7

I stood up and as I was about to leave to my room, mom said, “The food is ready. Don’t go anywhere now. Because of you, we always miss Samachar. Either you clean up yourself or eat with everyone.”

“Huss.” I said sitting back to the chair. I was preoccupied with other thoughts and it may have been noticeable. 

“Why do you lock yourself and read upanyash all day?”

“Mom, I don’t read upanyash. I read ‘Sahityik Kitabs’.” I blurted out.

Although the word ‘upanyash’ means novel in English, due to prevalent negative connotation of the word, possibly coming from cheap Hindi upanyashes from a generation ago, my mom thought I was reading undesirable things.

Just about that time, a big ‘Aayo’ boomed the neighborhood. It was in reference to the electricity coming back. Mom served food. My dad and my brother quickly ate their respective food to catch the last thirty minutes of the FA cup final. Now it was just my mom, Archana and I were the remaining ones in the table.

“Did you hear that Lok Bahadur got married?” Archana asked.

“Again?”

“Yes. He brought a girl home yesterday from what I heard. Do you remember the lady who owned the momo stall near Pipalbot?”

“Nima didi?” I exclaimed.

“Yes.”

“Lok Bahadur is already married twice. What about you meetjyu?” my mom teased me.

Lok Bahadur was just twenty years old and was already married with a kid and now married for the second time. His first marriage was an arranged marriage.

We went to the same school when we were kids. He was three years older than me but when he transferred from the government school after class four, they put him in class two with us based upon the assessment according to private school standard. He was a very interesting kid. He was very smart and brave. There were countless memorable incidents that I shared with him. One time a bird was sitting on an electric pole, which was right in front of a building with glass windows. He made the judgment call and hit the bird with a slingshot, and he missed. I used to be his sidekick collecting round stones for him. With the sound of shattering glass we vanished in no time. Although no one saw him doing that, the blame was on him. He was the only kid who’d ever do such things.  

His dad worked as a peon in a government office. His mom collected woods and sold it to local bhattis. He would go home during lunch and eat whatever his mom had made for him. I started accompanying him to his home. One fine day he took me to his parents’ room. From the corner of their bed, he pulled out a clay piggybank in which his mom kept her savings. He broke the piggybank and stole one hundred rupees.

We went to a local bicycle store and rented a bicycle for forty-five minutes. I learned to ride bicycle from him. We stopped by a pottery shop and bought a new piggybank that was in equal size as the one his mom had. After we got his home, he put all the remaining money from the old piggyback to the new piggybank.

The saga continued. Every day during lunch recess he would rent a bicycle and we would go to a Momo shop that was a mile away from our school. It was there we first met Nima didi. Her dad, a Tibetan, owned that shop. She worked alongside him. To say she was just pretty would be an understatement.  Even as kids, we walked a mile to be there–there were other momo shops near our home too–more to see her than eat momo. Also the soup they provided was a novelty in the whole area.

 One day Lok Bahadur’s mom came crying to our classroom and started beating Lok Bahadur. She had found out that he had stolen about four hundred rupees in total from her piggybank. The funny thing: that day the teacher had asked what we all wanted to be in future and Lok bahadur had said ‘Police’. His nick-name became Police thereon.

As for me, being the greatest sidekick, I got his name as my nickname. My name isn’t Loken. After transferring from the government school to the private school, Lok Bahadur had unsuccessfully tried to change his name to ‘Loken’ as his original name was very old-fashioned. After that incident, everyone including my family, called me either Loken or Meetjyu (of Lok bahadur).

After a few times I was caught with Lok Bahadur collecting matchstick-cover and scrap metals in a trash container, swimming in the Bagmati river, selling stickers in the footpath, smoking a thrown cigarette, and so on…my parents sent me to a boarding school. I was incorrigible and was a hopeless case.

“Are you counting the number of grains in your plate?” as I was eating slowly my sister asked.

“Oh yes. It seems like there are fifteen grains fewer than yesterday but ten more than the average of last month?” I frowned.

I increased my tempo and finished eating. Other days I’d watch TV for a while after dinner but that day I just wanted to be in my room.

 

8

There was nothing better to do than pick the upanyash and read more pages. As I started reading, I was getting distracted time and again. I had to re-read lines. Still I wasn’t following the events in the novel.

Marilyn French said men stumble on pebbles, never over mountains. I haven't taken any classes on analogy or stumbling, but using an analogy every time is like taking a self-administered sobriety test when you haven't drank a single bottle. I tend to stumble on pebbles, both literal and figurative, drunk or not. The problem: after stumbling, I throw the pebbles to a pond and the waves traverse my consciousness.

