Happy Seventh

Happy Seventh had a very happy start. It was January 2006 and I started to write seven stories for Dylan in time for his seventh birthday on April 8, 2006. Three months, 90 odd days, seven short stories? Pish-tosh.

Three days to April 8, and I had finished only two and was starting on the third. I was pished and toshed.

Ten years later, I have five in the bag. Another two to go. Still.

Till then… Happy Birthdays, D!

Barnabas Ulysses Raphael Pinto

1.
The name on his birth certificate was a mouthful. Dad jokingly used to say: ‘By the time he finishes saying it, he’s going to become a man, sprout whiskers, learn three European languages and still have time to fry an egg.’

Be that as it many, but when baby Barnabas Ulysses Raphael Pinto uttered his first word, the joke it seemed was on Dad.

It’s common knowledge that the first word uttered by a child is either mamma or dada. This is what little Barnabas said after Mom fed him one of his favourite grownup baby meals: a mash of peas and rice and lentils. He said: Burp.

Mom was busy patting his back to make him belch, so she thought: Did he say Burp or did he burp? Mom tossed the question around in her mind. Barnabas gave her an answer. He burped.

That evening, when Dad came home, Mom told him the story about Barnabas’s maybe first word. Dad laughed and called Mom a name that made her frown. He looked at Barnabas who was in Mom’s arms. ‘Say Dadda, say Dadda,’ he said. ‘No,’ said Mom, ‘say Mamma. Mamma.’

‘Burp,’ said Barnabas, clearly and distinctly. Dad’s eyes became as large as footballs. Mom’s mouth moved like a goldfish’s. They were flustered, flabbergasted and speechless.

‘Burp,’ said Barnabas once more completely disregarding the maxim: speak only if you can improve on the silence.

Once the parents had digested the fact that their son’s first word was ‘burp’, they eagerly awaited the next installment. They began to play a little game with their son. Mom would point at Dad and say: Dadda; point at herself and say: Mamma; then point at him and say: Barnabas. When Mom got tired of repeating it, Dad stepped in. But Dad in an effort to boost his son’s vocabulary randomly picked a name from Barnabas’s list. So sometimes Barnabas was told he also was Raphael or Ulysses.

It took some time to sink but finally Barnabas got it. One Sunday afternoon, without any prompting, he said, ‘Mamma.’ Mom screamed with delight. Dad came running into the room. Barnabas looked at him and said, ‘Dadda.’ Dad danced a little jig. ‘And who are you, li’l fellow?’ he asked Barnabas in a fuzzy-wuzzy voice. Barnabas put a hand on his chest and said, ‘Burp.’

2.
Dad took the blow like a man. If his son chose to spurn his cornucopia of labels in favour of a generic yet unusual moniker, Dad figured there wasn’t much he could do. So he bit the bullet and addressed his son as Burp. Mom, in the manner of all doting mothers, couldn’t care less if he called himself Popatlal, Tutankhamen or Toby ‘Terrier’ Tottenham. He called her Mamma and that was manna enough for her ears.

And that’s how Barnabas Ulysses Raphael Pinto came to be called Burp.

3.
When Burp turned three, his parents made a pleasant discovery. Their little tyke loved food as much as they did. Dad and Mom were always were talking about meals they ate, were eating and were going to eat.

‘I feel like pasta with a drop or two of vino,’ said Dad one evening.

‘We had Italian the other day. I’m more in the mood for Chinese; some divine dim sum at that restaurant in Fort, oh my God,’ said Mom; her tongue darting over her lips.

Seeing that he had a tussle on his hands, Dad decided to enlist the support of a third party.

‘What should we eat tonight, Burp?’ asked Dad.

Burp leaned back into the sofa, arranged his left hand over his stomach and tapped his chin with the index finger of his right hand. His eyes glazed over and he cocked his head to a side. Evidently he was treating the question with a whole lot of seriousness.

‘Tapa. I want eat tapa,’ he said.

Mom seconded Burp’s choice with alacrity.

In the taxi on the way to the Spanish restaurant in Colaba, Dad said, ‘Darling, have you realised we have placed our gastronomic destiny in the hands of a three year-old?’

Mom looked at Burp and raised her hand. Burp completed the high five.

‘It looks like we’re in good hands then, isn’t it?’ she said.

Dad scratched his stubble and said, ‘Serendipity.’

‘What?’ asked Mom.

‘I mean Burp. It’s a fitting name for a kid who knows exactly what he wants to eat, eh?’ said Dad.

3.
It was around this time that Burp somewhat began to understand the meaning of his name. He had just finished his lunch: a big bowl of spaghetti and tomato sauce. Burp was alone in the hall when he heard someone call his name. He looked to the left and then to the right. No one.

He returned his attention to the picture book lying in front of him. Again he heard someone take his name. He got up and looked around. Not a soul was present. Then he noticed a movement near the hall entrance. He went to take a look and as he reached there he saw a little boy walking towards him. Burp stopped. The boy stopped. Burp jumped. The boy jumped. Burp raised his arms and waggled his bottom. The boy raised his arms and waggled his bottom. Burp patted his stomach and burped. The boy patted his stomach and said: Burp.

So it was this fellow who was calling him. He burped once more. The boy said Burp once more. Burp began to laugh. This was a funny game.

‘Burp,’ said another voice. Burp jumped. The boy jumped. Then Burp saw a woman appear behind the boy. She looked familiar. As she came nearer, he recognised her. It was Mamma.

‘Mamma,’ he said, walking towards her.

‘Mamma,’ said the boy, walking towards Burp.

‘Burp,’ said Mamma, bending and picking up the boy. Burp felt someone lifting him too. He turned around and saw it was Mamma. He looked in front and he saw the boy in Mamma’s arms.

‘What’s the matter Burp, haven’t you seen a mirror before?’ asked Mom.

Something fell into place in Burp’s mind. He pointed at Mom’s reflection and said, ‘Mamma.’

Mom kissed Burp and squeezed him. This made him burp.

Burp pointed at his reflection and said, ‘Burp.’

4.
From that day onwards, Burp discovered how his name was on the lips of the world and its aunt.

While having Shanghai noodles at his favourite Chinese restaurant, he noticed a man at the next table slurping down the last of his soup. The man wiped his lips with a napkin, raised his shoulders and said: Burp. Chandu, the man who came to sweep and swab the house every morning said Burp all the time. Aunty Tina’s baby boy Brad said Burp after being fed. He noticed even Mamma said Burp but she always said it by placing a hand over her mouth.

And that’s when he noticed he said Burp every time after a meal. And he enjoyed saying it. And whenever he said it, Dadda always laughed and imitated him. And Mamma would get annoyed, scold Dadda, and tell him to stop behaving badly.

‘But honey,’ said Dad. ‘Burping is so much fun. Look at him. He laughs like a little maniac after he burps.’

‘Burping. What is that?’ asked Burp.

‘Burp, the funny noise that comes out of your stomach after you eat is called a burp.’ said Dad.

Burp thought he was the luckiest boy in the world. Just imagine. Having a name that felt so good to say and everyone gets amused when you say it.

He burped loudly and smiled.

5.
Miss Almeida was not at all amused.

‘Barnabas, if you make that disgusting noise once more, I will make you stand in the corner with a finger over your lips.’

Burp began to cry. As it is he hated going to school. He had to wake up early every morning, brush his teeth, do potty, drink a large glass of milk; all quickly, quickly, quickly because he had to be in school and in the classroom before something call The Bell. And his class teacher was always shouting at him, telling him to draw this, sing that and write this and that. She never called him Burp because after she had looked at the label with the plastic cover pinned to his shirt pocket, she always called him Barnabas. And now she was going to punish him for burping. Altogether it was just too much.

‘I don’t want to go to school,’ he said. ‘Miss yells at me when I burp. You’ll don’t yell. Why does she yell?’

‘Burp,’ said Mom, ‘It’s all fine and funny to burp but now you’re a big boy. You’re four years old. You must learn that it’s bad manners to burp in front of people. Which is why the teacher shouted at you, you understand?’

‘But Dadda said that when you burp it shows you enjoyed the food. He told that, remember?’ asked Burp.

‘Barnabas, Dadda, was joking when he said that,’ said Mamma.

And that was that. Overnight Burp discovered he was actually Barnabas and burping was outlawed to the point that Mamma, and sometimes even Dadda, would scold him when he burped.

As time passed, the burping aloud stopped completely because Barnabas discovered that Good Manners fetched him chocolates and toys and treats and Bad Manners took away chocolates, toys and treats.

6.
Barnabas became a Good Boy. He was well mannered and polite to one and all. He did not make too much of masti and got good grades. As a result, he was rewarded with books, toys, movies and video games. But the one reward he enjoyed most was being treated to meals in fancy restaurants. Italian, Goan, Chinese, Malvani, Arabic, Bengali, French, Mughlai, Thai cuisine… Barnabas loved them all with equal passion.

7.
‘Boring. Why is the food so boring,’ said eight year-old Barnabas, picking at the food on his plate.

‘What do you mean?’ asked Mom. ‘I’ve made the ladyfingers, fried them crisp, just the way you like it.’

‘Hey, Barns, it’s fish curry. Pomfret; your favourite fish,’ said Dad.

‘Not any more. I don’t want to eat this same, old, boring food,’ he said.

‘Listen. Stop complaining. Just because we regularly take you to eat out that doesn’t mean you should start knocking ghar ka khana,’ said Dad. ‘You know I love food as much as you do, much more in fact, but trust me Barnabas, there’s nothing better in the world than homemade food,’

Huh!’ said Barnabas. ‘If I had a choice, I’d never eat ghar ka khana all my life.’ Glumly he pushed his plate away.

‘All right, mister. Let’s do this. I’ll get you a new dish every day. Lunch and dinner. Mark my words. I bet you anything within a week you’ll get bored. Then you’ll beg for home-cooked food,’ said Dad.

‘Really?’ asked Barnabas. ‘You mean really mean that? Cool.’

8.
Barnabas tossed his school bag onto the sofa and raced to the dining table.

‘Hi mom, what’s for lunch?’

‘Take a look,’ said Mom. ‘It’s Italian.’

“Wow, you mean dad kept his promise. Cool.’

Barnabas had a Mushroom Risotto for lunch.

And for dinner, Spagehetti with Meatballs.

‘Dada, this is awesome. Thank you so much,’ said Barnabas.

Dad looked up, put a morsel of dal and rice into his mouth, and smiled.

9.
Day Two was even better. Japanese food. Barnabas was crazy about many things Japanese. Karate, samurais, katanas, Pokemon, et cetera. Barnabas devoured the teppanyaki and sushi and sashimi and maki rolls but as usual left the miso soup alone.

‘Mamma, do you want the last piece? It’s tuna,’ said Barnabas.

‘I’m full,’ said Mom. ‘You have it.’

Dad looked up, put a morsel of potato subzi into his mouth, and smiled.

10.
Days Three, Four, Five and Six were just as sensational: New day, new treats. Six days had elapsed and Barnabas was having the time of his life. Apart from Italian and Japanese, he had feasted on Thai, Moroccan, Polynesian and Swedish delicacies.

However, on Day Seven of the extraordinary culinary adventure, Barnabas woke up with a funny sensation in the pit of his stomach and drool all over his chin and on the pillow. He had been dreaming a very strange dream. He was at a swimming pool. He was bouncing on the springboard and had launched himself into the air and on the way down into the water, it wasn’t water any longer but curry and as he went under he could taste the curry and it was the one that Mamma made mostly on Sundays full of meat and potatoes and he loved sucking the marrow from the bones and the smell was the most wonderful smell in the world…

It was then that he woke up. His bedroom door was ajar and through the crack slipped into his room the wonderful aroma of mutton curry. Barnabas looked at the big clock over the door. It read: 9.30. ‘Hello,’ he thought, ‘shouldn’t I be in school? ‘course not. No school today. So it must be a Sunday because I can smell Mamma’s mutton curry.’

He leaped out of bed and ran into the hall. Dad was sprawled on the floor, lying atop huge cushions, reading the newspapers.

‘Good morning, Dadda,’ said Barnabas, jumping onto Dad’s back. Dad put aside the papers and looked at him.

‘’Morning, Barns,’ he said. ‘Wow! You are very cheerful this morning.’

‘Why not?’ said Barnabas, ‘I love Sundays. No school, no homework, no waking up early, no uniform, no fuss and khit-khit.’

‘And here some news that’s going to make Sunday fun day,’ said Dad, ‘you’re going to have Vietnamese food today.’

