Skip to main content

Adventures of Piklu: Interview

“…OK, very good, now tell me how many wheels are there in a rickshaw?
--Three.

“Hmmm…pretty impressive,” observed one teacher. “This boy is clever,” said the aunty in yellow saree. “Pesky,” opined another. “Pre-posterous,” was the final verdict of the head-aunty.

“Who is the Prime Minister of India?”

Piklu gave the right answer. Among the applause by the teachers, the head-mistress came to the conclusion that this boy was too clever. For the rest of his life in that school this head-mistress would scrutinize his every move. Piklu was too small to realize all these. He was looking for a lee-way to escape this fierce pairs of eyes. The birds were chirping outside. This time Khudi must be kicking the football and rolling on the mud. Why he needs to study in a school afterall? Soon he got lost in all these thoughts.

“What is your father’s name?” thundered the headmistress.

Piklu was looking at the nearby sunset. Two squirrels were busy cracking nuts there. Squirrels never fight. They always share their food. They jump, dance playfully, catch each other and quickly disappear into the palm tree-top to have a first hand look into the world. They are the happiest and jolliest animals in this world. Squirrels are Piklu’s favourite.

“I said what your father’s name is,” she repeated. “Squirrels…” Piklu replied absent-mindedly.
“Squirrel!!! Your father’s name is squirrel…” the whole interview hall burst out in laughter.

Piklu always feel shame to take back his words. It’s supremely insulting, particularly for a grown up boy like him. He is three-year-old.

He didn’t remember what the question was. Only that these teachers were pinching him now. That was unbearable. “So your father is a squirrel?” asked one teacher.
“No…,” piklu replied obstinately.
“Oh miss Pamela, why don’t you understand, his father is not a squirrel, his father’s name is squirrel,” explained the aunty in yellow-saree. The teachers, except the head-mistress again burst out in laughter.

“You know what? You failed in this test,” said the grumpy old lady, the head-aunty. He didn’t understand why the head-aunty winked to the other aunties.

Piklu was not sure whether to use ‘thank you’ in this type of situation. Months of intensive training by his mother have taught him to convey thanks whenever somebody says something. But NO ‘thank you’ when a question is being asked. His mother didn’t train him if to convey thanks when somebody asks you a question and at the same time gives the answer also. So he used the rule B of interviewing. ‘Whenever in doubt, leave that out.’

“So may I go now?” Piklu was getting anxious.
“What you will do going now?” asked the head-mistress.

--Lots of things to do, I will play football with Khudi and Gora, then I will have to fill the pond that we dig into our backyard and then we have to release Telapiya fries there. Then we will do circus.
--Circus! What kind of circus you do? Are you the clown there?
--No, no. we will catch ants. We will pin broom-sticks into our pond. And then we will put those ants into the sticks. They will come down and will touch the water then again will go up. Lot of people comes to see our circus. It’s fun. And sometimes we throw the ants into the pond. When they see sharks swimming into the pond they swim so fast to the shore (Piklu shows the swimming pattern…) you won’t believe it.
…I am going then. Don’t worry I will tell my mother that I have failed.

Piklu didn’t wait for the permission. He got down from his chair and started walking towards the door. Finally free. He was feeling hungry also. His mother had promised if he gave the exam properly she would buy him a cake.

It was so fast and unexpected that the teachers didn’t get the chance to stop him. Even the worst villain in TV cannot stop him. If he has decided to go, he will go. Just before pulling the door open, he remembered his last lesson. Before leaving the interview hall what he was supposed to do.

“Thank you…” he finished the interview process and rushed outside. His anxious mother was waiting. She rushed towards him…started showering him with questions. But he was desperate. He grabbed his mother’s wrist and looked for the watch. The big hand was in six and the small hand was in one. That meant it’s 1.30 pm. That meant the game was over. That meant the fun was over. That meant he wasted one precious day in his life. These poker faced people wasted his game. His mother also conspired against him. Tears came out like a cloud-burst. Before his mother could hold him he was crying frantically and rolling onto the ground.

With all these commotion going on, the head-mistress came out. “What happened, behave yourself, you pesky brat.”

Piklu stood up. Wiped his tears. Went to the football-shaped witch. He gathered all his strength on his left foot and…BOOM…what a mighty kick it was. The head-mistress couldn’t control herself. After trying to balance for a few seconds, she thumped into the floor.

It was a foul. If you hit somebody without the ball, that’s a foul. Khudi had taught him.

The head-mistress stood up, stern-faced. Grabbed the thin wrist of the brat. Turned to his mother and said, “come to the evening to take him. Don’t worry, we will give him food and everything. We are admitting him from this very day.”

Piklu’s playful, carefree life was finally over.

Comments

Patient Portnoy said…
Wonderful, Ghetu. This is the best of all that you've posted so far.

