A Morning Kite and Lifelong Thread

‘Its 6.30 in the morning. Sun is almost up. All the other family members – grandpa, bibi (mother) and grandma have left their beds’. Mothu saw their folded bedding on the wooden cots. They generally got up and left the ‘chatt’- the flat roof of a house, used by most of the families, in the neighborhood to sleeps in open during the summers from April to July – an hour ago before Mothu opened his eyes to the day. He was listening to the noises from the kitchen below, half of a room on the first floor of the house. The front half was open to the sky and served as landing space for the stairs going down up to the ground floor.

The sound of pounding of onions, ginger and garlic in a small stone kundi was the daily wake up call for Mothu. Grandpa would sit on the landing and do this job after his bath before getting ready to go for the work. Grandma must be stirring the set boiled milk in an earthen pot for butter. Occasionally he could hear the water being poured into the tank made in a wall in the kitchen towards the far end – area used for cooking. There was also a chimney on the other side for the smoke from the coal fired small angithi (furnace) on the other side. His mother must be fetching water from the municipal tap in the street, just a few houses away. Mothu’s house was the dead end of the street of twenty houses.

Suddenly from the corner of his eyes he saw a big kite flying overhead. ‘Where is the processed thread I got yesterday?’ Mothu was relieved that the 25 yards of thread he got yesterday from his kite seller and the kite was in the barsaati – a small covered part of the roof to store the beddings and cots and also to sleep under in case of sudden showers. There was a strong urge to fly his kite as well. Mothu got from his bed, looked around and saw quite a few kites already in the sky. This was the beginning of the summer vacation and kids were already up before time – they were always late for getting up during normal school days – and starting making best of the vacation.

Mothu however had a problem, he had strict instructions not to fly kite except in the evening. Its only on this condition, grandma had relented after half an hour of pestering to give him 5 annas (one rupee had 16 annas and each anna 4 paise) to buy his manjha and the kite. He had very little time to put his skills to test, the big kite was already up for the last 15 minutes and sun was about to cover the whole roof quickly. Already there were two calls for him to get up and come down. Mothu took out his flute and stated blowing in to it keeping his hands free for the kite, already made ready to fly. Noise from the flute convinced his mother down stairs that he was awake and just trying to figure out playing flute.

His small kite was up in the sky in no time with only 25 yards of  “armored thread” in front to ward off any aggressive move from another kite. Rest of the thread had no powdered glass stuck with glue on it and would snap off in a single sweep. Mothu was thinking fast, his mouth blowing into the flute, eyes fixed on the big kite, which has noticed the small intruder in its space and his arms and hands maneuvering his own kite so that the first touch between the two is on his manjha. Of course he could see that the other kite was flying on complete manjha which Mothu could ill afford. The moment of his test seem to be coming closer. He could see from the corner of his eye that the 'big' had noticed him and decided to do away with him first before going forward with other conquests. Now Mothu was nervous. He was not sure of getting another allowance for the next one week at least to get his kite and manjha. If he looses his kite he will be sitting quiet in the evenings on the roof of his house watching other kids all around enjoying their kites in the sky. But he also knew that in his class – he completed eight years in the Feb. – he was good at kites. Then also the fact that he could make his grandmother give him an other allowance may be with a little reprimand.

Thus the decision was made in Mothus head and he stopped avoiding the big kite. Next moment it swooped on Mothu's kite was already positioned for the contact at manjha. The touch of two different threads instantly sent a sensation through Mothu’s fingers holding the thread. The only reflex in this case and situation was to pull the thread fast and with force. Mothu did as it was planned and wired in his system. He knew that any delay – even fraction of a second – is fatal in this combat.

Suddenly Mothu found the sensation of two rubbing threads no more passing on to his finger. And he looked up, there was only his kite above, the 'big' floating direction less away from his kite and going down. There was sudden commotion all around. 'Mothu has won, and he humbled Gaama. Bravo Mothu' came the cry from the kids around. Gaama ! Mothu looked back. Few roofs away, the biggest kite flier known in the city was gathering the thread and as soon as he saw Mothu’s diminutive figure standing on his cot he gave him a symbolic salute and said Bravo.

