Mani woke up on Saturday, excited as usual. Today there was no school, plus father would be off to work shortly. With Mother and his sisters busy with the kitchen and household chores, he would have the run of the house. He could do as he pleased.
On previous Saturdays, he had played in the cowshed behind the house, much to the concern of Velu, the old servant, and the consternation of his mother. So, now that was off limits. On another Saturday, he had tried to start the car, but the seat was not high enough for him to look over the hood. Once again, concern and consternation meant he was banned from there. He was fast running out of places to explore.
But this Saturday, he was not worried. He had no intention of even venturing outside. He knew exactly what it was he wanted to do.
After finishing up his breakfast he rushed upstairs to his father’s study.
He quickly pulled a heavy chair to the cabinet. Mani was not interested in the items in the cabinet – the numerous pens and watches and clocks that would come by way of gifts from the people in the village and surrounding villages, from those who wanted to meet with Father. Of late, these gifts had dwindled down, and Father had even let go of Ramu, the boy whose only duty was to dust everything in the house. Mani missed Ramu, who always had a chocolate for him or a joke. He sighed and looked up.
On top of the giant cabinet with glass doors, he could see the box he had plans for. Swiftly, he commandeered a stool, stood on tiptoe and removed it from where his father undoubtedly thought it would be safe from Mani’s prying hands.
He carried the box back to his room, unnoticed for the most part. Once he got to his room, he closed the door, climbed onto the bed, and looked at the top of the box. It was something he had seen many times, but it still fascinated him.
There was a drawing of a man and woman sitting around a large radio, larger than any radio Mani had ever seen. This was even bigger than the one in the provision store, where Mani would loiter at times, until Partha mama drove him away.
Mani opened the box, carefully, and stared at the large shiny device. There was still a protective plastic cover on it, as Father had only brought it home a few days ago. Father liked to wait for the right time to open up things, making sure he read up the supporting booklets and what not.
Gingerly he lifted the radio out of the box, surprised at the weight. He turned it over so the back was facing him. He ran his fingers lovingly over the large screws that held the radio together.
Mani had always been curious about opening things up. Nothing in the house escaped his attention and his actions – watches, pens, a compass – all were rapidly and easily dismantled. Not all of them were successfully put back together. Father had warned him many times that he needed to be careful and know the value of the things he tampered with. But Mani would rarely listen. He was so thrilled when he opened up these various mechanical devices and inspected what was inside, the wires and springs and little screws and the funny shaped parts that held them together, that he would quickly forget Father’s warnings. Armed with a screwdriver, he could be occupied for hours, not noticing even when his sisters or the servants peeked in. He soldiered on, tirelessly. As long as he kept things away from Father, he was fine. He could pacify the rest, being the pet of the family, the cherished son born after three daughters.
He had just removed the back of the radio, and was working on undoing one of the inner screws when he heard Father’s voice right behind him.
“What are you doing?” Father said, sounding more amused than angry.
“Umm… nothing, I just…” his voice wandered off, unsure that there was any escape. He realized that he must have been more preoccupied that he thought he was. He pushed the radio away slightly, not really sure why he did so.
His mind raced, trying to find an excuse that could help him. But he was drawing a blank. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead.
“Is that the new radio…?” His father asked, an eyebrow now raised. Again, he seemed more amused than angry, which puzzled Mani. It was mostly a rhetorical question, for what else could it be?
He nodded meekly. “This time, I will put it back together properly, Father,” he insisted. “You can see, I only just now started.”
His father gave an absent look over the dismantled radio. “I just started, or I only started recently,” he corrected. Poor English was unacceptable to Father.
The older man looked at the trembling boy and smiled, a half-smile. “Come on, get dressed. We have to go to the bank.”
Mani could hardly believe his luck. Not only was Father not scolding him, he was taking him out. Why, this was almost like a treat! He loved being taken to town, and while he did get a little bored at the bank, his sense of relief was so great that he would have been happy to go to the dentist at this time.
“Father, what should I wear?” He asked eagerly.
“Wear that full length trouser we got you for Diwali. I want you to look like the big boy you are.”
Suddenly, Mani noticed his mother standing in the doorway, observing them. Her face was flush and her eyes red. She must have been cutting onions, Mani thought. Good, he loved onions.
“Is this necessary?” She asked Father, dragging out the sentence, almost a moan. “So soon?”
“Yes, yes. It is necessary.” Father was brusque. “The sooner the better.”
“Why? Why should this…?” Mother was not asking anyone in particular. Maybe she was asking God. “Why should it… to us?”
