot of people who know me in this area.’
‘But will you meet me again?’
‘Let me see,’ she said, but I could see her eyes had a flicker of a smile.
I could have spent my entire life standing there, but I saw two plump ladies coming my way. One of them looked like the one staying in the Devgiri bungalow and I quickly walked away with rapid steps. Once out of the lane, I spread my wings and gently floated all the way back home.
That evening we had the prize distribution ceremony. It was the happiest day of my life. We had an ex-student as our chief guest. He regaled us with stories of his school days, which were not very different from ours. We doubled up with laughter hearing them. He said those who shine on the school playground would shine in the playground of life too. We loved that statement. Phawdya said we should use that as our school’s motto. We got our medals—Phawdya received one for the best bowler and Surya for this two hundred metre sprint. Chitre got the second prize in the science exhibition and I got an award for the chess championship. The girls received a shield for the kabaddi match.
Holding the silver cups in our hands, we congratulated each other. Chitre had a certificate of appreciation too. We congratulated the girls. Surya and Phawdya did not want to let go of their cups. My cup was larger than theirs. Chess has a special place of honour in our school. The cup exchanged many hands as it went around the crowd. The lid fell off a few times, but I did not mind. I had received my prize in the morning itself! It was bigger than all the cups and shields, and much more beautiful. I was not going to show it to anyone, and no one could take it away from me.
I felt there was no need to meet Shirodkar again. I was happy and contented. I would meet her whenever the situation arose naturally. There was no need to try hard for it. I started attending the tuition classes again. She would look straight ahead, as always, but I knew she would be watching me now and then. I kept a straight face and did not try to catch her. We had some sort of a secret pact now and both of us had to adhere to it without fail.
But I got restless after five or six days. I was desperate to meet her. Her memories were as strong as before—from the moment I woke up till I dozed off in the night. But they were not sufficient, afterall. I had to meet and speak to her.
I could have bunked the tuition class but was not sure whether Shirodkar would take the same route back home. Also, she may not stop and talk at that place in the dark. It was not a convenient spot for us to meet. I would not have agreed to meet someone in the lane next to our building. In fact, I would have found it difficult to stand there for more than five minutes. I would have been mortally scared of coming across someone known to me.
I needed to find another place for us to meet, where we could sit and chat undisturbed. There are a few places in our town where girls and boys stand and talk—the lane near Shrinath Laundry, the lane near Korde ma’am’s crèche or the road leading to the Municipal Hospital. These places are quiet with lots of trees and the houses are spread apart. The boys who meet girls there are older to us, but sometimes there are school boys too. The boys come on bicycles and the girls walk alongside. The boys then sit on the front rod holding the handle with their hands. They don’t look around; they are busy staring at the girls’ face, but the girls are conscious and keep glancing this way and that, lest they see a known person. Or sometimes, they fiddle with a pebble lying on the ground with their toes. Most of the times the couples are giggling to themselves, but once in a while one can see the girl sulking while the boy tries to humour her.
Last year, Surya had taken it upon himself to tease these couples. We would pace the lanes a few times. Some of the timid ones would push off, but the shameless ones like Sukdi-Mahesh would not bother. We would tire and leave, without any success. But s
ince Surya began lusting after Kevda, he had not found time for anything else.
That said, it was foolish to stand there in those desolate lanes. I wonder why those stupid girls and boys never realized it. Naru mama would have said the same. Anyone passing by, especially a regular, was bound to notice. You need to change places every day. That’s why it was important to search for a proper place to meet.
I visited Chitre the following Sunday on the pretext of exchanging some notebooks, and then spent time roaming the lanes and bylanes around his place. There were quite a few desolate ones, but none that appealed to me. The one behind the Parasnis Dispensary seemed appropriate, but unfortunately there was a cobbler sitting under a tree who would keep staring at me. The lane next to the Tilak statue too was lonely, but there was an open drain on one side and a lot of garbage dumped along the lane. The lane next to Faiyyaz garage was fine, but there was a row of trucks parked back to back. I did not venture beyond that lane as the area was quite isolated. There was a danger of the rowdies from Akurli troubling us.
