“Hey!!! Does anyone of you, know the way to 3rd cross street?” I inquired to the bunch of kids shuffling back home from their school. “Am going pass it, come along with me” smiled a little girl with chipped tooth. She took me through a park, made me jump over the pits made by the cable operators and pray in front of sai baba’s temple. Apparently she had taken a longer route, so that she can accompany her friends to their respective home en route.” I have to go straight Anna, this right is 3rd cross” she beamed and parted away to her home. Locating Meena Akka’s house was easy, as she was striding in her house gate with her mobile, awaiting my visit. “Oh!! You were able to find the address easily? I thought you will call me to know the way from bus stop” remarked Meena Akka as I entered her home. “It was a piece of cake” I replied, concealing my tiredness due to strolling in RT Nagar’s streets for hours.
“How is your job search coming on? How is your mom’s health? Are you comfortable in Bangalore? Are you in touch with your dad?” Meena Akka fired at me all at one shot. As I stood in the kitchen, watching her prepare Tea and baji* (Indian snacks) for me .I gave a smile back at her, to dodge couple of her complicated questions but she kept on gazing at me expecting an answer. Fortunately the door bell rang and to elude her questions I went and answered the door. It was her 10 year old son who has returned from school and she introduced me to the chap with excitement. While I had the tea, she was busy behind her son enquiring him “Did you complete your lunch? What is the homework for today? Do you have any test tomorrow?”. While the investigation went on the other room, my thoughts traveled to the days when I was ten year old.
I am unable to exactly describe those days because it was good though lonely most of the time. My family was staying in our native then. Since I don’t like the ideology of my native place, I don’t want to reveal it and prefer to refer it as “KolikaalNatham” (it means "foul smell from chicken leg" in my language) . It was famous for caste* related violence most of the day school would end abruptly due to clashes between caste groups.( For some unknown reasons in India people were separated based on their job/work and people who do low wager job were treated badly as untouchable ).
So in KolikaalNatham even birds of same caste only flocks together and in my case, we lived along with our relatives. As luck would have it all my cousins were all very older than me. Say when I was doing my third standard/grade they were in their final year of engineering or schooling and worst that some were married too. So my after school time were pathetic. If I go with my cousin bros to play I would end up just throwing the ball back from boundary line in cricket and ball back to field after foul in football/soccer. Hence my house wall was the batsman to whom I bowled and it would become my imaginary goal post and keeper when I strike my football. While all the grownups remain hooked up to Steffi VS Monica or IndiaVs Pakisthan matches. I would be moving around the house in my BSA SLR, assuming the cycle as a horse, my scale as sword and myself as Tipu Sultan, attacking the Britishers who were supporting Steffi. It was damn frustrating to be among group of people who always enquired about my studies and analyze why repeatedly I failed in Tamil* (my native language) but Meena Akka was different, she was like summer rain.
So in KolikaalNatham even birds of same caste only flocks together and in my case, we lived along with our relatives. As luck would have it all my cousins were all very older than me. Say when I was doing my third standard/grade they were in their final year of engineering or schooling and worst that some were married too. So my after school time were pathetic. If I go with my cousin bros to play I would end up just throwing the ball back from boundary line in cricket and ball back to field after foul in football/soccer. Hence my house wall was the batsman to whom I bowled and it would become my imaginary goal post and keeper when I strike my football. While all the grownups remain hooked up to Steffi VS Monica or IndiaVs Pakisthan matches. I would be moving around the house in my BSA SLR, assuming the cycle as a horse, my scale as sword and myself as Tipu Sultan, attacking the Britishers who were supporting Steffi. It was damn frustrating to be among group of people who always enquired about my studies and analyze why repeatedly I failed in Tamil* (my native language) but Meena Akka was different, she was like summer rain.
