Life in rewind mode

Writing in the first person singular is to avoid straying into the realm of fiction. Being the youngest in the family, my father had a distu...

Writing in the first person singular is to avoid straying into the realm of fiction. Being the youngest in the family, my father had a disturbed childhood 8212; having lost both his parents by the age of eight. Reflecting the orthodoxy of that era, my father even lost his caste, albeit briefly, when he chose to act in a local adaptation of the Mahabharata. He was asked to do penance for this and he rebelled.

In contrast, my childhood was less traumatic. I got to see a film once a week, learn the English alphabet which my father taught me by the time I was in the third standard, and also participate in the rudiments of life outside the home 8212; like buying vegetables and fetching groceries from the market.

As for learning English, some 50 years ago, kids in rural and semi-urban areas did not have the advantage of libraries in the neighbourhood. Those days even a radio was a luxury. There were very few diversions for kids.

Also, 50 years ago, not many mofussil areas could boast of primary schools. When I gained admission in a local school, I remember my father rewarding me with a heavy, three-piece tiffin carrier, that could feed at least six boys of my age. But no amount of protests would convince father that it was not really required. He made it clear that I would be given my school fees only if I took the tiffin carrier to school. So as I trudged the three miles to school, the tiffin carrier came with me 8212; like an albatross around my neck!

Sports for students was a matter of choice 8212; but if you got late after participating in sporting events, you had to confront reptiles and other slithering creatures, what with ricefields and sugarcane farms dotting both sides of the road from school. This was enough to nip in the bud any ambition I may have had of becoming a sportsman!

Mofussil life had its share of insecurities. On one occasion, when the River Godavari had breached its banks, one of my classmates lost his life. His house had been innudated by flood waters. As for school, it had to be closed for more than ten days, as the connecting roads turned into rivulets.

As luck would have it, my father was not too demanding as far as academics was concerned. Yet I earned a scholarship in the third form, having stood first among some 150 students. English always stood me in good stead, despite my handwriting that could be the envy of the most celebrated modern artists!

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And, thus, one grew to be a man. Looking for jobs was an entirely new experience. I remember applying for a post in the Reserve Bank of India. The medical officer expected me to tip him the handsome sum of ten rupees to encourage him to ignore the state of my tonsils. Well, my young conscience rebelled against indulging in such a questionable deal to get a job.

Fortunately, other establishments were more accommodating. Seeing my outstanding performance in their test, I was asked by one establishment if I would join up at once. That was how I landed my first job. I was all of 18!