The House Of Free Books

The bell rings in the usual peculiar manner to declare the recess and the thousand happy souls plunge out of the classes into the many playgrounds my school boasted. Some of us scatter on the exposed roots of the cotton tree on the playground facing the road. Excitement is visible on our faces as we gape admiringly at the new building across the road. How long and torturous the four periods had been today. We have decided to give our recess games a break today, we are waiting to hear the details about the new building.

"It is a house, a big house, a double storey house, a concrete house, a beautiful house, a mysterious house, a house that I have not seen before. I stay in a government quarter made of punctured wooden poles and planks weakened by the termites and decades of neglect of PWD. Still Papa tells me that our quarter is a safe abode, it won't budge, howsoever big an earthquake attacks it. He must be right. But he has not seen this house, it looks too good for me to believe it is real. But I have been a perpetual witness to its growth, right from the day the soil was being tilled, to its germination, to the appearance of the little shoots, to this day when it has flowered."

Finally someone has started talking about the house, good, I could not have waited any longer. "Oh heavens", Anand is saying, "Saryu's father spent full one and a half lakh rupees on it!" I interrupt, "Unbelievable!" He is unfazed and goes onto describe in great detail the wealth Saryu's father earned through his business in Maya Minarets. I am suitably impressed and shut up. Saryu is coming towards us. She is our classmate and a good friend. We pounce on her and request her to take us to her house just once. Saryu is a nice girl. She agrees asking her mother's permission for our visit.

God is great, he grants the children their wishes. Saryu is guiding us through the house.
"This is the hall where my mother will sit chatting with her friends. This is the dining room, isn't the table nice? This is the guest room for our guests."

"God they have a spare big bed for their guests already!"

"Come on, now I will take my friends to my room, welcome, welcome!"

"My goodness, she has a big bed all for herself, I have to share a small bed with my sister!"

Someone asks, "Saryu, what is the door for?"
"Oh, that is leading to my bathroom."

"What, you have a bathroom for your room!", all of us exclaim.

"Yes, Papa said that all rooms should have attached bathrooms, it will be convenient."

"Oh wonders, what a luxury, sparkling tiles, amazing faucets, a bathtub!"

Lucky kiddos were unaware that they had got a sneak peek at the designer baths which were to be regularly featured in posh magazines at least after a decade and a half.

Saryu protests, "Friends, there is still a lot to explore and recess is soon to get over, hurry!"
We follow her from room to room and lose count. Anyways it is clear that Saryu and each of her four siblings have a big room and a big bath of their own.

I am enlightened to the fact that Saryu might be my benchmate in one class but she is way ahead of me in another class. I start respecting Saryu's father, make a mental picture of  him as a Hero at Maya Minarets and declare him as my ideal. I go on describing her house to my sister and parents for the next week after which I am persuaded to give the house a short break for the impending exams.

Next session starts. I study at a government school. Students are given free books every year. I do not get the free books. My parents save money with great struggle through the first quarter every year to buy books for me and my sister. At least, they can afford to save. Free book are for the poor students whose parents struggle to afford two square meals. I am happy for them. A teacher calls me to help him in the distribution this session. I am aghast to see Saryu in the queue of students of my class. I enquire with the teacher and he confirms that her name is in the list. I am puzzled to find her four siblings too lined up for the free books. There are a few other students in the beneficiary list who do not appear to justify their inclusion. I unfailingly see the contempt on the teacher's face every time he hands over the books to one such student. I clearly see the patronizing smile on his face whenever a poor student gets the books. He even warns a few of them, "Don't dare to sell these books for cheap money like the last time, they are your Gods."

My mind is troubled over today's scenes. When the teacher is done with distributing all the books, I can no longer feign silence. I ask him innocently, "Sir, Why is it that Saryu and her four siblings who have a big house get free books while I don't?"
He jeers, "The government pays your dad for your books but does not pay Saryu's dad for his kids books." I do not comprehend what it means, yet feel the sarcasm in his every word but decide not to prod further. My father is a teacher and he must be know what it means. I can not wait to get home. I enter my house shouting, "Papa, I have a question on a peculiar event I witnessed today" and repeat my question.

My patriotic heart is in tears on learning the bitter truth. I want to snatch all books from Saryu's house. I want to set my ideal's office in Maya Minarets on fire. I want to scream and tell the world about him and his other friends. What can a small third standard student do about such big problems. I feel engulfed in a vacuum which swallows Saryu's father's portrait from the mantelpiece of my mind forever. 

It was my introductory course on 'Grassroot Corruption' which mercilessly dragged me from the innocent and unsuspecting realms of childhood onto the thresholds of manipulative adulthood forever.

P.S. “The only imaginative fiction being written today is income tax returns.” — Herman Wouk