She was doing her master degree and whenever she had free time, she used to play with this lonely cousin. She was the first bowler to bowl at me, laughing at the way I imitate my idol sachin’s batting stances. Boy it was tough to get her out, as her saree* ( common dress used by Indian women) used to block the ball from hitting the stumps and I was not aware of LBW then. We used to play football though with a plastic ball inside the home, jump around our relative’s roofs, sitting on the house compound wall and gazing at the cattle’s feeding on the vacant land opposite to us. Though her mom used to scold her for playing with a kid, she will not mind it. Never during my childhood days I remember seeing her serious or angry but will always have a mischievous grin on her face. Best part was unlike other cousins she never asked me about my studies and would comfort that I will grow up as fine lad to my mom, who used to get worried seeing my report card. All these qualities made her a special cousin sister to me but now she appears different to me. As she inquired her son about studies in a stern manner, in fact her whole mannerism has changed. The mischievous lady has bloomed into a caring mother, whose only priority in life is to ensure that her budding son gets a successful life.
“Hey!! He was same age as you are when I got married. He used to always move around me in KolikalNatham. Now he has come to Bangalore for job after completing his degree.” Meena Akka said with pride to her son. Since I hated questions about studies, I just asked him what he does at his free time, whether he likes football or cricket, his favorite movie star for which he answered promptly. Then I gave way to silence, after couple of quiet minutes the chap asked “what is your major in engineering? Which college? What is your group in school?” Aww man even the next generation of my relatives are the same as the previous one. As usual like my childhood days I stumbled and answered them. To make it worse she pulled my leg by bringing in the fact that I was moved to French class since I kept failing in my mother tongue. As the kid was laughing at me, “Do you still remember Vimala Teacher, my college mate” she asked eagerly.
The moment she uttered “my college mate”, image of Vimala teacher flashed on my mind. How can I ever forget her? I had nightmares because of her. It all started in the Tamil period on my third standard. Since she had nothing else to teach, the Tamil teacher asked us to submit our Tamil prose notebook for correction. I was hesitant to submit as I had not written even a single word in it. Alas, I had to submit it hoping the bell rings on time and saves my skin. As time passed by I was perspiring, while the other kids around me were playing cops and robber with sharpeners and rubbers. I kept on blaming myself for not writing the notes, No! No! I wasn’t lazy. It was because of Tamil, we didn’t get along with each other from the very beginning. Her fonts which were like an optical illusion created dizziness to me, so never was I able to understand her. I closed my eyes and prayed for the bell to ring. Tamil teacher was staring right into my eyes when I opened it and screamed to come to her desk. Slowly I waddled towards her, wishing for a miracle. The moment I went near to her, I was welcomed with three back to back slaps. The very second the bell rang and Vimala the Computer science teacher arrived for her class. Oh man how bad, I would have been saved if it had rung few seconds earlier.
“Why haven’t you written anything?” queried Vimala at me. “He will not answer, will remain like a rock. I will complain to the head master” remarked the Tamil teacher solemnly.” No! No! Don’t complain please. He is my friend’s brother. I will handle him Mam please” Vimala requested on behalf of me. The Tamil teacher nodded her head as a sign of approval and threatened that I will be in trouble, if I don’t complete the notes by a week time. “Hey rascal how come you are, so irresponsible born in the …….. “ Hold On!! Umm I don’t want to reveal my caste either so let us assume she called it as cat. “Hey rascal how come you are, so irresponsible born in the cat caste!!!” She exclaimed.”Now listen carefully you have to complete the work in a week and also get signature of your sister on this letter” and gave me a paper in which she scribbled about this very incident.
Next three days were grueling, though I was sure I can complete the Tamil prose. I wasn’t sure how to get Meena Akka’s signature. In order to bunk the school I tried different ways to fall ill. One day I took bath in ice water at mid night hoping to catch cold, next day ate peanuts with water wishing my stomach to collapse and the next by praying to god to fall sick without drinking water. God disappointed me as I never fall sick, he left me alone in the desert to face Vimala teacher question like a storm. It was like god was playing a cruel joke on me, because this very god made me sick with chicken pox, measles exactly on summer holidays. Somehow I managed to bluff her all three days, saying that “Meena Akka has gone to her grandma’s place”, “Meena Akka is sick”, “she is still sick”. The only luck I had is those days telephones weren’t common, Vimala stayed in different part of the town so they were not able to communicate easily. Based on this fact I bluffed, I knew if stretch it too far Vimala will go mad and visit my home directly. For sure my relatives will ask about my Tamil prose along my failures with Tamil. It would like facing 60 Vimala everyday for rest of my life. Hence that day I prayed to god like ever before and owed to visit his sabarimala shrine every year. Next day I woke up hoping to be sick but my beliefs went in vain, in the class I opened the letter as usual when Vimala asked for it. Miracle of Miracles!! To my surprise it had Meena Akka’s signature on it, that day I thanked god more than thousand times for signing it. As I promised from then onwards visited his shrine all these 10 years. Moreover the next year in forth standard my mom and my class teacher decided to put me in French class, as my relationship with Tamil was turning ugly and threatening my academic future. Well my battle with French is another story which I will narrate later.
