Chootu

Chootu do cutting chai!  Chootu ek bada paw lana!  Chootu…Chootu…Chootu….!!!

They cannot live without me. My name is not Chootu, it is Abhimanyu but all call me Chootu because I am small, not a baby but not also a big man. I think I am 10 years old.  I am a very important person in Sambhu Tea and Snacks Corner. The owner Sambhu chews paan and sits at the counter, always handling the cash box and Shuklaji takes care of the kitchen; everything else is done by me. Cleaning the tables, collecting order, delivering tea and snacks, collecting the lipped glasses, collecting money, cleaning cups, plates…almost all important things I do.  I wear a dirty and worn out half pant while on work but I have a beautiful T-shirt which I wear on Tuesday when the shop is closed. That T-shirt has photo of Salman Khan on the back, I look very smart in that T-shirt therefore I wear it on holiday. The Tea stall is my home, after the stall is closed for customers in the night, I join the benches and that becomes my bed. Shuklaji also sleeps in the stall, only malik goes home, he has a big home and family. I sometimes go to his house when some cleaning work has to be done, he has a very cute daughter, she once gave me a playing marble, I still have that, very safely kept in that small container on the ventilator. I also have some very important papers in that container, several photos of Salman Khan, Amitabh Bachan and many more heroes which I tear from newspapers.

No...no, do not think that I am uneducated; I can read all film names on the posters and also know the names of all heroes. But confuse with the heroines, they look almost the same, still I am working hard to differentiate them and would be an expert in identifying them very soon. I know maths also, if a customer has to pay for two cutting chai, I collect 12 rupees, if he does not have change I take twenty rupees and ask for two rupees and return 10 rupees. If he does not have change I return eight rupees, one five rupee coin and three one rupee coins, one should be very careful with one rupee and two rupees coin. 

The boy who works in the nearby stall is my friend, his name is also Chootu but his real name is Avinash. But my name is better..Abhimanyu. My chest swelled with pride when I heard that the name of a hero is Abhimanyu in some film which I went to watch several times, all night shows with Avinash. He once taught me how to steal money from the cash box, one need to have money after all to watch movies. Avinash once got caught and got lot of thrashing but no one could catch me for I am very smart.

My malik loves me, once Shuklaji jerked me on the rear of my head and I got thrashed with the concrete cash counter, my forehead bleed, malik immediately tore a piece of cloth and bandaged my head. He gave me a day’s leave and bought sweets for me. Shuklaji does not love me so much for he finds reasons to smack me but I run away making it difficult for him to catch. I run very fast, in fact fastest.

They say that I once had a father and mother, they lived nearby but I think they died in some accident and someone sold me to malik, I do not remember them and therefore do not miss them. People say when I was born my father threw a big party and he had great dreams for me.  Someday I will suddenly become grown up and have a motor cycle to drive and good clothes to wear, exactly the same way as small Amitabh Bachan became grown up in Mukadaar Ka Sikandar.

Once a lady from NGO came to meet me saying I should go to school and stop smoking bidi. I replied in a filmy way “Kisi ke baap ka nahin pita!”

Chootu…Chootu..table saaf kar… I must go now, business time main samay kotha nahin karte….

The Self Made Man

Main sirf dus saal ka tha! I was only ten years old when I was sent to Kolkata to work in a petrol pump. My father was a lowly farmer laden with ever increasing debt. With many mouths to feed and the crops being ruined for want of rain, it was time for my father to call the shots. My unhurried childhood abruptly took a sharp bend to a punishing pace. A distant cousin was the supervisor and I was hired on his recommendations. I ran dodgy errands of the pump workers and even cooked for them. From being cajoled by my mother to eat I was now feeding myself on leftovers after facing a back-breaking day. My wages albeit poor had bound me to this miserable life but even bad life can become worse. My cousin’s brother-in-law was given my job, after all brothers-in-law are dearer then brothers. I was disgracefully sent back to my village.