I realized my search for quiet lanes was proving futile. I then went in search of crowded places. The station area was fine, but there was a constant din of vegetable vendors there and cows roamed around freely the whole day. As was the case with Om Market, which has embroidery and tailoring shops and a constant stream of women going in and out. The lanes are narrow and any passer-by will have to brush against you to move ahead. And one has to stand there all the time. There is no place to sit. The only place to sit is in the park near our house, but Phawdya says only the chalu couples visit that place and one has to tip the watchman there. Who wants to have such transactions? The cemented platform behind Sawarkar statue was spacious and the shops there were closed in the afternoon. One could sit there without being seen, but only in the afternoon. I was not keen to sit in such a place. Even if you sat with your sister, people would think otherwise.
It suddenly dawned on me that the Ganesh temple was a good place to meet. It was the only temple in the town and was quite spacious. The main hall had a big chandelier and the floor tiles were smooth and cool. There was a peepal tree with a cement platform all around it. The other small temples around the main one were those of Maruti, Devi and Vitthal. The temple was busy and yet strangely quiet. You could see young children playing hide and seek there. The best part of the temple was the fact that one could stand there and talk to anyone without anyone raising an eyebrow.
I wondered how to convey this idea to Shirodkar. There was no question of standing below the peepal tree waiting for her. Similarly, speaking to her in school was ruled out. The boys would suspect me if I so much as glanced in her direction. The only option was to speak to her when the tuition classes got over. But there was the problem of Mande and the other girl accompanying her. I would be dead meat if I were to speak to her in their presence. Mande would tell the whole school the very next day. It was probably okay if Juvekar came to know of it. She was her best friend in any case.
It then dawned on me—the main reason behind people sending letters. There is some danger in putting things in writing, but at least the contents are not revealed to anyone except the person who reads it. One can convey one’s thoughts, otherwise difficult to articulate, through letters. No wonder girls and boys exchange letters. Naru mama may have a different opinion, but I didn’t have much choice. I would ask her to destroy the letter after reading it. There would be no danger of any evidence then.
The next day was Saturday. There was school in the morning and Scouts in the evening. I went home and hurriedly finished my tea and toast. I tore off half a page from my notebook and wrote a line, changing my handwriting a bit. The line was simple: ‘Will you meet me at the Ganesh temple tomorrow morning at ten?’ No one would identify my handwriting. I further added that the letter had to be destroyed after reading.
I attended the tuition class as usual.
Pingle asked me whether I would accompany him on the way back home, but I said, ‘I have to return a book to Misal. Do you want to come along?’
I knew he would refuse because he got bored of our talk. Shirodkar, as usual, left with her two friends. I followed them. Mande turned to enter Dedhiya Kirana, much to my relief. It would have been difficult had she continued to walk along. Juvekar and Shirodkar turned towards Juvekar’s lane. I knew they would chat there for a while. I was right.
They stood chatting when I slowly walked towards them. I managed to say, ‘I got the grammar book you had asked for.’
She was lost for a moment. They both looked askance at me and Juvekar seemed a little suspicious. Shirodkar did not understand my ploy but accepted the book, and I left immediately.
I was fine until I reached home. And then my heart began to pound miserably. There was some time for dinner and, lest Ambabai start talking, I quickly went over to the corner table and opened my Maths book. But I could not concentrate on the book at hand. I had managed to perform the daring task but wondered whether it would yield the desired result. Would Shirodkar understand my ploy? Would she open the book and read my note? The fact that I gave it to her was cue enough. She was sure to find it.
There was a possibility that Juvekar, in her excitement to take a look, might open it and find the note. It was a risk I had to take. At the most, she would come to know of our affair. So what? She might tease Shirodkar—big deal! She might, in all probability, even help her. That would be great! I just hoped the book was not discovered at home. Her younger sister could borrow the book to clear her doubts in grammar. That would be disastrous!
