How tables turn

 So the large bag on his shoulder sat a bit awkwardly . After all, he was just a boy . Scruffy around the neck , his grandmother would tell him . 

Well , it was his grandmother who gave him the bag , a large-ish , shopping list and sent him off  to buy vegetables and groceries from the market . It was noon , and he had almost finished , the bag was almost full of potatoes , and onions , and apples and grapes and gourds , squashes . Enough for the entire week . 

Anil was the middle boy . Mejo , they called him . Mejo -Onil , merged into mejonil . He was always sent for errands . The elder one grabbed a novel off his grandfather's shelf early morning , and mouthed great big words and philosophies . He would quote Kafka and Camus . Though his grandparents had themselves never heard of these gentlemen , it sounded very impressive , coming from their progeny's mouth . So , he was excused the plebian task of grocery shopping . 

The younger one was the apple of the eye . He was a dud at studies and would come back with bamboo lash marks on his legs , for not finishing his homework , and not getting his sums straight . It would spark a debate in the household , and an outpouring of family empathy . He was treated to secretly hoarded laddoos and got a bed in grandpa's room . A rare honour.  

So , the job of grocery shopping falls on Mejonil's slender but surprisingly strong shoulders . 

Grandma never took hisaab . Or the accounting . She would blindly entrust Mejonil with money and responsibilities . In time , he would excel at both .

It was noon . The shirt , sticky with sweat , stuck to Mejonil's back and seeped into the bulging bag , with a wee bit of resentment . He wouldn't have  given it much thought , if it wasn't for his mathematics teacher at school , who met him in the bazaar and reprimanded him . 

"What Onil ? What are you doing in the bazaar ?" 

"Good morning sir . Buying vegetables sir ." 

"Yes , I can see that . But you must pay attention to your studies . Your exams are fast approaching . " 

"Yes , sir ." 

Mejo hung his head . as if it was his fault that he was in the bazaar .  

He had just moved a few paces when Manik sir called him back . 

"Onil?" 

"Yes sir ." Mejo turned back , his bag swinging wildly and hitting another person , who immediately shouted "Hey , watch it boy " "Sorry ", Mejo was immediately apologetic .

"Sir , you were saying something ?" 

"There is a coaching institute , newly opened in the town .Ask them if they will take you in the after school slot . You only need to brush up your maths ."

Manik Sir smiled . A tobacco stained smile . Genuine affection . Then waved and disappeared in the crowd of people. 

Onil was mildly distraught . He needed this coaching to sit for entrance exams. But how will he pay ? 

The sum was exorbitant .20,000 rupees for six months . Where would he get such a princely sum from ? 

Lost in these thoughts , he retraced his steps back , away from home into an alleyway . "Gyaan tutorials " the board declared simply . Manik Sir had recommended . It must be good . As he was turning dejectedly away , he bumped into someone . The man whom he had hit with his bag in the bazaar . 

"Hey Boy , where are you lost ?" 

"Sorry sir ." 

"You are Manik's student , right ?" 

"Yes , sir ."

"Onil , right ? Grandson of Mukherjee babu from Hamirpur ? 

"Yes , Sir ." By now, Mejonil was getting really rattled . How did this man know him ? Is he going to complain about him to Grandpa ? Did I do something wrong ? " 

"I heard about your parents , really sorry ." 

Onil just nodded . What to say to that ? 

"Listen , can you meet me tomorrow , at 4pm , here . I am Debolin . I am the maths teacher here . Manik Sir taught me too ." He smiled a kind smile , crinkly at the edges .

Onil's heart raced . He practically ran all the way back home .

 But where would he get the money from ? 

That night , after Jhee Maa , the in living maid had washed all the dishes , and bolted the kitchen and the store room doors , when all had retired to their beds and his grandmother had taken out her tattered copy of Ramayana  , and had pushed her wire rimmed specs to her nose bridge , Mejonil , went and sat next to her , on the pooja room  floor . 

She looked at him from above her specs and smiled . He was her favourite . Not the other two brats . It was Mejo she was grooming to be her successor , to manage family , with a level headed -ness , totally lacking in others . After the  untimely death of her doctor son and his rich , immature wife in a road accident , she had looked after her grandsons , raising them as her own .

He was the only one who sought solace in her company , like this , when the hub bub of the entire day had died down . 

She looked at him for few minutes , then put down her  Specs , in its case , folded up her wooden book holder , touched it to her forehead and wrapped it up in a saffron cloth redolent with the fragrance of incense . Then she looked at him and asked smilingly "Tell me , what it is ? " 

Mejo hung his head . He didn't like asking for favours . It made him cringe . He was a fiercely independent person . Yet , he had to , so he did . Hesitatingly , slowly .

"20,000?" Dida's eyes widened incredulously as she whispered . "It is a lot of money Bubai." She whispered , because she knew Mejonil had confided only in her . Words not meant for other ears . Secondly , she didn't want to wake her short tempered and tired husband up . 

She called him Bubai , which was her affectionate nick name for him . No one on the planet earth called him that . It made him feel very special . 

"I know , it is Dida ." He said apologetically . Dida looked at him for a fraction of a second ,  then went about locking the Pooja room door , in complete  business -like manner . 

"I will tell you later ." She whispered , almost furtively , as she crossed him. "Now , go and sleep." 

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