Terse and suggestive, with exactly the right amount of humour to heighten the boy's longing...
Anonymous said…
ghetu...come back soon...we all r missing u here in b'lore.
Ghetufool said…
portnoy,
thanks for the encouragement. i am honoured.
you know, i wonder sometimes, why the a child has to undergo all these excruciating scrutiny before entering availing a good quality education. isn't that his/her birthright?
i think, sometimes the eduucational institutes overdo it. what say you?
Ghetufool said…
anon,
it's lovely to hear that somebody is anxiously waiting for me back in bangalore. trust me, i am also longing to meet you all. see you on 11th. lots of tales to tell you all.
hutumthumo said…
very nice. loved the structure and control.
gypsy said…
hey ghetu...
i see ur writing even when ur on holiday!! and obviously good stuff...
kaushik said…
Well, I enjoyed reading this. I talks about life's simplicity. And I promise not be the parent to my little girl and let be.

God give humans perception, instincts and many other things which the elder humans try best to unmake. The circus bit was best.
Chaila Bihari said…
Ghetu, Banglay ekbar chesta kore dekho. Piklur storyte bapok flavour ache, khanikta chotobelay pora Sirshendur moto. Bere hoyeche
Bhaalo laaglo. Darun lekha.
Ghetufool said…
hutumthumo,
thanks. glad you liked it.

gypsy,
that's the urge. and special thanks to you for reading my blog even when i am not pursuading you to read it.

kaushik,
yeah, it's better to let you child be. i am sure you are a good father. lucky baby of yours.

Chaila Bihari,
chesta je korchi naa ta noi, tobe tomar special suggestionta (kolkatay jeta bolle) mathay thakbe.

foolda,
amaro bhalo laglo, tomar comment dekhe.
Patient Portnoy said…
Ghetu, stop calling yourself useless and post something. If you need help, I've TAGGED you

Shubho Nobo Borsho :-)
Scout said…
hey, why no post for a long time??

Popular posts from this blog

Kaun banega karorpati...dwitiya

--Namaste, satsriakaal, aadab, mein amitabh bacchan aapke samne, leke hajir hua hu, phir ek bar, kaun banega karorpati dwitiya.
(audiences in dark start clapping along with a music as if crusader king Richard of England just captured the castle of a jehadi king)
Aaj, mere samne beithe hai Jarshad kakiara…kakku…cuckoo…
(a club-shaped man intervenes, with a child-like smile, “Kakkrakandy”)
Ji haa, kakkara (“kandy”, the man again intervenes with a shy smile)
-Yes, Jarshad kakk…, whatever, aiye aap aur hum khele yeh adbhut game, jiska naam hei …(looks at the club-shaped man)
Jarshad Kakkrakandy, answers “kauun banayega karrorrpatti”

Amitabh shows Jarshad the seat, adjusts the seat for him. Jarshad sits, the chair shrieks.

--aur abhi mere samne baithe hain Jarshad n. k., from Chennai, who is a journalist with reuters, loves reading dilbert, unka favourite movie hai “chandramukhi”. And he is the self-proclaimed ‘king of PJ’.

--Haan to Jarshad saab, aapne likhe hein ke apke naam hei Jarshad n.k. now …

On Mithi

I became a father on 18 November, 2014. At that moment when fatherhood embraced me, perhaps I should have been elated, jumping up and down and doing all sort of activities that new fathers do, at least, that's what most sane people do. But nothing of that sort happened to me. When I heard my baby's voice, first like an angry cat and then a mild wail wafting across the operation theatre to the waiting area where we all were pacing up and down, the first thought that hit me was how was my wife? It was a C-section and she was partially unconscious. I should not have read Internet too much, for I was reading all sorts of horror stories, of mothers not waking up or recovering etc. I was petrified as I was not hearing my wife's voice. The doctors and sisters inside the operation theater must have been very busy with their other procedures. In fact, after bringing out the baby from the womb, they were busy closing the cut, I later got to know.
The realisation of becoming a fathe…

Let it rain hard

About a dozen years back, I started writing blog posts out of sheer boredom in office. The work was repetitive and the bosses were menacing. Not the fault of bosses as much as the systems put in place. It was a real-time world and you perish in seconds or become a hero. No, I was not a stock market trader, but close. I was perhaps in deep agony. I had left my family members, my root, my friends and my culture. Those years were the most important in my life, the early twenties. I was free for the first time. Free to do whatever I wanted to do. It was a lot of pent-up sexual energy really looking for an avenue to be released. I found my moksha in creativity, especially as my office colleagues started appreciating my writing, albeit with no hint of grammar in it. Slowly strangers came to my blog and I visited theirs and we became friends. And then I started connecting with people far away from my place, across oceans. With one I became friends for life – Ian Vincent Mulder. But that’s ano…