Back in the village things had become even more worse, more debt after my sister’s marriage. My father was now an angry and tired man who spanked me often. The teachers in the school caned me and my mother had to take the blame for all my mischief. My heart was not in studies and felt unloved and unwanted. One day I ran away after stealing 50 rupees, climbed on the dumper bed of a truck from the nearby highway and reached Varanasi in the night.  Hungry and tired, I walked to the railway station and boarded a Bombay bound train. 

I arrived at Bombay with sparkle in eyes and dream at heart. No more fearful as I was now around 15 years old and knew how a city treated a small fly. A filling meal was available for 2 rupees in a road side eatery, which means I could survive for 20 days with a meal a day even without earning anything. I had already spent 10 rupees in my ticket less journey and was left with 40 rupees. The days were spent loitering around staring at the tall buildings and nights spent on the lawns and footpaths. Some menial work kept me engaged until I landed with the job as a lift man in an office building. The salary of 80 rupees a month and another 50 rupees by working as a night watchman were well enough for two square meals a day. Saluting the sahibs, closing and opening the lift gate and pressing the appropriate floor button were my key job responsibilities during the day time and the nights were spent fighting the pesky mosquitoes with wakeful eyes. Most of the sahibs gave grim expression to my salutes but one Patil sahib use to flash a winning smile and asked my haal-chaal. Drivers of the sahibs were my friends and guide. I helped them in dusting the cars and listened to their gossips. I was learning the nuances of the city. 

Few years went by and I had learnt the art of driving, my driver friends trained me at my insistence but I had no money to get a license. In the meanwhile Patil sahib brought a new car home and hired me as his wife’s driver, he even paid for my license. Good heavens! Life was taking a happy turn but Patil sahib’s wife soon learned driving and I again became redundant. 

Patil sahib had the nous to understand my disappointment, he recommended me to an hotelier friend of his. I was hired as a waiter. Kismet ne ghumaya, hotel mein pohanchaya…. This was my favorite song those days from a recently released film.

With a heavy heart I began this job for a monthly salary of 100 rupees with free food and uniform as perks. Lo and behold! The very first day I earned 140 rupees from the lavish tips. It was time for me to spread my wings and make a decent earning; I drowned myself to rigorous schedule. I was up and working from 4 AM till wee hours, prompt and delightful service was good for my pocket. 

I sent 1000 rupees to my father with a note saying “I always wanted to be your good son, forgive me Baoji”. 

In the next six months I bought a chawl for twenty thousand rupees in an auction, I had bid the highest; the previous bid was of five thousand rupees. In no time I owned yet another chawl. I had the time of my life for next five years. My dream like life came crumbling down when the ownership of the hotel changed hands. Only good thing now was that I had shelter and some savings. I became a full time taxi driver. My marriage filled my life with belonging and sale of one of my chawls with plenty of money and a flat on the newly built apartment where the humble chawl once stood. I lived in the chawl and put the flat on rent.

So many years have gone by; my elder son is doing his MBA and the younger one engineering. I have three taxis and one car for my family. I worry when my sons go to college by bike and insist that they instead go by car, that’s safer for I see so many accidents on Mumbai roads. Recently, under a redevelopment plan I have been promised over a crore rupees and a flat, I think we will have get the rented flat vacated soon. I am still a taxi driver but not beyond 9 PM, my wife gets worried after that. Look she is calling on my mobile phone. 

Mumbai is good place!

As told by Bacha Tiwari, en route to Mulund.

Joy of giving!

Rohit was immensely happy on the day before Diwali. Early next day morning he was proceeding for a holiday with his family after a long gap. His wife and young daughter of 8 were even more thrilled. His daughter Kavya had called him several times during the day reminding him about the cab booking and other seemingly smaller things. The exhilarated mind of Kavya had a fear that her busy daddy may forget something which may lead to last moment hurdles, her mind would fret until she boarded the flight. Rohit knew about these feelings as last year he had to cancel his holiday plans in the last moment due to some business exigency and had lied to his daughter that the flight had got cancelled.

