Be quick, tell me which one of these you want? said my mother as she pointed at the row of glass jars which contained colourful sweet and sour candies. We were at the grocery shop. She was impatiently waiting for my answer.
With the discontent writ large on my face I just held on to the silence and sported a lost look. The grocer stepped in and added, "I know! You like the yellow ones." Mother gestured him to go ahead. He packed a handful for me. Mother paid the grocer.
"I want something different", I blurted to register my displeasure. She turned to the grocer and questioned him, "Do you sell anything called by the name something?" The grocer threw up his arms sideways and gave me a puzzled look.
Mother said, "Let us go to the market. In the mean keep looking for something that you want." I knew that mother had defeated me at my own game. I was all 7 years old. Yet I didn't want to give up so easily. I looked around.
A dusty pile of books stacked against the wall came in full view. I pointed at it and said, "I want those." "Oh! Your something is right here, then let us go and buy it." She walked me to the next door raddiwala / scrap dealer.
Mother sternly said to me, "Ask him about something that you want." The man behind the weighing scale, through his thick spects gave me a quizzical look. In response I just gazed at the stack of books by the wall.
He read my face in seconds. Without bothering to get up, He just grabbed a stick and dislodged some books at the bottom. The pile simply slid down. He gestured me to say all yours.
I went down on my knees to look closely. There she helped me to leaf through the books. She prodded me to select a few. I selected the ones with pictures. So in a minute she had purchased four books for me. She put them in a cloth bag and slung it over my left shoulder. Thereon added, "Good boys carry their books. Aren't you a good boy?" I nodded meekly.
Come! Be quick, we are yet to begin our shopping round around the vegetable market. I grabbed her wrist and struggled to keep pace with her. We went around the vegetable hawkers, coconut sellers, the plastic novelty item sellers, the broom / mop sellers and finally the soap, detergent and cleaning liquid sellers.
All through the walk I had to occasionally yank my left shoulder up to stop the cloth bag from slipping off the shoulder.
An hour later we were back at our building. We stayed on the fourth storey so the inevitable climb of 84 steps was staring at us.
Before she could hand me another bag to carry over the steps, I clutched the shoulder bag and sprinted up the stairs.
Once on the fourth floor, I walked on my toes till I reached the door. Impatiently I knocked hard and at the same called out for my grandmother.
The door opened the next moment. There, holding the door with the left hand, leaning to the right stood my grand mother. She scanned me minutely. I knew, she was planning Her next move. Her eyes sported a glint of suspicion and mischief. She looked at the shoulder bag and demanded, let me take a look at the vegetable. Instantly I stepped back to be out of her reach to avoid her from snatching the bag.
"They are my books." I just delivered the information. Her head wobbled as she queried, "You bought books from vegetable sellers?" I didn't bother to respond but ducked down to stay clear off her reach. I managed to squeeze in. I ran to the innermost room.
Once there I just turned the bag upside down and let the books fall out. I squatted on to the floor and began flipping through a book.
Every page was full of words, random pictures of wheels, tyres, tractors and trucks. I couldn't read a single letter. They weren't the way they taught us at school. I checked other books. They had different kind of pictures like butterflies, insects, frogs, cockroaches, lizards and many dirty worms. One had pictures of aeroplanes flying through the clouds, beaches, flowers etc.
This wasn't what I had anticipated. I was expecting Flying horses, beautiful princes, sword wielding warriors, kings in chariots. I was distraught. Just then mother walked in. She just stood below the fan to catch some breeze.
I stood up with the books and looked up and said, " I can't read these books." She sensed my disappointment. She ran her fingers through my hair and ruffled it play fully. She added, "I will read the story tonight."
Thereon every night I would open a random page and point to some pictures. My mother would run her finger over the words and tell me a story. Often she would pause and cajole me to add my words. Every night I had a new story. Later on I would run my fingers over the text and she would read the story.
One night she ran her finger silently and I told a story. She added her words, built the missing links to make my story interesting.
Afternoons were more interesting. My grandmother would be my patient audience. I repeated or created hybrid versions of stories with flying tractors, zooming tyres monster worms and lovely flowers to hide in.
Sundays and Saturdays were different. Around 11.30 in the morning he would grant me audience. He would listen to my stories. Many a times father helped me to narrate the stories. Occasionally father would close his eyes and sit still. And then I would hear the snoring. That was the moment I simply sneaked out to join my friends. My friends were most considerate. They would laugh even before I started the story. I enjoyed these laughing sessions.
It was my mother who bore me patiently and handed down the art of imagination leading to building of narration with the twists and the plots.
Even today I converse easily with a random tree and even vehicles standing by the road. I hear them amidst all the hum drum of the metropolis.
Often characters emerge out of thin air to tease me, poke fun at me and even some argue over a trivial point. This is what inspires me to write occasionally.
It was my mother who instilled the capacity to imagine and that is what has made me a writer.
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You can find more of such stories in KINDLE READER compliant digital format @ AMAZON / Books / e-books
Indian Flavour Short Stories - Part 1 / 2 /3
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