Ram would ask, ‘What will you do with so much money?’
Rita would taunt, pointing upwards, ‘You are talking like you are some Tata or Birla! Their children won’t need to work or worry for generations. Your parents spent all their money on their niece’s and nephew’s weddings, for bhaat and God knows what other family customs, and never saved anything for you.’
And then the discussion would grow into a mean-spirited family fight, both digging up incidents they never meant to bring up. Ram would ignite a squabble with something like, ‘So, your parents were also not great. They borrowed the jewellery you wore for public display at our wedding.’
Expectedly, his wife would flare-up. ‘Was it not common those days to do that? Your family already knew what was being gifted to me and what was there only for show. Did you want dowry?’
‘Of course not. All I’m saying is that it was the height of irresponsible behaviour. Think about it—if somebody had looted the jewellery, what would have happened! Your father could not have paid it off in his entire life!’
‘Your father borrowed money for groceries. What about that?’
‘It was not an exorbitant amount.’
‘But it was money mismanagement. Why would they borrow money for food and clothing if they were earning enough?’
‘See, they borrowed money but none of our neighbours knew about it. What else are we doing now? You wanted to buy a sofa set on instalments. Is that not borrowing? And when the application goes to my office for verification, the whole world gets to know that I’m buying a sofa set on instalments.’
‘That means you approve of the culture of borrowing money as long as others don’t come to know. Then leave this part-time job also. Let’s take a loan and enjoy ourselves on it.’
‘What’s wrong in it? Even the worldly philosopher Charvak agreed with that: Borrow money and drink ghee,’ he has said. ‘By the way, every American borrows a lot of money.’
‘Don’t worry. Your dream will come true soon when you have to take a loan from the provident fund we intended to save for Pinto’s higher studies.’
‘I’m earning enough to take care of my family. I don’t have to borrow anything.’
‘We never go anywhere on holiday,’ she went off on another tangent. ‘Pinto isn’t having any fun. The only enjoyment he has is Ramlila.’
‘Whatever I do, it’s never enough,’ he said tiredly. I take you and Pinto to your parents’ place every summer. Isn’t that enough?’
Both of them knew, Ram would neither leave the part-time job nor would he take up tuitions. He was happy with what he was earning.
Pinto grew up in Nainital as an often naughty, but curious kid. He was blessed with an academic atmosphere at home. In those times, early education was provided at home as formal learning before the age of five was uncommon. Pinto was about to attend a local school in Nainital at the age of five.
One day Ram came in looking very happy. ‘Rita,’ he said excitedly, ‘I’ve got an offer to go for training to England. Only two candidates from the entire state of Uttar Pradesh have been selected!’
Rita exclaimed with joy, ‘My husband is going to be called “England-returned!”’
And then Ram looked worried, ‘Where would you folks live? The government is not paying for you and Pinto.’
Rita was relaxed, ‘I knew the government cannot be that generous. Of course, I’ll go to my parents in Atrauli. This is not even a question to be asked.’
Pinto really liked his grandparents, he knew they loved him unconditionally. His grandfather Prakash used to keep a buffalo for milk and also had a sizeable piece of land in his native village which he gave on contract to a person named Dauja. The contract used to be simple. They’d divide the expense as well as earnings half and half. Dauja, who was about forty years old, was an uneducated person who never worried about bringing any efficiency to agriculture.
Atrauli had a village-like feel, but was a small town with some urban facilities and a market. This proximity to village life kept Pinto close to his family roots. This was when Dauja and Pinto became friends—and the main reason behind that was the bullock-cart.
Dauja would come to meet Pinto’s grandfather on that slow and reliable vehicle so that he could bring him various agro-products from the village. It was Pinto’s favourite past-time to ride in the bullock cart. It tickled him to see how, in addition to using the stick, Dauja’d communicate with the bullocks just as if he was talking to his kids—now scolding, now regretting it, and now heaping them with praise and affection in turn.
And then there was Pinto’s cousin, Raju, his best buddy in his acts of mischief.