The day went by without any hitch, the cab was booked, there was no reason for the flight to be cancelled, and everything was smooth, all the more no business exigency. On his way back home he stopped by at a local mall and bought a chocolate basket for Kavya. She was a greedy chocolate eater, on most occasions he desisted from such generosity but today was a special day. He knew that Kavya would flash her most winning smile on seeing the chocolate basket. She would also warmly hug him and say “Best daddy of the world”.

Rohit parked his car and hurried towards his apartment. The watchman “Ram Pratap” an otherwise heavy eyed and drowsy fellow stood from his chair in attention on seeing him.

“How are you Ram Pratap?” asked a beaming Rohit.

“Very nice saar, going home tonight” babbled the cheerful watchman.

“Great, going home after how long”

“Saar after 2 years”

“Who all are there at home?”

“Saar Mother, father, wife and a daughter”

Rohit was happy to hear the thrill in his voice. A thought crossed his mind.

“Are you carrying something for your daughter?”

“Yes saar, shining glass bangles and plenty of toffees”

Rohit felt a little unsettled. In a flash of moment, he stretched his hand and offered his chocolate basket to Ram Pratap and said “Give this to your daughter, she will be happy”

Ram Pratap hesitated but accepted it. Rohit could see Ram Pratap quickly turning his moist eyes away from his sight.

“Happy Diwali saar” was the words that entered Rohit’s ears when the lift door closed.

The door was opened by Kavya, bubbling with enthusiasm and happiness. No sooner did he stepped in she hugged him tightly and said “Best daddy of the world”.

Rohit felt ecstatic, he could not remember when he felt so happy last.

 

Hope in heart

The day was sweltering, typical of summers in Kolkata. The fierce heat of the sun and airless atmosphere of the afternoon was making me drench in sweat by merely waiting for a cab. With no cab willing and agreeing for a short distance ride I reluctantly mounted on a cycle rickshaw (riksha), the hood of the rickshaw gave me the much needed shield from the glaring sun and we got started on our journey.

“Chollish taka lagbe” You have to pay Rs.40 – stated the riksha-wala in a brisk and businesslike tone.

Despite me being not a regular taker of cycle rickshaw and visiting Kolkata after several years, I could still make out that he quoted an inflated fare for the small distance I had to cover. The normal practice in Kolkata for such audacity is immediate reprimand, a severe one. A bong would not hesitate to curse the past seven generations for such temerity. I mentally justified and dismissed the cost considering the efforts of the rickshaw puller. He was a young man with a boyish look, ramrod straight and wore shirt and trousers unlike other lungi wrapped pullers.

I stuck up a conversation with him.

“Sontosh” that is what his name was came from some village in West Medinipur district. He came to Kolkata 16 years ago at a tender age of 10 and worked in a sweet shop for 10 long years before embracing the role of a rickshaw puller. He owned the rickshaw and did not smoke or drink.

“How much did you read” I enquired.

“I can read, write and understand that’s my education” said Sontosh while wiping his sweats with a gamcha. I could make out that he wasn’t willing to divulge that he did not receive any formal education; however he had trained himself on little education on his own. How can one expect formal education when he started working at the age of 10?

Sontosh further shared on my prodding that he earned Rs.400 daily and worked from 8 AM till 9.30 PM. He lives in a rented place and paid a rent of Rs.900 per month. He cooks a humble dinner of rice for himself and is still unmarried. However, he has a big family comprising of parents, brothers and their families, back home.

The most part of the conversation was that he had a clear future plan for himself.

“I will buy a TOTO in few months” he declared. He added further “It would cost me 1.2 lakhs and very soon it would become legally permissible to own and drive a TOTO in West Bengal. I would go back to my native place and drive TOTO in the district town”. His voice resonated while he said so.

For those wondering, like I did, TOTO is the local name of battery operated auto rickshaw.

By this time I had arrived at my destination, I pulled out a 50 rupee note and gave it to him. He returned a change of Rs.30.

