My Twin Brother
By Vinay Jalla
“Balu! Come and have your breakfast. It’s getting late…” called out Balu’s mother from the kitchen.
Balu was in his bedroom, stood before a full-length mirror and knotting his tie. He took his own sweet time polishing his black shoes. He polished them until they sparkled.
“Coming, Ma!” Balu replied loudly.
He then arranged his textbooks and notebooks according to the day’s timetable. He looked at his wristwatch and hurried his packing. He never wanted to be late to school.
Balu’s Grandma sat on a sofa in the living room and observed him getting ready for school. She liked Balu in his school uniform - navy blue trousers, half-sleeves starch-white shirt, red tie, black leather shoes and a shining, golden-coloured badge with the emblem of a lion and an eagle. She asked, “Is the young man ready?”
“Yes, Grandma,” said Balu and ran to the kitchen where his mother had already placed a plate of steaming moon-shaped idlis and coconut chutney on the dining table.
His Grandma called out, “Young man, it’s time to say ‘Good Morning’ to God! Have you forgotten?”
Balu raised his eyebrows and smiled. “Sorry Grandma. I forget everyday. I am really sorry.” He went inside the little prayer room next to kitchen and recited Ganesh shloka. He did not recite all the twenty-lines, but broke in between and rushed inside the kitchen.
He finished his breakfast, drank a glass of hot badam milk and dashed to the compound. His Grandma said, “Balu, don’t be in such a hurry. There’s plenty of time.”
“No, Grandma, our school bell rings very early…” he said and pedalled on his red BSA bicycle to the school - Indian High School - which was four kilometres away from home.
When Balu had left, Grandma felt lonely. “Such a smart boy he is. He’ll grow up to be a computer engineer like his dad,” she said.
Balu’s mother, Shantha, grew furious when the words ‘computer engineer’ were uttered. She hated the profession!
On his way to school, Balu had to cross an overhead railway bridge. His school bell rang exactly at nine. He looked at his watch. “O it’s already eight fifty five! I’ll be late…” he murmured to himself.
Around this time, the Karnataka Express would pass the bridge every day, creating a traffic jam on the road underneath the bridge. Balu was anxious to pass the bridge before the train arrived. If he went late to school, he knew, the physical trainer, Pashupathi, would scold or even whack him with his wooden cane. He never wanted to take a beating from him. He cycled faster, putting all his strength on his calf muscles.
As he was nearing the bridge, he heard the loud siren. “Oh! Not now!” he moaned.
As usual, whenever a train crossed the bridge, pedestrians and two-wheeler drivers, who wore no helmets, waited below for the train to pass. They did not want to start the day with some muck dropping on their heads.
Balu was in a panic. “Bah! What a jam! If only I had come a bit earlier I would have crossed this wretched bridge. I wish Pashupathi is ill…” he bawled.
He tried to remain calm. The serpentine train finally passed after three full minutes. The time was 8.58. Balu had just two minutes to reach the school and avoid Pashupathi’s punishment.
He cycled fast and reached the school just when the bell was ringing. His nerves eased a bit. He parked his bicycle in the cycle stand, locked it and joined his best friends: Ganesh, Shankar and Mani. They were anxiously waiting for Balu to discuss the previous day’s cricket match played between India and South Africa.
“Balu, what a match!” yelled Shankar. “You saw Sachin’s batting? Great, ma’n!”
“Yes, it was superb!” replied Balu.
“If not for Sachin’s eighty four runs, India would have lost,” pointed Ganesh.
Mani, not being a cricket buff, just walked silently with his friends. They entered their sixth standard classroom and sat on their respective wooden benches. The first hour was Maths. Balu hated the subject. He never got more than the minimum required to pass, though his friends, especially Mani, got more than eighty per cent. Balu’s favourite subjects were English and Art.
The day ended quite uneventfully, as usual. Balu had written notes of all the subjects. The last hour for the day was Physical Training. Luckily for Balu and his classmates, Pashupathi was on leave due to diarrhoea. Being a physically fit man, he often suffered bouts of this problem and was regularly irregularly to school.
Balu and his friends cycled homewards. At the market junction, they branched out. Ganesh and Shankar stayed towards the west end of the town. Mani’s house was near the railway bridge. Balu’s house was the farthest.
Balu reached home and opened the little gate. Tony, his pet dog, leaped in joy and licked Balu’s ankles.
“Hey, Balu! How come you are early today?” asked his mother.
“PT sir absent… maybe diarrhoea again,” he chuckled.
She placed Balu’s torn drill short pants, which she was sewing, aside. “Now, come and have some snacks,” called his mother.
“No, Ma. I’m not felling hungry. I had some samosas in the school canteen.”
“Did you?” Shantha screamed. “I keep telling you not to eat such dirty, oily things… you don’t listen to me at all.”
Grandma, who was sitting on the garden bed, said, “Shantha, why do you keep fussing the little man. Don’t worry about his health. He has the capacity to digest even pebbles!”
