Free India Rising: Tales from a Changing Nation by Oliver Balch Page B

provoked a rampage by Mumbai’s Muslims. Hindu reprisals soon followed. Babu was sixteen at the time. For his safety, his mother pulled him out of school. He never went back. ‘Riots. Bloodshed. Each and everything happened,’ he says, dredging up the events that thrust him into an early adulthood. ‘It is in front of my eyes. It is still kept in mind.’ He shakes his head, mostly in sadness but, I like to think, partly in an attempt to dislodge the memories. He blames fighting between Hindus and Muslims for depriving him of his education. They spoilt his future, he insists.
    Babu clears his throat with an eruption of violent, guttural hacking. Calmly he steps towards the door, leans over the threshold and spits a globule of yellowish-green phlegm into the alley. He turns back. ‘For that reason, I am becoming a driver only.’
    There is no time to consider the implications of the statement, for in run Nabi and Ashu. Wild and impish, they scream gleefully at the unexpected sight of their father and run open-armed towards him. Each grabs a leg. With much giggling, they attempt to wrestle him to the ground. Babu retaliates with tickles and enveloping bear hugs.
    ‘Boys, stop messing,’ barks Jyoti with a well-honed, on-stage anger. The tussling ceases immediately, all three recognising an order when they hear one. The boys dutifully carry out the instructions that follow. Satchels are put away under the bed, handsare washed and bottoms are parked on the concrete floor in front of Cartoon Network.
    ‘Now, boys, homework straight after lunch, okay,’ Babu chips in. ‘You must grow to become good in the reading and writing.’
    The second injunction, spoken in Babu’s evening-school English, is said for my sake more than for the boys. He wants me to know that he takes their education seriously. He would like to see Ashu become a doctor one day. ‘For that, he has to go for good studies in science.’ He shrugs his shoulders. Neither has shown much enthusiasm for their schooling so far. ‘They like many jokes and having fun.’
    As he’s talking, Nabi pinches Ashu and a small scuffle breaks out. Jyoti gives both a sharp clip around the ear and silence returns. For a brief moment, the only sound to be heard is floppy-haired Ben 10 gearing up his all-powerful Omnitrix wristwatch to do battle with Swampfire and his alien accomplices. ‘See what I mean?’ Babu says, raising his hands in a what’s-a-man-to-do gesture.
    ‘I want to see my children become good and honest and intelligent men in the future.’ His face grows serious. ‘This is one of my dreams, my main dream actually.’
    He gazes down at his two children, who are sitting rapt as the supersonic boy wonder drubs yet another ghoulish baddy. Then his lips part in a paternal smile.
    ‘But actually for now they are still kids only.’
    Jyoti requests her husband to turn off the television. ‘Lunchtime,’ she tells the boys, who moan at not being allowed to see how Ben 10’s intergalactic alien-blasting ends. Obediently they swivel round and, together with Jyoti, begin to eat. In front of their crossed legs sit two small mess dishes, each with a measured dollop of dhal and rice. For flavour, the parsimonious meal depends heavily on a splattering of stir-fried okra. The slices of green vegetable represent the only concession to colour too. The boys mechanically move the contents of the bland lunch from hand to mouth, munching unenthusiastically as they go. The same meal is repeated in the evening, only with chapattis instead of rice (‘ricehas gone up to forty rupees a kilogramme,’ Babu would mutter in disgust at a later date). For variation, Jyoti sometimes buys radishes because she knows Babu likes them. Meat, however, remains a rarity on the family dinner table.
    ‘I’m not so much interested in non- weg ,’ Babu confirms. ‘Egg food, fish food, sometimes the chicken food I like. But chicken, I liked roasted only. Not with curries and all that.