‘But I can see Mamma is mak…’ said Barnabas and stopped.

‘Yeah,’ said Dad, ‘what about Mamma?’

‘Nothing,’ said Barnabas, ‘I’m going to do potty.’

He left the hall and went back to his room. Barnabas was feeling very confused. On one hand, he loved Thai food. On the other hand, he really, really loved Mamma’s mutton curry. But Mamma’s food was ghar ka khana and he had told Dadda and Mamma he hated ghar ka khana, which he now realised wasn’t true. But if he admitted to wanting Mamma’s mutton curry and not the Thai food then he would look like a fool and he hated looking like a fool.

He thought a little more and smiled to himself. He had an idea! He had a plan!

At lunch, Barnabas put his plan into motion.

‘Boring, Dadda, this food is so boring,’ he said, picking at the food on his plate.

‘What!’ said Dad, ‘it’s green curry chicken. Are you calling your favouritest chicken in the whole wide world boring.’

‘Yes,’ said Barnabas.

‘Dadda, I think your son wants to eat something else,’ said Mamma, a big smile on her face.

Dad had a quizzical expression on his face. Mum discreetly pointed her chin at the mutton curry in the serving dish.

‘What do you mean?’ asked Dad. ‘You mean the mutton? I don’t think so, honey. Don’t you know Barnabas hates ghar ka khana. Right, Barns?’

Barnabas smiled. His plan was falling into place.

‘Mutton curry? No way. I’m just saying I’m bored of this pasta-shasta, noodle-foodle, thai-fhai. I want to eat something exciting, something new and exotic. Like fried crickets or Korean sea slugs or, I don’t know, things we see on that Anthony Bourdain’s program.’

The smile on Dad’s face disappeared into his stubble.

‘That’s it,’ he said. ‘Enough of this nonsense. Either you eat home food or starve. That’s final.’

‘Okay,’ said Barnabas. ‘If it makes you so angry then I’ll have some mutton curry then.’

‘Excuse me,’ said Dad, his smile reappearing faintly, ‘you have your boring Vietnamese food. And for dinner, wait, I’ll get you your, what did you call it? Ah, exciting, exotic food. Happy?’

Barnabas head nodded a yes but his face looked anything but happy.

11.
Barnabas was stumped. The plan had failed. He was getting bored of eating fancy food and longed for ghar ka khana. His plan had hinged on the fact that it was impossible to get weird food in Bombay. He knew that since they once had discussed the possibility of eating fried crickets and Dad said for that they had to go to China since the only cricket in the city was in Shivaji Park; great to look at but not very edible.

He had thought Dad would laugh at his new demand, Mamma would too; then he could join in the merriment and admit to being all right with eating home food. They would laugh some more, ruffle his hair, give him a hug or two, and everything would be back to normal.

Instead Dad had got angry and was still angry after lunch was over. As he was going to his room, Barnabas heard Dad talking on his mobile phone. He was ordering something called haggis for dinner.

12.
In their bedroom, Mom and Dad were chatting about the Sunday lunch.

‘Did you see the look on his face?’ asked Dad.

‘Honey, that was cruel. Funny but cruel,’ said Mom.

‘It was wonderful to see him learn a lesson in life. Imagine growing up and hating ghar ka khana?’ said Dad. ‘Making that mutton curry was a stroke of genius, honey.’

‘I knew it would do the trick,’ said Mom. ‘What did he say? “Okay. If it makes you so angry then I’ll have some mutton curry then,” the poor little fellow.’

‘But that boy is far too clever for his own good. I thought we had him over a barrel with the mutton curry. The – I want crickets and fickets idea. Man! He really came up with a smart way to get out of the hole he dug for himself. The boy has my brains, eh?’ said Dad.

‘Thankfully, my looks and your brains,’ said Mom.

Dad made a face at Mom.

‘So how are you going to handle it in the evening?’ asked Mom.

‘Wait and see. I have a plan,’ said Dad.

13.
It was an hour before dinner.

‘Barnabas, come here,’ said Dad.

Barnabas looked away from the TV. ‘What?’ he asked.

‘It’s about your dinner. Don’t you want to know what you’re going to have?’ said Dad.

Barnabas came to the balcony and Dad took him on his lap.

‘I spoke to my friend Mario. Remember him, the chef at that Italian restaurant? Well, he said he can make three things for you. One: Haggis. Two: Criadillas. Three: Boudin. Don’t the names sound wonderfully exotic?’ said Dad.

‘What’s haggis?’ asked Barnabas.

‘Let me see. Haggis is a Scottish dish. Scotland, OK? It made from a sheep’s internal organs like the liver, intestines, kidney. It’s cooked with oatmeal in a casing, that’s like a bag, which usually is the sheep’s stomach. Exotic enough for you?’ asked Dad.

Barnabas swallowed and said, ‘Er, what are the other things.’

‘Criadillas are well, a bull’s thingybobs; whatnots. Things that hang below a, as you very succinctly put it, middle point. Anyway, Mario says it’s from Spain. It’s very tasty.’ said Dad.

And the third choice is my favourite. It’s a French delicacy. Boudin. It’s called black pudding in England. Want to guess what it is?’ asked Dad.

‘Something sweet?’ said Barnabas.

‘No. It’s fried pig’s blood. It looks like a cutlet. Simply yummy with fried eggs and sausages. So what’s it going to be?’ asked Dad. ‘Decide quickly because Mario will need some time to make it.’

Barnabas gulped and said in a brave little voice: ‘I’ll have the cria… the bull’s thingees.’

‘Done,’ said dad, dialling a number on his mobile phone.

14.
Mum came to the dinner table bearing a dish. It contained the mutton curry. Wisps of steam curled into the air and Barnabas smelled it and his mouth started to water.

‘Honey, where’s Barnabas’s food. Call Mario and find out,’ said Mom.

‘Give me a moment,’ said Dad. He made a call on his phone. ‘Hello, Mario, it’s me. What? Another hour.’ He looked at Barnabas, and said into the phone: ‘All right. He can wait.’

‘I’m hungry, I can’t wait,’ said Mom.

‘Why don’t you start? I’ll eat with Barns,’ said Dad.

‘Oh my God. I’ll wait too,’ said Mom.

Barnabas did not say a word. He sat quietly at the table, eyes down.

‘You know what, Barnabas’ said Dad. ‘I’ll tell Mario to cancel the order. He can freeze it. You can have it for lunch tomorrow. Today you take a break and have the mutton curry. What do you say?’

Barnabas did not have much to say but the look on his face said everything Dad and Mom needed to know. Mum served Barnabas a large helping of mutton. Then she served Dad and herself.

Normally, during meals, the practice was to talk about various things. The food, Barnabas’s studies, movies they were going to watch together, et cetera. But this evening, no one uttered a peep. Dad and Mom quietly watched Barnabas who was busy walloping the mutton; not even looking up once from his plate. He finished every scrap of meat and the last dollop of curry before holding up his plate for a second helping.

Mom served him and they both silently waited till Barnabas wiped his plate clean with a piece of bread. He popped it into his mouth, chewed and swallowed it, and wiped his mouth with a napkin.

‘So… Barnabas. Did you enjoy the ghar ka khana?’ asked Dad, struggling to hide a smile.

Barnabas looked at Mum. It was like looking into a Dadda-kind-of-mirror because she too was smiling with her hand over her mouth.

The nickel dropped in Barnabas’s mind. He understood that his parents had tricked him into eating the mutton curry. A raft of elaborate thoughts tinged with varying emotions flooded his mind. Some were angry; some bitter; some poignant; some happy. Of all, one stood tall above the rest. It was the perfect response.

‘Burp,’ he said.

Dad was unable to conceal his smile and Mom flung her hands in the air, beckoning Barnabas over. Barnabas looked at his parents. They looked at each other.

As one, in tribute to their lovely little boy, they said: ‘Burp.’

April 8, 2006 tonywrites Permalink Leave a response Happy Seventh, burp, david, dsouza, dylan, foodie, kurt

Victory Cry

1.
Xavier was spending the summer vacation with his uncle’s family in a village called Uccasaim (Ooh-ka-sa-aye) in Goa. Uncle Patrick, his wife Aunt Jessie, and two children, William and Augustine lived in a big house with tiny blue shutters and large brown furniture. At the back of the house, Xavier had found more inhabitants. Hens and cocks strutting hither and thither; a pig, a sow and a litter of seven piglets oinking about; and three cats, one orange, one black and white, and one with large grey whiskers.

The house sat on an enormous parcel of land enclosed by palm, mango, jackfruit and banana trees. The house had a name: Happy Home and it was the last dwelling in a dusty, red-earth road that petered out into a field. When he first saw Happy Home, Xavier actually rubbed his eyes in disbelief. He was a city boy who lived in an apartment block surrounded by other apartment blocks that were further surrounded by other apartment blocks and he had to take a taxi to a garden or a park.

Bombay, he decided, was a bleak place fit only for moneymaking and shopping. Xavier’s father was a banker who made tons of money and his mother encouraged Dad to make more by spending his money on things big and small, some extravagant, others merely expensive.

Aunt Jessie had met Granna and Xavier at Happy Home’s entrance. After giving Granna a hug, Aunt Jessie had picked Xavier, held him dangling away from her arms before enveloping him in a hug that smelled of cinnamon and Vicks Vapour Rub. ‘My God,’ she had said. ‘You’ve become such a big, strong boy. Come meet your cousins. Willy, help Granna with her bags. Gus, you show Xavier his room.’

Willy was ten and Gus eight, the same as Xavier. Both were tall and lean with shiny, curly black hair and gleaming white teeth. Gus gave Xavier a big smile and said, ‘Race you to the room?’

‘I don’t know where it is,’ said Xavier.

‘Follow me,’ said Gus.

Xavier ran after Gus. As much as he tried, he could not catch up with Gus. Inside the house, Xavier saw Gus dart around a corner. When he turned around it, Xavier found Gus waiting for him at the far end of a long passage. Xavier slowed down to a trot. He reached the end of the passage and walked into a large bedroom. Gus was lying on the bed, hands clasped behind his head, a mocking smile on his face.

‘First,’ he said.

Xavier promptly burst into tears.

Much later, after much cajoling from Granna and a large bar of chocolate from Aunt Jessie, Xavier stopped crying and fell asleep on Granna’s lap.

2.
Xavier woke up from his afternoon nap. He stumbled out of his room and made his way to the hall where he found his cousins playing Snakes & Ladders. Willy called him over, pulled out a chair and told Xavier to sit next to him. They began to play and within minutes it was over. With what amounted to a great amount of luck, Gus had won with just a few rolls of the dice. Gus laughed with delight and Willy reached across the table and patted his arm.

‘Yah, I beat you’ll hollow, ha ha ha,’ said Gus.

‘Well played, you lucky dog!’ said Willy.

Xavier could not believe his eyes. How could he have lost? It was the first time he ever lost at anything. He just couldn’t understand it. With a wail he summoned Granna into the hall.

‘What’s the matter, Xavier? What happened?’

‘Willy and Gus are not letting me win. I don’t know how the snakes only bite me all the time. Gus cheats when he throws the dice, Granna. I don’t want to play with them.’

‘Stop crying,’ said Granna, ‘Play another round. I’m sure you will win this time.’

Willy set up the board. Gus placed the counters on Start.

‘Here Xavier, you go first,’ said Willy. Xavier threw the dice with an angry hand. It rolled across the length of the table and Granna had to stretch to retrieve it.

‘Good Lord,’ she said. ‘You’ve got a six. Roll two, and you’ll get to a ladder.’

Still sulking, Xavier threw the dice. Once again, it rolled far away.

‘Two!’ said Granna. ‘Xavier, you lucky boy.’ She moved his counter to the No. 8 square and then up the ladder to 26.

Willy and Gus looked mystified while Xavier looked composed and happy.

The game moved on and Willy and Gus got bitten galore and slid down ladders twice as many times as Xavier. Yet the three boys found themselves in the top row of the board. It was anybody’s game now!

It was Xavier’s turn to play. He was on 95. ‘I hope I don’t get a three,’ he said.

Three would mean reaching 98 where a snake waited with bared fangs. Xavier traced the snake’s body through the board. It ended at 13. Xavier cupped the dice in his palms. He shook it vigorously and opened them. The dice flew out and landed on the floor. It was still spinning and everyone’s eyes were on it as it lost momentum, wobbled and came to a stop. It was a three. Big tears swelled up in Xavier’s eyes. His lips went crooked and began to quiver. Granna scooped up the dice and handed it to him.