“You don’t support him. It’s only because of you he’s getting spoilt,” Shantha retorted and went in.
“Okay, calm down,” said Grandma. “He won’t eat anything outside from now. It’s my guarantee.”
Balu nodded and winked at Grandma.
The evening sun was sinking behind the mango tree in the compound. Balu went in. He washed his hands, feet and face with Dettol soap. He liked the refreshing fragrance of the soap. Wiping his face with a Turkey towel, he looked keenly into the hand mirror. He appreciated his long, sharp nose. His eyes were large like cricket balls, which made him look bright. He thought he had eyes like his mother, but he was wrong. His mother’s eyes were small and narrow. Even his Grandma’s eyes were like his mother’s. He kept wondering about his eyes. Who had eyes like him? Not his mother, not his grandmother. Then who?
He asked his Grandma in a startling tone, “My eyes are different from yours and Ma’s. How’s it?”
His mother chipped in, “How can they be different. Your eyes are similar to mine.”
“Balu is right, Shantha. His eyes are different, “said Grandma. “Balu, you have eyes like your father.”
“Father?” Balu asked surprisingly. He had never heard anything about his father before. No one had told him about his father. Not even his mother. At the mention of the word ‘father’, Balu turned sentimental. New feelings began to rise within him. He wanted to know more about his father, where he stayed, how he looked like, what was his name…
“Yes, Balu. Your father is…” Grandma started.
“Stop it!” yelled Shantha.
But Grandma went on, “Why? Why should I stop? Let Balu know. He is a grown up boy. He can understand. After all, it’s our duty to tell him about his father. How long can we hide it under a blanket? It’s bound to get revealed one day or the other. Why should we conceal something he’s entitled to know?”
“But, not now. I don’t want to hear anything about him,” said Shantha, growing flustered. She walked out of the house, carrying a wire bag. “I’ll go to the market,” she mumbled and was off.
“Yes, Balu. Let me begin the story,” said Grandma. Balu sat cross-legged on the floor, curious to know about his father.
“Okay, Grandma, tell me. My ears and mind are wide open. Go ahead.” He was getting impatient.
Grandma settled in her armchair, adjusted her silver-rimmed spectacles and said, “You were a year and half when your father saw you for the last time. Your mother had given birth to twins. You are the younger one.”
“Haaaaaa! I have a twin brother?” Balu howled. “Why didn’t you tell me about this before? How nice to have a brother who looks just like me. Where is he? I want to meet him right away.” He was really getting restless.
“Patience, my dear boy, patience. You’ll know about him. Just wait and listen. You and your twin brother looked just like your father - the same big, black eyes and jet-black silky hair. Your father liked both of you. But you were lean, though.”
“Why was I born so thin, Grandma?”
“Don’t ask me that question. Only God, Brahma - the creator - decides how a person should be at his birth. And stop asking questions every now and then. I’ll tell you the complete story, then you can ask me anything.”
“Okay, I’ll not disturb you. Go on,” Balu encouraged her.
“Yes, where was I? Ah… you both were so lovely and cute, even the nurses of the Mary’s Hospital fell in love with you. Your father carried both of you and rained kisses till your cheeks turned red. Both of you radiated an inner charm - faces looked so divine and innocent. You were special things created by God to live together, but your father had other plans…”
A loud thunder was heard and it started raining. “Balu, go and close the front door and the windows. Remember to put Tony in his kennel, otherwise the idiot will get wet. Your mother will not come until it stops raining. Poor woman… I always tell her to carry an umbrella when she’s going out. But she is not bothered about her health.”
“Yes, Grandma, continue the story.” Balu huddled besides her, wrapping a Kashmiri shawl around her body. He wore a V-neck red sweater.
She continued, “Where was I… Yes, we came home from the hospital after four days. Your twin brother had grown still fatter, and you’d become weak.” She coughed and cleared her throat.
“Then?”
“Your parents had had a scuffle before you were born. After you were born, your father grew unfriendly towards your mother. She cried and cried for days together when your father refused to speak to her. She pleaded, but your father wasn’t pleased at all.”
“Didn’t father really like Ma?” asked Balu.
“Your mother loved you both. She dandled you on her knees all day. Your father, who was then working as a software engineer in Telcot India, would come early and play with you infants, but not a word would pass between him and your mother. Very soon, you grew plump, better than your twin brother. I remember, most of the time you were on my lap or your mother’s. But your twin brother was fondled by your father.”
“What is my twin brother’s name?”
“Yes, I’m coming there. When you were both five months old, we decided to have a grand naming ceremony on an auspicious day fixed by Ramu pundit. The house was repainted and decorated with marigolds and jasmine strings. We were all happy. Plenty of guests arrived from many places. Your father’s boss was the chief guest. A lot of sweets and fruits were placed on our big rosewood table. A grand affair it was!”
“Where were we at that time?”
