“Ammi, I want to celebrate my birthday this time”, said
Rehan as he threw his school bag on a worn out plastic chair that stood up on
three legs and a wooden stick, defying all laws of balance.
One of Rehan’s friends had invited him to his birthday and
Rehan was mesmerized. He loved the tiny white and pink cake, coloured balloons
and most of all, the gifts that the birthday boy received. His birthday was a
week away. He thought he might as well bring it up, well in time.
It was a usual afternoon in this humble house with an
unusual demand.
Rehan’s mom was busy making a paan for herself. Rehan’s
words fell like a bombshell. She looked up like he’d declared he wanted to embrace
another religion. She used the next ten minutes to settle her shock and spread
katha over a beetel leaf. She, then, stuffed it in the cave surrounded by her
pan stained teeth and pouted for what looked like a lifetime and mumbled
something that made poor Rehan loose his heart.
Minus the red, messy impediment that she tried holding in
her mouth but occasionally failed, here’s what she said-
We have never celebrated your birthday,
because hell, we don’t remember when you were born. Only you do. Your younger
sister is growing up hauntingly fast and we need to start collecting her dowry
and God damn your father, because of his share of genes, she is the colour that
no man would like to marry. And you better start going to your father’s shop
before I throw you out. You can stay at that cursed school of yours that
teaches you extravagance like annual day celebration and birthdays and all. Now
go to your room and let me eat my paan in peace.
With a face that NGOs use to collect donations, Rehan went
straight to Bhura. Bhura was a fine, healthy goat, a luxurious brown, with a
white mark that sat on its forehead like a humble crown. Together, they made a
fine couple.
A typical day in the life of 10 year old Rehan started with
Bhura. He would rush to his pet like an animal unleashed after years of
bondage. The calm beast, tied outside their one and a half room house would do
nothing but bleat, shaking its head, while, its ears, like big flaps, clapped
on its conical face and sometimes, its teary eyes. Rehan would cling to it till
his mother would come to drag him to the hand pump and forcefully stuff the red
tooth powder into his mouth.
So after the relentless, almost indecipherable chiding that
his mom served him instead of lunch, Rehan found solace in Bhura’s company.
Nothing was said but all was understood.
Beside the dust-laden and reality-stricken Rehan stood
Bhura, silent but sure as a mountain. Rehan rubbed the selfless, loving snout
of the beast, wrapped his arm around its neck, brought his mouth closer to its
ears and murmured gibberish. He then gently tickled Bhura who bleated in rhythm
with Rehan’s movements.
Later, after sharing several such light moments, Rehan
tiptoed into the kitchen, past his snoring mother, conscious of his deceiving
stomach growling for a meal and went back to Bhura with two chapatis. There,
the two pals shared a silent, content meal and whiled the afternoon away.
That night when Rehan slept peacefully in the yard on a
small, shoddily woven cot, his mother sulked about her life of deprivation to
his father, who was a tailor.
While she ranted in
the miserly light of a cob web covered yellow bulb, he wished if only he could
sew her mouth shut, irrevocably. But there was little that he was capable of at
that moment. Fatigue either makes a monster out of the kindest persons or turns
them mute and indifferent. After a long, tiring and not a well-paying day,
Rehan’s father would have done anything to get rid of the gigantic woman,
smelling of paan and complains. He chewed away his dinner, all quiet and
restless.
How long before she sleeps?
Her energy mocked his silent prayers.
Spraying red, she continued, sitting on a charpoy right
opposite where he was eating from a steel plate with a dent. Her enthusiasm was
much like a soldier carrying out his duties.
“Do you know your stupid son returned home, saying he wants
to celebrate his birthday?
Can you imagine
how angry that made me? I slog at home all day long. You won’t know. How would
you? You are out at the shop, you meet women, chat with them, may be dally with
them. How would I know? Don’t I deserve something? It’s been two years, we
haven’t invited my brother and his family. I was thinking of calling amma and
khala as well. But how could we, if people in this house have stupid birthday
plans. If Rehan comes crying to you and you make some unrealistic promise, I
will go away. One more chapatti? No? Why? You never like what I make. Who knows
you have eaten at some other woman’s place? God, never make me live to see that
day.”