I looked in askance at him to which he said, again in a brisk and businesslike tone “You asked me to take you to Dakhshin Para but you are getting down at Dakshin Para Road, both these places are different and fare for this place is Rs.20”

Sontosh was a person of self-esteem; he was not at all willing to keep the balance money.

I had to finally convince him by saying “Keep the balance money as a tiny contribution for your TOTO and give me a free ride when you buy one.

Sontosh flashed a smile and gracefully kept the change.

The spark in his eyes still floats in front of my eyes. He turned his rickshaw and rode away leaving behind a thought that everyone should have a dream and work towards achieving it, and, it’s achievable…

 

First day after summer vacation

The school reopened after a long summer vacation, it was a great joy to meet friends but also saddened many of us…the same mundane routine ..uff... After the assembly we were herded to our class and we felt like caged. Short term freedom could be tasted only during the recess now. Sister Juliana, the geography teacher, entered the classroom and we all stood up and welcomed her in a sing song manner..”Gooooood Moooorning Sister…”

“Good Morning children. Please sit down” said Sister Juliana good- naturedly.

Sister Juliana seldom punished or rebuked her students; she had her own affectionate ways. But, we took her kindness as her weakness and an opportunity to unsettle the class.

“Please take out your holiday assignment” She instructed.

“Assignment???” many of us spoke in muted hum while I exchanged glance with Vishal in disbelief. Most of us were suddenly reminded about the assignment when it was supposed to be shown to the teacher. All the days during the summer vacation geography assignment never crossed our ‘now’ sad minds. While we were lost in constructing some easily believable excuse Sumitra stood up with a winning smile and walked towards the teacher’s desk with the completed assignment. Sister and Sumitra got busy with the assignment leaving the rest of us with good time to catch up with each other. Some of us became adventurous enough to travel to other’s desk to have some fun. It was a complete freedom except for the occasional “Children! QUIET” from Sister Juliana.

Few minutes later when Sumitra was walking back to her desk with a triumphant expression the teacher asked “Who is coming next”

The class fell silent, all heads down, no one wanting to be identified as the dud. The teacher had figured out that we have collectively forgotten about the assignment. At that precise moment I was away from my desk and was slowly moving towards my desk. The teacher turned towards the backboard giving me enough time to sprint towards my desk but on the way back I pulled the chair of Sumitra’s desk a little away. We had separate desk with independent chairs. While everything seemed to be going smoothly Sumitra in her happiness came and sat on the chair which was not there. She fell with a terrific thud. The entire class turned towards her and few came running to her rescue. The injured girl moaned in agony while I froze with guilt and fear.

The otherwise docile teacher turned ferocious looking at the magnitude of my devilry.

“Get out of the class” commanded Sister Juliana.

“But Sister…it’s not my fault” I tried to make excuse unconvincingly. The whole class knew who the culprit was. My excuse did not cut any ice.

As a final measure, I pointed out towards Vishal . Oblivious of the mayhem, Vishal was fast asleep with his head peacefully resting on the heap of notebooks on his desk. Many heads turned towards him generating suppressed giggles. Vishal was my best friend and having him out of the class with me would have been great respite.

“Let him sleep, at least there is some peace in the class” retorted Sister Juliana.

I walked out of the class and waited fretfully for someone to join me outside the classroom. In no time Sanjay and Rakesh walked out. I was never so happy to see them; they were not in my list of ‘friends’ but appeared like angels now. Once outside the class, we had our freedom but we had to be careful of a lurking risk. Sister Sophie, the principal, often came out for rounds and her cane did the talking for the wayward.

Sister Sophie had a thin and small frame but could instil remarkable fear. She had yet another skill of effortlessly pulling the chin of the erring child leaving one writhing in pain. We tried copying this act with many but the outcome was way below than the one she produced. We couldn’t master this skill till we left school!

