Divya and Mansoor

I knew Divya's father had died of lung cancer two years ago. I was aware of all this because my friend Prashant who had introduced me to Divya's mother had given me complete information about the family. He knew that I was radically opposed to giving tuitions to students belonging to affluent

families. In this respect, my experiences were inexpressibly bitter. So I had decided not to teach children whose parents owned luxury cars like Mercedes Benzs, BMWs, JAGUARs etc. I clearly felt that a collection of top luxury cars and accumulation of money in huge amounts transformed kind-hearted good-natured human beings into denatured barbarians and savages. Their greed for money was so passionate and strong that they didn't hesitate to stoop as low as it could be to fulfill their dirty objectives. My friend Prashant would often laugh and say, " What have expensive cars and huge palatial houses got to do with your teaching English to their children? You are a fanatic yaar!" 

I would usually ask him, "Why does a man buy a Mercedes or An Audi? "

He would laugh and say, "There are many people who love driving. It's this love that makes them buy expensive luxury cars. . . "

"Arre. . . yaar. . . Most old men and women who are very rich but don't know how to drive also have expensive car collections. . " I said. "Can't they see small rag-picking boys and girls, men and women who can hardly earn one hundred rupees a day? Or can't they see people sleeping on footpaths on cold nights. . ?

 I sincerely believe that people buying expensive luxury cars do so just to show off and display that they are wealthy and important. I just can't associate myself with such cunning foxes vixens. Now I am trying my best to give up teaching so that I might have some respite from these so-called heartless affluent rogues. I do have a car now. It's a cheap Maruti car. It gives me protection from heat, cold and rain. If at all I buy another car, it's going to be a used second-hand one which will cost me less money. . . . and I will buy that only when the present one keeps giving trouble. "

The Roys were rich no doubt, but they were well-mannered and well-bred. Their affability was not pretentious as you find it among the hypocrites who greet you with the same formal phrases and words. Nor did I notice any stupid modernity as we generally notice today amongst women calling themselves bold. In one case, I would feel so inexplicably embarrassed when a grown girl came to her study to attend my classes that I had to fabricate some excuses to quit. I was speechless to observe her dress sense. You might say that the girl was a diamond and I was an evil-minded man. The girl's father was a wealthy film producer. Nudity is now a popular culture stemming from the West

Divya was in class 8. She went to an English medium public school. She would come and touch my feet each time I reached their house. The new culture of "Hello or Hi" had not entered the beautiful atmosphere in the family. Fools might argue that I should not have allowed her to do that. I in fact opposed children doing so elsewhere if I perceived the devotion was fake and was going to be short-lived. Divya's grandmother never averted her eyes if a lesser man or woman came her way. That very moment I particularly remembered an arrogant brainless lady and the way she would turn her back to me deliberately. I taught her son only for a few months. Their money and status had also gone to the boy's head.

Divya was not at all good at English. The initial fifteen or twenty days gave me maximum headache. "How do I teach this girl?" I prayed to my matchless Master and also to my Master's Master Sri Sai. After a month she suddenly became very active in doing homework. This usually happened in 90 percent cases. Those days my supreme concern was to stimulate the student's interest in English. I had a plethora of tricks to do so. Every student, I observed, was different from every other student and I had to adopt the approach particularly suitable to him or her.

In class 8, she did well in her final exams but it was not upto my satisfaction.

They had a watchman named Mansoor, a very loving and jovial old man. Mansoor and I had become good friends despite my tight schedule. We chatted for a while every now and then we met. Monsoor was heartbroken because his wife was dead and his daughter was married. The only son he had committed suicide a few months ago due to his involvement with a married woman.

Now Divya was talking proper interest in English. She enjoyed listening to me explaining various topics related to grammar and literature. I taught her one hour and fifteen minutes. Then I would tell her something captivating. She would sometimes tell me about the teachers in her school. She also told me about the funny names they had coined for some of their teachers. She would tell me about her English teacher, an old bad-tempered lady who committed mistakes and told the protesting children that it was not incorrect but American English.  

In the year 2018, on the day of Ganesh Puja Divya phoned and told me to give her a class. I said, " You don't take classes on the days of Ganesh Puja and Saraswati Puja. . . . " She said, "You are right Sir. . . but I have an English test tomorrow. .

I have some doubts. . Questions will come from a story they have not discussed. . . . "

I reached their place. Mansoor was sitting downstairs and was going through a book. I said, "What's that Chacha. . . ?"

The thin fair-skinned old man with a generous display of his pan-stained teeth, "Sir, this is a novel written in Bengali. . " He told me the author's name 

I didn't know. He complained of the rainy weather and let out a string of abusive words aiming at the ruffian Max whose only business was to bark and wail if a stray cat. . I was able to the dog's angry disagreement with the old man. When the old man scolded him, he would mutter and grumble about it. But today there was no cat. After entering the house, I said, "Why is Max wailing so much? Is there any cat in the house?" 