I had asked her to destroy my note. But what if it was discovered before she could destroy it? Imagine her elder sister or mother or her father seeing the note! Luckily, I had not written my name in it, but then she would be forced to tell my name, if asked. Imagine if her father were to land at the temple instead of her! Or, what if she read the note but decided not to visit the temple? Or her mother gave her some errand to run just as she stepped out to meet me?
I could not sleep that night. A strange fear enveloped me. But I had a lovely dream—Shirodkar had come to meet me; I took her for a ride on my cycle and reached the temple meandering through the lanes and bylanes. Everyone stood waiting for us there—Surya, Phawdya, Chitre, Sukdi, all the boys and girls, all the teachers, Appa, Aaisaheb, Ambabai, Juvekar and Pingle. The old lady from Devgiri bungalow too was present. We were welcomed with a round of applause. Surya garlanded us. We were nervous and did not know how to react.
Next morning I got up and prepared to leave. But I couldn’t decide which shirt to wear. My favourite almond-coloured shirt—my lucky shirt—was unwashed. The grey T-shirt was a little crumpled. I had never been in such a quandary. There was a new shirt which we had got for Diwali, but it was meant for special occasions like weddings. Ambabai would get suspicious if she were to see me wearing a new shirt for a casual visit to a friend’s house. I finally wore the grey T-shirt, ironing out its creases with my hand.
I reached the temple at quarter to ten. It was a Sunday, so there was quite a crowd. People here visit the temple as a place to go to and not just for worship. All kinds of people come there—young, old, even college-going people like Ambabai. I saw some of the college girls praying earnestly as they made the ritualistic pradakshina around the temple. Our gang is never seen anywhere near the temple; hence this was the most suitable meeting place for me.
Finishing my darshan, I sat outside on the parapet near the Vithoba idol. I don’t like to ask for favours while praying. I remember Aaisaheb bringing me here before the results of the seventh standard scholarship exam were to be announced. She had asked me to recite ‘pramanya shirasa devam’ and had made me take a vow that I would offer a tray of twenty-one modaks if I were to get the scholarship.
I had tried my best to stifle my laughter then. I’m sure Ganapati too would have wanted to laugh. Why would he fall for such bribes? He would know Aaisaheb would not make the steamed modaks but somehow dish up fried ones made from whea
t flour and dry coconut. I was not keen on appearing for the exam, but Ambabai was insistent and I did not want to argue. Bibikar was the only person from our class to get the scholarship. He goes to the school office every two or three months and, after getting a princely sum of twenty or thirty rupees, goes around showing off the whole day. Aaisaheb later felt we should have prayed to the family deity. She’s planning to do that when I get to class ten.
I know the Ganesh Atharvashirsha shlokas. Ponkshe kaka organizes a programme every year where the shlokas are recited a thousand times. He manages to inform every one and collects quite a crowd. The attendees get to eat homemade sabudana khichdi and bananas. Even if one person from the group recites the shlokas, Ponkshe kaka conveniently assumes that each one has recited them, thus multiplying the count by as many times. We are thus able to complete the task within a few hours. It is naïve to assume that Ganesh does not understand our ploy. But kaka cheerfully continues with his cheating.
I waited for her. It was one thing to meet on the road and talk for some time and another to actually have my wish fulfilled. Perhaps she did not like the way I had invited her. My chest was throbbing hard. I was hoping I wouldn’t meet any known faces here in the temple. I prayed for the same, sitting outside. I then tried my usual ploy of thinking of just the opposite—she would not come, she would not come…she would definitely not come!
At quarter past ten, I lost patience. I was not sure how long I would have to wait. I could see the main gate clearly, but there was a side gate too. She was unlikely to come that way, but I still went around and had a look. She was not to be seen. I took a round of the temple and then returned to sit at the same spot.
She came in at twenty-five minutes past ten. I saw her much before she entered the temple premises. She was wearing that frock with yellow flowers. It was probably her lucky dress. The usual pit of fear in my stomach was replaced by a lump of excitement, which rose right up to my chest. I sprang up. I did not know what to do next. I could not believe my eyes. She had come!