‘Xavier, you’re lucky the dice fell down,’ she said. “That means a retry.’

Gus opened his mouth to say something but Granna raised a finger in admonishment. Willy nudged Gus in the ribs as said, ‘Keep quiet Gus. Listen to Granna.’

With a sniff, Xavier wiped his nose. A trail of snot appeared on the back of his hand. Granna wiped it off with her saree’s pallu. She patted his back as he petulantly raised his hand to throw the dice. He was upset so he flung the dice. The dice bounced on the table. Granna deftly palmed it. She opened her fist, looked at the dice, then after arranging it on her palm she showed it to the boys. A five! She slid Xavier’s counter across 96, 97, 98, 99 to Home.

‘Look, you reached Home.’ She said.

Xavier jumped off the chair and raced around the room, waving his arms in triumph. He cocked his thumbs at Willy and Gus, and stuck his tongue at them, more so in Gus’s direction.

‘I’m the winner, I’m the winner,’ he said, over and over again.

With a sigh, Granna leaned back in the chair.

3.
Over the next few days, Xavier observed that Willy and Gus’s sole purpose of existence was to compete in a series of impromptu competitions where being able to say ‘first’ was the trophy. Willy and Gus raced each other for every little thing. Who finished first at the dinner table; who woke up first in the morning; who got to hug Daddy first when he came back from office; who could first hit that mango hanging from the fourth branch; who would not be first in becoming the DONKEY in jod-patta.

Over the next few days, Xavier observed that Willy and Gus could defeat him at most games. Whether it was Catching Cook or Hide ‘n’ Seek or jod-patta or panja or football or Stone, Paper, Scissors. He always began losing from the get-go. He couldn’t help crying and creating a fuss. Didn’t he always win with Dada and Mamma and Granna at home? Thankfully, Granna was always by his side when they played. He always won when Granna was around.

Over the next few days, Xavier also observed that Willy and Gus stopped whatever they were doing when he went across to join them.

Xavier found their behavior very strange.

‘What’s the matter?’ he asked Willy on one of the mornings.

‘Nothing,’ said Willy as he folded the Ludo board.

‘What’s wrong?’ he asked Gus on one of the evenings.

“Nothing,’ said Gus as kicked the football away and went into the house.

4.
‘’So what are you boys doing today?’ asked Aunt Jessie.

‘Nothing,’ said Willy.

‘What do you mean by nothing?’ asked Aunt Jessie.

‘Nothing as in n o t h i n g,’ said Gus.

‘Very smart Gus, very clever. If you’ll don’t do anything then Xavier will get bored,’ said Aunt Jessie.

‘That’s exactly why we are doing nothing, mom. Xavier. Xavier is a crybaby fusspot cheatercock and we don’t like to play with him,’ said Gus.

‘Augustine!’ said Aunt Jessie. ‘What is wrong with you, Augustine? How dare you be so mean to your cousin? Say sorry right now to Xavier or I’ll smack you.’

Granna said nothing.

A large tear ran down Xavier’s face and sank into his jam sandwich.

Gus folded his arms across his stomach and set his mouth in a tight line.

‘Augustine,’ said Aunt Jessie. She picked the ladle from the bowl with scrambled eggs.

‘Augustine,’ she said.

Gus jumped up from his chair and landed heavily against the table. Dishes clattered against bowls and Willy’s mug overturned spilling milk all over the tablecloth.

‘I hate him. I hate him. And all of you’ll don’t tell him anything at all. He’s horrible. I hate him.’

Gus ran away from the dining room followed by Willy.

Uncle Pat looked at Granna.

‘Mamma, you must stop pampering Xavier. He is a brat, you know…’

Xavier did not want to hear anything more. He threw the sandwich on the plate and raced out of the house. He couldn’t believe his ears. A crybaby! A fusspot! A brat! A cheatercock! Tears were freely flowing down his face. Venomous thoughts about Gus flowed freely in his mind.

‘Some kids are born winners. Some kids grow up to be winners. And some kids are born whiners and grow into bigger whiners. Xavier belongs to the last lot.’ Uncle Pat had a loud voice it carried all the way from the house to the mango tree across the yard behind which Xavier stood with shaking shoulders and a tear-streaked face. When he heard the words, Xavier, who at moment was invoking the heavens to strike his cousin Gus with a bolt of lightning changed the petition in favour of Uncle Pat.

Uncle Pat continued: ‘Willy and Gus have told me that there isn’t a single game that he hasn’t won by dint of a ready supply of temper, tantrums and tears. That makes him a thoroughly nasty piece of work. If this isn’t stopped, as God is my witness, Xavier is going to grow into a person who makes subordinates work on weekends, yell at waiters for no reason and fudge income-tax papers.’

With these final words, Uncle Pat stomped out of the house, got into his car and departed to work. Xavier watched him go. His heart was jumping in his chest and his head felt hot and swollen like an overblown balloon about to burst. As he slowly made his way back to the house, Granna came out on the verandah. He ran to her and she held him tight and wailed and wailed into the crisp, comforting cotton of her saree. Yet everything still felt horrid; everything; and the pain in his chest had moved to his stomach making him feel sick; but the sick feeling did not make him vomit; it only made him feel sad; sad, sad, sad.

5.
It was late in the afternoon. Xavier had had his lunch in his room all by himself. He did not want to talk to anybody, not even Granna. After he finished eating, Xavier went in search of Granna. He found her sitting in an armchair on the verandah. He hoisted himself on the parapet and looked at her.

‘Granna, am I a cheatercock?’ asked Xavier.

‘Xavier, oh, Xavier, what do you want me to say?’ said Granna.

‘I don’t know Granna. But I don’t feel happy. Why did Gus say he hates me? No one has said that to me before.’

‘Xavier, Gus was angry. When you’re angry nasty things come out of people’s mouths.’

‘But what he said was true. I am a crybaby. I’m always crying and making a fuss, aren’t I? I’m a bad boy, Granna.’

‘No Xavier, you are a very good boy. You’re sweet and polite and kind. You’ve got lovely manners. You’re good at studies. The only thing you’re bad about is you hate to lose. Actually, you don’t know how to lose. And when you don’t know how to lose, you won’t know how to win.’

‘I don’t understand, Granna.’

‘Have you seen how Willy and Gus play? Have you noticed when Gus loses he does not get upset. In fact he seems more determined to win the next time. And when Gus finally wins, Willy congratulates him. That’s called sportsmanship, Xavier.’

‘That’s so weird Granna. I always used to wonder why Gus never threw a tantrum when he lost. I think I understand it a little bit now.’

‘Xavier, now try to understand this. When you were small boy, we would play games. When you lost, you would sulk and refuse to eat; to do anything. So we: your Dada, Mamma and I would let you win. Deliberately. To keep you happy. What we did not realise is we cheated you out of learning how to win properly, how to win fair and square.’

‘Granna, what should I do?’

‘First, go say sorry to Gus and make friends with him. Second, play games with them without the fear of winning or losing. Play just to enjoy playing. Can you do that?’

‘I will try Granna. I promise.’

Xavier left the verandah and headed towards his cousins’ room.

With a smile, Granna leaned back in the armchair.

6.
At first when Xavier apologised, Gus did not take it seriously. However, that evening when they were playing football, Gus scored a goal and despite being on the other team Xavier rushed forward to congratulate him. When Willy saw the gesture, he too came forward and put a friendly arm around Xavier. In that instant, the three boys became the best of friends.

Later, they were sitting on the fence surrounding Happy Home, when Uncle Pat returned home from work. He whistled as he parked the scooter. The three boys raced towards him. As they almost reached him, Gus and Willy stopped in their tracks so it was Xavier who got to hug Uncle Pat first. Looking at the bright smiles on Xavier’s face, Uncle Pat beamed one at him in return.

‘Well kids, I have some good news. A sports meet is going to be held next week on the Village Feast Day. There’s an 80-metre dash for boys ten and under. Who wants to participate?’

‘Me! Me! Me!’ said the trio in unison.

7.
The three boys left for the field that adjoined Happy Home. They were going to practice sprinting. Willy has a stopwatch in his pocket, Gus a length of rope to tie between two trees as the finish line and Xavier was in charge of the starter’s gun: a Diwali toy pistol. As they jumped down off the road into the field, they met Victor and Francis, Willy’s friends from school.

‘Hi Victor, come with us. We’re getting ready for the Feast Day race,’ said Willy.

Victor, catapult in hand, pointed at a house at the end of the field.

‘We’re going on a mango raid. Coming?’ said Victor.

‘Are you mad, Victor? If The Bull catches you, you are dead,’ said Willy.

‘I’m not scared, man. Besides, I’ve been dreaming about those mangoes. Today, I am going to get one for sure,’ said Francis, taking aim at a bird overhead with his catapult.

Xavier avidly listened to the conversation. In Bombay he did not get much opportunity to have an adventure, and this talk of raids and bulls and mangoes and death intrigued him.

‘Is there a bull in that house?’ he asked.

Gus laughed. ‘Yeah. Do you want to see it? Come one Willy, let’s go. Don’t be such a darpok.’

Goaded, Willy snatched the catapult from Victor’s hand. ‘All right. But I’ll take the first shot.’

Xavier piped up. ‘Please Willy, can I try first? I’ve never ever used a catapult before. My Daddy doesn’t allow me to play with such things.’

‘Give him a chance, Willy,’ said Gus. ‘You have terrible aim, anyway.’

Willy picked a stone, fitted it in the catapult and let it loose at Gus. He missed and got Victor instead.

‘Hey, watch it, you fool,’ said Victor, aiming at kick at Gus’s behind.

The quintet finally arrived at the border of shrubs that separated the field from the house. It was a tiny home that was dwarfed by majestic mango trees. The branches were heavy with green mangoes.

‘Wow! Look at them, man. My mouth is watering. In another week’s time they will be ripe,’ said Francis.

‘Ya. But I’m dying to eat a nice khatta kyrie today. Come on, Xavier. Try to bring one down,’ said Victor. ‘Hey Willy, give him the caty.’

‘But what about the bull?’ said Xavier.

‘You forget about the bull. Just focus on the kyrie,’ said Gus.

Xavier selected a small, round stone. He readied the catapult, selected his target, lifted the catapult to eye level, cocked an eye, took aim, and released the missile in a smooth, fluid motion. It was a million-in-one shot. The stone unerringly hit the target. The mango plummeted to earth. Xavier pumped his fist in the air. Gus gave him a high five. The others patted him on his back.

‘Well done,’ whispered Willy.

‘Victor, go get the kyrie, man,’ whispered Francis.

‘I’m not going alone. You come with me,’ whispered Victor.

‘Why are you’ll whispering?’ whispered Xavier.

‘Wait and watch,’ said Gus as Victor followed by Francis crept towards the fallen mango.

No sooner had Victor got his hands on the mango, a huge bellow rent the air. Victor turned and ran. Francis ran straight into him. The sound of their heads clashing was drowned out by another roar. Xavier’s knees began to tremble. He expected a bull to charge out from behind the house and gore the two boys. Willy was laughing quietly while Gus hopped from foot to foot, guffawing loudly. Then Xavier saw a sight he would never forget for the rest of his life. From the backdoor of the house emerged a tall woman with hair done up in two ponytails. She wore a long, flowing black dress. She had a broom in her hand and she ran at astonishing speed towards the dumbstruck boys. With a scream of pure terror, Victor untangled himself from Francis. It was too late. With a deft throw, the black-clad woman’s broom landed between the boys’ legs, tripping them. They fell to the ground in a heap.

Gus couldn’t help it. It was such a funny sight. He cackled so loudly the noise distracted the woman. When she noticed another three invaders, she went berserk. She charged towards them but it was a futile move. By the time she reached the fence, the three of them had fled the scene. Luckily for Victor and Francis, Gus’s diversion saved their bacon. However, the dumb chums forgot to take the mango with them when they escaped.

8.
They were sitting below the mango tree in the Happy Home yard. Perpet, the family maid brought them a picnic lunch that Aunt Jessie had made for them. There were roast beef sandwiches, chicken cutlets, mango slices and lots and lots of lemonade.

‘That was The Bull,’ said Gus, munching on a mango slice.

‘Why is she called The Bull?’ asked Xavier. ‘Wait, don’t tell me. Let me guess. Is it because she was dressed in black and her ponytails looked like horns?’

