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Once upon a time, two friends Sanjana and Swati … Meh!!!

This is a very old and monotonous way of starting a story with the phrase “Once upon a time” with which I have grown up and found the story less interesting even before listening to it. When you were a kid, you went to your paternal village during summer vacation. You and your cousins fight for a proper place around your grandmother to listen to her “once upon a time” stories. You all agreed in if one day you are going to sit on her lap (of course till a certain age) during story time the next day it is a chance for one of your cousins. You all keep track of the days and chances you were getting, and it takes a week to get back your turn again. Having cousins is a blessing. Unlike today’s generation following the slogan “हम दो. हमारे दो” (“We are two, and we have two [kids]”) which has been shrunk to “हम दो. हमारा एक” (“We are two, and we have one [kid]”), the option of having lots of cousins is like the odds of finding a pearl from an oyster that is 1 in 10,000. Anyway, let’s get back to the story.

It was one of the summer vacations when I went to my grandmother’s. Cousins were yet to visit. So, I was spending time with Prakash. We were childhood friends before My family, and I relocated to the town due to my parents’ job-related transfer. Prakash came to visit me that afternoon and we were talking after lunch.

“How is your town life?”, Prakash asked.

“It’s the same monotonous routine. Mornings begin with getting up for school, studying, returning home in the evening, hurriedly finishing dinner within 15 minutes, and then attending back-to-back tuition sessions until 9:30 PM. The cycle continues day after day,” I stated.

“Yeah! Yeah! life has changed a lot here as well. When we all were together, we experienced so much joy. We would sneak into Tiwari uncle’s mango garden and relish a different variety of mangoes without getting caught and every time the blame went to the troop of monkeys. Sadly, since Uncle Tiwari’s demise, his son sold the land to s developer, who is constructing a sawmill; ruining our childhood memory.”, Prakash said.

Both of us lapsed into silence, allowing ourselves to wander down memory lane, It was during this reflective pause that Prakash finally ended his quietude, smirked and shouted which sounded mischievous and dangerous.

Prakash – “Can’t we relive our old days again?”.

“But how?” I wondered.

“Unlike you, I am still staying here and I know a place where we can find a mango tree. This is the best time to invade the property as the landlady and her granddaughter would be sleeping after lunch. Just follow me.”

“But Prakash…”.

“Shhh! trust me and follow me and don’t make any noise”.

As I followed Prakash blindly, train of thoughts was running in my mind with full acceleration. What happens if we get caught? Childhood time was different as I used to stay in this locality. Now everything has changed. I am just a guest in this village and came to spend some quality time with friends, cousins and grandmother. I never meant to invite any trouble in my life, and this looked like trouble. But then the way Prakash reminded me of the purity and sweetness of mangoes which had disappeared from the market in the cities, a small part of me wanted to dive in and do whatever to get my hand on those and have a taste. I got back to reality when I saw the small iron gate and had a familiar view of the house. The house is surrounded by old red bricks with worn out plasters from here and there. Between the barricade of walls and the house I could see the same small garden where we used to play cricket and, unlike older days, the mango tree on the east side of the garden has been bigger than the old asbestos house. My heart skipped a bit, and I whispered in a baffled tone.

“Isn’t this your house, Prakash? Your landlady will kill us if she figures it out.”

“Don’t worry my friend. Everything is under control”, is what I heard from him.

He opened the gate without making much sound. We both entered the premises. Before that let me tell you the background of the house. Prakash is a tenant in that household. Landlady has kept a separate gate for tenants so that they can have their privacy. This change has been made recently; else everyone was using the same rust iron gate. The owner’s house is occupied by a 68-year-old lady and her 28-year-old granddaughter. Prakash asked me to stand below the tree and to help him get up to one of the nearest branches where we could see mangoes hanging. As he was climbing up the tree, I kept looking at the black wooden main door attached in the middle of the house. Prakash looked at me from top of the tree and I could see all his crooked teeth and a feeling of triumph in his smile. I was also happy enough to show him his first thumps up ever and lost track of the main door making some noise as if someone had opened it.

Suddenly someone standing next to me started shouting at me like a machine gun was firing without looking at the other end. I was very much frozen at my place. I could feel my heartbeat pounding as if my heart would come out of its socket. I was sweating from all the parts of my body. I couldn’t even blink and I forgot about Prakash being on the tree. I could only hear “You, Mango Thief” over and over like making announcements in an orchestra.

In the meantime, Prakash tried to get down from the tree, and out of a rush, the right-hand side of his body was brushed against the colony of big red ants from the tree trunk making them scatter all over him. By the time he reached the bottom, he was jumping here and there and trying to get all the ants out of his body. I was so scared, even if I could see him suffering, I couldn’t move my body to help him. He had tears in his eyes when the daughter of the landlady asked me to leave. I simply left the place and got back to my house at the speed of light. I was feeling very bad for not being able to help him. He just took me to have some fun and I agreed to the same. So, we both were at fault. But he only suffered the ant bites and God knows what would happen to him and his family.

We didn’t meet for a few days, and I tried to forget the embarrassment of being called a “Mango Thief”. By God’s grace, nobody came to my parents for complaining. Later when we met, we never discussed the event and we carried on with our other usual stuff. I stayed almost a month in my village. The day we were about to return, I thought of meeting Prakash and farewell him until the next visit. I used the small gates to enter the house when I heard my name being called by a lady. When I looked to the side, the same lady (landlady’s granddaughter) was waving her hand to me indicating to come to her side. With confused eyes, I glimpsed behind to confirm if I am the one, she is calling. But nobody was behind me. So, I went to her. She gave me a big smile this time and said her grandmother wanted to meet me and offered me a chair to sit on. I was very nervous, and my hands were sweaty when I saw her grandmother. She came and sat opposite me. My wandering eyes were hovering between them. That is when I saw a plate full of cut mango pieces in her hand and my mouth was wide open in distrust. When the landlady started speaking, it melted my heart, and never have I ever thought that something like this could happen. She said that they are very sorry for her granddaughter’s behavior the other day. She shouldn’t have called me a thief. It was very rude of her. She couldn’t forget the expression full of shock and fear on my face the other day and it is killing her inside. To rectify her mistake, they planned to invite me and offer me the sweetest mango ever and handed me the plate that she was holding. I was very grateful for this sweet hospitality and accepted their apology. Before having it, I offered an apology from my end as well to which they both nodded and left me a smile. I finished devouring the sweetest and tastiest mango ever. They handed me a jug of water to wash my hands. Once done I offered my gratitude and said goodbye and started at Prakash’s house. I stopped when the landlady called me from behind and said, “One last request son, please don’t tell anything about this to your friend up there. It wouldn’t suit my personality and she winked at me”.

It was the most terrific summer vacation I ever had. So, who are Sanjana and Swati whose name I had spoken of in the first line? Well, nobody. Just random fictitious names to grab my reader’s attention. WINK !!!