Pinto Has An Idea

by Rajeev Saxena

  PINTO HAS AN IDEA

  PINTO HAS AN IDEA

  RAJEEV SAXENA

  © Rajeev Saxena, 2018

  First published, 2018

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  DEDICATION

  I

  dedicate this book to my daughter, Tanvi, who is an avid reader at the age of ten and is very curious about it. She has, in fact, put pressure on me to finish writing it...

  The motivation behind this book has been gratitude to my parents, each of whom has played a unique role in my life—as, I suppose, all parents do. My father encouraged me to be original, in my ideas and in my exhibits at science shows. My mother ensured that I did well in academics as well. Whenever I was too lost in ideating, or neglected my studies, she brought balance in my life.

  My son, Aryan, at the age of six, has also provided me the right background in which to write: by not being too demanding so that I could do so.

  Last—but as they say, not least—I could not have completed this without my wife Nidhi’s support. She has provided some very constructive comments, kept me on my toes and made sure my time was not ‘wasted’ on household chores. She has also provided me Indian tea whenever I needed it, a very important reason why I completed this project so quickly.

  I owe many thanks, too, to the Pinto of my story. Pinto will never die. Pinto will continue his research and will come up with more and more ideas in the future, maybe in a new avatar.

  Please wish him luck.

  CONTENTS

  FOREWORD

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  TWENTY

  TWENTY-ONE

  TWENTY-TWO

  TWENTY-THREE

  TWENTY-FOUR

  TWENTY-FIVE

  TWENTY-SIX

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  FOREWORD

  M

  y grandfather often told me this story when I was a kid. A poor boy finds two dead mice in his house. A rich man in his neighbourhood has a cat and loves it a lot, indulging it with all kinds of its favourite food. The poor boy gives the mice he found to the rich man to feed his cat. The rich man offers him two handfuls of chickpeas in return. The boy roasts the chickpeas with salt, creating a tasty snack, and displays them on a roadside charpoy on which he sits with some cold water in a terracotta pitcher beside him. The water comes from a nearby spring. Weary travellers smell the delicious hot chickpeas and come to buy them, eat them on the spot, and are grateful for the sweet water to slake their thirst after. The water comes free—the poor boy charges only for the snacks. He is soon sold out. He buys more chickpeas to sell. The business runs well; he slowly moves to a shop, then a bigger shop, and eventually becomes a rich man himself.

  When I became older, I discovered that a cat generally does not eat dead mice. I reported that finding to my grandfather and said that the story didn’t seem to be right. Why, I asked, would the rich man give chickpeas to the poor boy when the cat would not eat the dead mice he had brought? He said, ‘No, it’s perfectly right. The purpose of the story I told you was just to motivate you into realizing that even things such as dead mice can be turned into an opportunity if you have ideas and work hard at them.’

  My book is a similar mix of fiction and reality.

  Pinto, an IITian and a renowned scientist, keeps thinking up new ideas for self-and-others’ improvement. When a sweet lady, Lavanya, comes into his life, Pinto, an unromantic guy deep in research, keeps ignoring Lavanya’s love. Interestingly, as his ideas evolve, his capacity for love matures alongside. Just like any other couple, they have their ups and downs. This is a story of how they overcome the challenges of their family life, and at the same time revolutionize the society through their ideas.

  I hope that my story will amuse you, make you cry, and thrill you at the same time, as you wait for what Pinto will do next. I hope, too, that my effort—a simple story about a simple but gifted man and woman—will prove unique.

  This is not science fiction. Most of the ideas in this book can be implemented at some point. It’s up to readers to synthesize fiction and real fact, and be edified.

  And, at the same time, entertained.

  June 2017

  Rajeev Saxena

  ONE

  S

  hirish Agrawal and Rita Srivastava were sipping tea in the principal’s office of the Adarsha Bal Mandir school. Rita’s son, Pinto, was with them, sitting up straight in his chair—as he’d been told to—but unable to hide either his anxiety or his boredom. He was young enough to be ignored and not to be offered tea. The office had an old, dented desk, opposite the principal’s chair, and three heavy wooden visitors’ chairs facing it, covered with plain but clean cushions. The desk was stark, with only a pen-stand and a chipped paperweight to adorn it.

  To the side of the room stood a large almirah, its faded paint showing its age. Even though the office was old and rundown, it had an air of strict authority about it. Adarsha Bal Mandir was the best elementary school in Atrauli, a small town in Uttar Pradesh.

  Mrs Somya Arora entered.

  Rita stood up and greeted her with a namaste.

  The principal returned Rita’s greeting, and went forward to touch Shirish’s feet respectfully. Phoning ahead to make an appointment in small-town India in the ’70s was not a common practice, so meeting her old teacher on a surprise visit was not really a surprise for Somya. Shirish Agrawal explained to her at length that they were there to ask for Pinto’s admission to her school.