‘No. Although that’s a very good description of a bull,’ said Willy. ‘We call her The Bull because she sees red when anyone tries to steal her mangoes. The are the best mangoes in the whole of Goa, you know.’

‘The Bull used to be a famous sportsperson. She was a champion dic… dac… what’s that thing you told me, Willy?’ said Gus.

‘A decathlete. She competed in an event called a decathlon. It’s an endurance race. You have to do different kinds of things. Ten, I think. Let me see… there’s a 100-metre race, a long jump, a javelin throw, you know that spear-like thing and… I can’t remember the rest,’ said Willy.

‘Daddy’s told me she took part in the Olympics games a long time ago and she has got a showcase full of medals and trophies and certificates,’ said Gus.

‘Wow,’ said Xavier. ‘That’s terrific.’

‘Hey! Talking of terrific, you have superb aim, Xavier. Don’t lie. Was that the first time you used a caty?’ asked Willy.

‘Yes, I’m telling the truth. Maybe I’m just a natural,’ said Xavier.

Gus went in and came out with his catapult. They spend the rest of the afternoon shooting at various objects. True to his word, Xavier put up a display of stunning marksmanship. He truly was a natural.

9.
That night Xavier dreamed about The Bull. When he woke up he tried to recall the details. He could remember much but one thing was clear in his mind. It wasn’t a scary dream at all.

10.
The Village Feast Day finally arrived. The boys had practiced hard in the previous days. Willy was the quickest among the three but Gus and Xavier were equally matched for pace. In one of their practice runs, Xavier had come second beating not only Gus but Victor and Francis too. He was keenly looking forward to the race.

The sports meet was going to be held in the ground behind the church. The entire street leading to the church was decorated with colourful bunting. Both sides of the street were lined with stalls selling sweets, toys, curios and clothes. Some stalls had games like hoopla, balloon-shooting, knock-down-nine-cans-in-three-tries and kick a goal through a tire. There even was small giant wheel and a merry-go-round. Uncle Pat promises to take the children to the fair after the meet. Loudspeakers blared pop songs and everywhere Xavier looked people were having a great time. Xavier happily skipped through the throng when he a wrench. Someone had stepped on his right sneaker and the sole had got completely ripped off.

‘Oh no, look mum,’ said Gus. ‘Xavier’s shoe has got destroyed.’

They move to the side of the street. Xavier pulled the shoe off his foot. He was disappointed. It looked like he would have to run the race in his bare feet. Aunt Jessie came up with a quick solution.

‘Don’t worry, Xavier,’ she said. ‘You have the same shoe size as Gus. Go home with Perpet and find a pair that fits you.’

‘Great. Thanks Aunt Jessie. Bye, guys,’ said Xavier.

10.

Xavier hurried into the house and went to Gus’s room. In a jiffy he found a pair that fit him. It was bright red pair; the laces were red too. As he was tying the laces, Perpet came into the room.

‘Baba, can you back by yourself. I forgot to do the ironing and Bab Patrick will shout at me if I don’t finish it,’ she said.

Xavier did not mind at all. He knew the way, in fact, he knew a better route; Willy once had shown him a shortcut; he simply had to cut through two fields behind Happy Home, walk down a narrow road that led to a tiny bridge that hunched over a small stream. Then the church’s ground was less than half a minute away.

‘No problem, no problem,’ he said.

He walked out of the room and as he stepped into the verandah, he spied Gus’s catapult on Granna’s armchair. He put it in his pocket and set off. He entered the first field, the one that led to The Bull’s house. He glanced in its direction, when he notices the trees in The Bull’s yard were gleaming with what looked like golden lights. It was such a beautiful sight that Xavier figured he had to take a closer look.

They were mangoes! The mangoes on The Bull’s trees had ripened finally. They were luscious, yellow-orange and sunlight bounced off them, making them glow. Mesmerised, Xavier knew he had to knock one down. He drew the catapult from his pocket. It was a dream shot. The mango fell out of the tree and for a moment it got outlined against the blue sky behind; it looked like a shooting star.

Xavier stepped into The Bull’s yard. Stealthily he approached his prize. He kept one eye on The Bull’s backdoor, prepared to fly like the wind if she charged out at him. It looked like he was in luck. Maybe The Bull was at church. Xavier bent and picked the mango. It felt warm and lay in his palm like a tiny sun. Then, suddenly it seemed like the world plunged into darkness. A shadow loomed over him. It was The Bull. Dressed in a dark blue tracksuit that had a sun-like design on the jacket.

Xavier let out a banshee yell that startled The Bull. It startles him too. He took off like a bat out of hell, his sneakers a blur of red motion. The Bull let loose a bellow and gave chase.

11.
Despite her age, The Bull was in fine shape. She almost caught up with Xavier as he reached the shrubs at the end of the field. Her hand touched his collar. Xavier spurted away from her grasp and cleared the shrubs in a single leap. He fell, tumbled, rolled over and watched The Bull easily sail over the barrier. He got to feet in an instant and hared away with The Bull in hot pursuit. As he ran, Xavier realized he was in the shortcut field. If he could reach Uncle Pat before The Bull caught him then he was safe. The thought galvanized him.

He ran the length of the field and careered into a herd of cows. Some were standing, vacantly chewing on the sparse vegetation; a few were sitting. To go around them meant losing his lead. So Xavier gritted his teeth and dodged past the standees and jumped over the sitters. The Bull copied his moved to a T.

Presently, Xavier got onto a road that separated the two fields. He found he could run faster on tarmac so he continued down the road. He flashed past a sign that said: Bridge – 200m. He looked over his shoulder. The Bull was tiring but she yet wasn’t ready to give up. As Xavier approached the bridge, he saw men in overalls and helmets blocking it. A roadwork sign said: No Entry.

Xavier was doomed. He stopped, huffing and puffing. The Bull bore down on him. Something clicked in Xavier’s head. He remembered something Willy had shown him when they had taken the shortcut. What was it? Xavier racked his brain. Yes! On the way back home they had not taken the bridge but had crossed the stream. No, no, no! They did not cross the stream.

Then it came back to him. The stream meandered through the field across the road. At one point it narrowed considerably enough so one could jump across it. Xavier scurried into the field and ran towards the stream. He ran down the side of the stream in search of the narrow part. Was it here? No. A little ahead? Maybe. Here, the gap between the two banks looked quite small: Three to four feet. The gap between The Bull and him was down to a few metres. Xavier stepped back and said a quick prayer. Then he ran towards the stream, arms windmilling, and he just managed to jump across the water. He landed on the edge of the other side, struggled to keep his balance and succeeded.

The Bull did not follow him. She simply stood there looking at him, chest heaving, a grim smile on her face. She held up her hand and pointed it at him. At first, Xavier did not understand. Then he figured it out. She had the mango. He must have dropped it when he jumped across the stream.

Oh shucks!

The Bull turned and trotted away.

12.
There were twelve boys in the 80-metre dash. Willy came first. A boy called Antonio was second. A hair’s breath separated Gus and Xavier from third place. The judges ruled in Gus’s favour. Xavier did not mind at all. He knew if he hadn’t used up most of his energy in the exhilarating run with The Bull, he might have placed second, even first. He smiled and waved at Granna who waved back.

13.
While the other events took place, Xavier shared details of his adventure with his cousins. Willy was very impressed. Gus more so.

‘Xavier. You deserved to win the bronze medal. Know what, I’m going to give it to you,’ said Gus.

‘Don’t be silly, Gus. I’m going to come next year and win the gold. Watch out, Willy,’ said Xavier.

Eventually, the meet came to an end. It was time for the trophy presentation. Uncle Pat had bought them cotton candy. The brothers sat on the ground while Xavier lay on his back. He contently nibbled at the candy as the emcee, over the loudspeaker, called upon a different Special Guest to present trophies in each event category. His mind was a pleasant blank as he heard the emcee summon the winners of the 80-metre race. Willy and Gus ran off towards the dais. Xavier got up slowly.

‘I now call upon the one and only Martha Fernandes to present the trophy,’ said the emcee.

Xavier stood up to clap. His hands froze in mid-air. Martha D’Souza was none other than The Bull. Xavier thanked his stars he came fourth. For safety, even though the dais was far off, he hid behind Aunt Jessie. The three winners were presented their trophies in quick succession. As Gus leaped off the stage, The Bull took the microphone from the emcee.

‘Ladies and gentlemen and children, if you don’t mind, I’ d like to tell you’ll about a little experience I had this morning,’ she said.

Xavier’s body went cold. He got goosebumps. This was it! The Bull was going to name and shame him in front of everybody. His legs turned to jelly. He could not even run away.

The Bull continued: ‘As you’ll know, I used to be a decathlete. I ran my last decathlon in 1980 at the Moscow Olympics. How I miss those days. They were the best days of my life. I miss the excitement. The adrenalin rush. The thrill of running. Of competing. I miss being an athlete. But thanks to an incident this morning, I became a decathlete all over again. I had to compete against a champion decathlete in a 100-metres dash across a field, a high jump over shrubs, a 400-metre dash down the Bridge Road, a long jump over a stream; we even hurdled over cows. It was like a mini-decathlon; a pentathlon of sorts. I’m not ashamed to say I was beaten fair and square. The fellow was a stranger to me. I did not know him at all. In the end, he ran off as I was catching my breath. We did not talk. I could not offer him my congrats. I thought I would never meet him. To offer my thanks and to give him a trophy. Then I saw him in action at the meet. And quite fortunately, our talented emcee, Joe, knows everybody in our little village. He very kindly supplied me with the champion’s details. Will Xavier D’Souza kindly come to the stage?

Granna almost jumped from her chair in surprise. Uncle Pat’s face was flushed with pride. Aunt Jessie gave him a big hug. Willy and Gus took hold of either of his hands and they jogged with him towards the dais. Halfway they peeled off and Xavier had to walk alone all the way to the stage. The whole village, every man, woman and child clapped and clapped till the ground resounded with the sound of applause. Xavier mounted the stairs to the dais. The Bull shook his hand and gave him a big hug. The village photographer readied his camera. Everyone waited for The Village’s Most Famous Personality to hand the trophy to Xavier. The trophy shone as it passed from the Bull’s large hands into Xavier’s tiny palm. Xavier looked at his trophy in disbelief. A look of joy appeared on his face. Tears of joy flooded his eyes.

‘Thank you, Mrs. Fernandes,’ he said. ‘Thank you very much.’

It was the mango.

April 8, 2006 tonywrites Permalink Leave a response Happy Seventh,

A Tiny Love Story

1.
‘IT IS GOING to be a superb holiday,’ thought Raymond. His mother, Mathilda Aguair, a novelist who wrote love stories, had booked a holiday cottage in a remote village in Goa. The tiny cottage, one among many, was a simple single-storied structure with whitewashed walls, wrought iron balconies and a red-tiled roof. It was perched on top of a cliff that overlooked the Arabian Sea. The cliff the cottage sat upon was part of a series of cliffs that formed a crescent, facing outwards into a cove with dark blue water and placid waves. A broad strip of gleaming white sand shimmered at the bottom. A narrow path led down to the beach, which was dotted with boulders at both ends making it look like a huge smile with teeth missing in between. Of course, you had to see it from the top to get this view. Besides, smack bang in the middle of the cove was an outcropping of rocks; actually one huge boulder ringed by smaller ones. Raymond thought it would be good fun to swim out to it and play being a pirate marooned on a desert island.

A seven year-old boy, Raymond was tall for his age with slim arms that peeped out of his white tee shirt and strong legs that extended out of his navy blue shorts. A quiet, imaginative child, Raymond had three passions that dominated his growing mind: math, chocolates and swimming. Rugby could have been the fourth but Nature, while bestowing on him a lithe, agile looking body somehow drew the line at gifting him coordination. His arms, legs, heart and mind seemed to be in the right place. Only the ball somehow evaded his grasp, ending up bouncing off his chest, stomach or thighs into the waiting clutches of the other team. That’s when Raymond the Boy transformed into Raymond the Windmill, and nothing, human or inanimate was safe from being toppled over. However, when Raymond got into a swimming pool, a sea change took place. He was like a seal, perkily bobbing on the surface as he dog paddled smoothly. He was like a shark as he cut through the water with deft lunges. He was completely in his element and had the makings of a champion swimmer. Which is why he reckoned it was going to be a superb holiday. The school swimming competition was a few months away and Raymond was looking forward to winning all the gold medals he was eligible for. Eager to go for a swim, he pushed himself off the railing that bordered the cliff’s edge and hurried into the cottage, tripped over a suitcase lying at the entrance and smashed into a table, sending a china vase and a terracotta statue hurtling to their doom.