“You both? You were in the bathroom. I was giving your twin brother a bath and your mother was soaping you. Later, we dressed you both as Luv and Kush - the royal princes of Ramayana. You were decked in gold chains and pearl necklaces. The silk dhotis with zari border made you both look like real princes; charming! To ward off evil eyes, I made a dot of black kohl on your cheeks and we placed both of you on the flower-bedded cradle.”
“We both were in the same cradle?”
“Yes, why not. The cradle was big enough to accommodate even a third baby.”
“Did brother cry?”
“No, not at that time. You both were very quiet. In fact, you were sucking his thumb and he, yours. Lovely sight it was! Wait, I’ll show you the photographs. I don’t remember where I’ve kept the album. When we shifted to this house, most of the things had to be destroyed or given away. I think, if we are lucky enough, we may find the album in the attic.”
“Didn’t you keep it with you?”
“Your mother wouldn’t let me touch it. She did not want to see the photographs in which your father was, as it brought bitter memories and made her cry. But she has a photo of you both hidden in her cupboard. Sometimes, she cries looking at your twin brother. She loves him a lot… very sensitive woman…”
“Grandma, come let’s explore the attic and find the album.”
“Yes, come along.”
They both climbed the creaky wooden stairs leading to the attic. Balu followed his Grandma like an anxious cat waiting for a pot of kheer. Grandma opened the squeaky door. It was dark and musty inside. She searched for the switch, found it, and switched on the light.
“Oh! It’s horrible here. Has no one cleaned this place for years?” asked Balu.
“Sadly, no,” replied Grandma with a smile.
“The place looks like a spider’s forest,” continued Balu.
At the corner, a few books were carelessly piled. Grandma dusted the books with a rag. She found an old personal diary belonging to Balu’s father. The front cover bore the name: ‘Manohar K’ written in a cursive fashion.
“Hey, Balu! Look what I’ve found. Your father’s personal diary!” she said and handed him the diary.
She then searched for the photo album in the rubble, lifting a few broken wooden chairs and stools. Lizards, cockroaches and spiders, ran into dark corners. A cloud of dust hung around, making Balu and Grandma sneeze continuously. She covered her nose with the pallu of her sari. After searching for a few more minutes, she found the album under a ransacked pillow. She dusted the album with the rag and called out to Balu, who was examining a small, tattered black-n-white photo of a man, “Come on, Balu, let’s get out from here. I have found the album!”
Balu whispered, “Grandma, who’s this man in the photo?”
The young man was none other than Balu’s grandfather, who died in a plane crash even before Balu was born.
Grandma looked at the photo and said, “He’s your grandpa,” blushing like a bride. “The photo was taken when he was studying in the Maharaja’s College in Mysore. I don’t know how his photo landed here. That’s all right; let’s get out of here. If we stay here any longer, we’ll die sneezing.”
They hurried down, washed their hands with soap and settled down in the living room. Grandma leafed the album. A silverfish crawled out. Grandma swept it away with the tip of her forefinger. The edges of some photos were eaten by moths and looked brownish. Grandma squealed, “Look at this photo, Balu. You and your twin brother! How cute! If this album wasn’t in the attic, the faces would have been much brighter.”
“Grandma, it’s impossible to say who is who. Both look identical, isn’t it?”
“I’ll tell you. You are draped in the blue silk dhoti and your twin brother in the red one,” said Grandma, pointing her finger.
“You still haven’t told me my twin brother’s name. Tell me Grandma, please.”
Grandma smiled at Balu and said, “You want to know? I’ll tell you. It’s our custom to name a newborn with a Godly name first. Raju mama, your mother’s brother, whispered, ‘Balakrishna’ in your ear and ‘Ravikrishna’ in your twin brother’s ear.”
“But my name is Balu, not Balakrishna,” protested Balu.
“Yes, yes, we were forced to shorten it. Your father wanted just Balu; a short and crisp name he said. Later, even your twin brother’s name was changed to Ravi - the Sun.”
“Ravi! How beautiful,” Balu thought, and felt joyful. He felt like meeting his twin brother immediately. He kissed Ravi’s photo and embraced the album close to his heart. “Please, Grandma, tell me where is Ravi? I want to meet him now and tell him all about myself, school, cricket and many more things.”
“Patience, my dear boy. Firstly, don’t stick the album so close to yourself. The album is dusty. And…you cannot meet your twin so easily. He is not in our town or in our country. He is England with your father,” said Grandma, grandly.
“England! In England. O! So far… thousands of miles away,” Balu said in a depressed voice. “Can’t I ever meet Ravi?” Balu asked and started crying.
At that moment, Balu’s mother came home from the market, carrying a bag-load of vegetables. The clouds had cleared outside and the rain had stopped. “It was raining, “she said to Grandma, and paused to look at Balu, who was crying, covering his face with his hands. “What happened, Balu?” she asked tenderly.
Grandma answered, “Nothing. He’s become a bit emotional after hearing the story.”