  ‘His formal name is Rajat Srivastava—we call him “Pinto”,’ continued Shirish. ‘I’d taught his mother, Rita, as I once taught you. As his father is in a transferable job, Rajat hasn’t had a chance to go to school yet, but he is extremely bright. I’d recommen
d that, based on his age and knowledge, he should be admitted to the 2nd grade.’

  Somya called her assistant to bring the admission form. Somya was an unusually tall, fair, a somewhat buxom but beautiful lady, probably in her early thirties. Rita looked up at her warily after dutifully filling out the admission form. ‘Thank you very much, ma’am,’ she said as she handed it in. ‘Which grade do you think he should attend?’

  ‘I think Shirish sir has already recommended the 2nd grade. I cannot be a better judge than he is,’ said Somya.

  ‘If you want,’ persisted Rita meekly, ‘please feel free to give him a test, the way you give others.’

  ‘She’s digging a hole for her own son to fall into!’ thought Pinto. ‘What if I don’t make the grade? What kind of mother is she?’ Later, he’d know that the ‘hole’ his mother was making was really a ladder.

  ‘I like your honesty but the test is not needed.’ Somya responded appreciatively, to Pinto’s huge relief.

  In traditional India, there was a ‘family’ concept for everything. There would be a ‘family’ servant, friend, cook, priest, maid, painter, mason, doctor, laundryman, teacher, and more. Shirish was Rita’s ‘family’ teacher. One day, he visited Rita at her house and saw Pinto playing by himself in the verandah. ‘Why are you not sending Pinto to school?’ he asked Rita sternly.

  ‘Pinto is a bright child and is learning pretty well at home,’ she tried to argue.

  ‘Nobody can teach social skills at home,’ Shirish persisted, knowing Rita would listen to the ‘family’ mentor. ‘Pinto should get a formal education in the company of other kids.’

  As expected, Rita said, ‘I know you’ll make the best decision for Pinto, sir. Tell me what to do.’

  That’s why Rita, Shirish and Pinto were sitting in the school office that day. Pinto found Somya’s voice extremely loud and harsh, and for his first impression of school, he found the principal as scary as the monsters he read about in comic books. Because of her weight and high heels, when she walked towards them, children imagined an earthquake coming on. Over the next days, older kids would tell Pinto horror stories about her, how cruel and how much of a control freak she was. Younger kids would not have the courage to even speak when she was around.

  Overall, she ruled over students and fellow teachers equally. Her classes were held in pin-drop silence. The children said she had eyes in the back of her head because she always knew when someone was not paying attention to the lesson. Some of the teachers joked that you couldn’t look her in the eye or you would turn to stone.

  But on his first day at school, things went quite well for Pinto. His mother and Shirish escorted him to his classroom, bearing sweets to share with all the children in it. Shirish even presented each child with a branded HB pencil. The sweets were made of mawa, filled with raisins and cashewnut. They were treasured candy and brought Pinto immediate popularity.

  A classmate, Eshwar, couldn’t stop his expressions of glee. ‘You are really generous,’ he gushed. ‘You brought sweets and pencils. Other new students usually generally distribute a couple of lozenges. Are you from a super-rich family?’

  ‘Not really, my parents just love me,’ Pinto grinned cheekily.

  Eshwar was not happy with Pinto’s response.

  It was customary for a new kid to sit with his or her mother on the opening day of school and Pinto didn’t mind, because like any new entrant, he needed time to get used to Somya, and preferred his mother to be around while he did. When his mother came to drop him off at school the next day, he insisted she stay with him. Somya, welcoming the little ones at the door of their classroom, tried to convince Pinto, ‘Let your mom go. Good boy. We’ll give you sweets.’

  Pinto responded sharply, ‘Eshwar and Priti told me yesterday that they never get sweets here.’

  ‘Who will cook if your mother stays at school?’ Somya went on persuasively.

  ‘My grandma cooks—not my mom,’ Pinto said promptly. Tough lady though she was, Somya burst out laughing. Needless to say, it took Pinto a while to get adjusted.

  Pinto continued to be nervous but also excited about school. Being a curious and observant child, he noticed something weird and asked Eshwar, ‘Why do these two seats remain empty all the time in our classroom?’

  Eshwar took him aside and told him secretively, ‘Shhh! One day, Somya ma’am was asking about the assignment in her typical loud voice. Deepak and Priti peed in their seats, they were so nervous. The seats have been cleaned, but I wouldn’t trust the cleaning lady!’

  Somya was a very nice lady at heart, as everyone learnt by and by. One day, she asked Pinto to bring his mother to the school. Pinto was scared to death, wondering what he’d done wrong to deserve a parental summons.

