Like It Happened Yesterday (4 page)

After about twenty minutes, the dentist tapped my shoulder and told me, ‘It’s all over. You can get up.’

I opened my eyes, but, this time, I didn’t make any eye contact with him. I had heard what he had said, yet I didn’t move. I ignored it and him.

The nurse let go of my hands. My father got up and came closer to me. He assured me that the operation was over. He patted my shoulder, in an attempt to comfort me. I didn’t make any eye contact with him either. Nor did I speak.

When he asked me to get up, I didn’t move. When he left me alone and went away to consult the dentist about what I should eat and what I shouldn’t, I got up unnoticed and walked out of the room.

While walking out of the cabin, I came across a washbasin with a mirror installed on the wall above it. I looked at myself. My nose and lips were still inflated. There were a few bloodstains on my shirt and around my lips. I tried to open my mouth. I wasn’t able to feel anything. The effect of the anaesthesia was still there. I was merely able to pull down my lower lip. I saw cotton stuffed in my mouth, surrounding my front upper gums.

The dentist shouted from behind me: ‘No! Don’t take the cotton out!’

I tucked my T-shirt into my shorts and walked out of the room alone. In the meantime, Dad had finished his conversation with the dentist and followed me out.

‘Chalo, ghar chalein,’ [Let’s go home] he said, and took my hand.

I didn’t say anything but followed him—

—but not before slipping my fingers out of his hands.

It was late in the night on my seventh birthday when the most intriguing thought of my life crossed my mind. Mom had switched off the lights long back and I was in my bed. Day-long celebrations of my birthday and the euphoria of it all had left me quite tired by the end of the day.

Yet, I was awake. My eyes were focused on the fluorescent minute and hour hands of the clock on the dark wall in front of me. Technically, in the next fifteen minutes my birthday would be over. So I was revisiting the series of events of that special day.

It had been a perfect birthday. In the morning, Dad had said special prayers on my behalf in the gurdwara. At school, I was the only student who wasn’t in his uniform but in his new birthday clothes. I was the one for whom the entire
class sang
Happy birthday to you
, and, in return, I had distributed chocolates to my classmates and my teachers.

In the evening, for the very first time, I had cut a cake on my birthday. Till then, cake-cutting wasn’t a practice that my family followed. After many requests from me, my parents had agreed to a cake-cutting ceremony. So Mom had borrowed an oven from someone in the neighbourhood and baked the cake for me. It had seven cherries on the top. For my cake-cutting ceremony, I had made sure that I invited only those friends of mine who would bring gifts for me. For dinner, Mom had made my favourite rajma chaawal. It was a beautiful day and I wished for it to never end. And yet here it was, slipping out of my fingers …

As soon as both the hands of the clock hit twelve, I closed my eyes with the pleasant feeling that it had been seven years since my birth.

… seven years!

… since I was born!

… SEVEN years … like … one … two … three … four … five … six … SEVEN years!

… since I was born!

But how the hell was I born?
And my eyes flashed open.

It occurred to me suddenly.
Yes! But how the hell had I been born?
I thought to myself.

Seven years had passed and this thought had never struck my mind, ever! All of a sudden, in the darkness of that night, the fact that I didn’t know how I had arrived on this planet
started bothering me. Never before had my own existence in this world been as thrilling for me as it became on that very night.

I spent the next few minutes tackling my anxiety. I pacified myself by thinking that there was nothing to worry about, and that I would soon find out how I was born. However, sleep had run miles away from me. The Einstein in me had raised his head, and I needed this complex mystery of How I Had Evolved to be unveiled.

I had some vague thoughts and theories of my own.

Maybe Mom had planted a seed in our garden and I came out of the plant!

Maybe I had been dropped from the sky during the rainy season.

If not that, then maybe …

These thoughts were all products of my wondering mind in the middle of the night, but none of them appeared convincing enough to me. I kept tossing and turning in bed, turning over the thoughts again and again.

Almost an hour later, too restless to stay in bed, I sat up. I looked at my mother, who was sleeping along with Tinku on the bed next to mine. I then looked at Tinku and wondered—
How had I missed noticing when Tinku was born?
He arrived two years after me! I spent the next few minutes regretting how I had missed my glorious chance to solve this puzzle. I juggled between wanting to wake Mom up to ask her my question, and resisting myself and going back to sleep.

I finally chose not to wake her up, so I went back to my bed.

But the excitement didn’t let me sleep. Five minutes later, I got up from the bed again. I looked at Mom, again. Barefoot and in my pajamas and vest, I walked towards Mom. When I reached her side of the bed, I stood close to her face.