Shantha eyed the album. She consoled Balu, “Now stop crying like a child. You are a grown up boy.”
Balu wiped his tears with the back of his hand and said, “Why didn’t you tell me that I had a twin brother?”
Shantha took him closely. She was touched by Balu’s feelings. “I… I… wanted to tell you sooner or later,” she stammered. “I agree, I made a mistake by not telling you earlier. I am sorry for that. Now, come on, cheer up!”
Balu was relieved. He hugged his mother and kissed her on her cheek. “Ma, can I meet Ravi and dad?”
Shantha was taken aback. “Now why do you want to meet your dad? Haven’t I looked after you kindly enough? Anyhow, he’s very far away from us. He may never ever come back to our house again.”
“Why, Ma, why?” Balu asked in a desperate tone.
“Because… because, your dad is angry… angry with me,” said his mother crudely.
“With you?”
“Yes, he’s angry with me.”
“Why, Ma?”
“I don’t know,” said Shantha in a final tone, and disappeared into the kitchen.
Balu was confused. His mind was in a jumble. He was happy yesterday - cracking jokes and playing cricket with his friends. But today, it was different. The secret has shattered his mind. He wanted to know everything about his dad and Ravi, more than ever before.
Grandma guessed what was going on in Balu’s mind. She winked and smiled at him. “Balu, come here,” she said.
Balu knew his Grandma would help him out. He jumped towards her eagerly. She whispered, “You know, the diary we found in the attic… It may contain some information about your dad. I know it’s wrong to read someone else’s diary. But… there’s no other way.”
Balu’s eyes lit up. “Please, Grandma, read the diary and tell me.”
“Okay then. Tonight, I’ll read it.”
“Balu, come and have your supper!” Shantha called out from the kitchen. Balu silently ate his supper consisting of rice and chickpeas curry, concealing his enthusiasm from his mother.
After supper he went to Grandma’s bedroom. She was reading the diary, sitting in her armchair beside the bed lamp.
“Grandma, will you tell me tomorrow morning everything what’s written in that diary?” Balu asked in a soft voice.
“Sure,” she said, looking up at him through her silver-rimmed reading glasses. “I’ll tell you everything. I promise. Now, go… sleep. Good night, Balu.” She smiled at him and winked.
“Good night, Grandma,” said Balu and ran to his bedroom. That night Balu slept soundly, dreaming about Ravi.
==========
Next morning, Balu got up from his bed, yawning and stretching his limbs. He folded his hands, closed his eyes and prayed at the photo of Lord Ganesha. The small photograph was hung high on to a nail in the wall. He prayed, “Dear God, I want to meet Ravi soon. Help me to meet him and talk to him. I love you God.”
He quickly folded his rug and ran to his Grandma’s bedroom. His Grandma was still asleep. The diary was on her table. Balu picked it up and opened the flap. The handwriting was illegible. He could not understand a word of it except ‘England’, ‘Shantha’ and ‘Computer’, which were written in capital letters.
Shantha was already in the kitchen, preparing breakfast. The clanking of steel vessels and plates woke up Grandma. She uncovered her rug and sat up straight. She closed her hands for a while in reverence. She saw Balu turning the pages of the diary. “Are you reading, little man? I’m afraid, you won’t make out your father’s scrawl.”
“Yeah. His handwriting is difficult to read. Have you read, Grandma?”
“Yes… the entire diary. He’s written it well. That’s why he’s in England, perhaps,” replied Grandma.
Balu was inquisitive to know about his dad and more about Ravi. “Has he written anything about Ravi?”
Grandma parted the curtain and sunlight streamed in. She stood at the open window and exhaled fresh air. “Your Ma will get angry if we talk about your dad here. Let’s go for a walk to the Nehru Park. It’s Sunday, right, no school. I’ll tell you everything there,” she said.
Balu agreed. He changed to white T-shirt and white short pants and canvas shoes. “Grandma, shall we take Tony along with us?”
“Okay. Even the poor animal needs some fresh air. Bring him along,” said Grandma, smiling.
Tony was running around in the compound, playing with an old rubber ball, which Balu had thrown aside after playing cricket with it. Tony bit the ball, kicked it all over the place and ran behind it. He was enjoying his silly ‘football’.
Grandma said to Shantha, “I am taking Balu and Tony to the park. We’ll be back soon.”
Shantha said, “Good. But come back soon for breakfast.”
On seeing Balu and Grandma, Tony ran towards Balu, wagging his tail. “Woof!” he barked.
“Good morning, Tony,” said Balu
“Woof!”
“Will you come to the park with us?”
“Woof! Woof!”
Balu loved Tony. He treated him like a friend. When Balu got the belt to tie it around his neck, Tony shrunk in fear. After a lot of coaxing, Balu managed to tie the leather strap around Tony’s neck and guided him towards the park.