  Rita was surprised too. ‘What happened, ma’am?’ she asked the principal as soon she saw her. ‘Is Pinto doing all right?’

  Somya decided to prolong the dramatic mystery for fun. ‘Please take Pinto out of my school,’ she said with a grim face.

  Shocked and mystified, Rita said, ‘I apologize on Pinto’s behalf if he did something wrong. I’ll make sure that he doesn’t repeat it.’

  Somya laughed finally. ‘It’s not what you’re are thinking,’ she reassured Rita. ‘Pinto is an extremely brilliant pupil for his age. I feel my school is not the right place for him. I’d suggest you admit him to a missionary school in Aligarh.’

  The pride in Rita’s eyes was unmistakeable. She came out of Somya’s office, breathing a sigh of relief.

  But she was also anxious. ‘Can we afford to send Pinto to a missionary school?’ she worried quietly.

  TWO

  O

  n a lovely sunny day in India eight years ago, April 1970, a baby boy was born into a northern Indian Kayastha family. Ram and Rita Srivastava named their son, Rajat. People started calling him by the nickname ‘Pintoo’. Somehow, one ‘o’ from the name disappeared and it became ‘Pinto’. Ram originally belonged to Agra, in Uttar Pradesh. Rita came from a small town called Atrauli near Aligarh, in the same state. After doing some odd teaching jobs here and there, Ram finally landed a government assignment. His first posting was in Nainital, a popular hill station in north India.

  Nainital is a wonderful city dotted with lakes and hills. During the summer it is full of tourists, primarily consisting of college kids and honeymooners. Cool Nainital used to be once a favourite station for the British to escape to from the hot summers in the plains, so it had many remnants of colonialism. Later, it became a place of retirement for many army and government officers and, because of its accessibility from the plains, it also developed as a boarding-school hub.

  There was a certain English-medium boarding school which was struggling with some teaching issues. One day Mr Edwin Brown, the principal of that institution, called on his counterpart in the Government School, Mr Ramesh Gupta.

  Mr Brown seemed worried. ‘Yaar!’ he exclaimed the moment they met. ‘I need at least three more English teachers in my school. And urgently! There is so much competition here, it’s hard to find good recruits for any subject.’

  Mr Gupta sympathized, ‘Yes, it’s a crazy place. Your students are coming to my teachers for tuitions! Tutorial classes are not allowed to government school teachers but I let them carry on. They don’t make much money anyway.’

  Mr Brown’s eyes lit up. ‘Why don’t you recommend a teacher from your school?’

  Mr Gupta shook his head. ‘Oh no!’ he said. ‘That’s not possible. Small tuitions in private homes are okay. But my teachers can’t teach in your school openly. We’ll need special permission.’

  Mr Brown didn’t give up. ‘I’ll get permission using my contacts. Who doesn’t like a bribe here? You just tell me the name of the person most appropriate for this job. He’s got to be good, huh? You know, kids at convent schools are smart… not like your government school type... ’

  Mr Gupta laughed at his friend’s habitual teasing. ‘At a government school, our job is more difficult,�
�� he retorted. We don’t give any tests. We have to admit any kid. Still, by district level, our students are toppers. You know, whenever we have this discussion, it ends nowhere. So shut up and do what you have to do. Between you and me, Ram Srivastava is the right person for this job. He is not only knowledgeable but also very hardworking. Just be careful, though. Moral values are very important to him. He’d call a spade a spade. In fact, he has had some heated arguments with even me, but I never felt bad as he was always right.’

  And Ram got the part-time job in the boarding school. Rita was happy they’d have some extra income. Ram was happy that he was teaching a more advanced subject.

  Ram used to engage in protracted debates with other colleagues about subject concepts, and then come home to research the most recent topic, to prove his point the next day. The internet, as we know it, was not known even to Bill Gates back in those days.

  Rita would often complain about it. ‘What are you getting out of all that bukbuk? I’d rather you spend that time to take some extra tuitions and make some money.’

  Ram would ignore her.

  Rita had been a good student as well, but victim of an early marriage, which was very common those days. Parents wanted to see off their daughters in the traditional way as soon as they came of age. It didn’t mean that they didn’t love them. Parents felt the social pressure that made them duty-bound to get their girls to ‘settle down’ as soon as possible through marriage. So their girls learnt to put practicality first.

  Ram would argue, ‘We are lucky that I have got this part-time job. I don’t want any extra tuitions. Don’t you want me to be respected as the best teacher in Nainital?’

  Rita would snap back, ‘Yes, yes, I’m proud of you. But unfortunately teachers don’t make a lot of money. But do you think I want more money for myself? I want to save for my kids. Our parents never saved for us and you have seen how hard we’ve had to struggle. I don’t want my kids to be in the same situation.’