By the time she halted to fuel her acrid speech with another
paan, Rehan’s father had slept off, his fingers, daal-laden that had dried up
to form a crust, his feet still on the ground and his head rested on an eroding
light green wall.
Lucky man, he escaped what his wife produced after that
point, till the next night.
“ Call your brother, amma, khala their neighbours , call
your entire village if you think we can park them comfortably and feed them
well.” At last Rehan’s dad surrendered, hoping that for once his wife will see
in his submission what he really wants to say.
“ Yes go ahead mock me. Accommodating them won’t be a
problem provided you really want them here.
They don’t need queen size beds to
sleep on. Mattresses will do just fine and feeding them won’t be a
problem
either, I will find a way”, she barked, panting like a buffalo.
“Listen to me, hey hey. Little Rehan came to me this
evening. He really wants to celebrate his birthday. Nothing lavish of course, just four of his
friends. So how about we have a small dinner on the day your family arrives?”
he let out meekly, almost pleading her.
“All right. But no more than four I am warning you.” and
Rehan’s father thanked the sinister forces of the universe for granting him a
smooth escape.
And in the quiet of the night and the moment of relief, he
arrived at a settlement with his wife, the first ever.
The next morning when
Rehan left for school the next day, he was dancing to the ‘Happy Birthday’ Song
playing in his head. He had already kissed Bhura before stepping out and
declared it to be the Guest of Honour for his birthday.
And like most days
that matter, this one took its time to arrive but it did.
Rehan had secretly requested his dad to get him 50 orange
flavoured candies which he planned to distribute to his classmates and
teachers. The invitation to his birthday dinner was however extended to only
four of his pals. His dad had insisted it to be strictly four and Rehan was too
delighted to be more demanding.
The time at school was straight out of a dream.
Rehan was
the star of his class. His teacher kissed him on the forehead, his classmates
took turns to wish him and he shared special secret smiles with his four close
pals.
When he reached home, still exulting, he found his house was
crowded with his mother’s relatives. There was his mama, mami, their four
children almost of the same age, her nani, her sister and her late husband’s
sister.
There wasn’t a corner that wasn’t occupied. Before he could even recall
their names, his mother called him into the kitchen, hurriedly gave her some
money and a long list of things to be bought from a close by market, also the
place where his father’s shop was.
There was so much to be bought and too little patience for
the big night was just some hours away. After everything in the list was in
Rehan’s hands, he went to his father’s shop. His father treated him to a cold
drink and chipps and called it ‘Abba and Rehan’s secret’. He quickly stashed
half stitched clothes under the small table that also housed his sewing
machine, brought the shutter down; put a rusted vulnerable lock on the latch.
Together the father and the son sped home.
Three of his special guests had already arrived. They had
occupied a corner in the yard, simpering away to the unknown faces, each
holding a gift. Rehan ran towards them, cleared the charpoy for them to be
comfortably seated. And the rest of the evening just slipped. One minute he was
getting them water, the next minute he was making paan for his mother in the
kitchen and the next one to it, he was helping his nani get up from the bed and
walk to the washroom where her chances of falling were almost absolute.
He didn’t breathe
till it was time for cake cutting.
His friends and his father shared his
enthusiasm. His cake was white and pink, just the way he had secretly mentioned
to his father. Among the fuss that his mom created over her family, he cut the
cake and that’s when he remembered that the Guest of Honour was missing.
After his friends and father fed him the cake, he rushed to
the yard and as soon as his eyes met with the absence of Bhura, a whiff of
mutton travelled from the kitchen window, rode up his nose. Before he could ask
any questions, from among the noise, his nani’s voice found its way to his
ears.
“The meat is quite tender for an old goat. Tastes great. ”
Right in front of the empty loop of a rope tied to a stub,
black pellets, Rehan sank and heard the party chomp away.