Nehru Park was filled with the morning joggers and walkers. Most of the people wore woollen shawls to protect themselves from the morning chill. Balu and Tony ran together on the green lawns, while Grandma walked slowly, talking to a friend of hers.
After a while, Grandma joined Balu and Tony. They sat on the lawn, near a flowering shrub and relaxed, inhaling fresh air.
“Balu, go get a plain bun for Tony from the tea stall, there, outside, “said Grandma, pointing her finger. “Here, take the money.”
The tea stall - a battered 4-wheel cycle - stood outside the park. Hot tea and coffee, plain and cream buns, cigarettes and other petty items were sold. Many customers, mainly auto and rickshaw drivers crowded around the stall. Others stood on the footpath and sipped tea or coffee from the once-white cups. Some were eating buns by dipping a chunk in their tea.
Balu snuggled between the customers and shouted at the top of his voice, “Give me two plain buns,” and flashed out the two-rupee note.
The shop man immediately took the money, packed the buns in an old newspaper and flung it towards Balu. Balu caught the packet neatly. He patted his back and said to himself, “A good fielder like me rarely drops.”
He stood for a while looking at the cream buns stored in open glass jars. His mouth watered at the sight of them. When a couple of flies hovered and sat on them, Balu made a wry face. “Dirty stuff! Not for me. I shouldn’t eat those and spoil my health. I’ll ask Ma to prepare chocolate cake today,” he said to himself.
Balu joined Grandma and threw chunks of bun high in the air towards Tony. He too was an expert catcher like his master. He ran behind a bush and started eating the chunks, bit by bit.
“Now, Grandma, tell me about Ravi,” said Balu eagerly, nuzzling beside her.
“Uh…there wasn’t much about Ravi because he was just a year and half when your dad took him to England.”
“What was Ravi’s favourite food, Grandma?”
“At that age… he liked to drink a lot of cereals with milk.” Grandma continued, “Your dad never wanted to leave you. It pained him, no doubt. He’s written that he had got a wonderful opportunity to work in his dreamland - England. The offer was too tempting to resist, it seems. And when he left us, he kissed you hard, stared at me and never even looked at your mother.”
Balu muttered under his breath, “So bad, so sad, my dad.”
“What?” Grandma asked.
“Err… Nothing.”
$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$
They came home at eight thirty. As it was a Sunday, Balu was in high spirits.
Shantha said, “You’ve been out for an hour. So long! What were you doing in the park? Don’t tell me you were walking or jogging all this time.”
“See, Shantha, “ Grandma started, “I met one of my old schoolmate. Banu. You remember her. You know, she’s grown so old that there are no teeth sticking to her jaws, not even one. Poor Banu.” Grandma chuckled at her bluff and went to her bedroom. Balu giggled.
As usual, like any other Sunday, Balu dragged Tony to the water tap in the backyard to give him a ‘Clinic All Clear’ shampoo bath. Tony disliked Sundays, as he hated getting wet and feeling shivery. If Grandma tried to give him a bath, he would jump over the gate, roam in the town and would come home only in the evening. But with his master, Balu, things were different; there was no escape.
Balu took the hose (used by Grandma to water her plants) and ordered his pet, “Tony, just sit here and stop scratching your ear!” Tony stood still as he had a soft corner for Balu. Though he was tempted to jump over the gate and escape, he controlled himself.
Balu shampooed Tony’s dark-brown hair until a thick, white froth was produced. Tony only whined time and again, but didn’t move an inch. He stood patiently waiting to get rid of the chilly feeling as soon as possible. Once it was over, Tony ran outside to dry himself in the sun.
Later, Balu took bath and sat at the breakfast table. His mother had prepared puris and kidney beans curry.
“Oh, not again this Sunday, Ma?” cried Balu in dismay. “Why can’t you prepare anything else except kidney beans curry?”
“Balu, don’t be fussy. I have just two hands. I can’t cook special items everyday. Anyhow, what’s wrong with kidney beans? Its good… high protein content and very healthy. Have it or leave it,” she said and disappeared into the kitchen.
Grandma, who was munching her puri, said, “Now, be a good boy, Balu. If you eat those two puris with the curry, I’ll tell you more about Ravi.”
Balu gobbled his puris with the curry and drank a glass of Bournivita in one gulp. Then he placed Tony’s breakfast at the kennel door and ran to Grandma’s bedroom.
When Grandma opened her lips to speak, Shantha appeared at the bedroom doorway. Grandma stopped speaking and looked at her daughter. “Yes, Shantha. Please come in.”
“No. I’m going to the market to get a few tomatoes and potatoes…” said Shantha and headed towards the main door.
“Shantha, this time don’t forget to take the umbrella,” Grandma advised.
“Grandma, it won’t rain now, “ Balu put in.
“I know, dear boy, I know. But the sun is blazing outside.”
Shantha shouted from the door, “Okay, I’ll take it along with me. Don’t worry,” and left the house.
