MMS and MIM .
MMS stood for Man Mohan Sharma, and MIM for Mohammed Iqbal Mansoor.
MMS took chemistry classes and MIM botany classes . Both were middle aged , and had enormous families to support. Both thought very highly of themselves , and very poorly of the students. Both had passed out of the same college , and both had had colourful pasts.
Both were portly , wore kurta-pyjama with coat and chewed paan or betel nuts.
Both knew their subjects very well. They were highly sought out for private tutions , and used to charge exorbitant sums of money . Both were neighbours in the upscale professor colony.
MIM used to come first to take classes. He would enter soft -footedly , and take the usual pre-class pandemonium in , stand at the table , chewing furiously , and wait for silence to descend. It would , in a trice . But by then , his mouth would be full of the red betel juice , which he would slosh around in his mouth , furiously , while shooting dark looks into the crowd . He knew everyone by name , geographical location , family history and lineage. No one dared mess with him . You never knew what piece of family's dark secret would be tossed like meat to the bloodhound like classmates .
He used his paan -juice as an additional armament . He would stand , working his jaws , and grunt at a front bencher , who would obediently slither at his side and open the attendance book at random . MIM would jab his fingers at some names , the habitual absentees , and would scan the stands for missing faces . If anyone amongst them was present , he would give a crooked smile , which made paan juice dribble from the corners of his mouth , into a small red rivulet , chalking out its course , as per his wrinkles .That was not a good sign . That meant "You are dead meat today ". During the course of the class , the unfortunate chap would be grilled over hot coals, and asked every single question , on chapters he had missed . Then he was sent out , to relive his red-faced misery , staring at bougainvilleas, for the rest of the class .
After attendance , MIM would spit his spittle in the bougainvillea bed outside and return with a toothy grin and bounding energy . He would draw diagrams on the board with a flourish , large diagrams of intricate patterns , coming alive in pink , blue , green and white . He would talk in loud baritone , commanding all attention .
MMS , in contrast , was short and puny . He was lost in the crowd of students , twenty years his junior. Boys would jostle past him. He , too , chewed paan , furiously , but to not much spectacular effect.
He too, would wait for pandemonium to settle down , endlessly . In the end , he would pick up a chalk , and start writing chemical formulas on the board. That was when people quietened down
and listen to him. Once he opened his mouth to talk , his words would come out in squeaky , high pitched , desperate pleas . They would almost invariably drown in an avalanche of cat-calls , from the back -benches, inhabited by hoodlums.
He would hastily draw a few more diagrams , write few more reactions , and withdraw , almost in tears.
Madurima , a bengali fighter , would always sit , in the front row , for MMS 's classes . She was one of the few to sit in the front bench , of both MIM's and MMS's classes . She was a bright student , and she took private tutions from both these teachers . In MMS's classes , her notebook would be covered with small red dots of MMS's "pirki", which he held onto , like vengeance . Spraying them onto arms , faces , and notebooks of front-benchers . This was the reason , no one sat in the front bench of his classes.
Madurima sat because she couldn't hear anything , behind. The law-breakers, would sit behind , hooting and howling at his back , with impunity. Madurima had to wear full-sleeved dresses , in the heights of summer , and cover her face with dupatta. She also drew large circles around dots of spittle, and steered clear of them while writing notes . This gave her notes a moth -eaten appearance .
Legend has it that , once , after a lengthy , squeaky explanation , when MMS turned back , the entire class had emptied itself , except Madurima , on the first bench , sitting like a belly-dancer , with a chintz-dupatta wound around her face , blinking sympathetically .
MMS is said to have squeaked -"Aap akeli kyon baithin hain , aap bhi chale jayiyee."(Why are you sitting alone ? You too go out .)
Kids went to great lengths to avoid MMS's classes. From putting fake attendances , to actually running away . For guys with bikes , it was easier and faster . For girls , whose only mode of transport was the slow-moving , highly visible rickshaw , it was more difficult.
Many a time , MMS would be seen huffing back to college on his bicycle , with a rickshaw load of sullen girls trailing behind him , whom he had caught , in half-flight from his ignominious classes.
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What MMS lacked in personal charisma , he made up in cunning . Where MIM's classes , whether in college or at home , was jam-packed , MMS's classes , specially , in the college , were sparsely attended . The grapevine said , he took lousy classes , on purpose , so that the attendance at his home tutions perked up . This was true , to some extent . Madurima's moth -eaten notes continued to circulate , amongst the mark-seekers.