Raju would declare his programme for the day, ‘We’ll go to Hanuman Garhi, have a bath in that tubewell tank and steal vegetables from some farm on the way back.’
Pinto’d ask, ‘Why vegetables?’
Raju wouldn’t hide his excitement, ‘Because they are fresher than in the market, and—you know—there cannot be more fun than when the farmer sees and chases you!’
Prakash, his grandfather, would often take Pinto with him to the market. ‘See the potter. He is making terracotta cups and bowls on a wheel.’
Pinto would look on and then demand to know, ‘Why do we need kulhar and sakora when we have steel utensils that don’t break?’
‘Nothing can beat the fragrance of terracotta. We use them even at wedding parties.’
‘Who is that guy?’ Pinto once pointed to the person forging metal out of his coal-burning furnace.
‘He is a lohpita, our blacksmith. He made me my chisel.’
‘What else can you buy from this market?’
‘You get everything here. Let me introduce you to my cobbler, who changed the sole of my shoe after the last rains.’
Pinto was not in a mood to meet the cobbler. He preferred to stand and watch the potter at work. It was amazing to see how fast he could convert a lump of kneaded mud into shapely pieces of pottery.
‘Nana,’ he pulled at his grandfather’s sleeve, ‘what is that guy doing with that large bow?’
‘He is a dhunna. Winter is coming. He is carding cotton. We use it in making warm quilts.’
‘But my papa said that you use machines for carding cotton.’
‘Yes, that’s more common. But we should not depend on machines so much when we can make things with our own hands.’
The child Pinto neither tried to understand the logic behind machine vs man nor did he want to. He was busy enjoying the marketplace. He was also impressed that his grandfather Prakash treated all those folks in the market like extended family.
Pinto made a lot of friends at school. People in Atrauli were a diverse lot, coming from different religious, caste and economic backgrounds. He had two Muslim friends, a Sikh friend and a couple of Hindu friends. He always wondered why he was not allowed to go to a Muslim friend’s house even if their parents met very warmly in school.
Gulam was the son of a school teacher and Ayaz’s father was a vegetable vendor. Vicky’s father had a big business in Atrauli and Sambarjit’s father was a wealthy cloth merchant. Hari and Anil came from poor families. Hari’s father was a peon in a school, and Anil had lost his, so his mother had to make do with small jobs.
There was a class feeling for sure, based on their economic status, but still they were friends and were ready to help each other out when required. Friendship in childhood is pure, like the Gangotri; with age it starts getting contaminated, like the Ganga. Vicky and Pinto were really good at studies. Hari was the macho guy in their group who would always take the lead to settle any dispute with other groups.
Girls made up Pinto’s circle of friends as well. One of his friends—as well as a rival—was his own cousin, Shamli. Kirti was another one who used to live in the neighbourhood. Her father was a devotee of Lord Krishna. He’d use up an entire pack of incense sticks during his prayers every day. So Kirti used to have a collection of packets emptied of those sticks, which would have s
ome scent left in them. She’d often give one to Pinto or Shamli as a gift. They’d cut that into small pieces and put them in their books. After some time the scent would transfer to the pages, which was a big draw for these kids.
‘My book smells like roses, yours is like jasmine.’
As this was not a permanent scent, Pinto would continuously need to replenish his supplies. Kirti was a good source of that. Both Shamli and Pinto competed for their friendship with her for that reason.
THREE
P
into was very happy with his school in Atrauli. Most of the teachers there were friends of his family, and the principal Somya Arora kept a benign but objective eye on all. At that age, boys and girls feel pretty much the same to each other and are yet to recognize difference in gender. All the girls in his class used to have naturally long hair; they never visited a hairdresser. In such a small town, beauty parlours were unheard of.
When Pinto went into third grade, a new girl, Sakshi, was admitted to his school. Sakshi looked very different from the other girls in his class: self-possessed, sophisticated, very modern, always well dressed, pretty and overall very cute, with short, nicely styled hair. Pinto was quick to introduce himself, and then asked her curiously, ‘Why have you cut your hair?’