Grandma drew the curtains partially and sat on her armchair. She took out her reading glasses and browsed the morning newspaper.
“Grandma,” cried Balu impatiently. “You are supposed to tell me about Ravi.”
Grandma opened the drawer next to her bed and took out a piece of paper. “Here take this. Your father had written this address in the diary. Maybe he was intending to stay in that place. Write a letter and confirm whether your Dad is staying there.”
Balu was overjoyed. He snatched the piece of paper from her hand and read it:
Frank Henman
12, Park Street
Slough
Berkshire SL2 5NF
England
“Send an Aerogramme, it’s economical,” advised Grandma.
“Aerogramme? What’s that?” Balu asked innocently.
“It’s like our Inland letter. Priced at Rs.8.50. Used for foreign correspondence only.”
“Shall I go to the post office and buy one?”
“Yes. But, wait… today is a Sunday. It’ll be closed. Go tomorrow,” Grandma said.
“Grandma, I have school tomorrow. Can’t we get the Aerogramme in any place other than the post office?”
Grandma thought for a while and said, “Try at the Setty Stores near Hari Temple Street. That Setty keeps all things in his petty shop - right from ladies’ hair pins to men’s shaving razors.” She gave money to Balu and told him to cycle safely.
Balu took out his bicycle from the little garage (a tin-roofed structure) and unlocked it. Tony, who was in the kennel, heard the ‘click’ sound of the lock and came out. Balu patted his pet and cycled away.
Hari Temple Street was quite far from his house. He had to cross the Red Field, the railway over-bridge, his school and the busy Market Road.
The sun was blazing. Balu thought of returning home to fetch an umbrella. If I hold the umbrella, then how will I ride the cycle, he thought, and dropped the idea of going back home. He wanted to get the Aerogramme as soon as possible and write the letter. That was the most important thing.
While passing the Red Field, he noticed Shankar, Ganesh and his other friends playing cricket. Mani, as usual, was the umpire. They saw Balu and waved their hands at him to join them. But today, Balu wasn’t inclined to do anything except writing that letter. His mind was racing with enthusiasm. He gestured with his hands that he would join them later, and cycled forward.
The road opposite to his school was bad. The asphalt had cracked and there were numerous potholes. The road was a haven for accidents. Most of the times, students of the school would be the victims. The principal of the school was not concerned about this at all. He was only interested in making money by collecting huge donations. He neither used the money for developing the school nor for the betterment and safety of the students. But the principal had a soft corner to poor people. He went to Shiva Temple every Monday and distributed bananas and Rs.10 to each and every beggar sitting outside the temple.
Balu cycled cautiously on this road, avoiding the trench-like potholes. A white cat dotted with black spots crossed the road.
“Oh! You stupid cat! Why did you cross when I was coming?” Balu wailed wildly at the cat. The cat glared at him, climbed over the wall of a building and vanished.
Balu remembered Grandma’s words: “One should sit for a while when a cat crosses our path. It’s a bad omen.” But Balu was impatient. He moved on.
After going a few yards from where the cat had crossed the road, a loud ‘phut’ sound was heard. Balu braked and looked down at his rear wheel. The tyre was flat.
“Oh! Puncture!” Balu moaned and walked pushing his cycle to the Hari Temple Street, the busiest street in the little town of N. The street was teeming with devotees, little children with toys in their hands and other people from all walks of life. The temple bell rang frequently. All the shops on the street were opened, except the cycle repair shop.
Balu was upset. Nothing is working for me today. All because of that silly cat, he pondered.
Balu knew the cycle shop owner, Raman, who had the best body in town. His biceps were a treat to watch. He went to the gym every morning and built his muscles. He usually opened the shop around 11 am.
Balu looked at his watch. “It’s eleven and still no sign of Raman uncle. Maybe he’s working overtime in the gym today.” He waited patiently in the shade of an awning of a drug store. He looked at the women carrying flower baskets to the temple. The heat was intense and Balu felt thirsty. In the drug store, a cold storage displayed bottles of Pepsi, Miranda, Coke and Sprite.
Balu took out his pocket money and bought Sprite. He held the bottle with both hands and sipped the beverage with a plastic straw. He felt better when the cold liquid settled in his stomach.
“Hey, Balu! Drinking alone, huh?” Raman shouted from behind and opened his shop.
“Uncle, shall I get you one?”
“No, no. I was just joking. I’ve just had a huge breakfast - twelve butter masala dosas, sixteen vadas, two litres of badam milk… makes you strong and helps you defend yourself anytime, anywhere.”
“Uncle, my cycle.”
“What happened? Puncture? Don’t worry, I’ll fix it.”
Balu parked the cycle inside the shop and said, “Uncle, I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
“Come soon,” Raman said.
Balu ran to the Setty Store, which was beyond the market. The shop was crowded, as usual. Customers, mostly women, were shouting at the top of their voices to get their items packed soon. Everyone seemed to be in a hurry to go home and watch the Sunday’s serials on TV.