Rakesh proposed that we go to the adjacent field to mitigate the risk of Sister Sophie spotting us. We happily sprinted towards the field with a tinge of sadness for our classmates who were to deal with the ‘ study of features of the earth and atmosphere’. We on the other hand were having a brush with the natural flora of the field. In no time it started to rain and in our high spirits we got drenched. Our escapade was abruptly halted by the ringing of the bell marking the end of the period. We hurried towards the classroom like snipers hiding from the watchful eyes of the principal. But we had a run of luck. At the final corner which would have led us to the classroom, we came face to face with Sister Sophie.

Whack!!! Whack!!! The cane made more impact on the wet bodies.

We entered the classroom like wounded soldiers feeling proud that we didn’t shed tears despite the severity of the punishment.

 

Ghosh Babu

“How much for the fish” he asked in a gruff voice and went on to examine the fish without bothering for a response. The fish seller with an otherwise sharp tongue and outspoken speech chose to remain silent.

Ghosh babu is very clever; no one can dare to mislead him.

He picked up the fish and pressed the flesh, it was firm and shiny, and the first stage of freshness was successfully cleared by the poor dead fish. He then went on to smell the fish; it didn’t smell “fishy”. Another stage cleared. The eyes and the gills were then scrutinised by the veteran. The bright red gills and the slightly bulging eyes of the fish brought faint smile on the face of the specialist. The fish seller knew that the scientific test is not yet over, Ghosh babu would also check fillets and steaks of the fish once cut and if the meat separates the sale would be abandoned followed by an array of offensive remarks. It must be some good deed of the fish and the fish seller in the past that the fish was finally purchased by the connoisseur. Regarding the price, the fish seller knew that Ghosh babu would have already scanned the market so offering the best rate with thin margin would have been the only respite. The fish now securely placed in the plastic bag, Ghosh babu strolled with a slight limp into the other part of the market.

In his early fifties, Ghosh babu is a long-familiar face in his neighbourhood. He often turns as political and sports commentator in the local club in front of the youngsters. He is always disagreeable about others’ views and is seen as an “insufferable know it all” fellow. He is undismayed by people laughing behind his back as he remains consumed in his own world of glory.

A cool breeze brings respite to most people but annoyance to Ghosh babu as his hairs get swayed exposing his baldness. He is however quick to extract his permanent companion, a comb, to arrange his hair. The long side hairs are combed the other way so as to cover the entire centre hairless scalp. Another inseparable companion of Ghosh babu is his black umbrella. If someone visits his office and not finding him in his seat, one can certainly assume that he must be somewhere around if his umbrella is found resting on the chair back. Talking about food is his favourite pastime.

“Aahha , darrun fish curry khelam!!!” could be heard every morning while he is seen enlightening a group of curious comrades.

Ghosh babu displays a lion like behaviour when he is in his locality but gets transformed to a wet cat when he ventures to any unfamiliar place for he knows that no one would marvel his self acclaimed cleverness there. Every evening while returning home, he is the swiftest to alight from the metro train and sprints towards the exit to catch the first auto rickshaw. Looking at him running then can even put Usain Bolt feel mousy. It is not that his wife would be waiting for him; it is just for some inexplicable reason, maybe to get into his own den so that he can roar and claim an unchallenged supremacy. However, just for information, his wife considers him to be not more than a thorn in the house that only eats, talks and complains and that too in large magnitude.

The same Ghosh babu becomes snail paced on his way to work. If he ever reaches office early, he prefers to while away time drinking tea in the nearby teahouse rather than starting to work early.

On few occasions when he gulps few pegs of whiskey with his friends he breaks into singing “Coffee houser sei adda ta, aaj aar nei….” Not that he misses visiting the Coffee House; he had never been there despite being in the same city all his life.

Another song that he sings with tragical sobriety is “Ke tumi, ke tumi, aamai dako, keno dure thako…” again never ever in his life has any girl..err..now maybe grandmothers’ age had ever called him romantically. However, the listeners to his soulful songs would get the impression as if he is recollecting his life’s beautiful memories.

Someone asked me curiously, who is this clever Ghosh babu. Well, I said you would find one in every turn if you happen to be in Kolkata!!!