Sakshi was confused, ‘What do you mean?’
‘I meant to ask if you were a boy before. Your hair looks like you cut it earlier, as boys do, and only recently decided to grow it long.’
Sankshi burst into laughter, ‘How can a girl be a boy before?’
Pinto whispered, ‘I heard anything can happen in big cities. Jasveer ma’am was telling me that you are from Delhi. I think that’s the largest city in India.’
By this time, Sakshi had begun to be amused after interacting with these small-town boys and girls. ‘Well,’ she tried to hide a smile as she explained, ‘in my previous school, all the girls kept their hair short, so I did too. My father got transferred here. I don’t think we’ll stay here very long, so I’m keeping it that way.’
Pinto and Sakshi quickly became good ‘friends’. They’d study together and, whenever they had a chance, would play together. Though she was not as innovative as Pinto, she supported him in any activity involving mischief.
In fourth grade, Pinto went to Sakshi and suggested, ‘We should invent a new language so that nobody understands when you and I talk.’
Sakshi was not enthusiastic. ‘I don’t think kids like us are capable enough.’
‘Nothing is impossible, once you decide. I think even our subject “English” can be used as a language if we add some bells and whistles to it.’
‘What’s the big deal? A lot of people speak English not only in Delhi, but around the world. Why play with something that is good enough as it is?’ Sakshi downplayed the idea.
Pinto grew a bit nervous. ‘Oh, then we’ll just have to think of something else,’ he said casually, trying to hide his caution. ‘My teachers say that I’m intelligent. One day, I’ll become an engineer or a doctor. Why can’t I invent something as simple as a language?’
Sakshi was more mature. ‘Only scientists can invent things. Did anybody tell you that you can become a scientist?’
Pinto had no answer. He went to his mom and asked her the same question. Rita was upfront. ‘There is no money in science as a career. So better you become an engineer or a doctor.’
But his father Ram encouraged him, ‘You can become a scientist. There is no reason why you can’t.’
So Pinto was fully determined again and armed with a plan. He called Sakshi, barely able to contain his excitement. Sakshi was quickly onboard and vehemently promised, ‘No, no, I won’t share our secret language with anybody else, promise!’
Pinto said, ‘I wholeheartedly believe inventing a new language would change our lives forever and I would not ruin all that work by letting the secret out!’
The young duo huddled together to brainstorm ideas. Pinto suggested, ‘Let’s start speaking words in opposite order. I mean “ya-ha aa-o” will be “ha-ya o-aa”.’
Sakshi was excited, ‘It’d need a lot of practice, I guess. So let’s start right now.’
But they were soon disappointed when Vicky, their classmate, easily cracked the code. ‘So, Sakshi,’ he said, nodding his head wisely, ‘you were saying I don’t take a bath every day, I’m dirty… Remember, I now know your secrets.’
Sakshi was embarrassed. She almost refused to participate in Pinto’s language invention. Pinto tried to convince her, ‘Listen, I’ve got a better idea.’
Sakshi wasn’t convinced. ‘No more ideas, please,’ she said. ‘I told you only scientists can invent new things. If Vicky tells my mom that I use my pocket money to buy chocolates, I’m gone. She had strictly told me to buy samosa or bananas, but no candy.’
Pinto tried one last time. ‘I’m not a quitter. See, we want to develop a language so that our parents, grandparents and friends don’t come to know about our plans. We don’t have very many secrets. If we develop code words for them, we are fine.’
Sakshi was excited again. ‘You’re great! So we can say “number one” and that would mean we want to climb the tree?’
Pinto put the final spin on the idea by suggesting, ‘That’d be a bit funny. We should replace secret words with academics. “Let’s climb the tree” would become “Let’s study biology”, “Time to steal guavas from Ramesh’s house” could be “Let’s practise science practicals!”.’
Sakshi liked it. ‘And when I sleep in Jasveer ma’am’s class, you wake me up. If I say “I want to study sociology”,’ it will mean “I want to sleep some more, so don’t wake me up”, okay?’
