Mahajan’s flared nostrils. Was Mahajan making a dig at his shirt with its frayed collar and at his old trousers?
Well, he’d show him then. Enough was enough. Who did Mahajan think he was? He’d dress well and he’d also have a good time.
Ramchand was distracted all day and got into trouble with Mahajan. He misplaced a light yellow cotton sari that a customer had ordered, and spilled water on one of the white sheets that covered the mattresses. Mahajan insulted him, saying that he was as bad as Hari. Hari just grinned at this, but Ramchand felt the rain was spoilt for him. He wished he could have taken the day off. He could have sat by the window in his room with a cup of tea watching the soft rain caress the guava tree in the courtyard below.
In the evening, he feigned a bad headache and left early. He went to a garment store nearby, and bought himself new black trousers and a crisp, sparkling white shirt. He felt extravagant and reckless. He hadn’t bought new clothes for over two years. Rags, indeed! He would show Mahajan!
Then he bought a bar of Lifebuoy soap and new socks. Finally he stopped at a vegetable vendor’s cart and asked for a lemon.
‘Just one?’ the vendor asked in surprise.
‘Yes, just one,’ Ramchand replied firmly. The vendor gave him a lemon with a disgusted look on his wrinkled face.
Ramchand put it in his pocket carefully and paid for it. The landlord’s wife, Sudha, read
Sarita
and
Grihashobha
often, and sometimes Ramchand would ask Manoj, her eldest son, to see if his mother could lend him some old copies. He remembered once reading in one thus obtained issue of
Grihashobha
that rubbing lemon on the skin took away bad odour. He decided to try it now.
With all the purchases safely in a big paper bag under his arm, he went to the barber and asked for a haircut. The barber hummed and hawed and said he was about to close shop for the day. Ramchand wheedled and whined and requested, till the barber agreed. Ramchand got himself a neat haircut and then went back home.
He went to bed feeling excited about the next day. It was December, almost the end of the year, yet tomorrow wouldbe the first day of the year when his routine would vary from the usual.
The last thing he felt at night was a quiet excitement in his heart, and a prickly feeling on the back of his neck, because he hadn’t taken a bath after his haircut and sharp little bits of cut hair clung to the skin. When he woke up in the morning, he got out of bed groggily and remembered that today was the day. He wouldn’t be spending the day in the shop. He was going to dress up, he was going to cycle through the city and go to the Kapoor House. He felt adventure looming in the day ahead.
He climbed out of bed, stretched and walked straight to the table. He seized the lemon, cut it in half and started rubbing his feet vigorously with one half of it. He’d make sure his feet didn’t smell
today
, at least. A seed from the lemon clung to the space between his big toe and the next one.
Then, with his feet covered in lemon juice, Ramchand went into the tiny bathroom.
By the time he came out, his hemmed-in excitement had spilt over. He moved quickly, picking up this, dropping that, smiling broadly.
All the other shop assistants took leave sometimes. Ramchand was the only exception. Mahajan was quite stingy about giving anyone time off, but there were times when he had to. They all had to go off sometimes – they had places to go to, in their lives they had people and occasions that required their presence. Relatives died, there was a wedding in the family, wives had to be escorted to their parents’ places in some other town, children fell ill.
With no relatives, no family, nowhere to go to, Ramchand could never ask for leave.
Ramchand had never even been seriously ill. Only once, when he had sprained his ankle badly the year before, Mahajan had sent him home. He had examined Ramchand’s ankle andtold him, ‘It should be fine
Well, he’d show him then. Enough was enough. Who did Mahajan think he was? He’d dress well and he’d also have a good time.
Ramchand was distracted all day and got into trouble with Mahajan. He misplaced a light yellow cotton sari that a customer had ordered, and spilled water on one of the white sheets that covered the mattresses. Mahajan insulted him, saying that he was as bad as Hari. Hari just grinned at this, but Ramchand felt the rain was spoilt for him. He wished he could have taken the day off. He could have sat by the window in his room with a cup of tea watching the soft rain caress the guava tree in the courtyard below.
In the evening, he feigned a bad headache and left early. He went to a garment store nearby, and bought himself new black trousers and a crisp, sparkling white shirt. He felt extravagant and reckless. He hadn’t bought new clothes for over two years. Rags, indeed! He would show Mahajan!
Then he bought a bar of Lifebuoy soap and new socks. Finally he stopped at a vegetable vendor’s cart and asked for a lemon.
‘Just one?’ the vendor asked in surprise.
‘Yes, just one,’ Ramchand replied firmly. The vendor gave him a lemon with a disgusted look on his wrinkled face.
Ramchand put it in his pocket carefully and paid for it. The landlord’s wife, Sudha, read
Sarita
and
Grihashobha
often, and sometimes Ramchand would ask Manoj, her eldest son, to see if his mother could lend him some old copies. He remembered once reading in one thus obtained issue of
Grihashobha
that rubbing lemon on the skin took away bad odour. He decided to try it now.
With all the purchases safely in a big paper bag under his arm, he went to the barber and asked for a haircut. The barber hummed and hawed and said he was about to close shop for the day. Ramchand wheedled and whined and requested, till the barber agreed. Ramchand got himself a neat haircut and then went back home.
He went to bed feeling excited about the next day. It was December, almost the end of the year, yet tomorrow wouldbe the first day of the year when his routine would vary from the usual.
The last thing he felt at night was a quiet excitement in his heart, and a prickly feeling on the back of his neck, because he hadn’t taken a bath after his haircut and sharp little bits of cut hair clung to the skin. When he woke up in the morning, he got out of bed groggily and remembered that today was the day. He wouldn’t be spending the day in the shop. He was going to dress up, he was going to cycle through the city and go to the Kapoor House. He felt adventure looming in the day ahead.
He climbed out of bed, stretched and walked straight to the table. He seized the lemon, cut it in half and started rubbing his feet vigorously with one half of it. He’d make sure his feet didn’t smell
today
, at least. A seed from the lemon clung to the space between his big toe and the next one.
Then, with his feet covered in lemon juice, Ramchand went into the tiny bathroom.
By the time he came out, his hemmed-in excitement had spilt over. He moved quickly, picking up this, dropping that, smiling broadly.
All the other shop assistants took leave sometimes. Ramchand was the only exception. Mahajan was quite stingy about giving anyone time off, but there were times when he had to. They all had to go off sometimes – they had places to go to, in their lives they had people and occasions that required their presence. Relatives died, there was a wedding in the family, wives had to be escorted to their parents’ places in some other town, children fell ill.
With no relatives, no family, nowhere to go to, Ramchand could never ask for leave.
Ramchand had never even been seriously ill. Only once, when he had sprained his ankle badly the year before, Mahajan had sent him home. He had examined Ramchand’s ankle andtold him, ‘It should be fine
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