At long last, I was relieved to see the calendar switched to May. The week end signalled the start of my summer vacations. Full sixty-five days of fun.
I learnt to spell my name, my school name, my house address and other personal details. This was my exercise, my only academic related work the whole length of summer vacations. But fun was unlimited, Karthik and I had brought the roof down with our antics. It became very difficult for our mothers to manage us at each other’s place. They were no teachers, I realized.
****
Summer vacations were soon to get over. It was July. But for one reason, I would have hated this month for this month had no festive holidays.
All six of us were sitting at the Guruprasad Udupi Restaurant in Munirka. We frequently dined out together, but none of the time did even one of us order north Indian food. Plain dosa was always my order, of late my father did not even bother to ask me for my choice. He knew it was always the same.
Karthik’s father was a staunch south Indian food lover. He would always need curd rice for lunch and dinner, if not anything else. When he was with us, perhaps, he would substitute it with idlis or dosas or uthappams, which is if compelled to do so. His wife and son, maybe silently followed him; as he ordered only South Indian food, they too ordered the same.
But today was different. I had turned six. I was more mature than yesterday, when I was one year younger. What had come of me suddenly? I wanted a change. A dinner that was different from the usual dosa.
My father was the ad-hoc host of today. Since finance was not in my domain, it mattered little to be a host. Birthday wishes was the attention I would seek. I wanted more attention.
Ganguly was the new captain of the Indian cricket team. Hence he was the cynosure of all eyes. He lived up to the expectations or not, that did not matter. But he got the attention, the focus was on him for all key decisions. And Ganguly was one of my heroes... I would learn to lead. If he can, then I also can do it. Now I had an opportunity.
I stood up. This was the best way to grab attention. On the first day of my primary school,
Kajari ma’am had taught me this. All five of them looked at me.
“Do you want to go to the toilet?”
I was stumped at my mother’s question. Does everyone stand up only for that reason?
I shook my head. I cleared my throat. I began, “Today I would like to differ from the ordinary. Eating dosa here has bored my taste buds. Today I will try something different.”
“Will you then eat idlis today, like give me company”, Karthik interjected.
I ignored his question. Perhaps, the only alternative he knew for dosa was idlis. Or maybe, he genuinely wanted company. I didn’t care.
I enquired about any more interruptions I was to face. All shook their heads. My mother signalled me to sit down. I obeyed her, partially because even others in the restaurant were looking at me now.
So much time had passed. We had not even placed orders. I could sense my father’s ire.
“I want north Indian food. Simply put, I want to eat Naan with dalmakhani”. My father’s apprehensions were thankfully dispelled when I got support from an unlikely guest: Karthik’s father. He supported my choice and asked my father to go ahead with it. Two plates naan and one plate dalmakhani. The order was placed, along with the usual idlis and dosas, for others.
We were served with the orders. Karthik’s father was singing praises for me and for what he ate: One plate naan with half plate dalmakhani. Without his support, perhaps I too would not have had the other half.
Desserts were served. Children ate strawberry ice creams. The men had faloodas. The ladies drank milkshakes.
With the bill paid, we left for our homes. The taste lingered in my mouth. I was reluctant to brush my teeth that night, until my father glared at me, of course.
I had learnt to eat north Indian food in a north Indian restaurant; to be a Roman in Rome.
****
My father returned home happy and jubilated. His son had made him the talk of the town. Everybody in the office wanted my father to host a dinner, with his family.
I understood Karthik’s father had not stopped singing praises even in the morning. He was perhaps too overwhelmed eating the north Indian food the previous night; He had credited me for the change he had undergone, breaking his stereotype.
Or perhaps, his lunch did the trick. He had not brought his usual curd rice to office. He had brought rotis. This may have made heads turn, and the reason for this sudden change in his lunch.
Nevertheless, I was being constantly referred to in the office. People knew me, talked about me - the underlying characteristic of a leader, to be the cynosure of all eyes.
My father wondered how this change had suddenly come in me.
I simply smiled at him. I did not reply.
As the rain poured down that night, I felt elated; a sense of happiness. Before I drifted to sleep, I knew: Master Kaushik Swaminathan had brought about a change in a person’s personality. And then I drifted into the dream world of mine.