Rohan's Diwali

It was Diwali, and everyone was excited as always. Rohan was jumping out of his skin every time he heard a cracker going of in the distance. But he was waiting for the real fun to begin. In a little while his dad, Anil, would be back from work. Anil said he’d been promised some extra money as a gift for Diwali, and that the money would be spent on buying Rohan crackers.

Rohan was wondering what type of crackers they’d be. He hoped they would be lots of rockets; he liked Rockets, especially those with parachutes. Watching them come floating down slowly, with the burning candle against the dark sky was something he enjoyed a lot. He thought it looked like a shooting star. The city sky would never let him see a reale one, so he looked forward to cheap inaccurate imitation. Just like the rest of us. He knew they’d be a few Phul Jharis, he hated those, they were so pointless in his mind. What did you do with one of them anyway? Just wave it about stupidly in the air. The only thing they were good for is lighting other crackers, specially the bombs. He loved those; the double sound, ooni, and laxmi were his favourite. He hoped Baba would remember he wanted a chatai, at least one; even it was a small 100 ki Chatai.

His mind was already charting the course his chakris would take, spinning across the road; a few would perhaps slip into the drain along the road. No, he would not let that happen, he’d use a stick to knock them back towards the centre of the road. He wished he could kick them around like the big boys who burst their crackers down the street did, but Baba would not let him. Then there were the Christmas trees… and… perhaps a seven stars...?

It was getting dark the few stars the city sky showed were beginning to shine. Every now and then a rocket would fly up to join them, burst and disappear. Rohan felt like them, though he did not know why. He felt strangely like a rocket, being sent on one fatal mission, with a glorious, meaningless end, and nothing more. The frequency of explosions was increasing, and so was the loudness. People were beginning to get into the Diwali mood. A few houses had already turned on the lights that signalled their festive spirit. A few less festive, slightly smaller houses were lit with Diyas, and some down the street were still dark. Puja was still underway.

His mom had turned him out of the house while she prayed. He was sitting on the door step, his legs resting on the old rusty man-hole cover that spanned the drain outside their home.

He was waiting. But the sky had not yet turned black, his mother was still chanting, faintly audible in the pauses between blasts, and rockets were still only occasional. There was still time. Somewhere he heard a chatai going off. It was not a long one, perhaps just a 100… the good ones would only be used later. But suddenly being left out was too much for him.

He ran into the house, to his bed in the second room. Only vaguely aware of his mother as she thanked, promised and bargained with the god’s for a better year. Under his pillow he found his roll cap gun. It had been a gift from the Aunty that Baba worked for. Her son had probably outgrown it, or needed a better more fashionable one. For Rohan it was one of the coolest things in the world, in the same league as his Baba’s cycle. He took it out, and picked up one of the precious reels that he’d bought yesterday. Only four left. He went back outside

Slowly he loaded his precious reel, and fired one round. He smiled. But did not fire another one for sometime, there was no knowing when Baba would be back, and he knew he had only four rolls, so he took it easy. Firing only when the space between explosions was too long for his liking.

Anil was anxious to go home, the lady knew. But she had some work, and it had to be done before he left. She did not really want to keep him she liked Rohan and knew he’d be waiting for his father. In fact she was giving Anil a little more than what she’d set aside as his Diwali tip, because of Rohan. She only hoped that Rohan would get to see it all. Though Anil was not prone to drinking or gambling, you never could tell with these people, every one of them had ample reason to try his hand at cards, and Diwali was the best time.

 Still Anil seemed the responsible type.

“Ma’am,” Anil said, coming into the room, “Its done.”

“Good, fine, that’s that then off with you. Don’t forget your Diwali things, I’ve put them out on the verandah.”

“Thank you ma’am.” Anil left.

He picked up the white envelope, and the new shirt he’d been given. There was a package wrapped in newspaper, he wondered what that may be, “probably something for Manju and Rohit,” he told himself.

He mounted his cycle outside the gate, and was off, a little more enthusiastic than usual. His body swaying because of the extra pressure he put into pedalling. There was no reason really for the hurry. He had the time to relax, but suddenly he wanted to be home, amongst the people who loved him. For whom he worked.

Then he remembered. His pedalling slowed down, and slowly be began to doubt. He knew Rohit would be waiting with a year’s worth of expectation in his brown eyes. Anil was carrying nothing home.

Rohit had just passed into class 3. He was amongst the brightest students in his class, but in a municipal school that was not hard. Anil was not satisfied. This was his son, and he would not rot amongst indifferent, unenthusiastic teachers and a society that held all growth and knowledge denied it; by virtue of its own being. He would learn, grow, and outstrip the sorry circumstance he’d been born into.

But it would cost him this Diwali, and its crackers. Anil’s employer, herself a teacher had admitted Rohun into her private school; subsidised fees still need to be paid, and Anil was carrying a years worth in the envelope.

Now how does one explain that to a youngster? How can you ask him to read the future in between lines of print? Or tell him that he isn’t the king of the worlds, and they’re better things to aspire to than riding your father’s cycle... or that his father isn’t really, all that great?

He cycled slower, as he turned into their muhalla of small building block houses. The richer ones had two floors, with ladders leading up to the upper stories from the road. The poorer ones had no doors and only disused sarees as curtains marked the world they owned, and the one that owned them. Diwali was one of a rare occasions when both worlds seemed at peace with each other.