As I repeated the question, I noticed the little girl's eyes collecting tears. I got scared a little and decided to start my lessons. But she said, "Sir Mansoor Chacha is a cruel man. He has brought a goat from his village and wants to sell it to the butcher. . Max doesn't like strangers. So he is muttering and howling. . . " Her eyes were tearing.

After a short while, her grandmother Suniti Devi arrived with a teacup in hand. I said, "Madam, this child is telling me something strange. . !Says Mansoor Chacha has kept a goat in the garage and wants to sell it to Kaloo Mian. . "

Suniti Devi winked at me wanting me to accept her account of the matter:" Sir, this girl is a trouble

breeder. . . Doesn't understand a single word of anything. . and unnecessarily starts making a fuss.

Mansoor Bhai has brought here a goat from his village and wants to gift it to a poor relative of his

who is going to rear it. . "

"Ma, you are a liar. . . You take the side of your brother. He will give it to Kaloo Mian. . . ! I know it for sure. . !" She began sobbing loudly and her mother also entered the room and appeared speechless. . . "

I tried to soothe Divya and said, "You don't eat chicken and mutton at wedding parties?"

She said, "I used to. . But not any more. . " 

I was without an answer.  

Divya had been fighting with her mother over this matter for months. Her mother Rituparna was fed up with the child. She left.

Divya had collected perfect information from her friend Akhilesh who was from a Jain family. Akhilesh was not at all a good student. His supreme joy in life was to eat vadas and samosas at Satya Ganguram restaurant. He had every kind of information about everything happening in the locality. He had told how bad a man Mansoor was.

I said to Divya, "Don't you know we Hindus also sacrifice goats, chickens and buffaloes to our goddesses?"

"Those goddesses are very bad. We should stop worshipping them all. " Everybody present there rocked with laughter. Divya's face was an expression of indignation. She took all of us into task for eating chicken and mutton. . . She said how ruthlessly Kaloo Mian cut throats of innocent goats and sheep. She left the study and came back with a tin box and produced banknotes and coins. She said, "I have four thousand and twenty-six rupees in all and I myself will buy that goat.

As the girl was still in tears, her grandmother said, "Keep your money. . I will make the payment to Mansoor. . . " she said very gravely. But the next moment she took her granddaughter into an embrace. . and held for a while. . "

I said to Divya, "Today's class was wasted because of you. . Now I will go to Garage Chhak to teach a girl. . " 

"How big is she Sir. . . " I said, "She is a big girl and lax with her studies like you. . But she is also kind like you. . Doesn't eat mutton and chicken. . . . "

"O. . . How nice to hear that Sir. . !"

My time of one and half hours was coming 

to a close. But I didn't know why I said to Divya

humorously, "Your Granny loves Mansoor Chacha a lot. . ?"

". . . A lot. . ?" she said teasingly, "Ma, ties a rakhi on him every year. He gives her a small packet packet of sweets.  

While walking downstairs cautiously, I became a bit thoughtful. How nice was Divya's grandmother?

It also appeared inconceivable to me in the city of Bhubaneswar where maximum wealthy parents were no better than brutes in the human form.  

But some of my students and their parents are still in touch with me and I make occasional visits to them. Because of ignorance some are so blinded by their money and affluence that they live like empty hollow beings despite all the outward activities of pujas and prayers. I particularly can't forget a sweet-talking lady who used to avert her eyes from me or stand resolutely with her back turned towards me to maintain her importance. Her husband too was equally brutish and I knew how he harshly shouted at the bungling servants in the house.  

I said all these things because a rich elderly woman and her granddaughter pointed out to me that there were still people who didn't boast of their position and expensive possessions.

Later Divya had made the goat her most favourite pet. She had given a smart name to her goat. It was Prince. She spent much of her leisure in the goat's company. Later Divya studied MBBS and got the job of a doctor in a well-known hospital. She was in touch with me. I sent my drawings and paintings to her WhatsApp account. When a book of mine got published she would know about it instantly and called me for a copy. It was coincidental that she married a boy whose sister I had taught for a year. I had to attend their wedding banquet and had the occasion to ask her, "What about your poor goat Prince?" She had promptly replied:"Sir, Prince is with me now. . " Her husband Bhawani Shankar had taken the goat to his official residence at Rasool Gaad. Bhawani was a chartered accountant with a semi-government business organization. I recalled how the boy's mother would complain about her son to me about his habit of getting up late in the morning. I was also sad to know Mansoor Chacha had passed away peacefully. .

When I narrated this story to my city-bred daughter, she was not convinced. My mother who was living then had talked about her goat Buddhu who used to fight with my younger brother for his share of the milk from my mother. I remember how the goat would leave no chance to suck milk from mother any moment anywhere Buddhu found it opportune.

She would find it quite embarrassing most of the time.