All that changed , one spring , in 1992. MIM's son , the junior MAZ ( Mohd. Azhar Zama) joined him. A fresh postgraduate in chemistry , from a reputed college, he brought vibrant freshness , to the dull chemistry department . The Principal, Mr. Saha introduced him "as a bright young spark". It was a condescending remark , expected from a person who is your fathers' boss , but MAZ smiled , and the girls swooned . When he smiled , his cheeks revealed dimples , and everyone lost track of what was being said . He had rippling biceps , and very soon , students of both gender , sat open-mouthed during his lectures . No one remembers his classes for its substance , so much , as for the sheer eye-candiness of his presence . His cologne would linger in the college corridors , long after he had passed.
Every nuclear blitz has a fallout , and the arrival of MAZ, swept MMS to the sidelines . His popularity dropped further , and even his tution students abandoned him . As MAZ started his own tution classes.
MMS withdrew into his shell , and started missing his own classes , a crime of sorts .
The college board promoted the more present , and , of course, visible , MAZ, as the HOD of Chemistry Department. It was an ugly coup . MMS sulked and took a long leave . It was the month of October , the festivities for Dusshera had begun , and MMS , being brahmin , had a valid excuse for a long holiday.
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This was 1992, and a political leader of national repute had suddenly decided to hold a rath yatra , worshipping bricks , for the building of a controversial temple. He left a trail of unprecedented communal violence in his wake. The air was seething with communal hatred .
Into this charged atmosphere , MMS decided to hold a massive pooja in his mohalla , which incidentally , was right next door to MIM's house . On the tenth day of the festivities , a huge statue of Goddess Durga rolled out from the colony , with MMS at the mike , all his shyness gone , screaming strident war cries from atop the Durga -filled truck . "Jai Shri Ram " rent the air , and beat a tattoo of terrible fear into the hearts of his neighbours.
Students who saw MMS in this avatar , couldn't believe their eyes . He was either gone or on the way to frank insanity , opined most of them . Bare bodied except for a saffron dhoti , around his waist , his forehead smeared with the cream of chandan , and red of vermillion , his hair askew , eyes bloodshot , screaming hoarse into the microphone, Madhurima nailed it when she said simply , that sir was "drunk " , on "religion".
It was not mere coincidence that the truck lingered , nail-bitingly , in front of MIM's house for full 30 min , before the SP arrived in his jeep , and shooed the revellers away .
Two days before diwali , the "rath" was to roll into our town. Our sleepy , bucolic , town had suddenly discovered an ugly , bloodthirsty, monster in their midst , and it was raring to go .
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In the aftermath of the rath yatra, riots rocked our town , endless curfew was clamped on our town ,and exams postponed by six months .
MIM's swanky bungalow was vandalised , and burnt to the ground , under the supervision of MMS.
But the bungalow had been emptied of its human occupants . There was no one when the torch bearing rioters arrived , with MMS at their head , sloganeering .
They had been alerted in advance and had made good their escape , where to , no one knew . Some said , the college biker's gang , had helped them escape . Some said , their house had a hidden basement . No one knew the truth.
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A small non-descript boy delivered" paans ", to both the households . His name was "Munna". No one knew if he belonged to this religion , or that . He was , you see, just "Munna". The shop stood at the fork in the road , where it led to both the houses .
Whenever Munna took paans to the professors' houses , he took two packets of prepared paans , one for MMS's home , another for MIM's home . This was during the peaceful times. Two days after the riots, Munna was again seen taking two packets for the professor's colony.
One of the rioters, a permanent hanger-on at MMS's place , called Mishra , called him -"Eh , why are you taking two packets even now , re' ? The mian(muslim) professor is no longer there." He made a rude gesture towards the still smouldering ruins of MIM's bungalow. Other cronies laughed.
"I don't know , Sharmain ( Mrs. Sharma ) has asked for the other packet ."
"Don't lie . Sharmain doesn't eat paan " Mishra bristled up , and walked towards the hapless guy , baring his fist .
Munna backed up " But, but , Sharmain pays for it . " He blurted.
Mishra smelt a rat . He said to the poor Munna "I am coming with you."