“Do you remember her or not?” repeated Meena Akka.
“Yeah, of course I do”
“She still mentions you as rascal due to the Tamil prose incident” winked Meena Akka.
I gazed at her nervously. All these days I thought it was my little secret.” how do you know?” I mumbled.
“How do I know? Whom do you think signed the letter?”
I just kept gazing at her, how stupid was I to think god had all the time in the world to come and sign for me. Latter from her speech I realized what had exactly happen.
See I had a bird brain as a kid, though there was no telephone. Vimala and Meena Akka can contact each other through their common friend Sheela who stayed near our street and worked in the bank across the school. So the very day I was caught, Vimala had wired it through her messenger. All the three days Meena Akka was waiting for me to confess my sin to her, though knowing all the truth like god. Due to this problem I did not play with her all the three days but whenever we were alone she used to have conversation with me like this,
Day 1:
Meena Akka : “how was the school today?”
Me: “good”
Meena AkKa: “you look dull, why?”
Me: “don’t know feeling cold perhaps will catch fever tomorrow” (trusting on my ice water bath at midnight plan)
Day2:
Meena Akka : “how was the school today?”
Me: Umm
Meena AkKa: “you look dull, why?”
Me: “don’t know feeling pain in my stomach perhaps will get stomach ache tomorrow” (hoping the peanut and water creates havoc)
Day3:
Meena Akka : “how was the school today?”
Me: Umm
Meena AkKa: “you look dull, why?”
Me: Umm(praying for the miracle)
So the fourth day she had felt pity on me, though frustrated that I was bluffing. She signed in the letter and placed it back into my bag while I was sleeping. While I took it for god’s miracle and visiting the shrine for 10 years, without even calling her to say “hi” over the phone all these years.
As I kept wondering why it should be me the one who always is at the receiving end, Meena Akka came to the rescue and started to talk about her experience from kolikalnatham to Karnataka in a comical way. That was the same person I liked, always funny. The more she spoke to me about movies, cricket and those days in native town. I was able see the Old Meena Akka again. I was not able to understand why she was hiding it initially. Perhaps she is just playing her role as a matured mother, like Shakespeare had said “All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players”. Though I like this Meena Akka sitting in front of me, I like more the Meena Akka in my childhood memory.
As the clock struck 8, I bid farewell to her. Since I had to catch the bus from Bus Depot, her son accompanied me. As he slowly pedaled his cycle, I trotted along with his pace mutely. Finally after crossing three or four streets I was able to see the bus, that I had to catch was about to leave. I ran as fast as I could and got into the running bus. “Banerghatta ticket Ondhu!!” I demanded the conductor as I stood on the stairs. As the breeze brushed my hair, thoughts of how I treated the kids rushed in my mind. I realized her son will never remember me or my name, for him I will be yet another boring grownup who had visited his home for tea. I felt frustrated that I should have made him play with me or bought his some stuffs while walking back to the Depot. May be he is also lonely like I was, imagining his cycle as broomstick and himself as one of the potter‘s clan. The time which Meena Akka used to spend with me made her special to me and I will always remember her until my memories fade away from me. Worst of all, I didn’t even say thanks to neither the girl who showed me the way to 3rd cross street nor to the nephew who showed me the way to RT Nagar Bus Depot. I behaved like a mean grownup whose only thought was to get his objective done, taking others for granted. I prayed that always the kid in me to be awaken so I can appreciate all things around me. Hold on!! The god above us interferes in our life only twice, during our entrance and exit, to and from this world. It was the god in Meena Akka which saved me from embarrassment in Vimala teacher’s class not the god above us. That’s how I stopped bothering the god above us with my wishes and started trusting the god in me and in others around me.
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