I picked up
Daddy’s next letter. It began, “So, you’ve lost the children again…” I chuckled
at his use of the plural. I had not lost both the children the first time
around, only Sameer had wandered away. That use of the plural was Dad’s prosaic
licence to give extra fillip, a dramatic aplomb to his writing. I smile at the thought, a flood of memories
kicking in. Daddy wrote very well. He even concocted imaginary stories for me
to read out to the children. All written in his impeccable English! Oh, I digress from the subject at hand...
Those were the days when cash was scarce and to stretch the rupee a little further I used to hunt for bargains off the sidewalk at Sarojini Nagar Market,Delhi. Walking through the crowd in the then narrow streets, was a feat in itself. I held the little hands of the boys tightly as I steered the three of us past jostling shoppers. Some kerchiefs caught my eye. I would pin a kerchief to the front of their uniforms and tuck it out of sight inside their shirt, when they went to school. Despite the pin, they managed to lose kerchiefs at a rapid rate. Tissues were both expensive and impractical!
A dozen kerchiefs for Rs 25 was a good bargain. I extricated the fingers of my right hand, from Sameer’s and bent down to examine the size of the almost-square piece of cloth. Siddhartha continued to hold on to my left hand. Sameer, I didn’t notice, had let go completely. Less than five minutes later, business transacted, I said, “Ok, lets go!”, my hands seeking Sameer’s, at my side. He wasn’t there!
I looked around to see if he was busy with the toys at the nearby shop. My heart sank…he wasn’t there either and I couldn’t find him anywhere around. I panicked and began to ask the people milling around if anybody had seen a little boy in a blue shirt and red shorts. By then I had begun to cry and run around in and out of the market lanes, which was a maze anyway, calling out his name. Those were pre-cellular phone days and I had no cell phone to call my father-in-law and tell him of my latest folly. I ran home with Siddhartha in tow, crying all the way, almost dragging the poor little boy in my haste. Rajeev was hundreds of kms away, somewhere along the Indo-Pak border where no phones existed and a letter took ten days to reach. I was furious at myself and frantic with worry. I could barely make myself understood as I sobbed out my story to Papa.
Papa acted fast! He took his motor bike and roared away. Going straight to the Police Station he explained his predicament to the sympathetic cop. Even as he spoke another cop came upto him, ‘Aapka potha wo baitha hain.’- ‘your grandson is sitting right over there’ he said pointing to the row of houses opposite the police station. There, seated on a rope cot, with a coterie of interested listeners, was my five year old, regaling his audience with stories of Papa Khullar Mamma Khullar Dada Khullar etc etc…
Now, the second time around, I have to admit, I lost both of them!
I was visiting a friend who had had a painful divorce, married again and was now on the verge of a second divorce. An emotional wreck, she was pouring her heart out to me when seven year old Siddhartha came running in and asked me if they could go out to play– Siddhartha, Sameer and Rahul, another little boy, belonging to the house I was visiting. I absent-mindedly gave him my consent and he ran out announcing it to the other two.
Two hours later, I interrupted Lata in the midst of her ranting and hurried outside to ask the children to come indoors. The courtyard was empty. The shed, the garage, the garden, the area surrounding the boundary wall, they were nowhere to be seen. I ran back in to tell Lata. The new crisis had driven the depression out of her and she ran with me to the shops close-by, looking for the children. I was weeping once more, frantically desperate. We reached the Police Station around the corner. After I had narrated my tale of woe and written down the names of the children on a piece of paper, I looked at the Sub Inspector in silent appeal. ‘Aap ghabrayiye nahin, bachhe mil jayenge.’ -“Don’t worry M’aam. your children will be found.” the cop reassured. Lata’s father-in-law was known to him and he was happy to be of assistance.
We returned to the house and I spent the next hour intermittently crying and arriving at self-deprecating conclusions. All on a sudden I heard angry sounds and ran outside. Lata’s father-in-law was scolding Siddhartha for leading the chidren into disobedience. Siddhartha stood silent, hanging his head in shame. I hugged him! His height always made people mistake him for being far older than seven. The fact was Rahul, I learnt, nine at the time, was the brain behind the misdemeanor. I hugged the children, made my excuses and returned home, both chastised and contrite.
Well, I never lost the children again!
C’est La Vie!
