It has been a while since I last ate. Of late my tummy has been feeling a little low, which I suspect is not because of the rapid senile decay, which had deliberately been branded as the sole cause of every ailment of mine over the past decade. I have experienced more troublesome stomach upsets in my younger years, which invariably rose out of infrequent meals, given I had to man deserted check posts with no hygienic dhabas around. Those were the days when trekking across thirty mile mud roads weren’t considered big achievements. I knew some fellow constables who had to travel on foot when posted to some chowki in the neighboring provinces. Anyway, the past is past. I have been accused of blabbering about the ‘useless’ old times quite a few times by acquaintances many years younger to me, and the constant shunning has led me to be more constrained with my thoughts, even when talking to myself.
Today isn’t much of an eventful day, though I believe there must be something new happening to the town. I woke up at 5 in the morning as usual, only to find my grandson sitting besides my khaat, waiting expectantly for me to rise. I went through my initial prayers and the measly provision of dahlias and some bread pieces before I could get back to him and inquire if he really had anything to ask from me, speaking of which, he didn’t for the past few years if I could remember clearly.
‘Dadu, how did you meet Dadiji for the first time?’
It wasn’t a question that hadn’t been asked before, and I had perfectly mastered the art of replying to the same, having done that ever since I took my retirement from the constabulary. I have noticed certain amazement about the romantic inclinations of us older men, and how we went about the seducing process during ‘those times’, as if we were being referred to in the same breath as the ancient civilizations who went down to natural calamities without having enough opportunities of leaving a list of their daily activities behind. So I went ahead.
‘Beta, I never knew your Dadi until I was twenty four years old. I was already a constable, and partition had just taken place….’
‘Offo Dadu…. I don’t want all those details. Tell me how you met her.’
‘I met her only after our marriage had been fixed. My father had visited their town, and saw the girl. Incidentally, there was just one family in entire Khatipur that matched our caste, and your Dadiji’s father was fortunately an erstwhile talukdar. So the marriage had been fixed in just a couple of weeks after I gave the nod.’
‘How unromantic. Did you meet her in private?’
My reply, to my grandson’s disappointment, was obviously in the negative. I realized that every subsequent answer I gave frustrated him even more. I knew I solved no purpose of mine or his by answering in such details, but it did feel reassuring that my grandson had come to me and was, so I believe, genuinely interested in my life. I remember once when I was a child, I had to take dictation from my grandfather about a lesson in Hindi on Shivaji, solely because none of my parents were at home, and I had to fill the slate before it grew dark. Dadaji was a perfectionist, and I had lost count on how many times my right ear was pulled sore because of unintended spelling errors. I had been subjected to even more accusations later in the day because I had annoyed Dadaji, a profound crime in those days. Holy me, even I am falling into the trap of these young men of calling my youthful days as ‘those’. I wish the passage of time hadn’t been taken so seriously. I still fail to understand how I was primitive when I did not know what mobile phones or computers were. In fact, I am still clueless as to how the new TV- like machines helps one to survive. I am still confident our printing press at Dholpur helped us more than these very expensive sets. This reminds me of a Sunday in the previous month when my grandson took great delight in playing some old songs for me from his computer. So far, in my view, that has been the only constructive purpose the new computer has solved.
So getting back to my grandfather, he was the only Munim in our village during his younger days. His work frequently took him to the Courts, because of which he possessed unrivalled knowledge about the Sahibs. He knew them very well, and had been gifted several furniture items that we treasured for several generations until my son had to sell them off because of incessant transfers in his job and accommodations in Bambai. After his retirement, Dadaji never stayed idle, and acted as negotiator in possibly all major disputes in the village, that raised his stature a lot and made him a member of the local Panchayat. He was very serious, and I dreaded the prospect of being taught by him. And today my grandson comes running to me requesting to be informed of my ‘supposedly’ pre marital flings with his Dadi! We grandfathers have surely undergone a change in our profiles over the generations, probably to the extent of currently being ‘cool’, as my grandson says.
Well, I completely forgot about my tummy. The grandson episode early in the morning was too absorbing to think about mere stomachaches. The breakfast consisting of Dahlias and bread was all I had during the day. I did walk a few streets across to the Vaidhji whom I have known for quite a few years, and he told me the ache was contributed to by longer than usual walks that I took yesterday, coupled with some anti- allergen being fed to me by my daughter- in- law just because I had coughed a couple of times late into the previous night. I think I should be more careful of the medicines I take from now on, considering my advancing years.