2.
RAYMOND LAZILY FLOATED on his back as his mother kept an eye on him from below the brim of an enormous straw hat. She was sitting on a plastic chair placed at the edge of the water. Satisfied that everything was safe and tickety-boo, Matilda turned her attention to the pad in her lap and began making notes. Raymond flipped over and effortlessly changed from a seal to a shark. He freestyled all the way to the island and hauled himself up. The island was around 10 metres away from shore. He stood on a boulder and called out to his mother.

She waved back and shouted, ‘Ray, be careful now. We don’t want any incidents.’

‘Okay, mom,’ he yelled.

Raymond walked around to the other side of the island. Shielding his eyes from the sun, he gazed into the distance when he saw something that made him start. It was a little girl with fair skin and long blonde hair. She was in the sea, treading water with her hair spread around her head. She stared at him for an instant. Then she arched her body halfway out of the water, dived underneath, and in a flash she disappeared. Raymond blinked, rubbed his eyes, and opened them. There was not a trace of the girl. Almost a minute went by when suddenly she surfaced a good distance away. Again, she repeated the dive, and the last Raymond saw of her was her head, gleaming like gold as she passed the rocks at the far end and disappeared behind the cliff.

Raymond stood stock still for a few minutes looking intently in the direction the girl had disappeared. When she showed no sign of reappearing, he scratched his head and wondered if he had imagined it all. Shrugging his shoulders, he turned around, lowered himself into the water and swam to shore.

3.
RAYMOND DID not like girls. He thought they were a complete waste of time. There were many reasons why he thought girls were useless. To begin with they were, well, girls, which made them different from boys. They played with dolls, which when you come to think of it, were smaller girls and just as stupid. They talked funny, they dressed funny, they played funny, and worst of all, if you hit them, Mummy got very cross and made you apologise. They spoke in squeaky voices, giggled at the slightest opportunity and goggled at him, which always made him feel like an exhibit in a zoo.

It’s not that he knew many girls. There were a couple in his building, then there were school pals Akash and Bunty’s sisters and, of course, his loathsome cousins Dinky and Pinky. These many, he felt, was more than enough. It must be noted that Raymond went to an all boy’s school, and being an only child, his real interaction with girls began and ended with Dinky and Pinky. He found them real dumb since neither of them could even divide 99 by 9. When they came home he was forced to share his chocolates, which they greedily gulped in huge bites. They even fed their stupid, dumb dolls with it. They hated sports and refused to get into any activity that made them sweat, hot or wet. Swimming came at the top of their ‘Not-To-Do’ list. They must have been guilty of more heinous crimes like loving mushrooms and broccoli but Raymond did not even want to think about it.

The fact is he thought very little of girls unless they were in his presence. Yet, that night as he went to sleep the last thought on his mind before he drifted off was of a golden haired girl swimming like a sea goddess in the deep, blue sea.

4.
THE NEXT MORNING, was the same as the first. Only this time Matilda sat below the shade of a palm tree, a crab having nipped her toe yesterday. Raymond was doing lengths up and down the water when he saw something gleaming from the corner of his eye. He turned around and saw the little girl. She was in the water near the island, holding fast to a rock. Ignoring a lifetime’s policy of studiously avoiding girls, Raymond struck out and soon was abreast of her. She looked at him, a put a finger to her lips. Raymond noticed they were as pink as candy just as her enormous eyes were as blue as the water around them.

‘Sshhh!’

Raymond did just that. He breathed calmly and stayed afloat with the minimum of leg movement. The girl seems to be looking for something. She swam around the rocks and Raymond quietly followed. Then in a clear voice in an accent that Raymond had never heard, declared, ‘Cedric’s not here.’

‘Who’s Cedric?’ asked Raymond.

‘Oh no one, just an old friend of mine,’ she replied. ‘I’m Monique, what’s your name?’

‘Raymond.’

‘Do you live here?’

‘No. I’m here on a holiday with my mother. We live up there,’ said Raymond, indicating his head in the direction of the cliffs.

‘How do you up there?’

‘Er, we’re staying there in a cottage at the top.’

‘Oh.’

“Where do you stay?’

‘Me? Oh, I live far, far away from here,’ she said solemnly. ‘I’ve lost something precious and I’ve swum for miles and miles looking for it.’

Raymond was perplexed. He, too, could swim for miles and miles, whatever that distance meant, in a swimming pool. But to swim that distance in the sea, all the way from a far away land, in search of something precious, seemed to be something out of a storybook.

‘Big liar! No one can swim for so long. At least, no one I know,’ he admitted. ‘And especially not girls.’

‘Who said I’m a girl?’

‘Huh?’

“I’m a mermaid,’ she said sweetly, diving below the water and disappearing once again.

5.
‘MOM, WOULD YOU believe I saw a mermaid today?’

‘Yes, Raymond, and I met a ruggedly handsome matador called Enrique but between you and me, that’s just bull.’

It was night and they were having dinner. Matilda was in a jocular mood, having complete more than fifty pages of notes for a love story set in Spain. She heaped a huge serving of pasta on Raymond’s plate and began to ladle sauce over it.

‘Really mom, I’m not kidding.’

Matilda helped herself to some pasta, and replied, ‘Yes dear, the next time you’ll meet bring her home. I wonder, though, how will she climb up the cliff?’

‘It’s maddening to have a mother who is a writer,’ thought Raymond. She’s always in her own world.

After the meal was over, Raymond went outside to look at the cove. It was a clear, moonlit night. There wasn’t a hint of breeze in the air and even the fronds of the palm trees were still. Munching on a large bar of dark chocolate, Raymond stared wistfully at the island. Was it his imagination or did he see something move over there? He narrowed his eyes peering intently, and saw something slide into the sea and vanish out of sight, leaving behind a large ripple.

Monique? Monster? Both thoughts frightened Raymond. With a shiver he returned to the cottage.

6.
NEXT MORNING, Raymond quickly ate his breakfast and nipped out of the cottage. He carefully made his way down the path and stood on the beach. The water was still and calm. He slipped into the water and swiftly swam towards the island. He walked to and fro, and round and round the big black boulder. Presently, he heard a soft cooing sound. It was Monique. She waved a hand inviting him into the water. He waved back and refused by shaking his head. Instead he made his way to a rock on the edge and sat on it. She swam up to it and playfully splashed water on him.

‘So, did you tell anybody about me?’ she asked.

‘My mother but she did not believe me,’ he replied.

‘Good. No one else?’

‘There’s no one living with us. The only other person is a caretaker and he’s deaf. Yesterday, mother asked him to bring a towel and he brought a bowl.’

Monique laughed, and Raymond joined her.

‘Do you believe I’m a mermaid?’

‘I don’t know. Aren’t mermaids supposed to have scales and a tail instead of legs?’

‘That we do. But since I’m a little mermaid, I don’t have scales yet. Do you want to see my tail?

‘No.’

‘Don’t be scared. I won’t hurt you.’

‘I’m not scared,’ said Raymond, jumping into the water. Monique backed away and went underwater. Raymond took a deep breath and plunged, too. He opened his eyes and saw a dim form in front of him. It was Monique. She hung there in the water, at rest like a fish. He kicked his legs and went towards her. She moved quickly, flashing past him. Something large and flat and green hit him in the face. Raymond ran out of breath and surfaced with a gasp. He paddled about sucking in air as Monique’s golden head slowly emerged out of the water.

‘I… I… saw your tail,’ he said breathlessly.

‘I told you, didn’t I?’ she said mischievously.

It was too fantastic to be true. Monique was a real live mermaid. Raymond was astounded. And when he saw Monique’s eyes open wide and point behind him, he saw something even more marvelous.

‘Cedric,’ whispered Monique.

Raymond goggled. His eyes bulged like Pinky’s and Dinky’s. From atop a rock, staring back at him with large shiny, black eyes was a crab. A crab with a red shell crisscrossed with white streaks. A crab with pincers the size of garden shears. A crab as large as a baby’s bathtub. A crab simply so big and so magnificent, it had to be the king of crabs.

Raymond felt faint. The world swayed around him and he would have sunk had Monique not wrapped her arms around him. With a powerful thrust of her tail, she bore him towards a rock. Cedric the Crab scuttled away into the water.

When Raymond recovered, he clambered on to the rock.

‘Where’s Cedric?’ he asked.

‘He’s gone. Cedric is very shy with strangers,’ she replied. ‘Are you like that, too? Shy.’

‘Only around girls.’

‘But you don’t seem so with me?

Raymond pondered on her statement for a while before replying.

‘Yes, but you’re not a girl, you’re a mermaid,’ he said with relief.

7.
MONIQUE MADE RAYMOND enter into a pact with her: To not tell anyone about her or Cedric.

‘Not even your mother,’ she said, pointing at Matilda who sat in her now usual place under the palm trees, busy at work.

‘Most people are crazy, mad, you see,’ she said, her voice rising. ‘If they catch me, they’ll lock me in a tank in a museum. As an exhibition. All kinds of horrible experiments will be done on me. They will label me as a freak of nature and my life will become a circus.’

Raymond was horrified.

‘And poor Cedric, I don’t know how he’ll end up,’ she continued, twisting a ring on her finger.

They both were floating in the water near the island. Raymond pledged eternal silence and Monique calmed down. To change the subject, he pointed at her ring.

‘That’s a nice ring. But it’s not as nice as my Power Rangers ring.’

‘Oh, you don’t know but this ring has magical powers.’

She swam close to him and held her hand in front of his face. The ring was a chunky silver band with a big lapis lazuli embedded in it. The face of the bright blue stone had an etching of a man’s face. He wore a crown and had a trident in his hand.

‘Who’s that?

‘That’s Neptune, the God of the Sea. I had lost it while taking a bath and the currents carried it here. Cedric helped me find it.’

As if on cue, Cedric appeared on the scene. He scurried across the big boulder, paused, waved a pincer in their direction and left.

‘What kind of power does your ring have?’

‘Let’s say you’ve lost something you love. You rub the stone twice and hold it to your forehead. Sooner, or later, Neptune will return it to you.’

8.
‘HELLO LADDIE, is this the way to the beach?’

Raymond had company. An elderly British gentleman who introduced himself as Colonel. He was a retired army officer and had actually served in the Indian Army as a sixteen-year old soldier. He was around 75 years old now but was as fit as a fiddle. He marched down the path with a duffel bag in his hand. Raymond trailed behind, listening to him talk.

‘Saw you chaps get your freedom, you know. Was a part of the show and all that. Viceroy Mountbatten, Gandhi, Nehru… what a time, what a time!’

Raymond did not have a clue about whom the Colonel was referring to. He kept his eyes on the ground and walked right into the Colonel. They had almost reached the end of the path and the Colonel had stopped to admire the scenery, which was when Raymond bumped into him. The Colonel stumbled, and dropped his bag. The bag rolled down the path spilling its contents. Out tumbled a mask with a tube, a mesh bag, a belt with a knife fastened to it, and some huge black rubbery object that lay half within the bag.

‘Clumsy little wretch,’ said the Colonel in a peevish tone. Raymond offered to help but was told to ‘cease and desist’ with an irascible wave of the hand. He passed the Colonel, muttered an apology, ran straight into the water, and headed towards the island.

Monique was already there, treading water as usual.

‘Who’s that man?’ she asked.

‘Don’t know,’ he said. ‘I think he’s staying in one of the cottages.’

Together they looked at the Colonel pull off his bush shirt, pants and sandals. He began to apply sun block lotion to his face and back. He pulled the mask over his head and rested it on his forehead. He was strapping on a belt, when Monique said, ‘Oh look, Cedric is here.’

Raymond took his eyes off the Colonel. Cedric seems to be in a friendly mood. Normally he made a brief appearance before scampering away. But today, he seemed to be playing a game of hide-and-seek. He would dart behind a rock and reappear at another end. Briefly, he would sway from side to side before doing another vanishing act. It was very comical and they laughed animatedly at Cedric’s antics. While waiting for Cedric to reveal himself, Raymond stole a glance at the beach. The Colonel was nowhere to be seen. Just then, Cedric came into sight. He scuttled over the large boulder, pausing for a second, pincers waving in agitation. As he was about to dart forward, a huge mesh bag fell over Cedric, trapping him. The Colonel scurried into view, dentures clacking with delight.

