Pappu passed

India as you know it wasn’t as it is forever. It wasn’t always a land of computer professionals and outsourcing. It was neither so competitive nor so fast. Everything went on at a mundane pace. There was time for that afternoon siesta and enough moments to stand and stare. Mobiles did not exist and telephones were rare. In fact you got a telephone ten years after you booked one. There was only one TV channel and it showed programs in slots like we now have water coming three times a day in cities. We loved our Sunday movies and the prime time serials. We also loved to stop our bicycles at the roadside and chat. We viewed those with automobiles in awe. One with a Bajaj scooter was a man of dignity. Watches were worth their jewels and had to be wound up to show the correct time. A majority of us loved our radios more than our books. We had helped India win few and lose many a cricket match on our radios. I still don’t understand why the newer and sleeker radios were called transistors. But one thing is still common. Even then we were die hard cricket fans. And we never lost hope.

It so happened as it happens with every kid, that after enjoying the blissful and carefree journey of my childhood, I suddenly grew up. Though growing up was not as sudden as its actual realization. I had spent my childhood watching movies of Amitabh Bachchan. His persona of an angry young man had taken over my mind. It was my belief that like my amusingly ever angry idol, I would be able to fight every difficulty with ease. Initially I would do it with some chic dialogues and if it didn’t work then some neat punches and well directed kicks would definitely do. It worked for even the lesser mortals like Jeetendra and Dharmendra. In case you are wondering who these guys are? Well then my dear reader you surely need to update. Jeetendra, Dharmendra, Rishi, Shashi and the man himself- Amitabh Bachchan are the purest and the bravest of men ever known. They have prevented many a crime, saved the honor of many a women, and arrived at crime scenes well before the police time and again. My faith in them strengthened with every movie they acted in. In fact these were the masters who taught me about dignity of labour, self respect, mother’s love, the value of sister’s ‘rakhi’ and so many other lessons. They gave me the firm belief that a hero never fails.

So life would be like a Bollywood movie. But wait. Wasn’t there something that was missing? Something kept this frame from being picture perfect or what we call - ‘perfect shot Bachchan Saab’. Yes I know what I was missing in this frame- ‘the leading lady’. I, being the hero of my film deserved the best lady, because heroes always got the best girls. It was another matter whether they deserved them or not. But the girls seemed to like everything about these ‘heroes’. If he was smart, she loved it. If he was foolish, it was his simplicity. These ladies would throw away their riches and ditch their family to be with the ‘hero’ in his modest hut while he earned only a meager salary. All heroes were ladies’ men to the hilt. Even the crooked girls with the villains were crazy about them. Yes the same girls who bared their legs and danced around poles. The villains thought the girls adored him, while the girls loved nothing but their poles. The affinity still shows in the videos. Anyways the crux of the matter is, I didn’t have my lady love and I still had to find her.

Now finding a girl for yourself and the one that fits your kind of a frame is not an easy task. Very few fitted the bill and hardly anyone in my knowledge was willing. I am admitting this fact now, but in those days the very thoughts of denial and rejection never crossed my mind. For ‘heroes’ got what they wanted and moreover I was a Bachchan fan. It was these very important thoughts that kept my mind occupied in that chilly winter, when one fine day the results of my graduation were declared. No there were no surprises. There were only bomb shells that waited with baited breath to burst on me. You would be thinking that I had failed or something and now life would change. You are partially right. Life did change.

Pappu Prasad, yes that is me, had become the only person from his family ever to obtain a graduation degree. I know you are wondering how this could be my name. I know this name is not hero like but you can only blame my parents for that. They were born in the era of Ashok Kumar and may be talkies were just coming of age in their times. What else could you expect? But we are not discussing my name right now, because I had just landed in the eye of a tornado. This again would surprise you. You would say that to be the first and only graduate from one’s family is an honor or something and that I should be proud of it. Yes I should have been proud, but anyone would have cried had he been in my situation. At least I held back tears.

But like everything else this too would warrant an explanation. You see I was the son of the proprietor of a famous sweetmeat shop. The shop was called ‘Dilkhush sweets’ or sweets that kept your heart happy. I had planned to fail in the exam and then daydream like I always did with nothing to worry about. I helped my father manage the shop cum restaurant, if you could call it one, during my spare hours when I wasn’t building castles in the air. In college there were hardly any classes as half the time one student group or the other called for a strike. The other half was occupied by the teaching staff’s strike for higher wages. Some years we had examinations, some years we didn’t have them. The results took and unusually long time to be declared as compared to today’s times.

Our results had been declared more than a year after the exams. Meanwhile I had even forgotten that a result was awaited. There were reasons for it. By hook and crook I had been able to scale the intermediate exams. During those exams twice I had been seriously warned by the invigilators as they suspected me copying. It was sheer luck that they never got hold of the multiple paper chits that I carried in my socks and under the cuffs of my shirt. But graduation was a different ballgame altogether. It was beyond me, and I had given up. I hardly wrote anything in my answer sheets. I had decided what my course of life was going to be. It would be nothing spectacular. Like all brats of the town my years would be spent in the front rows of the cinema, chatting on the corner of the road and cycling through the lanes of the town. Occasionally a new girl would be spotted and we would follow her and stare at her. No we weren’t bad guys as you might be thinking. The girls never knew we did this. And which guy doesn’t stare at a good looking girl? And of course I would help my father with his business and gradually years later when it was time to take up responsibilities, I would take it up all. I would also be married to a girl of my community and life would continue.  

You would say that I should be happy that I passed. It would open up so many opportunities. My father thought the same. I knew if it was academics I had to pursue, I had already lost it. I was dead sure that the result was a mistake. It was not very common. But it happened. Because of some clerical error, now I was doomed to leave behind my childhood friends, my beloved front rows, the dusty roads of the town and the hopes of finding the love of my life in my neighborhood. My father was confident that I would land up a government job. I could already hear the telephone ringing in his ears and his eyes glowed with a pride only seen in the eyes of Bajaj scooter owners. Yes I was being dispatched to the city.

I tried to reason with my overjoyed, over the moon father. My mother supported me meekly. You know how mothers are. She wanted me to stay. But it was futile. My father would not let go this wonderful opportunity to boast around and the rich dowry that a government job commanded slip away so easily. You would ask me what this hullaballoo about a government job is. So let me tell you that in those times all these multinationals had not yet come knocking at our doors outsourcing jobs because India offered cheap labour and good services. The private sector’s role in the generation of employment was negligible. So the only well paid and respectable jobs were the government jobs. Unlike today, even the word ‘babu’ or a clerk commanded some respect in those days.

The story now had taken a sharp turn. From being smooth the road was now bumpy and uncertain. The last few days in the town were spent cycling in the old lanes and catching up with all mates. I tried to capture the faces of all the beautiful lasses we had stared at since we were kids. By the time I returned they would probably be all married and gone. I watched a couple of movies in the front rows and whistled and hooted with my buddies. They were happy for me and still wondered how I cracked the exam when none of them could. The pass percentages had been one of the lowest this time. I never knew anything myself any better.

And so this was how I was packed off to the city with high hopes of my father. My mother too had high hopes but more than that it were her tears that were evident. And yes she had also sent me with the last home cooked meal that I would have on the train and had prepared for me some sweets that would last me a couple of weeks. As the train left I could feel the corners of my eyes getting wet. Gradually it started picking up speed and my parents and friends moved away from me as though a video cassette player was rewinding while the scene was being played on the TV.