Many years later Mothu, a senior researcher in a Govt. Lab, 1000 miles way from his small town, can still feel the reverberations of that applause and a very gracious way of accepting defeat by a champion from a small child. This exhilarating feeling of ten minutes and the whole scenario of that morning have etched in Mothu’s memory. In the middle of his life now, Mothu finds himself playing the scene again and again when he feels miserable and down. These moments never failed him. He has always come out better, little less depressed, little more prepared to face a difficult situation in his life.

This small incident made this young boy a hero in the neighborhood. Gaama came with his friends to Mothu’s house the same evening and congratulated Mothu on his triumph in the morning. Appreciated his kite flying skills. He left 500 yards of manjha for Mothu as a gift. In a way Gaama expanded the opportunity space of Mothu in kite flying 20 times!

Treasure the exhilarating moments of life and play these again and again to propel one out of sticky situations.

Problem of Too Many 

I was engrossed in my thoughts, too many things on the mind of a young lad who is two years in to the college, when I was called by Mrs. Suresh Chand, “Mothu could you please come over for a few minutes, I have something to talk to you”. Winter had set in and the solitary municipal bulb hanging from a pole in the street was unable to clear even the early darkness of 7 PM.  Suresh Chand was my elder by 15 years and worked as an Octroi Clerk in local municipality. He was married when I was 4 and I distinctly remember when he brought his newly wed home after getting married in a neighbouring town some 30 miles away. We kids had gone to their house still full of guests and ladies from the neighbourhood specially there for a “see the bride’s face” ritual. Every lady would lift the small vale over the bride’s face, look at her, cup her face in both hands and say something like “oh she is really pretty, not dark like our Suresh. “Suresh’s mother you have brought a beautiful daughter in-law” and hand her Rs. two as shagun. I, a four-year-old lad was also curious to see bride’s face. So, unannounced and almost unnoticed, I just brought my face very close to the vale and straight looked at her face, our faces only few inches apart. She immediately caught hold of my face and whispered, “Now where you will go? So much close nobody came to me so far”. There was a glint of mischief in her eyes and she demanded from me her shagun. I ran away but this incident is still fresh in my mind and I feel special kinship with Mrs. Suresh Chand. May be she felt the same and had called me in for some matter troubling her.

In a way her husband and me were friends. In the evening he had started joining us on our long walks on the roads, out skirting the old town. We used to enjoy the tranquility and sophistication of civil lines area, empty spaces of the college areas and hustle and bustle of the railway road and almost deserted railway platforms. It appeared that the time we spent together doing these rounds was really quality time and we all felt little different from the crowd. Given the fact that one of the members of our small group was fifteen years our senior added some prestige to the group, with otherwise average age of less than 18 years.

Mrs. Suresh Chand, when I looked at her after stepping from the street into their house, appeared quite disturbed. She was a lady of few words and said, “I want you to help me. Lala Ji (as she would address her husband) has started visting the Dargah. In the beginning, I did not bother much, but now his mannerism is changing and I am afraid he might change his faith and become a Muslim”. Looking at her face I realized that she is feeling hopeless. I was stunned into silence. He had not been coming with us for our evening walks, but we thought since he had shift duty, so may be he is at work and hence not available.

As such there was no practice in the street and our neighbourhood of socialising by visting each other’s place. Every house had half the living area spilled over on the part of the street in front of the main door. The doors were neither closed nor locked through out the day. This provided an ambience where one could exchange pleasantries, do small talks or even exchange gossips without stepping into anybody’s home. It felt great! We were all connected, sharing our thoughts and concerns in a very informal community living format almost with no overheads. So when Mrs. Suresh Chand called me in, it was really a rare occurrence and it turned out to be a sensitive issue to handle. And I was only 18 years old! May be she had that special connect with me because of our encounter when I was 4 and she one day old bride in our street!