‘By Jove,’ he exclaimed, picking up the mesh bag in which Cedric futilely fought to get out of. He tightened the drawstring with shaking hands.

‘A prize specimen, eh?’ he asked, shaking the bag at the pair.

It was this act that shook Raymond and Monique out of their shock. In two giant strokes, Raymond made it to a rock and flew ashore. Seeing the look on his face, the Colonel stepped back and put out a restraining hand. Raymond bent to pick a stone when Monique hurtled past him. Raymond, still stooping, froze as Monique fell flat on her face. She lay writhing at the Colonel’s feet, her body a crumpled heap. Tears sprang into Raymond’s eyes, blurring his vision. Yet, even through the curtain of tears, Raymond could clearly see his mermaid friend had legs. Slim, strong legs, and feet, too. Feet that were encased in emerald green flippers.

The Colonel seized the moment and escaped with his booty.

9.
RAYMOND CROUCHED BESIDE Monique, his mind in a daze. Monique groaned and rolled over. Blood seeped out of cuts on her elbows and knees. Her face was ashen and her eyes looked glazed.

‘You’re not a mermaid,’ screamed Raymond. ‘You’re not a mermaid.’

Raymond voice brought Monique out of her stupor. She reached a hand down to her feet and unclasped her flippers.

‘Sorry, Raymond,’ she said in a quiet voice. ‘I was playing a trick on you.’

She slowly got to her feet, brushing her arms, oblivious to the bloody bruises.

‘Cedric!’ she exclaimed. ‘Raymond, where is that horrid man? Where did he go?’

Raymond mutely pointed towards the shore. The Colonel was halfway up the path.

‘We must rescue Cedric, Raymond. C’mon.’ Taking Raymond’s hand, she flung him into the water. With a neat dive, she surfaced ahead of him. Now in the grip of a terrible surge of hatred, Raymond gave chase. He swam with all his might; with all the speed his rage could muster. The shark in him emerged and he shot through the water like a torpedo. But even then he was no match for the fake mermaid. Monique was out of the water, and running up the path as Raymond put his feet down and waded through the shallow water on to the beach.

10.
THE COLONEL AND MANI the caretaker were deep in conversation when Raymond joined Monique at the kitchen door. The mesh bag lay on a counter at the far end, near the sink. It moved as Cedric struggled within. It would have been easy to run in and pick the bag but there was no way they could escape since the Colonel would block them.

In a loud voice, the Colonel made a demand.

‘Give me a pot,’ said the Colonel.

‘What?’ asked Mani.

‘Pot!’

‘Cot?’

‘I said, pot,’ shouted the Colonel.

‘What cot? Cot not here. Cot in bedroom,’ said a puzzled Mani.

With an oath the Colonel glanced around the kitchen. His eyes fell on a large pot. With a rapid stride he got to it. He thrust the pot in Mani’s hands.

‘Pani, jaldi,’ said the Colonel.

‘Mani? Me Mani,’ said Mani beaming.

‘Money? Why should I give you any bloody money?’

‘No money, no. Me Mani, yes?

With another oath, the Colonel grabbed the pot from Mani’s hands and placed it below the tap in the sink. He let the water run. When the pot was full, he lifted it and turned to Mani whose face was twisted with confusion. The Englishman clearly seemed mad and Mani who was an old man of the Colonel’s age had seen enough of mad dogs and Englishmen in his youth as an army mess cook.

‘Gas?’ asked the Colonel.

‘Ah, gas,’ said Mani with relief. Finally the Colonel was making sense.

‘Too much gas,’ agreed Mani, rubbing his stomach. ‘You gas also?’ he asked in alarm as the Colonel’s face went red and swelled up. The Colonel, shaking with anger removed one hand away from the pot. Unable to bear the weight, his other hand gave way. The pot tilted and water spilled all over the floor. The Colonel took a step forward and slipped right into Mani’s arms. They both fell to the floor in a tangle of arms and legs.

Sensing an opportunity, Monique darted into the kitchen and raced to Cedric. She grabbed the bag and jumped over the prone Colonel who reached out a hand and caught her foot, sending her sprawling. The bag lay between them. They reached it at the same time. One end was bunched up in the Colonel’s big fist, the other in Monique’s small hands. The Colonel easily dragged the bag and Monique towards him. Monique hooked her fingers like talons into the fabric of the bag and pulled with all her strength. It worked. The mesh ripped open and Cedric was free.

But the Colonel was not going to give up so easily. He got on to all fours and chased the giant crab into a corner. Monique sprang after him. Without a thought, the Colonel grabbed a pincer as Monique got a hand on the other. A malicious grin stole into the Colonel’s mouth. He gave a little tug and Monique was about to do the same when she realized his game. She let go of Cedric’s pincer. Forlornly she saw it slide slowly out of her hand. The Colonel gave her a smack with his free hand sending her reeling into the wall. That’s when Cedric struck with the free pincer. The Colonel let go of him and hollered. The bitten thumb was as red and swollen as his face. All thoughts of a magnificent lunch and a trophy shell left the Colonel’s mind. All that remained was a desire to smash the crab into smithereens. He bore down on the scurrying crab with a frying pan in his hands and murder in his eyes.

Mani had seen that look before. Back then he was powerless to intervene, and would have paid with his life if he had then done what he did now. At this moment, all he stood to lose was his job.

‘Inqualab Zindabad!’ screamed Mani, smartly giving the Colonel a tremendous whack with a rolling pin across the buttocks. The Colonel stopped in his tracks and trumpeted like a wounded elephant. Raymond who was standing at the door with mouth agape got galvanized into action. Scooping Cedric into the mesh bag, he ran away from the kitchen with the Colonel hot in chase.

Raymond ran with Cedric held against his chest like a rugby ball. He ran like a seraph, terror giving his feet wings. He gracefully dodged around palm trees and confidently hurdled shrubs, a circular masala grinding stone and a sleeping dog. He ran and ran till he could run no more. Alas! He had run in the wrong direction. In front of him was the edge of a cliff that dropped ten metres straight into the sea below. He turned around but it was too late. The Colonel was walking slowly towards him with arms outstretched. It did not even occur to Raymond that as a last resort all he had to do was to fling Cedric into the sea. He stood his ground and vowed that the Colonel would have to do his worst to prise Cedric from his grasp. The Colonel stepped right up to Raymond looming over him like a mountain.

‘Give me the crab, boy,’ he said in a quiet, menacing voice.

Raymond resolutely shook his head in the negative. The Colonel lunged at Raymond who took a step behind and tripped over a stone. The bag flew out of Raymond’s hands; his arms clutched at empty air, trying to gain some balance. The bag blossomed open and Cedric soared into the air, his pincers and legs moving like scissors. The Colonel bent forward and cupped his large hands. The crab was well within his grasp now. Suddenly he was aware of something hitting his legs with the force of an artillery shell. Raymond had tackled him with the ferocity of a professional linebacker. The Colonel sank to his knees as Raymond flew over him and caught Cedric. And together they went, pincer-in-palm, over the edge of the cliff into the sea.

11.
MATILDA BUSTLED INTO Raymond’s room bearing a bowl of hot soup on a tray. She put it on a small table that was placed over Raymond’s legs.

‘Here,’ she said to Monique. ‘Make sure he finishes all of it.’

Raymond sat up in the bed, and Monique tucked a pillow behind him.

‘Do you need any help?’ she asked.

‘No.’

Raymond took a spoonful of soup, blew on it before putting it into his mouth. Normally, half the soup ended up on his shirtfront. Somehow, it seemed, the incident with the Colonel had corrected his hand-eye coordination. Monique sat quietly as Raymond finished having his soup without spilling a drop.

‘Let me see your scrapbook once again,’ said Raymond.

Monique reached into her satchel and removed a bulging scrapbook. Silently Raymond flipped it open. The first page had a newspaper cutting stuck on it. All the words were in French so he looked at the picture. It showed Monique climbing out of a sea. A banner in the background read ‘Welcome To Dover, Little Mermaid.’

Monique Moreau a.k.a. The Little Mermaid was a champion swimmer who had swum the English Channel at the tender age of seven. She was a national heroine in France, and more so, in her native place, Brittany. Her father Frederic Moreau was a marine biologist whose hobby was scuba diving. On holiday in Goa, they were staying with friends in a villa just behind the cliffs. As a daily habit, Monique swam at least five miles to keep in shape. She was going to join the French junior national swimming team, and one day she wanted to represent her country at the Olympics. Her second biggest passion after swimming was writing. She had showed Raymond her diary where she had jotted notes about their encounters. She said she was going to write a story about it. Of course, it was all in French so he could not make head or tail of it. The title she had in mind was ‘A Boy, A Crab And A Mermaid.’ But after their adventure with the Colonel, she has another one in mind: ‘My Best Friend Is A Hero Called Ray.’

It was Monique who had fished him out of the sea when he fell into it with Cedric. She had arrived on the scene just as Raymond toppled over the edge. She had plunged straight as an arrow into the murky waters but could not spot Raymond. She frantically dived again and again till on her next attempt, Cedric had appeared alongside, guiding her to where Raymond lay unconscious at the bottom. Fortunately, the sea wasn’t too deep at that point. Once she pulled Raymond to the surface, it was child’s play for her to tow him to land. It also turned out that Monique had done a basic lifeguard course. She had learnt her lessons well for she expertly gave him mouth-to-mouth resuscitation while pumping the seawater out of his lungs and stomach.

By then Mani the caretaker had raised the alarm. Raymond lay coughing in Monique’s lap when Matilda found them. Quickly they took him to a hospital in the vicinity where the doctor assured Matilda that Raymond was well out of harm’s reach.

The Colonel had disappeared. When asked for a description, Monique told the police to look for an old man with a bandage on his thumb. Mani the caretaker added that they could also look for a welt on his bottom.

‘So when are you leaving?’ asked Raymond.

‘We’re flying to Mumbai in the evening, and then home,’ she replied.

‘Monique, your father is here,’ said Matilda, entering the room with Mr. Moreau.

Hi Raymond, how are you today?’ said Mr. Moreau.

‘Fine,’ said Raymond.

‘Good, good, have you said goodbye to Raymond, Monique?’

‘Not yet, papa.’

‘I wanted to give you my Neptune ring but I have lost it. I think it fell off that day,’ she told Raymond.

‘Maybe Cedric will find it once again for you,’ said Raymond with a laugh.

Monique leaned over and gave him a kiss. Raymond blushed and his face went as red a tomato, a fire engine, a crab called Cedric.

‘Look at your face,’ exclaimed Monique. ‘It looks red like Cedric.’

With that she gave him another kiss and said, ‘This is for Cedric. Tell him I said au revoir if you meet him.’

‘Au revoir?’ asked Raymond.

‘It means till we meet again in French,’ replied Monique.

12.
SOON RAYMOND was up and about. He swam to the island every day but it felt different. And no matter how long he waited, Cedric never appeared. Obviously the near death encounter had frightened him. You don’t become the oldest living crab on earth by attracting attention.

Raymond rubbed his tummy. For the past few days he had been feeling a strange sensation at the bottom of his stomach. Somehow, it got worse whenever he was on the island. Matilda had noticed Raymond moping about the place with a long face. She understood that he was missing Monique. She was also understanding enough to not tell Raymond since it would confuse him even further. So she cut short their holiday and told Raymond that they were leaving for Mumbai today. As she thought, the news cheered him up somewhat.

‘Mom, can you come to the beach with me?

‘Sure darling, let’s go.’

Raymond got into the water and swam towards the island. He sat on a rock and prayed for Cedric to come. He also prayed to Neptune since the God of the Sea must be Cedric’s god. To his joy and amazement, Cedric emerged out of the water and scuttled close to him.

‘Hi Cedric,’ he said.

Cedric waved a pincer at him.

‘Monique said bye-bye. Some day she will come to meet you again.’

Cedric’s came closer to him, his pincers swaying to and fro. Raymond reached out a hand and Cedric caught it. They sat together like that, once again, pincer-in-palm. That’s when Raymond noticed something different about Cedric. He had not grown bigger. And he didn’t look poor in health. But there was something about his colour that had changed. That’s when it fell into place. Or rather into Raymond palm. What he had noticed was a splash of blue in the red carapace. That splash of blue was now in his hand. It was a thick silver band with the face of a Sea God. Monique’s ring! It must have got lodged in his pincer when the Colonel and Monique were playing tug-of-war with him.