I am not a paragon of virtue; far from it. I have my own moral failings but I have always strived not to harm anyone knowingly. Still conflicting ideas dwelt inside me that tried to form an informed opinion. I tried to put myself in her shoes and think about the circumstances. There was a strong possibility Roshani did what she had to do for her family. I wondered if her husband knew about it. Although I no longer had a pristine image of her, I didn’t think any lowly of her; quite the contrary. I started defending her.

After a while, I thought about myself.  It was foolish to dissect everything with a moral scalpel. I had been catering my monolithic internal image, paradoxically, to everyone as they wanted to see, albeit the cognizance in me that the imagery perpetuated the existing myth. The very next moment I realized the cusp wasn’t as strong as I had thought it to be- I just had to change my mind and act on it. Now to act, I needed a resolve. Aargh! It was coming back to a full circle.

Five hundred was a lot of money. I knew I had some stashed in one of the books. Certainly it wasn’t more than two hundred rupees. I have tricked money from my parents before. The surefire way to do so was to ask money for a textbook. I had a friend who had a book shop in Dillibazaar. He had helped me with fake receipts before. That time I had used the money to buy used novels from the footpath of the RNAC building. This time I couldn’t wrap my head to justify an unethical position. Above all, I was afraid what my family and others would say if they found out the act.

Maybe I could take a chance. After all, I was a mortal being. Or maybe I could just offer her the money as help.

From the bookshelf I took out a small book that was wedged in between two big books and was invisible from outside. Inside the book I had stashed some of my savings and an emergency cigarette. I always had at least one cigarette at home just in case I couldn’t live without smoking. That moment it gradually progressed to that case. After seeing the cigarette, I had double urge to smoke.

It was about ten o’clock. My room was in the third floor adjacent to the kitchen. Everyone else had their bedroom in the second floor. Usually they would all be asleep by that time and even if they were not, they rarely came to the kitchen. Also, I had smoked in my room before.

I stealthily went to the kitchen. Coughed out loud to suppress the click of the stove, lighted the cigarette, and was back in my room within a minute. Wary that someone may see me from outside, I turned off the light. Next I opened the windows and smoked ensuring all smoke went out of the room. And in the end I sprayed room freshener. When I turned on the lights back, money was strewn over my bed. I counted and it was one hundred and eighty seven rupees.

After an hour of deliberation, I decided not to take any proposition from Shirish despite the fact my physical desires suggested me otherwise. I read one more chapter from the novel and slept.

 

9

I woke up around ten o’clock. Around twelve, after having lunch, I went to the newspaper stand and returned quickly with that day’s Kantipur. I read everything–even the classifieds followed by a chapter of the novel and boredom nap.

I heard a knock on the door. Sabin and Archana both were outside. They had planned to eat momo but were short on money. I used to get the highest allowance of all three and always had money; so they were out for little help from me. As mom was out in the field, it was upon my sister to cook khaja for us. Somehow she felt accountable for making khaja for everyone. But that day they were watching a Hindi movie and she didn’t want to miss it. Initially she tried to convince Sabin to do without khaja and I wasn’t in the equation as I was indifferent to khaja. He counter proposed momo and blackmailed her to put ten rupees by saying he would demand something to eat at home if she didn’t. As it happened they had settled to get momo from outside.

My sister always saved money. Everyone knew she had money. She would save money, even her tiffin money, and buy something big. Remember the gold sikri I mentioned earlier that mom had promised to buy her, which unfortunately she couldn’t due to lack of money, Archana bought it herself after a year–all of it her own saving. You’d think she was miserly. I’d say she was frugal–to the point it may seem stingy. Years later she turned out to be very pragmatic and is very good with money management.

A plate of momo was ten rupees then. They had decided to get two and half plates: a plate for me and the rest for them. Archana was contributing ten rupees. Sabin, being the smartest and officially broke of the house, was contributing nada.  He never had money. If he ever did, it wouldn’t last an hour. His only contribution was to go and get momo from the shop.

Other times he would get momo himself and sell us!!! That way he would recoup all his money. If Archana ever wanted to eat momo–she never went out to buy momo, as eating buffalo momo was frowned upon by mom– she would give Sabin five rupees and they would eat three and two pieces respectively, hiding in a room.

 Without any resistance I agreed to cover the rest of the money. At an opportune moment, Sabin asked if I, by I he meant we, wanted to eat half plate of chowmein as well. I paid for that too.

About five thirty I went out and saw Shirish watching a carom match in front of the wada karyalaya. When he saw me coming from the other direction, he shook hands with other people and walked towards me. We took a small alley to skirt our way out of our homes and passed Lok Bahadur’s house.

Lok Bahadur’s house separated two distinct regions. His family belonged to the same caste as we did. His dad had migrated before he was born. They were often included in functions our extended family organized. Beyond his house there were a bunch of shanty houses that were occupied by recent migrants, so-called lower caste people, and a group of Muslims who had migrated generations ago and were tolerated but not socially accepted but it was gradually changing. These groups were rarely invited; however, the opposite wasn’t true. The marginalized people were constantly fighting within for a small piece of unclaimed government land and were wary of newer migrants.