Balu felt lost in the crowd. He remembered coming to this shop to buy a cricket ball, which lasted only a few sixes. The Setty had cheated him then.
He waited for the women to leave, but they stayed, shouting and talking. Unable to bear the strain for long, Balu pushed through them and managed to stand in front. “One Aerogramme, please,” he shouted.
All the women were surprised. They stared at him in silence, but only for a second; they resumed their chatter again.
Setty looked at Balu with irritating eyes and said, “Why do you shout so loudly, you brat. You could have asked for the same thing a bit softly. Do you think, I’m deaf?” he barked.
“Sorry, Setty, I…”Balu mumbled.
“OK, OK, what do you want?”
“One Aerogramme.”
Setty handed over the blue Aerogramme and took the ten-rupee note from Balu. Balu stood there for a while, expecting Setty to give him the change.
“Don’t stand here like a scarecrow. Get lost. Go! Can’t you see so many people are waiting to be served?” Setty roared.
“But you have not given me the change,” Balu said meekly.
“What change? It’s correct. Rs. 8.50 for the Aerogramme and Rs.1.50 is the commission. Now get lost!”
“But in the post office it’s only Rs.8.50,” said Balu in desperation.
“Why don’t you buy there then? Why did you come here? Now get out, you rat!” said Setty in a final tone.
Balu folded the Aerogramme and tucked it in his shirt pocket, and came out of the shop. Walking to the cycle shop, Balu decided he would one day teach a lesson to the 'cheaty' and rude Setty.
Raman had fixed the puncture and pumped full air to the tube. The cycle was ready. He was listening to some film songs from his hand-radio, gluing his ears to the box.
Balu paid him and cycled homewards, feeling not very satisfied.
As soon as Tony saw Balu, he stopped barking and started jumping, trying to lick Balu’s hands. Balu gently pushed him away and went inside.
“Why so late, Balu? What happened?” asked Grandma, looking at Balu’s dull face.
“It’s a long story, Grandma. First, a stupid cat crossed the road before I passed and then my cycle got punctured…”
“A bad omen, no doubt. Come with me,” she said.
Balu went to the backyard with her. She made him stand facing the East and held a lump of rock salt in her fist and circled her hand thrice in the clockwise direction and thrice anticlockwise. After this, she opened her fist, spat in her fist and threw the salt (which was superstitiously known to contain bad omen) over the compound wall.
“Now, no bad omen or an evil spirit will affect you. God bless you, my child,” she said and walked to the sink to wash her hands.
When Balu showed her the Aerogramme, she said, “Turn it vertically and start writing.”
Balu got his exam pad and his Hero pen, and sat next to the window. Sunlight flowed in with a faint, nice, warm glow. Balu wrote:
Dear dad and dear Ravi,
How are you both? I am fine and so are Ma and Grandma. I am waiting to meet you and talk many, many things with you. Is it very cold in England? Does it snow?
Grandma, who is sitting beside me, is also excited to see you both. When she told me I had a twin brother, I was really surprised. I felt tooooooooooo happy to have a brother who looks just like me. We found this address in our attic.
I am studying in sixth standard in Indian High School. My favourite subjects are English and Art. I have drawn cartoons and won many prizes in inter-school competitions.
I’d love to meet you and tell you more about myself, my school, cricket and Tony - my pet Alsatian.
Please reply soon.
Yours lovingly,
M Balu
He showed the letter to Grandma. She held the letter for a long while and smiled at Balu. Balu sealed the flaps of the Aerogramme, addressed the letter to Ravi and wrote his home address in the sender’s slot. “Grandma, I’ll drop the Aerogramme in the letter box and come back soon,” said Balu walking to the front door.
“Balu, there’s no clearance on Sundays. The mail van will come and collect the mail from the box only tomorrow morning. So, no hurry.” But Balu had left. “Sweety boy, so much of love he has for his dad and his twin brother. May God bless them!”
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England is cold and chilly, except for a few days when the sun makes a guest appearance in the sky. And that too, it only peeps over the clouds and shines for a few hours and then disappears. The people are always dressed in warm clothes – jumpers, leather jackets, scarves and gloves and other woollen wear.
The sun had come out that morning for the first time in that week. Ravi sat before his PC (Personal Computer) at home, eating a bowl of chicken noodles and surfing the Internet. He was browsing a site on wildlife. Ravi was fascinated by the strange living patterns of the jungle creatures. When he saw a photo of a fruit-eating bat hanging upside down, he wondered how they could get sleep in that position.
Mac, the butler, brought a glass of cocktail (mixed fruit juices) and placed it next to the mouse pad on the table. “Ravi, ‘ave this,” he said in his British accent.
Ravi, too, spoke in a near-British accent. He looked more English and less Indian. His skin glowed with energy and his eyes sparkled with happiness. He was a clever boy who never fussed about anything. His father, Manohar, had provided him everything he needed. And there was Mac, a butler and a friend rolled into one, who prepared tasty egg sandwiches and looked after Ravi’s foody demands.