That day instead of going for our usual round of walk, Vinod and I went to the Dargah of the Pir Lakkhi Shah with some hope to find Lala Ji there and figure out what to do next? Air at the Dargah was thick with incense. Devotees were putting Chadors on the grave of the Pir Sahib. It was a 7 feet long grave. We were looking for Suresh Chand, but found it difficult to spot him, as it was Friday evening, the dargah was having more than usualrush of devotees. Most of the devotees were wearing skullcaps worn by Muslims. It was near the entrance of the grave enclosures where the incense was burning and people were offering Kheel Batasha that I found him, sitting in a highly devotional posture with skull cap and handing over kheel batashas as Prasad to the devotees. We watched him from a distance in complete silence. May be his time was over; he got up and noticed us. He was quite calm and came over to us as we moved out of the Dargah premises into the bazar. I said, “Lala Ji we were missing you for the last one month, you have not joined us for the evening walk. We thought you were on shift duty and unable to come”. He was somber and said; yes I am also missing the time with you guys. I will surely join you tomorrow for the evening outing”.

I asked my friends to join us for the walk next day near Police Lines so that I may have sometime together with Suresh Chand. Right at 6 PM he was ready to go out. As we reached the Police Lines area, we felt a nip in the air. It was a good time to have a small stop for tea at our favorite tea stall. Two cups of hot tea did wonders to our nerves I suppose. I asked, “Lala Ji you were looking wonderful at the Dargah yesterday. You were performing like a pro”. He said in a dismissive tone, “oh that, we will discuss it some other time”.  I knew it’s not the time to take any corrective action and left it at that.

I finished my college, went to the university in the neighbouring town for my postgraduate studies and secured a job in a govt. lab in Bombay. However the pull of friends, the smell of the place, the street and its ambience drove me to come back again and again. And every time visiting the town we would make it at least once to our walk in the evening. It was one of those evenings, when I was late to start, asked lala Ji whether he would be coming for a walk. He shouted in English – his preferred language of conversation after a drink or two – “yes, but you come here”. I stepped into the room; he was sitting on a charpoy and asked me to sit by his side. The room was full of alcohol and so was laala Ji it seemed. He offered me a drink, anxious to get away from the smell, I declined the offer and said that we would be good outside in fresh air. In 10 minutes we were on the outskirts of the city in Civil Lines area, spirits thus lifted, we started talking about things and life in general and all of a sudden I asked that what it was which took him to Dargah knowing he had discontinued visits to Dargah, he might be able to provide me his reason. And there he was, “ listen, I am fifteen years older than you. I am still struggling to make my both ends meet. At times I see no reason to continue living like this from day to day. But I have seen people even less provided for than me coming up in life and looking happy. I am a born Hindu and Bania but employed at the lowest rung of a municipal services as an Octroi Clerk. Here in this service, my dear you join as class three and retire as third class. I had started feeling a few years back that I am becoming a third class individual who can not provide enough for the family and his wife. With no tangible solution to my problem, I started going to Hanuman Ji Temple first. For months, every Tuesday I offered my prayers, bared my heart and soul, pleaded for help, but not an iota of difference happened. Then I started visiting the old Devi Temple, again the same fate. Started going to all famous and old Shiva, Vishnu temples in the nearby villages and towns, wasted years of my life with no positive effect. Its then I thought why not try Muslim saints. They seem to be more easy to please than our eight crores (80 millions) Gods, Devis and Devtas, where I feel if you go for appeasing one the other gets annoyed and may create obstructions in your fulfilment. So I took to going to the Dargah and paying my respects. I was tempted to go whole hog with doing namaz 5 times and all that. But my dear no difference even after months of praying and paying my respects at the Dargah. So I stopped that and concentrated on managing my life with what ever I had at hand. Now I am happy and see can enjoy occasional drink or two”.

For the next few years, when I was visiting my town regularly I found Lala Ji a little less religious and bent upon making himself and his life happy with in his means. It was after 35 years I went to the street again. Found my old friend living in the same house. His wife was looking happy and they were narrating very animatedly all the religious places and Four Dhams they visited over the years. Lala Ji was saying, “lets spread our bets and make every one of our Gods happy”. He has realised, he said, one thing at the age of 75, that if you make your Gods happy you become happy too.’’