 

Snake- mongoose fight

I must have been around ten years old and my brother a little older then. Those days people in Khalari purchased vegetables and meat from the weekly haat. The open air bazaar was full of activity throughout the day with people swarming to make their purchases. I had been to this haat several times with my father, holding his hand, jostling our way into the different parts. Vegetables, spices, fish, chicken, mutton, rice, bangles to clothes, almost everything was available. This part of the haat was tiresome and unexciting but attracted the most crowds. The other part of the haat was comparatively empty but compelling. That part exhibited the street shows and that too for free. Like any kid I wanted to visit that part but was never allowed. The beat of the captivating dug-dugi (monkey drum) followed by alluring announcements “Snake –Mongoose fight starting” made my heart race towards such thrilling sports but had no guts to shake off my hand from my father’s clasp. Venturing to the haat on our own was strictly prohibited as one had to cross the busy road with coal filled trucks plying round the clock. The desire remained unfulfilled until one day…

My father entered the house with two bags full of vegetables- spinach and mustard leaves drooping out. The bustling house turned silent, his presence at home was dreadful. I and my brother busied ourselves pretending to be studying hard. While my mother was emptying the bags, it was discovered that coriander leaves were missing. In a typical Bengali house curry without toppings of coriander leaves is just not acceptable. So, revisit to the haat was inescapable for my father, but he was perhaps too tired for this. It was therefore decided that both of us, me and my brother would go to the haat to buy coriander leaves. We set off to the journey after the road safety instructions were doubly explained to us. We walked soberly till the first turn and after that sprinted towards the haat and into our new found freedom. The two rupee note tightly grasped in my hand we reached the haat in no time.

The coriander leaves could wait; we had more important things to attend. We headed straight towards the most fascinating part of the haat, the street show area. The beat of the dug-dugi pulled us to the show spot. “Snake- Mongoose fight, snake-mongoose fight” the showman kept announcing while playing the dug-dugi vigorously attracting more audience. The show area was encircled with few inches high cloth boundary. We perched on the dusty ground in the front row for the best and uninterrupted view.

The showman had an assistant, a boy of our age, who was sitting on a bench in the circle. Few boxes lay there and we assumed that the snake and mongoose would be somewhere inside those boxes. In no time the area was filled with curious onlookers. The showman now made few important announcements.

“No one should leave the show in between; if someone does he would fall with head over heels on the busy road”.

“Everyone should keep their fist clenched, no noise to be made, straight face and eyes not to be closed under any circumstances”

The facial animation of the showman turned aggressive and induced fear in me. I obeyed his every word and I’m sure so did my brother and the others. The show began, but it was not a “Snake-mongoose fight”, it was a magic show. The boy, his assistant was made to recline on the bench and was covered with a cloth. The showman then announced that he was going to cut out the heart of the boy.

I shivered in fear and had no courage to even turn towards my brother for some assurance. The showman’s blood thirsty hand with a knife entered the covered body; the boy appeared to be struggling, the whole bench and his body shook. The undertaking was successful; a blood soaked piece of flesh was extracted and displayed prominently by the butcher. I felt like crying and running away but the fear of the fatal out comings paused my body and soul. The show continued, at one point the boy vanished and the showman allowed us to turn our head towards the top of a nearby tree where the boy had gone. I couldn’t see the boy there but assumed that he must be there. I had no courage to offend the showman even in my thoughts.

At last to our immense relief, the show ended. The boy, now turned normal, approached the audience for money. While he reached out to the audience, the showman made further announcement “If anyone leaves without giving money, I will cut out your heart”. My brother took a split second executive decision and instructed me to give the two rupees to the boy. I resisted “it was for buying coriander leaves”.

“He will take out our hearts” blurted my brother who was equally shaken. I had to relent; after all we had to save our hearts!

It was already dark when we walked into the house empty handed. We couldn’t explain our terrible adventure and the astonishing miracle of returning with our hearts securely inside us.

Beatings followed, my brother received the most and I was let go with mild thrashing. I was the younger one after all !!!