She was in deep sleep. I was in deep anxiety.

‘Mommy!’ I whispered.

Nothing happened.

‘MOMMY!’ I whispered louder.

‘Hmm …’ Mom murmured in her sleep.

I was too scared to wake her up.

‘M-o-m-m-y.’ I didn’t whisper, but called her aloud this time.

And she woke up with a start. ‘H-a-a-n!’

She was scared. She looked at me and then at the clock, and realized that she had been asleep and I had just woken her up.

Worried, she got up and asked, ‘Ki hogaya, beta?’ [What happened, baby?]

All of a sudden, I struggled to frame my question. I rubbed my right foot against my left leg.

‘Ki hogaya, haan?’ she asked again, trying to ensure that I was all right.

This time, I rubbed my nose and eyes with my fingers. For a while, I even forgot why I had woken her up.

She asked if I wanted to go to the bathroom. I shook my head from left to right to indicate the negative.

‘Phir?’ She seemed to be getting impatient. My brother, in his sleep, shifted from the right to the left.

‘Mommy!’ I managed to utter.

‘Haan, bol?’ [Yes, ask?]

‘Mommy, mein kis tarah peda hoya si?’ I blurted out my question—How was I born?

I stared intently at her face but could not read her facial expressions.

There was a smile on her lips.

There was confusion in between the lines of her forehead.

It took me three more weeks to crack the biggest mystery of my life till then. Unfortunately, and I don’t know why, no one was ready to share the truth with me. I had trusted my mother when she had said that she didn’t know how I was born, because she’d found me in the gurdwara one day.

But I stopped believing her when, on verifying, I got a different answer from my father. He said that he too didn’t know how I had arrived on this planet, as he had bought me from a shop which was far away from home.

Liars! Both of them!

All those evasive answers had only intensified my curiosity to know the truth about my birth. On the one hand, it all appeared like a secret conspiracy to me; even though, on the
other, I didn’t quite reject the possibility that a natural calamity had, by some means, thrown me into this world. I kept thinking of this all the time—on my way to school, between classes, in my bed before falling asleep, and the very next morning with a fresh mind while squatting over the toilet.

By the end of the second week, my curiosity had spiralled into an enormous question. It occupied my mind so badly that I was not able to focus on my school lessons. It was strange how it played on my mind continuously. Every time I thought about giving my brain a break by not thinking about it any more, I found myself doing the exact opposite in the next half an hour. It was as if I was addicted to it. At one time, I thought my brain would explode, struggling over the permutation and combination that it had been doing since the past two weeks. I reached a stage where I had to get it out of my system. So, finally, I decided to share my question with some of my classmates. Who knew, perhaps they were going through a similar dilemma, or perhaps they had an answer? One day, at recess, as we munched on the food from our tiffin boxes, I brought up the subject with a few friends who I was close to. While none of the boys had an answer to my question, a girl called Pinky had a startling insight to offer.

‘You have come from your mommy’s stomach,’ she answered casually, and continued to eat her lunch. I stared at her, shocked. She knew this big secret, and was acting as if knowing it wasn’t a big deal at all!

Also, it troubled me that a girl knew all about a subject which I knew nothing about; or, for that matter, none of the boys did! How could a girl know about it and not a boy? The male chauvinist in me felt insulted. The other boys seemed to have no such ego problems about Pinky’s claim. They were busy eating from their tiffins. They didn’t seem to be affected by it all!

I waited and tried to digest it all. I gulped down my prejudice and turned my thoughts to what Pinky had actually said. For some reason, I believed her theory. Perhaps it had been the confidence with which she had said it. I was feeling a little relieved. Till suddenly our friend Mandeep inquisitively quipped between bites, ‘But how did he arrive in his mommy’s stomach?’

Now that was a smart question! Chewing with concentration, I watched Pinky intently.
What was she going to say now?

But she didn’t say anything immediately. She paused for a bit, rolled her eyes and then turned to me and asked, ‘Oh, yes! How
did
you get inside your mother’s stomach?’

The others caught on to the ignorance she was trying to hide. ‘Hey! Isko bhi nahi pata …’ Mandeep made fun of her, pointing out that even she did not know.

‘Ae, phek rahi thi … phek rahi thi …’ [Hey, she was fibbing! She was fibbing!] the other boys mocked Pinky, and got back to eating their lunch, satisfied in the knowledge that she didn’t actually know more than any of them.

The bell rang and we all got up to wash our hands. Pinky hadn’t managed to finish her meal. While I rushed to the washroom, she merely walked, probably thinking over the debate that had just been raised.