The local government office had built a public water tap and restroom near the big bamboo grove as that part lacked a sanitary facility. I saw Roshani taking a bath in that tap. I figured then she carried water every day walking five minutes both ways from where she lived. When she saw us, she stopped and looked other way.  My heart started beating fast. I looked on the ground and increased my stride.

“Give me a moment,” Shrish said as he walked towards the tap.

I guessed what he wanted to do. It was embarrassing.

Around the bend of the road, there was a small shop. I went in there with a thought of buying Surya cigarettes as I knew Shirish would only have Shikhar brand cigarettes. I preferred Surya.

The shop was created by putting a medium bamboo rack in front of the room which divided the bedroom and the shop. You could see a bed behind it. There weren’t many items. On one side, I saw different brand of cigarettes packs partially opened in order to sell loose cigarettes, a bunch of Balwan Chap chewing tobaccos and Pan Parags hanging down a rope. In addition, there were several varieties of titauras, a few jars of cheap candies. On the other side, there were ready to sell Chura, Dhago and Pote.

No one was in the shop.  Possibly after hearing my footsteps, a young lady who had a baby strapped in her back came out of the bedroom. I knew her. Her name was Sakina. Actually we went to the same school when we were kids. She and her younger brother Abdul were a grade senior to me. The school had waived their tuition so as to give chance to disadvantaged children.  I knew Abdul well as we played marbles together. She was several years older than us. She flunked a year and was in our class. Next year I left that school for a boarding school. She failed again and dropped out of the school.  After a few years she got married.

Most probably she recognized me but didn’t say anything. I changed my mind buying cigarettes and asked for two Solo candies instead. Normally I’d take Solo after smoking and it had been an integral part of the ritual. I called them Pavlov’s Solo.  She gave me two knockoff Solos that were very similar to the original one but with ‘Sola’ label. I had had them before. They were horrible. I knew I wouldn’t eat but still bought them.

Shirish was waiting for me on the road. After we passed the bend we were out in the fields. We walked towards the Bagmati river. He took out the cigarette pack and offered me one. The fields were tilled and ready for next plantation.

“Remember about the land I told you yesterday? The land is passing in our name next week for sure. All documents have been readied. I can’t wait to start my own business that way I don’t have to work in the shop again. I don’t even know why my dad wanted to operate the shop. We are making just over five thousands and making less than what we were getting from the rent. If we sell the land, my world will change soon,” he said with exuberance.

“‘Nice.”

 I was curious what he said to Roshani earlier. I asked with little impatience, “Why don’t you leave that poor girl alone? What did you say to her?”

“Nothing. I went to use the restroom. I am not uncivilized like you who goes on searching electric poles.”

“That I know,” I said dismissingly. “Hey, regarding the thing you said yesterday, I am not interested.”

 “Dream on. Even if you wanted you wouldn’t have gotten anything. I was just making fool of you. I thought you caught my joke. She is a Sati Sabitri. Did you even suspect Pasang dai to be a part of it? He is your neighbor and you know what a nice person he is,” he continued, “shame on you for what you were thinking.”  He paused and with a fake smile he said, “You are not only dumb but also gullible and evil. “

“What the f^k? It was f^king you who made me think like that. I know they are all nice.  I knew she is married and wouldn’t do anything.”

Spontaneously I got angry at Shrish. At the same time a big remorse was propping inside me for letting my wrong side out but I still blamed it on him for sowing an evil seed. And somewhere deep inside I was glad that Roshani was still a woman with solid integrity.

“Don’t get riled up bro. I am sorry. I should have told you yesterday. I second-guessed your intelligence,” he went on sniggering, “don’t blame me. Would you have eaten shit if I had asked you?”

“Tero bau le khancha.” I was still fuming but hearing my own silly rejoinder I started laughing. He too laughed and soon both of us were laughing loud. 

 “By the way, for your kind information, she is not married yet. She made it up. Because people were teasing her with nasty calls, she lied saying she was married and told everyone her husband was working in Dubai. That’s the reason she wears the big red pote. I feel sorry for her that the hounds haven’t stopped tormenting her in spite of her attempt to show herself as a married woman,” he quipped with a genuine concern.

I was bewildered hearing him.

 “Really? Don’t be lying to me.  I am not falling for your lies again. You are such a goofball,” I said.

 “I swear on my mom.” He looked directly at me and with a nudge asked, ”Did that change your mind? Changu love du pasa?”

Despite his puerile acts, I knew he had a heart of gold.

“Tero bau sanga paryo love,” I replied with a wink and started laughing heartily. “Give me another cigarette.”