Rohan is waiting at home, still on the door step. Though now there are two diyas flanking him. Mother has finished her puja. She is inside, waiting for Anil too. Rohan watches the flames of the diya flicker, absentmindedly, his roll caps are spent, the gun tucked into his belt. An outlaw out of ammunition, contemplating defeat. He does not hear Anil coast up beside him in the dark.

The whispery hiss of the cycle’s chain is drowned out by the night’s violence. Rohan looks up, and then at the sky. Its too late. Diwali has begun!

“Hi beta, where’s your mother?”

“She’s inside.” That’s all.

“Sorry, I got late, but then you know how aunty is, and she has no one to help her, so I had to stay a little late. We want her to enjoy Diwali too don’t we?”

“I don’t care”

At least he did not deny aunty her Diwali. Anil swung of his bike and walked into the house. His wife got up from the bed.

“Uf! What took you so long? Don’t you know how long your son has been waiting for you?”

“I do, but I could not come any sooner”

“Why? Its not like your aunty does not have other servants, she has a full army of them, she could have made one of them do it. The muslim girls could have. I don’t understand this, on eid she gives them the whole day off, but even on Diwali she’ll keep you late. Whats wrong with her? And you, couldn’t you tell her that Rohan was waiting for you? Or don’t you care. You should have just come away from there. It’s not like she can afford to fire you. Why didn’t you?”

“Because I work there, you don’t walk out on the person who pays for your meals.”

“Well if she does, its less than your worth, your whole life revolves around her home, the least she could do is let you off. Rohan has been waiting for you for the last hour. And then you come and all you can say is Sorry.”

“Well I am sorry. What more can I be?”

“I don’t know, why you don’t ask your aunty.”

Anil smiled. It was good to be home; where not being loving was a crime. .

He was a grown man, she a grown woman, but suddenly she was his bride. New from the village, complaining that the oil in the city was different to what she cooked with in her mother’s house. Complaining that the city sky did not have stars enough; and he time enough. He wanted to pull her close, hold her like he used to. He was tired.

“C’mon, stop arguing with me,” he says, “here take this, place at the feet of Lakshmi ji.”

She looks at the envelope, turns it over in her hands, and looks up at him confused. “whats it?”

“my Diwali tip”

“but I thought you were going to buy Rohan’s crackers with it.”

He did not have the time to explain things to her.

He takes the envelope back, retrieves a fifty rupee note from it, and puts it in the mandir. Praying silently that some how Rohan would realise that it was bigger.

He steps back out.

“C’mon Rohan, lets go.”

“But its too late.”

“So what we’ll cycle through the city, and watch all the crackers going up. That will be fun, especially if we go by the park, where everyone comes to celebrate.”
 

Rohan is not convinced but climbs onto the cross bar in front of his father. They set off.

Anil drives through crossings where tops are spinning, whistling and sending of sparks everywhere. Christmas trees arch over the road as they ride through. Rockets go off some where in the distance ahead. Rohan watches them with expectation hoping for parachutes. They turn out of be the usual kind. He looks down again. A small girl is playing with a phul jari. She is elated. He still does not understand how that is fun, but even in his head does not call her stupid.

 Inexplicable?

May be.

He watches as two boys lay out a chatai, in two lengths. Probably 1000 he thinks to himself. And later he hears it go off when they’ve turned the corner. Anil is riding deliberately slow. Rohan thinks it’s because he’s watching too. They pass a park walled in by canvas; from the inside you can hear music and laughter, no crackers. The rich, and boring.

They cycle past it, and turn out onto the main road. Anil slows down further. The road is empty, except for a few dogs, there is nothing about. The dogs are obviously shaken by all the noise, sitting in drains and under benches, their tales tucked under them. Rohan knows what this means.

Anil likes being able to ride down the middle of the road, not caring about traffic. They are coming to a crossing, a couple of cars zoom by, music systems blaring, the music unheard above the static of the speakers… Anil’s cycle seems to deny the speed of those cars by crawling up to the crossing.

“Aaaaaa!” Rohan shouts.

“What happened?”

“Look there.”

Rohan shows Anil a mini constellation of stars, glittering, suspended in the air almost. Slowly they die out, in the silence of the night, they listen to the ashes patter on to the tin roof of a shop. The night quiet for that moment carries the sound to them.

They stand and watch the whole display. Showers of sparks light up the sky, and echoes bounce off its dome, in meaningless succession. Rohan is elated. After one last brilliant display of red and green, it’s over. From somewhere muted applause wafts across to them.

Another party, some one else rich enough.

“Baba,, how much must something like that cost?”

“A lot of money, so much money that I can’t even imagine it.”

“Imagine if we had that money?”

“We’d have the best Diwali ever, huh?”

A silence, “I would not spend it on crackers, baba, don’t you think there are better things you can buy with money that just crackers?”

“Yes, son, they are, many many things. I’ll tell you about them.”

Anil turns his cycle around, and starts riding back home. smiling.

“Even jalebi are better, or a saree for mother, if I had that much money, I’d buy her one. I’d by a lot, and by us a better house, I’d buy more money, so that we can keep buying everything else. I’d buy you a new coat, I’d buy a new cycle, oh and a new glass to replace the one I broke, and… and… I’d buy everything. Oh oh! I’d buy a video game.” Rohan says, “aren’t they all better than crackers? Ha baba?”

“Its your money Rohan you decide, but yes I’d rather spend my money on these things, and not on crackers.”

Rohan was sure he’d made the right choice. And Anil didn’t know how.