I saw her on my way back from the washroom and realized that my feelings for her had changed all of a sudden. I empathized with her. At least she offered me something which I believed in or
could
believe in. She was better than my parents, who always started their answers with: ‘I don’t know, because we got you from here and there!’
Crap
.

At last, the school ended, and, then, the day ended. But my query still remained. It had now only spread from one person to two people—Pinky and I. But, as they say, where there is a will there is a way, and we too discovered our way by the end of the third week. But not before Pinky and I became really good friends! She had not brushed aside my question. She too was equally interested now in solving my mystery.

As I said, by the end of the third week since my birthday, I found myself very close to having this mystery solved. It was a Sunday—needless to say, one of the most enlightening Sundays of my life! This took place after
Rangoli
, a programme on Hindi film songs that used to air on Doordarshan. Mom had given both of us—my brother and me—a head bath.

Now, for us Sardar kids, Sundays used to hold a different meaning from everyone else. Besides all the fun of a holiday, Sundays for us came along with the cumbersome task of washing our long hair. It was a routine that Mom refused to let go of. She would carefully undo the buns on our heads, make us bend our heads and let the hair tumble down, before rigorously applying shampoo. The most difficult part was to hold my head in that bent position over a long time. The smell of Clinic Plus shampoo dominated the bathroom on this day of the week. But the ritual of the head bath didn’t just end with the shampoo. After the bath, Mom would make us sit in the sun in order to dry out our hair. Most of the times, she would serve us breakfast in the sun. And, once she was free from the chores of the kitchen, she would apply coconut oil to our hair. Then it would be again put into a bun, and another week would pass before we went through the same process. My brother and I would joyfully watch
The Jungle Book
on TV as the oiling and tying up went on.

But that Sunday, there was no sun outside. Also, the servant who used to sweep the gurdwara compound every morning had arrived late. Mom was afraid that if he started cleaning the compound, the dust and dirt would get into our hair again. So she asked the two of us to come inside.

Even better.

We promptly plonked ourselves in front of the TV, our wet hair open and spread over the towels draped on the chair backs, with tiny water droplets rattling down the
strands of our hair, forming a little pool of shampoo-scented water on the floor. To top it off, Mom had served us a piping hot breakfast of paranthas along with curd, with salt and pepper sprinkled nicely over it. We ate like happy brothers; our legs paddling in the air, our fingers and lips smacked with curd, and, at times, the two of us fighting to grab the next parantha that Mom would bring in from the kitchen.

This was indeed the good life—no school, no classes, only TV and playing!

Right at nine o’clock, like on every other Sunday, Mom brought in the last two paranthas for herself, along with some tea. While she readied herself to watch the most-watched television show of India,
Mahabharat
, my brother and I prepared ourselves to sing along with the title track. It was a part of our regular Sunday routine, which drove our mother nuts, but was a lot of fun.

With our eyes closed, we chorused in unison and rendered the track in our highest possible pitch: ‘… Sambhavaami yugeyyy yugeyyyyyyyyyyyyy!’

Our uncalled-for performance continued till that time-machine guy began with the same boring introduction: ‘Main Samay hoon,’ and that’s when Mom shouted, ‘Bus, haan! Chup ho jaao tussi doven.’ [Enough, now! Stop, you two.]

Tinku and I looked at each other and giggled with our hands over our mouths. We whispered and made fun of the time-machine chap. We used to call him HMT, after the
name of the popular brand of wristwatches. I had no idea what Mom liked so much about watching those planets travelling here and there and listening to the silhouette of the time-machine guy. There used to be a wheel with four spokes as well, much like a wheel of a chariot. It would zoom in and out.

Tinku and I watched
Mahabharat
mainly for the battle scenes, especially because these were wars with charmed bows and arrows. It was fascinating for us to watch how, at times, the arrows would rain from the sky, and, at other times, they would change into snakes. It was a mix of sci-fi with the world of mythology. The forest scenes, too, held a lot of interest for us. We loved it when the monsters with magical powers were beaten up by the kings. The rest of
Mahabharat
, for us, was a boring wait for
The Jungle Book, DuckTales
and
TaleSpin
, which were the next shows in line.

That day, the episode of
Mahabharat
had neither any battle scene, nor anything in the forests; but it turned out to be one of the most revelatory in my life. This happened when I learnt about the intention of the Sun God to bless Kunti, the wife of King Pandu, with a baby.

‘Chup ho ja, please!’ I shouted to Tinku, when he insisted I go out and play with him.
How could I?
I had just seen a ray of hope! Here was my chance to find out how a baby was produced, that too live on national television!
Who cared to play?