It is about 5PM now I believe, and Sunil, my son, should be home in around half an hour. I will have to talk to him about talking me to the office tomorrow morning to collect my pension, and then to meet an old colleague whose son has recently shifted in to the city. I wish my legs could carry me to the local station, but the Vaidhji was quite stern with his advice this morning. I think I should go and rest now, considering the strenuous traveling I will have to do tomorrow.
Jai Shankar Baba ki.
Today isn’t much of an eventful day, though I believe there must be something new happening to the town. I woke up at 5 in the morning as usual, only to find my grandson sitting besides my khaat, waiting expectantly for me to rise. I went through my initial prayers and the measly provision of dahlias and some bread pieces before I could get back to him and inquire if he really had anything to ask from me, speaking of which, he didn’t for the past few years if I could remember clearly.
‘Dadu, how did you meet Dadiji for the first time?’
It wasn’t a question that hadn’t been asked before, and I had perfectly mastered the art of replying to the same, having done that ever since I took my retirement from the constabulary. I have noticed certain amazement about the romantic inclinations of us older men, and how we went about the seducing process during ‘those times’, as if we were being referred to in the same breath as the ancient civilizations who went down to natural calamities without having enough opportunities of leaving a list of their daily activities behind. So I went ahead.
‘Beta, I never knew your Dadi until I was twenty four years old. I was already a constable, and partition had just taken place….’
‘Offo Dadu…. I don’t want all those details. Tell me how you met her.’
‘I met her only after our marriage had been fixed. My father had visited their town, and saw the girl. Incidentally, there was just one family in entire Khatipur that matched our caste, and your Dadiji’s father was fortunately an erstwhile talukdar. So the marriage had been fixed in just a couple of weeks after I gave the nod.’
‘How unromantic. Did you meet her in private?’
My reply, to my grandson’s disappointment, was obviously in the negative. I realized that every subsequent answer I gave frustrated him even more. I knew I solved no purpose of mine or his by answering in such details, but it did feel reassuring that my grandson had come to me and was, so I believe, genuinely interested in my life. I remember once when I was a child, I had to take dictation from my grandfather about a lesson in Hindi on Shivaji, solely because none of my parents were at home, and I had to fill the slate before it grew dark. Dadaji was a perfectionist, and I had lost count on how many times my right ear was pulled sore because of unintended spelling errors. I had been subjected to even more accusations later in the day because I had annoyed Dadaji, a profound crime in those days. Holy me, even I am falling into the trap of these young men of calling my youthful days as ‘those’. I wish the passage of time hadn’t been taken so seriously. I still fail to understand how I was primitive when I did not know what mobile phones or computers were. In fact, I am still clueless as to how the new TV- like machines helps one to survive. I am still confident our printing press at Dholpur helped us more than these very expensive sets. This reminds me of a Sunday in the previous month when my grandson took great delight in playing some old songs for me from his computer. So far, in my view, that has been the only constructive purpose the new computer has solved.
So getting back to my grandfather, he was the only Munim in our village during his younger days. His work frequently took him to the Courts, because of which he possessed unrivalled knowledge about the Sahibs. He knew them very well, and had been gifted several furniture items that we treasured for several generations until my son had to sell them off because of incessant transfers in his job and accommodations in Bambai. After his retirement, Dadaji never stayed idle, and acted as negotiator in possibly all major disputes in the village, that raised his stature a lot and made him a member of the local Panchayat. He was very serious, and I dreaded the prospect of being taught by him. And today my grandson comes running to me requesting to be informed of my ‘supposedly’ pre marital flings with his Dadi! We grandfathers have surely undergone a change in our profiles over the generations, probably to the extent of currently being ‘cool’, as my grandson says.
Well, I completely forgot about my tummy. The grandson episode early in the morning was too absorbing to think about mere stomachaches. The breakfast consisting of Dahlias and bread was all I had during the day. I did walk a few streets across to the Vaidhji whom I have known for quite a few years, and he told me the ache was contributed to by longer than usual walks that I took yesterday, coupled with some anti- allergen being fed to me by my daughter- in- law just because I had coughed a couple of times late into the previous night. I think I should be more careful of the medicines I take from now on, considering my advancing years.
It is about 5PM now I believe, and Sunil, my son, should be home in around half an hour. I will have to talk to him about talking me to the office tomorrow morning to collect my pension, and then to meet an old colleague whose son has recently shifted in to the city. I wish my legs could carry me to the local station, but the Vaidhji was quite stern with his advice this morning. I think I should go and rest now, considering the strenuous traveling I will have to do tomorrow.
Jai Shankar Baba ki.
2 comments:
good one. excellent, actually. keep writing!
Thanks. I thot the old guy deserved an hour of my time. I saw one being ill- treated on saturday, so the article followed.
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