Raymond rubbed Neptune’s face twice and raised the ring to his forehead. As if like magic he sensed Monique’s presence. When he closed his eyes, he could see her long blonde hair and hear her joyous laughter. Now his mind was flooded with four passions. Math, chocolate, swimming and Monique. The funny sensation in his stomach disappeared, as did Cedric, slowly sinking out of sight with a final wave of his pincers. Raymond returned the gesture and slipped the ring on to the third finger of his right hand. It fit perfectly.

‘Au revoir, Monique,’ he whispered softly.

April 8, 2006 tonywrites Permalink Leave a response Happy Seventh, david, dsouza, dylan, kurt, lobster, mermaid, swimming

The Gifted Child

1.
‘GROWNUPS are so silly,’ thought Captain Strike, interplanetary pirate, friend of pally chocolate-eating J-Unks, foe of nasty fire-fingered, green-fanged Bullylads, a.k.a. D, David and Davy to Dadzy, Mumzy and funny, generous Uncle Jerome whom David called Uncle J.

J-Unks were funny aliens who immediately handed over chocolates as a gesture of peace when confronted by an All-Purpose Alien Blaster. Bullylads were nasty, horrid aliens who towered menacingly over Captain Strike and wanted to snatch his sandwiches, and destroy the universe. The only way to thwart their evil designs was by giving them a good dose of rage-rays from an All-Purpose Alien Blaster.

What Captain Strike found silly in the grownups around him was their inability to appreciate his spaceship. It was plain to see that it was a sleek machine made out of indestructible attack-proof material. It had four forward cannons that could destroy entire planets with a few shots. The insides were dotted with an array of switches, buttons, levers, dials, toggles and knobs. Only Captain Strike knew all their functions although he allowed, Bunny, his vice captain to operate a few of them. He called his spaceship Galaxyhopper. The grownups called it a stool, which was utterly silly.

‘Come on D, get out of that stool, we have to go shopping,’ said Dadzy. ‘Don’t you want to wear new clothes on your birthday?’

‘Wait a minute,’ said Captain Strike. ‘Let me finish saving the universe.’

2.
DAVID’S BIRTHDAY was a week away. Last year he was seven. This year he was going to turn eight. David was good at math, which meant he liked numbers a lot. He knew there were 365 days in a year. A dozen made twelve eggs. The flight of stairs leading down to the third floor had 17 steps. Dadzy, his brother Jerome and four sisters Martha, Margaret, Madeleine and Jemima came to a total of two hands, each with three upraised fingers. There could be eight candles on his birthday cake or just one candle in the shape of an eight. David recalled that on his seventh birthday he received 35 gifts. He wondered how many gifts he would get this year.

While thinking about birthday gifts, a thought struck Captain Strike’s mind.

‘Grownups are so weird,’ he said to Bunny while carefully navigating Galaxyhopper through the asteroid belt in the star system of Fanglia.

This is why he thought they were weird: He wasn’t allowed to open all his birthday gifts in one go.

As Mumzy had explained, ‘If you open everything at once then it would be like getting hundreds of different kinds of chocolate. You’ll go mad wondering which one to eat since all look so scrumptious.’

‘Better to eat one gift at a time,’ she had continued. ‘That way you can enjoy all the gifts thoroughly.’

Mumzy might mix her words in a funny way but her word was law. As far as he could remember, every year after the party got over, David would get to open a few gifts. The rest got put away on the topmost shelf of a cabinet in his room. Every week or so, or when he got stars or a V. Good at school or if he did something clever like learning to tie his own shoelaces, Dadzy would remove a present from the top of the pile and give it to him.

Just last week, the last of last year’s birthday gifts was handed to him. David had merrily ripped off the wrapping paper and announced, ‘It’s a Scrabble set. Another one.’

Dadzy muttered something under his breath, which made Mumzy give him a poke in the ribs with her elbow.

Mumzy had gather David in her arms and said, ‘Never mind, darling, we’ll give it to your cousin, Arjun.’

Which was quite alright with David since whenever he played Scrabble with Dadzy, he would get beaten hollow. Dadzy made such big words. His tiles always ended up on the coloured squares. He made hundreds of points while David’s were always in the tens.

Such were the nature of David’s thoughts as he sat strapped into the driver’s seat of his spacecraft as they flew past the fiery hot planet of Lavatron. Just as he was about to tell Bunny to activate the Freezer-Ray Ice Gun, he heard a squeaking sound behind him. Could it be a surprise attack by a horde of Bullyboys? As his right hand flew to draw his All-Purpose Alien Blaster, he noticed the source of the sound. It was a fat boy with a mop of curly black hair.

‘Hey, what are you doing sitting like a monkey inside a stool?’ asked the fat boy in a squeaky voice.

3.
THE FAT BOY’S name was Ambrose. A year older than David, he was a podgy little creature with a thick-lipped sour mouth. An out and out spoilt brat who never took ‘No’ for an answer. He had a rude comment for everyone and everything, and the only time he shut up was when his mouth was full of some Indian sweetmeat: laddus, pedas, burfi, jalebi, which fortunately was most of the time. His father was something in the army but was scarcely seen in a uniform. His mother was a short, dumpy person with an overbearing air. They had recently moved to Bombay from Agra where, Ambrose informed David, their house was so big; his (that’s David’s) would have fitted into their bathroom. This little louse boasted to David that his parents were saps and never denied him anything. Nothing, however expensive or impossible to secure, was out of reach. Toys. Video games. DVDs. Books. Sportswear. Even a cell phone. The latest, naturally.

Ambrose revealed his secret to David. Screaming. He had a variety of levels of screams. After much experimentation with pitch, tone, decibel level combined with holding of breath and flailing of arms and legs, he had narrowed his repertoire to three Screams.

Scream No. 1 was a low keening moan accompanied with furious leg and arm rotation. The moaning hurt the ears; the rotating limbs damaged vision. Very useful for late night TV viewing, a third portion of kulfi and making sure vegetables never made an appearance in his plate. Scream No.1 was used exclusively at home.

Scream No. 2 was for getting out of scrapes. Since his rude nature always invited violent reprisals from injured parties, this involved bellowing like a hippopotamus stuck fast in a swamp. Arms and legs were thrashed about slowly as if life was ebbing away. Within seconds, his mother would swoop down on the scene of the crime. Asking no questions, she would lash out with an angry palm followed by a torrent of abuse aimed at both child and parent.

Scream No. 3 was for use in public places, mostly in the vicinity of toy stores. Designed to attract maximum public attention and sympathy, his apparent pain was quickly soothed by buying whatever he had demanded a few seconds earlier.

He confided to David that No. 4 was in the pipeline. ‘This one is going to be a work of art. Guaranteed to get me off the hook for anything. Murder, too,’ he said confidently, popping a jalebi into his mouth.

David couldn’t believe his ears. Surely Ambrose was lying. No child he knew had so much power over Parents. To confirm his assessment, he gave Ambrose a swift punch in his fat, spongy belly. Ambrose’s eyes rolled like rosgollas in a bowl. His mouth opened wide to reveal shreds of jalebi hiding in numerous cavities. Immediately No. 2 hit the airwaves. Within seconds, the air on the common terrace was displaced by a portly demon howling like a banshee. David would have caught a juicy whack on the side of his head had he not ducked adroitly. The next one had him dead to rights had Mumzy not stepped into the fray and restrained Ambrose’s mother.

The fallout of the fracas was David got grounded till his birthday. No playing on the terrace. No TV. No treats.

‘Why did you hit him, D?’ Dadzy asked David later. Even with the punishment, David kept his mouth shut. He was not a tattler.

‘And he’s new to the building,’ said Mumzy. ‘Is this any way to greet a new neighbour?’

‘Anyway, I’ve told his mother you said you’re sorry,’ she continued. ‘And you’ve invited him to your birthday to show you’ve got no hard feelings.’

David has nothing to say. Captain Strike, however, was thinking some real hard thoughts.

4.
THE HOT AFTERNOON SUN beat down on the empty terrace. A solitary cat sheltered itself from the sweltering heat, lying below a wrought iron bench, dreaming feline dreams. Galaxyhopper lay to a side, baking on its shadow. A half-eaten laddu hit the cat squarely on the nose disturbing its reverie. Ambrose the Terrible entered the terrace and sauntered towards the bench. The cat, deciding to investigate the yellow bomb’s contents later, slunk away and took refuge below the water tank. Ambrose sat heavily on the bench. His pallid face was stained with crumbs of laddu and boredom.

There was nothing interesting on TV. His video games were old and boring; even the latest, just bought the other day, was humdrum. The trick with the new remote-control monster truck had worked. The servant did tumble head over heels when it hit his ankles. But that stupid fellow had fallen on the truck, breaking it into pieces. He tried reading a book but stopped after he had drawn curly mustaches on all the girls. Even his Gameboy wasn’t making him feel like life was worth living. He had eaten lunch twice, gorged on a dabba of burfi, and now a brace of laddus, one, which he had wasted on the cat.

‘Well wasted, though’, he thought, recalling the way the cat had leaped to its feet.

He got to his feet and walked up to Galaxyhopper. Petulantly he gave it a kick. That’s when a gleam came into his eyes. Suddenly the slouch from his shoulders disappeared. His arms twitched as his eyes quickly darted to and fro. He waddled out of the terrace, reappearing minutes later with a saw in his hand.

An ugly smile twisted his lips. This was how he was going to wreak vengeance on David for punching him. Involuntarily, he rubbed his belly. Even the memory of the punch hurt. His plan was to saw the legs close to the flat wooden top. Not completely but as close to the end as possible. When David would sit inside the stool to play his stupid outer space game, all that twisting and turning he did would break the stupid spaceship.

‘Now wouldn’t that be funny?’ thought Ambrose.

And it would work since he remembered Jerry doing something similar to Tom.

He was about to start on his vengeful act, when he remembered the look on David’s face as he played in Galaxyhopper. He looked happy. Very, very happy, in fact. Out of curiosity, Ambrose put down the saw, and stepped into the cockpit of Galaxyhopper. He bent his knees and rested his bottom on the edge. It looked like it was going to be a tight fit. He slowly slid down but got only so far as his hips. With an effort, he crammed his body into the space below. The flesh on his corpulent hips and waist oozed over the stool’s legs before firmly resettling below.

Plop! Ambrose was inside Galaxyhopper.

He tried to imagine how it would feel to blast off into outer space in this spaceship. Nothing. He tried imagining landing on the moon. Nothing. He thought of zapping an alien with death rays. Nothing. He thought of flying at warp speed through the solar system. Nothing. Yet, in a tiny part of his tiny brain he did feel something. He closed his eyes and concentrated on isolating the feeling. To help the thought process, he began to get up. 10… 9… 8… 7… 6… 5… 4… 3… 2… 1… Blast off. Nothing. That’s when he realised what he was feeling. Stuck. He felt stuck.

He twisted this way, and then, that. It was no use. He took a deep breath and forced himself upwards. When he let out his breath, he felt he had sunk even further. He pushed his knees against the frame at the bottom. It did not give. To make matters worse, the cat sauntered out from below the water tank and sat in front of him with an amused grin on its face.

Ambrose gave up the struggle. All he had left in him was No. 3. He unleashed it.

5.
Pandemonium! Ambrose’s mother hopped from left foot to right, ranting and raving. Mumzy stood over Ambrose, gently trying to extricate him. Madhav uncle from the flat below, a retired structural engineer, drew diagrams on the palm of his hand. Ramu, Ambrose’s servant stood helplessly waiting for a command from Madam. The liftman’s young sons discreetly smiled in a corner. Aunty Reena came up to complain about the noise. Chinky, her annoying Pomeranian added to the racket. And what about David who had quietly joined the throng? He walked up to Mumzy and whispered something into her ear.

‘Are you sure?’ asked Mumzy.

With a solemn nod, David indicated he was. Then he kneeled close to Ambrose and whispered something into his ear. Ambrose stopped bawling, listened and bobbed his head in agreement.

By now, all commotion on the terrace had ceased. Even Chinky quietly sat on her haunches, red tongue lolling out between her teeth.

Ambrose’s mother licked flecks of foam off her lips. ‘Hey you, small fellow, what gus-pus are you doing, eh?’ she asked in an irritated tone.

‘He’s saying, cut the stool,’ Mumzy explained. She caught Captain Strike’s eye and corrected her statement.

‘I mean, he’s saying cut Galaxyhopper,’ she said with a smile.

‘Eh?’ This from Ambrose’s mother.