I can never forget that episode. Kunti had a spherical
water vessel of brass in her hand as she walked to the window of her beautifully decorated, luxurious room. She stretched her arms outside the window and gazed at that bright morning sun in the sky. She tilted the vessel and water flowed out of it to the ground. She closed her eyes and recited something—some kind of a mantra. I observed her lips but failed to decipher any part of it.

Right then, something happened that was difficult to digest for me, even at that age. A man, dressed in fine robes, walked out of the sun. He walked down to Kunti on an invisible staircase.

‘Surya Devta …’ Kunti whispered to herself.

‘Sun God,’ I whispered to my brother. My eyes were glued to our black-and-white TV set.

‘Mowgli kab aayega?’ Tinku inquired aloud about
The Jungle Book.

‘Thappad pe jaana hai tainnu, chup ho ja!’ Mom repeated her favourite line—warning us to shut up, or else we would get slapped.

I turned my attention back to the screen. I had been taught that Neil Armstrong had taken several days to reach the moon. Surya Devta took only half a minute to land up in Kunti’s room; that too, he didn’t even need a rocket—he had simply walked. Science and Sanskrit had always appeared contradicting subjects to me at school.

For some reason, Surya Devta looked duller in comparison to the other gods in
Mahabharat
. He lacked the necessary
confidence and didn’t carry the hint of a smile that every other god did. When I look back, I suspect that his headgear had probably not been of the right size, making him look really uncomfortable in his mukut.

Kunti joined her hands and bowed in front of him, after which they talked some more. Surya Devta asked Kunti the purpose of her calling him. Kunti mentioned that she was simply testing her powers of summoning him and didn’t have any purpose in mind. Surya Devta appeared visibly offended and said that he couldn’t go back without giving her anything, so he would bless her with a baby. That was all he said—but no one in this world would have been as curious as I was to see the rest of the episode!

My eyes were glued on to the TV set. I looked at the wall clock. Only fifteen minutes of the show were left! I wondered if the act of producing the baby could be completed in those fifteen minutes. I had my fingers crossed.

But then, Kunti went mad. As Surya Devta insisted on giving her a baby, she started refusing his offer. Surya Devta told her that there was no going back, once he had uttered the blessing from his own mouth. But Kunti was still trying to resist.

‘Have it, goddamnit!’ I shouted at the TV, kicking up my legs on the chair.

Mom looked at me with surprise.

The world around me ceased to exist. The only existing entity was our Konark Rohini Deluxe 14-inch, black-and-
white TV set, with Kunti and Surya Devta in it. Time was racing on the clock on the wall. I was so close to discovering the ultimate truth of my life—but Kunti was busy throwing her tantrums!

Exactly at 9.53 a.m., Surya Devta raised his right hand. A spectrum of flashing rays of light erupted from the centre of his stretched palm and alighted on Kunti’s stomach, and then spread to engulf her entire body. The background music was that of a thunderstorm and soon the entire TV screen was drenched in light. All this while, I was so engrossed in it that I could almost feel the baby taking birth in my own tummy.

At 9.55 a.m., the rays dispersed. Surya Devta had done his job. Kunti had a baby boy in her arms. She didn’t look happy.

I
was very happy! I had seen it all. There wasn’t any doubt left in my mind. I had seen it all, right from scratch. That was such a glorious end to my three-week-old dilemma and the most difficult puzzle of my life.

Some discoveries are worth remembering for a lifetime. Some discoveries are so close to the heart that only the discoverer can feel them and cherish them. I could empathize with my childhood hero Columbus. I felt exactly the way he might have felt after discovering America.

It was indeed a very happy Sunday. In the night, after a long time, I slept peacefully.

Early the next morning, I woke up feeling quite rested and energized. I felt as if I had achieved something in life.
Barefoot, in my vest and shorts and with a toothbrush in my mouth, I was roaming in our courtyard with an air of superiority. The white froth of the toothpaste was all over my mouth and some of it had dripped on to my vest as well.

Then, suddenly, one of our neighbours opened her window. We knew this lady well—she came to our house often to meet my mother. When I looked at her, I wanted to wish her a good morning, but I was afraid that all the froth in my mouth would spill out. She too saw me, but didn’t say anything. She was busy doing something.

In the background, I heard my mother shouting at me. Often, when I brushed my teeth, I would forget to scrub all my teeth properly and go into a world of daydreaming, with the toothbrush stuck in my mouth. It was a usual thing for Mom to remind me to clean my upper teeth properly. On hearing her voice, I changed the direction of my brush from the left side of my mouth to the right. And then, all of a sudden, something caught my eye and my mouth fell open.