"Let me see , who you are taking this second packet for." The gang obediently followed , silently, on foot . The hunt was on , again.
Mishra reached up , and rang the bell , unlike Munna who used to use the garden wicket gate , to let himself in quietly. He held Munna firmly by his elbow. The paan packets, not used to be held with so much undue pressure , started squelching , in Munna's hands .
MMS, opened the door , clad in a pyjama and vest . He didn't let the hoodlums in , he stood listening patiently at the door , clinging to the doorway , like a drowning man clutching at a life jacket .
"Sharmain !!" He called from the doorway .
Now Sharmain, by that ingenious method , in which women in purdah come to know everything that is happening out of doors , knew exactly , what was afoot . She had , in the meanwhile , got a boy to rush down from her kitchen to the paanwallah , and fetch her a paan .
She came in , striding purposefully , adjusting her pallu , chewing a paan .
All were dumbstruck at this sight. She came , looked around , tossed her head defiantly , and left . Munna extracted his elbow and struck out his tongue at Mishra. Mishra and his goons apologised to MMS and made away.
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After the crowd departed , MMS called his wife . She appeared , still chewing defiantly.
"Since when have you started eating paan ?"
"Since the time you have started burning your neighbours' houses . Since the time you have started behaving like a loony goon , since the time you have lost your senses." Sharmain whipped her pallu off her head , and tucked it into her waist . It was time for a full -out battle . MMS winced . It was not a good sign . Sharmain picked up MMS's revered brass spittoon with the college emblem on the side , and spat her paan into it . Another act of defiance .
Then she began speaking . For the next hour or so , every one in the Sharma household was subjected to the wrath of a righteous woman . She said how she had begged the rioters to spare her neighbour's home . How he , her husband, had himself turned into a looter , goon , marauder . How She ran in the middle of the dark night to spirit the family of MIM into her own home .
It was as if a thick dark veil had been lifted . MMS sprang to his feet .
"Where are they ? Where are they? They are here ? He Bhagwaan , He Bhagwaan , what a fool I have been ? What a fool I have been ?"
MMS walked round and round in circles , wringing his hands .
"Yes , they are alive , but barely . You have burnt their house , how will they live ?Where will they go ?" Sharmain narrowed down her eyes , and stared into the troubled soul of her husband , hands on hips.
"You have ruined them . Just because his boy sat on your chair."
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What happened next was unbelievable. After much cajoling , Sharmain condescended to take MMS to the hideout , where the paans were being delivered to .
MMS carried the spare paan packet reveredly , as one carries the Holy Book.
MMS's home was a Kothi. An old fashioned granary cum living quarters , wattle and daub . There were several rooms on the top floor , which were rarely visited , and was full of junk.
The entire family of MIM , was concealed in two of these rooms . The doors were locked , and windows boarded up. Any passerby could never believe that it was occupied .
When Sharmain turned the key into on of the locks , a faint rustling was heard.
A tired and grimy looking MIM peeped from behind the stack of furniture . His spectacles were cracked , and he wore two day old stubble .
He took one look at MMS and froze . MMS stood shivering , looking at his feet , for a long time .
Then he extended his hand , "Aapka paan" , he said . MIM looked at Sharmain for a long time , Sharmain wiped her tears with her pallu , and nodded her head.
MIM emerged slowly , looking like a cautious rabbit .
MAZ kept watching from a distance, suspicious.
Then MIM did a strange thing. He took the paan , and asked -"Kamaal hai ,MMS, aapka paan kidhar hai " (where is your betel nut ?)
MMS burst out crying and hugged MIM. MIM started weeping too. Both tumbled onto a broken bench , sobbing inconsolably , babbling apologies and comforting words to each other . Sharmain stuffed her mouth with pallu to stop herself from screaming . The women folk of MIM's house , slowly gathered around Sharmain, weeping quietly, hugging each other . MAZ turned his back to all , staring out of a broken window , at his burnt home , where some petunias were still defiantly waving in the afternoon breeze, miraculously untouched by the fire .
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As it went down and down
I remember the smell of smoke
As chullahs were lit at dusk
So sharp , it made your tastebuds tango
I remember , the smell of burnt sugar
as someone’s milky tea boiled over
With its glossy feel and the new look
I remember rustling habits , smell of soap
Rosary at the waist , swinging at each step