Mac was around forty. He had no family. Ravi and Manohar were his family. He liked Ravi a lot, but was strict at times when Ravi neglected his food or went towards a bad path. There were like friends. And friends do fight and hug each other.
England was Ravi’s home. Manohar had rented an apartment in Slough, Berkshire. There were two large bedrooms, a small room for Mac, a kitchen and a living cum dining room.
Slough was an excellent place. The major attraction was the High Street with hundreds of shops and boutiques selling everything from shoes to mobile phones. And not to forget the two posh shopping malls – Observatory Shopping Centre and Queensmere. One could find practically anything one needed in these malls. The High Street was busy and always bubbling with excitement. A lot of Asians had shops on this street. Juhi Chawla owned a boutique selling churidars and Punjabi suits, Salim Ahmed owned The Kebab Corner, and there was Mr Popat’s sweet shop, selling rasgollas and Milk khova.
The sun slowly showed its face. Light illuminated the interiors of the house. Ravi sat in front of his PC and enjoyed watching the photos of Indian crocodiles and snakes. When he saw a photo of Black Cobra, he exclaimed, “What a venomous creature. As black as a shadow! Look at its forky tongue. My gawd!”
Mac came running from the kitchen, holding a butcher’s knife in one hand and a piece of meat in the other. “What happen’d? Who’s black as a shadow?”
Ravi giggled and showed him the photo of the cobra on the screen, and said, “You always get goose bumps at the drop of a hat, old boy. I was only impressed by this reptile, that’s all.”
“Hah! That’s a laff. You scared the hell ou-ofme. One day, I’ll scare you so badly, that you’ll nev’r forget,” said Mac and went to the kitchen to prepare dinner. He peeped from the door and said, “Why don’t u leave that machine ‘lone. You n your dad are computer peopl’, I know. But those boxes do need som’ rest…”
“Oh, stop it, Mac,” Ravi said and continued surfing a few other jungle sites. This time it was the Amazon forests.
The clock on the wall struck eleven: Ting Ting Ting - eleven times. It was time to feed Goldy and friends. Ravi disconnected the modem and switched off the PC.
In the corner of his bedroom lived Goldy and friends in a watery home. Ravi loved them and never forgot to feed them on time. Once he had told Mac to feed, but he had neglected. From that day, Ravi learnt a lesson: “Do your own work, never trust others”.
The creatures were the ‘water birds’ as Ravi fondly called them. These fishes were in a large oval-shaped aquarium filled with clean water and illuminated by a green halogen light. A few water plants and plastic toys were embedded in the sandy bed of the aquarium. Goldy, the gold fish, was Ravi’s favourite.
It was during last Christmas when Ravi had bought them from a fish dealer on Herschel Street. He wanted to buy something special, and he found the colourful fish to be the perfect thing for Christmas. He had spent all his pocket money on these creatures. The fish-feed bottled in a small plastic container was given free of cost by the generous fish dealer.
He had placed the aquarium in the corner of his bedroom, fearing his dad’s objection of bringing unwanted creatures home. But his dad was quite considerate. In fact, he liked the blue swordtail fishes.
From that day, a sort of bond developed between Ravi and his fishes. He never forgot to feed them three times a day. And sometimes when he felt lonely, he talked to them. The fishes were compassionate to his feelings. They would kiss the glass of the aquarium and Ravi would repeat their action from outside.
After feeding the fishes, Ravi felt bored. He heard Mac frying something in the kitchen. He sat on a chair and waited for his dad who had left home early morning to meet a business client in Piccadilly.
Manohar was a software developer. He had a sound technical mind and handled network systems in his office on Farnham Road. Once he had said to Ravi, “In India, I would not have become half of what I am now. I am called the “Big Byte” in my office.” Ravi had agreed with his dad. He liked his dad’s optimism and practical reasoning. He too wanted to become a comp wizard like his dad.
Ravi watched the WWF show on the telly for a while. His favourite star The Rock was smashing his opponent’s jaw and trying to hoist him over the ring. After the match, Ravi felt bored again. He decided to visit John’s on Park Street.
John was Ravi’s classmate in St.George’s High School. He was a dullard, but Ravi liked his humorous way of talking. John was called “Joker” in class, as he imitated the teachers’ actions and speech. He was also called “Laughing Machine”.
Ravi got up from the sofa in a flash and said, “Mac, I’m going to John’s. I’ll come back soon. Don’t wait for me. Have your dinner.”
“Get alon’ soon,” said Mac and continued his cooking.
Ravi cycled on his BMW to John’s. Large identical Victorian houses were prominent on Park Street. John’s house was to the right - a new, white house with French windows.
John was, as usual, in front of the idiot box (TV) watching MTV. He was repeating a song in the voice of the singer’s: “Touch me, touch me! O my angel! Hug me, Hug me…”