CANDID DAYS
To keep hope alive some believe in everything and try every method to survive. It is the human fear for the unknown and the urge to avoid pain and suffering that prompt mortals into strange practices that defies rationality and logic.
During the 60s and early 70s I had a friend and neighbour. His name was Pentappa. The name literally means son of the garbage heap. To save himself from constant embarrassment in social circles he changed his name as Prem Raj. In those early days the infant mortality was high and survival of the child was believed as providential. The medical facilities were not easily available and few were the medicines available and administered to the mother and child. The pre and post natal care in ‘Zachgi Khana’ or Govt. Maternity Hospital was woeful. In such a situation this boy was born while all the earlier issues born to his parents could not survive or were stillborn.
His parents became dejected and resigned themselves to their fate. When his mother conceived yet again they braced themselves to see another infant dying sooner or later. They hit upon the cruel idea, of course with a heavy heart and full of grief that as soon as the delivery takes place the infant was taken straight away and placed on a garbage heap taking it to be dead and if it was still alive and kicking on the heap, that means the child will have more years on earth. Fortunately he survived and he was named Pentappa as gratitude to the garbage heap for the miracle. The name sounds like an antithesis to Modi ji’s Swachh Bharat mission.
This dwija or twice born, that is born to his biological mother and to the garbage heap lived from a child to a boy and was studying in the high school when we became friends. He was a few years older. We resided in the same locality for over a decade.
Prem was not much interested in studies but kept himself posted with information on cinemas and heroes. He used to read a number of Film Magazines in English like StarDust, Star & Style, Picture Post, Filmfare, Screen etc., and some cinema periodicals in Hindi like Madhuri by purchasing them regularly. He used to give all the magazines to me and that in fact was instrumental in enriching my filmy knowledge. He was more a hindi film buff.
We used to fly kites in the festival season of Sankranti and those days were adventurous with fun and excitement.
Prem was living with his maternal uncle’s family and was assisting in their flourishing sweet shop cum hotel business. He was managing the cash counter and the money. The hotel was a popular landmark in that part of the city. His uncle was taking care of his nephew, fulfilling all his needs. All this including the possibility of marrying his uncle’s good looking only daughter, could not lure him to be obedient. He parted ways with them in search of freedom. What he gained in life I don’t know.
When a new film was released Prem would definitely not miss watching. We together watched a number of Hindi movies as his uncle was particular that I should give him company by meeting the ticket and conveyance expenses for both of us. Normally the money was just sufficient for the higher class ticket cost and rickshaw fare and sometimes for a snack during intermission.
Prem seemed to be unhappy at the restrictions of living with his rich uncle and he used to say that personal freedom was more important than the comforts that he was having there. One day the adventure of Prem scared me out of my wits. As decided and arranged by his uncle we were supposed to watch the movie ‘Anmol Moti’ starring Jitender and Babita released sometime in 1969. Prem was more interested to watch the old movie ‘Phool Aur Patthar’ released a few years earlier but was re-running in a far away theatre. He had no courage to tell his uncle but meekly nodded and accepted the money given by him, calculated for the distance of the cinema talkies. A cycle rickshaw was arranged to drop us at the talkies where ‘Anmol Moti’ was screened. We had no extra money in our pockets. As soon as the rickshaw puller left, lest he may report our transgression to his uncle, Prem insisted that we take an auto and rush to the cinema hall in a neighbouring town. By the time we reached, the show was already through and we missed a few reels.
When the evening show was over it was late and we had the trepidation to reach home without inciting suspicion of the family members. The few rupees left with us were not sufficient to meet the auto rickshaw fare to our far away destination. After walking some distance we hired an auto rickshaw driven by a Sardarji thinking in our minds about the money shortage and how to pay the auto fare. We travelled some distance in that night hour when the vehicle came to a sudden halt. The Sardarji checking the reason for the immobility found the fuel tank to be empty. He pulled out a can from the auto and asked us to wait and went in search of a petrol bunk and surely it was nowhere near. It was a high road on a bund and another parallel road runs down many stairs below. The lower road wore a deserted look at that night hour and looked awry more with our inner fear.
We waited in the auto for a few minutes and seeing the Sardarji going out of sight Prem said, “Come ! let us run into the road below and continue as far as we can till we reach the intersection and from there we can hire another auto. The Sardarji will not be able to find us in the darkness and this was a God sent opportunity to us !”
I thought it prudent to follow him rather than falling in the eyes of the fierce looking Sardarji. The athletic feat on that day was not without its effect on my limbs. Who actually ran faster I do not remember.
Another of his escapades was running away from home to work in films. One day without the knowledge of anybody Prem and his prodigal cousin pocketing some money boarded the Madras bound train. I don’t remember who all they tried to visit in the tinsel town but as a climax to their exploits they went to the Bazullah Road residence of the Telugu matinee idol NTR in Thyagaraja Nagar in Madras.
The security at the gate wanted to turn away the unwelcome visitors but it was NTR himself who intervened and allowed them inside. NTR disapproved of their act of coming to Madras surreptitiously and thereby causing anxiety to their parents and others. Thus exhorting them he first asked the errant duo to go to the nearest hair cutting salon and have their hair shortened. Some glimpse of NTR in those days. He instructed his assistant to pay the charges and saw that they took a bath after. He arranged food for them to eat. He gave them some money for the return train fares and asked them to leave straight to their respective homes and pursue studies like good boys.
Years later, I returned back to my hometown to join junior college. I learnt that Prem was not staying with his uncle anymore as he was more for individual freedom.
One afternoon, I was walking in the commercial area of our town when I heard someone calling my name from behind. When I turned to look back it was Prem smiling at me !
Prem was on a business promotion visit to the Garment Shops in our town. When he spotted me walking on the opposite side of the main road he was elated to see me after a long lapse and pointing towards me to the shop owner with elation he said “Please see there, the guy on the other side of the road is none other than my good old friend. I will meet him and come back!” He narrated all this with a feeling of happiness. He told me he was working as a marketing officer in some textile company and visits many places to book orders and arrange supplies of ready made garments brought from Punjab.
The chance and unexpected encounter with Prem also made me happy. Before I asked him more details he excused himself saying he was in a hurry and thrusting a battery pen torch bearing the name of the company he represents he said “Please keep this as a small gift from me”. Pressing my hand gently he walked away.
I was touched by his gesture. I never happened to meet him again. I could not find out his whereabouts however much I tried. The memory of the candid days still lingers.
ESKAYEN