“Is our family so special that we should be spared?” Father retorted. Mani knew when his father was irritated and hurried off to get changed.
“Make sure to comb his hair,” Father instructed his mother, more gently.
As he got dressed, Mani briefly wondered what his mother was talking about. Perhaps they had had some kind of disagreement. He remembered that two nights ago, he had woken up and gone halfway down the stairs to see his parents in the large hall. Father was sitting in the bamboo chair, legs stretched out on the arms, and Mother was sitting on the floor next to him, in tears. Mani noticed a large file lying on the floor, x-ray sheets splayed around, other papers… Father just kept tapping Mother’s hand in some kind of silent consolation. Mani had never seen his parents so much as hold hands, so it surprised him. After a few minutes, when he saw that they were just sitting in silence, he got bored and went back to bed.
He was much more interested in the new trousers. Father had gotten the fabric from a business partner who had been to Bombay and it was rumored to be the most expensive of fabrics. Mani remembered everything about the material, the feel, the smell, the texture. When the tailor came home to measure him for the pant, he felt incredibly proud, even though he wasn’t exactly sure why. He looked over at his little brother, Narayanan, who was still sleeping. Haha, wait till you wake up, you are going to be so jealous, he thought.
The bank was in a new building, flying the Indian flag proudly, with pictures of the President and Prime Minister in the main foyer. Mani recognized these from school, and was silently glad, just in case Father decided to ask him who they were. Sarvepalli Radhakrishnan and Pandit Jawaharlal Nehru, Father, he would have said proudly. Father barely looked up while walking alongside Mani. He was quiet as they made their way into the bank.
Mallika Aunty, the bank manager’s secretary, gave Mani a big smile and took him away to her desk while Father went into the manager’s office. Mallika Aunty gave Mani some puzzles to play with, which was what he usually did until Father came out and they left the bank.
But this time, he had only been at her desk for a few minutes when his father came out and beckoned him into the Manager’s office. Mani was stumped. He had never been inside the Manager’s office and had always assumed it was off limits to him, a child of eleven.
The inside of the office was cool, with two large fans doing their work to offset the temperature outside. Father took his hand and led him to the chairs in front of the manager’s desk. He sat down in one and motioned Mani to do the same. Oddly, the Manager was standing.
“So, listen!” Father was somber, as was his nature when he wanted to make a serious point. “This is my son, Mani. He is eleven years old. Next year he will be twelve.”
Mani looked at the manager, who was holding back some great emotion with his lips pursed, nodding.
“I don’t want you to treat him like a child when he starts coming here next year,” father said. “Is that clear?”
“Yes, Shankar Iyer,” the manager said. “Is it really necessary?”
“Stop asking me that. He will be in charge of everything that I have been in charge of. I don’t want anyone to deny him anything because of his age.”
Mani could not understand why his father was saying all this. What was Father going to do if Mani was going to handle the bank? It was all very puzzling.
“I’ve talked to the lawyer, and here is all the needed paperwork.” Father handed over some sheets to the manager.
The manager pushed over some papers with large boxes at the bottom and handed Mani a pen. “Please sign on the X, Mani er… Sir,” he mumbled.
SIR?! Mani couldn’t understand why the elderly manager would call him sir. He looked at his father for a response and saw him smiling slightly. If it was ok to Father, it was ok to Mani as well.
Mani looked at the manager’s face, still unsure about it all. The manager was an old man, probably even older than father. He could not make out what expression the manager’s eyes held, though.
Now the manager turned to look at the young boy who stood at attention with a puzzled look on his face. Mani noticed a wooden elephant on the manager’s table, like the one Shiva had bought at the fair last year. Mani loved elephants; he had dropped subtle and not so subtle hints to both Mother and Father about getting one of these toys for himself, but thus far he had not been rewarded with anything. He reached out and stroked the toy elephant.
“Kanna, do you want it?” His father’s voice was kind, unusually so.
Mani looked up. He had expected his father to be angry, maybe stern, but not gentle. Definitely not this gentle. He nodded.
His father looked at the manager, patting Mani’s head. The manager picked up the doll and handed it to him.
“Here, have it Mani,” He sounded choked, as if he were about to cry. It was all very puzzling to Mani, but he was not one to question his luck.
He couldn’t wait to show this to his friends, especially that braggart Vishnu, who always carried around his old, broken toy elephant from years ago, now missing half a trunk and with only three legs.
Photo by Anita Jankovic on Unsplash