‘Fine,’ Pinto agreed.
‘Let’s practise every day. In two weeks we’ll be experts. If we develop around a hundred secret codes, we’re good.’ Sakshi was really thrilled.
One day, Pinto’s mom came to wake him for school. Pinto, who always hated mornings, was really hard to wake up. But this time, when Pinto’s mom pulled the covers off him and shook him sternly, the boy muttered to his mother, ‘But Ma, I want to study sociology.’
Pinto’s mom was surprised but quite pleased with her son’s dedication to his studies and promptly went to bring him his book. When she returned to him, book in hand, he had already fallen back asleep and she realized he had only been dreaming. Of course, she burst into laughter at her own silliness when she came to know about his secret language.
Sakshi was really frustrated in Atrauli. ‘Why are the roads so narrow here?’ she complained. ‘Why do they put up wiring when they can’t supply electricity? In my house, there isn’t even running water.’
Pinto had no exposure to a different existence. ‘I love Atrauli,’ he defended the town with affection. ‘I admit the roads are a bit narrow. Sometimes, in fact, when my grandfather takes his buffalo to the vet, and if a rickshaw is passing, it becomes impossible to control the buffalo.’
Sakshi laughed crazily. ‘You keep a buffalo. In Delhi only milkmen do that. We are not allowed to play with their children. Why do you keep a buffalo?’
Pinto was angry. ‘Okay, so don’t play with me.’
‘I didn’t mean that.’
‘Then what? I am a farm boy. By the way, for your information, my father is in England. I am pretty sure your father never went there.’
‘Hey, calm down, I was just curious. Tell me why you keep a buffalo.’
‘You city people don’t even know why... for milk, of course... not for fashion.’
‘How much does it eat?’
‘A lot. It can drink two buckets of water in one shot.’
‘My God! How do you get so much water?’
‘Don’t ask. That’s quite a project. We fetch it from a well and carry it back almost half a kilometre.’
‘That sounds hard.’
‘Yes, it is, and you know what, one of our rich neighbours sucks the water from the government pipeline, using a motor, and his servants waste it on washing hi
s backyard and driveway at least twice a day. Nobody can say anything. My grandfather says he is politically connected. Do you know what that means?’
‘I don’t know exactly. But my father says political people are goons. But I really wonder, if they are goons, why do we have such a big word… ‘politician’… so hard to spell... for such a person? Why don’t we just say “goon”?’
None of them had an answer.
Maybe not even their parents.
FOUR
T
he first big change came to Pinto’s life when his father was posted in Mainpuri, also a small district in UP. Pinto took the admission in the 6th grade, and from one angle, it was not really a big change. His school was a little bit better than the last but was still mediocre. His teachers were really good but it was never guaranteed they’d be able to conduct all the classes necessary due to general school mismanagement.
‘How do you like this place?’ his father Ram asked.
Pinto was really happy, ‘It’s much better. I like the school. And you say that you have a friend who’ll get us a lot of kerosene so there’ll be no restriction on my studying at night. In Atrauli, it was rationed.’
‘So is it here, but I have the contacts to get it.’ Ram was proud of his connections.
‘I also love that you live with us now. I missed you when you went abroad to vilayet.’ Pinto’s gladness showed in his shining face.
‘Yes, indeed.’ Ram was equally happy.
Ram encouraged Pinto to participate in extracurricular activities and this changed his way of thinking. One of the main attractions for Pinto was the annual science exhibition. Pinto started participating in exhibitions actively when he was in the 9th grade. His physics teacher Mr Ravindra Yadav asked to talk to him one day. ‘I’m in charge of a science exhibition for the whole district this year,’ he told Pinto. ‘Our reputation is at stake. We need to come up with a really good project. You are the best student in the school. Take part!’
Pinto ran to Alok, a student in a grade just above him. ‘Ravindra sir wants me to participate in the science exhibition. You were part of it last year—give me some tips.’
Pinto Has An Idea Page 2