Mumzy did not bother to explain.

Finally Ramu got the order he was waiting for. No one enquired about how did a saw happen to be lying around. Ramu carefully did the needful and in a few minutes Ambrose was freed. Madhav Uncle gave a cheer and shook David’s hand. Aunty Reena picked Chinky in her arms and swept away. Ambrose’s mother roughly took hold of his arm. Mumzy ruffled David’s head as Ambrose passed them. He nodded in David’s direction as they stepped out of the terrace.

Mumzy followed them, looking behind once to see David sit on the bench. Galaxyhopper’s pathetic remains lay in front of him. The cat curled itself around David’s legs. He picked up the cat, stroked its head, and smiled.

6.
THE ERSTWHILE GALAXYHOPPER HAD TWO purposes.

As a spaceship, it took Captain Strike to out-of-reach planets like Finitos, which lay on the very edge of the universe.

As a stool, it took David to out-of-reach places like the top shelf of the cabinet in his room. On afternoons when everybody at home was asleep, David would conduct a raid on his birthday booty. He would bring down a few gifts, open them and note their contents. If it was new or interesting, he placed it on top of the pile. If it was boring or a repeat, it went to the back of the stack.

The tricky part was in the repacking. Good thing along with math, craft was another one of David’s favourite subjects.

Tomorrow was David’s eighth birthday. He couldn’t wait to get and see all of his gifts. Of course, that would be possible only if Ambrose kept his promise.

7.
DAVID’S EIGHTH BIRTHDAY PARTY WAS A grand success.

The entire terrace had been transformed into a planet called Birthica. Mumzy had got some party people who arranged it. They had rigged backdrops around the terrace with weird landscapes painted on them. Two lit globes hung from a pole representing the two suns of Birthica. The moon was a shiny disco-ball. Even the lift was made to look it was going into outer space. The walls were covered with black cloth and had silver stars pasted on it. Mumzy had convinced Hari the liftman to wear an alien mask and welcome the guests with, ‘Ready to blast off?

There was a telescope for kids who wanted too see objects in outer space. A magician in a spacesuit did all kinds of amazing tricks. The waiters dressed as aliens in green suits. But nothing could beat Uncle J who made the kids play Passing The Parcel in a whole new way. The parcel was actually was an All-Purpose Alien Blaster. When someone got caught with the parcel, he had to leave the game, threaten Uncle J with the All-Purpose Alien Blaster and receive a gift. The last kid left was David’s cousin Arjun. He got a real big gift and a hug.

The DJ played a song called Final Countdown as David cut a rocket-shaped cake. Dadzy did something called the moonwalk that made all the adults laugh. Aunt Jemima taught the kids to whistle like a man, with fingers in the mouth.

Bhaskar, one of David’s school friends drank so much orange juice he got sick all over the person sitting next to him who happened to be Ambrose’s mother. Even Ambrose behaved himself and had a good time. Best of all, it looked like Ambrose had stuck to his promise. He had come with Ramu who was carrying a huge package that looked like it contained exactly what David has whispered into Ambrose’s ear the evening before.

As the last guest left, Mumzy and Dadzy flopped into the sofa. They shook hands with each other and turned to David.

‘Ready to open your gifts?’ asked Mumzy.

David eagerly nodded his head.

‘Okay, choose three gifts,’ said Dadzy, pointing at the huge pile of gifts. There must have been over 50 in it. David nonchalantly approached the lot. He picked a small gift covered with blue wrapping paper, another that was wrapped with gold-coloured tape that clearly looked like a scooter, and he dragged Ambrose’s huge gift into the centre of the hall.

The small gift was a neat pair of Hot Wheels.

The scooter, of course, was a scooter, which was really cool.

Ambrose’s gift was last. David quickly tore off the pink and orange wrapping paper to expose a carton. Its edges were sealed with sticking tape. David ripped it off and slowly pushed aside the flaps. He looked inside and his face fell. Ambrose had let him down after all.

Mumzy noticed the expression on his face and got off the sofa. She reached into the box and pulled out a spacesuit complete with helmet and boots, a utility belt and a gun that made noises and emitted a red laser light.

‘Hey David, this is a nice gift,’ said Mumzy. ‘Isn’t this what you asked him to get for you?’

‘I asked him to get me a stool,’ replied David glumly.

Mumzy began to laugh and Dadzy joined in. David was close to tears.

‘I suppose this stuff Ambrose gave you might go well with what Dadzy got for you,’ said Mumzy.

David turned to look at Dadzy. But Dadzy was not on the sofa. Dadzy was in a corner near the wall that was covered with photographs. Dadzy was sitting there with arms held out. Correction: Dadzy was sitting there on a stool with arms held out. David sped like the wind into his arms. Dadzy lifted David, held him tight with one hand, and with the other he laid the stool on its side.

The stool was no ordinary stool. It had a shiny silver finish and on the top was a brass plaque with two words embossed on it.

‘Captain Strike, ready to board Galaxyhopper II?’ asked Daddy.

April 8, 2006 tonywrites Permalink Leave a response Happy Seventh, birthday, david, dsouza, dylan, kurt, rocket, sic-fi

Seeing The Light

1.
WHEN PUMPKIN was a little boy, life was divided between two phases. One was when Mr. Sun paid a daily visit to his home early in the morning. This normally meant it was time to get ready to go to school, to go to school, to have fun at school, to return home from school, and then to take lunch and have fun at home. The second was when Mr. Sun went to sleep and Mr. Moon took his place. Usually, Pumpkin was too busy playing with his dumper truck or racing cars on the terrace to notice when Mr. Sun and Mr. Moon exchanged places. All he knew that everything on the terrace went a little dim and Aaji, his grandmother would call him in to have biscuits or a muffin or some little snack before having a bath.

There was also a time when Mr. Sun disappeared completely for days. When Pumpkin first heard Mr. Sky make loud, awful noises as if he had a big, awful cold and scattered big, fat, cold tears, he too, shed huge, fat, warm tears from his large, shiny coal-black eyes. Mamma quickly explained that Mr. Sun was taking a bath, and the water was so hot even for him that it made him cry.

‘Just like you make a big hue and cry when you’re having bathy-bathy,’ said Mamma.

‘Oh. And are those white flashes Mr. Sky taking photos of us all?’ asked Pumpkin. Mamma simply smiled and smiled.

2.
BUT THAT was when Pumpkin was a little little boy. Now he was a big little boy who knew that the sun rose and set everyday, the moon appeared in something called phases and come June, it was the rainy season where the streets became shiny black, the plants turned shiny green and the mud smelled funny in a nice sort of way. Yes, there was day that was followed by night, and day again after which came night.

Pumpkin loved the night. It was when he watched his favourite TV programs, Pokemon, Bey Blade and Duel Masters. It was when Aaji fussed over him feeding him all sorts of nice food. It was when Daddy sat with him at the dining table and told him not to chew food with an open mouth and make noises like a buffalo coming out of a mud pool. This normally was accompanied by the sound of a buffalo coming out of a mud pool that made Pumpkin laugh and laugh. It was when Mamma told him the most amazing bedtime stories that made his head whirl and spin as he fell asleep.

Nighttime was fun time all right expect for one thing. The Dark. Pumpkin hated The Dark. When he went to the bathroom to wash his hands after eating, The Dark would be there, waiting for him like a big bad meanie. If he went to get chocolates from the fridge, The Dark would be present in the kitchen. Fetching a book from the shelf in the passage meant encountering The Horrid Dark. Worse of all, sometimes he would wake up from his sleep and The Dark would hang over him like a big black blanket and make him cry.

Daddy and Mamma told Pumpkin that there was nothing to fear about The Dark.

‘See,’ said Daddy, stepping into The Dark bedroom and locking the door behind him.

‘Saw,’ said Mamma, when Daddy stepped out after a couple of minutes.

‘No,’ said Pumpkin.

3.
AS TIME passed by, Pumpkin showed no sign of coming to terms with The Dark. Daddy tried to make him see the lighter side of The Dark.

‘Think of it as day without lights,’ he said.

‘Night is when everything goes to sleep,’ said Mamma who had had a tiring day at work. ‘And that includes all of you. Goodnight.’

Pumpkin’s final word on the subject before he fell asleep was, ‘bad night.’

4.
‘Something has to be done about Pumpkin’s fear of The Dark,’ said Daddy to Mamma. ‘We can’t have him taking the houseboy everywhere he goes to switch on the lights.’

‘I suppose we can wait for him to grow older,’ joked Mamma. ‘And more importantly, taller. So he can put the lights on himself’.

‘Why don’t you buy him a torch,’ said Aaji brightly.

‘I know what would really work. Luke Skywalker’s light saber,’ said Daddy joining in the fun. ‘Think about it. It glows so Pumpkin can see in The Dark. And if there’s anybody lurking about, he can whack it with the saber.’

‘Can somebody come with me to put on the bathroom light?’ said Pumpkin, entering the hall. ‘I need to wee.’

5.
The next night, Daddy took Pumpkin by the hand and led him into the bedroom. They sat on the bed and Daddy switched off the bedside lamp.

‘What are you doing?’ asked Pumpkin in alarm. ‘Is it time for bed? It can’t be. I’ve not eaten dinner.’

‘Pumpkin, we’re going to do a little test,’ said Daddy firmly. ‘You and I are going to sit here and see if anything scary really happens in The Dark.’

Immediately, Pumpkin inched closer to Daddy. Daddy put an arm around his shoulders, drawing him close. He began to say something when Daddy said, ‘Sshhh! Not a word. Keep quiet and observe.’

Slowly The Dark melted away and Pumpkin began to see shapes. Among them was one that stood massively and seemed to lean towards him. With a trembling hand, Pumpkin pointed his finger. Daddy looked in that direction and said, ‘Cupboard, Pumpkin.’

‘Really,’ thought Pumpkin aloud. ‘It looks like a big evil wizard with a flowing black cape made from the skin of dead black panthers.’

Even Daddy could not stop a shiver from running down his spine!

‘Okay Pumpkin, you made your point. What else do you see?’

This is what Pumpkin saw. The wrought iron footboard turned out to be a gate leading to a forest. The dressing table’s mirror was an entrance to another world. The decorative lamp hanging in the corner was a bird with cruel talons. The bookcase at the far wall was a giant’s face, and the books, his yellow, rotting fangs.

‘Did you say yellow?’ asked Daddy.

‘Y…y…yes,’ said Pumpkin, utterly petrified.

‘PUMPKIN, it’s dark in here. Are you sure the giant’s fangs are yellow? I think they’re red,’ said Daddy in a kind voice.

‘What?’ said Pumpkin with a tremor in his voice.

‘In fact, I don’t think they’re red. I think those fangs are books,’ said Daddy flicking on the lamp. ‘And they’re meant to be read.’

Light flooded the room and as if like magic, the evil wizard turned into a cupboard, the forest’s gate into a bedpost, the netherworld entrance became a mirror, the ominous bird was just a silly lamp and the yellow-fanged giant really was nothing but a bookcase grinning with books.

‘Daddy, you’re a wizard,’ said a relieved Pumpkin with a big toothy smile. He wasn’t quite sure if The Dark was actually day without lights but somewhere in his mind there was a glimmer of understanding that The Dark and its evil creatures did not really exist.

6.
The following night, Pumpkin had another test. He was to sit alone in the bedroom in The Dark for just one minute.

‘Here. I’ve put an alarm on my mobile phone. It will ring in exactly one minute. If you have the courage to face your fear of The Dark for a minute, trust me, you can laugh in its face forever.’

Pumpkin did not say a word. He sat on the bed with the mobile phone clenched in his fist. He nodded as Daddy said, ‘I’m waiting outside the door if you need me.’

The door shut behind Daddy and now the bedroom was well and truly pitch black. Pumpkin felt his skin go cold as The Dark surged around him. He closed his eyes but that made things worse. He opened his eyes and the shapes came up in front of him. He quickly shut his eyes tight. The shapes followed him in there. Just as he was about to scream, the mobile phone began to buzz in his fist.

‘Beep, beep, beep,’ went the alarm.

‘Thud, thud, thud,’ went his heart.

‘Well, well, well,’ went Daddy.

‘Baby, baby, baby,’ went Mamma.

‘Ah, ah, ah,’ went Pumpkin. ‘I want to go wee.’

Pumpkin walked down the dark passage, turned the corner and walked in the dark till he reached the bathroom. ‘Now will someone come here and put the lights on. I can’t reach the switch,’ he said in a calm voice.