Tope’s laughter was unalloyed. He could find an inspiration for laughter in almost everything. He and I very quickly earned some ill repute for talking in the class. We used to sit together and endlessly discussed things that were of concern to us. What, for example, could be done to make hair grow back upon Mr. Thakur’s bald pate? Should he apply cow dung on his scalp to make it more fecund? Or, for that matter, could ghosts be really spotted where our town ended and the woods began? He assured me that they indeed could be. His house was on the farthest edge of the town and he had sometimes seen them floating by in the night. As far as we were concerned, we conferred on cerebral enough matters. But by the time we were in grade three it became necessary for the teachers to make us sit on separate benches before they started the class. Mrs. Mamang and Mrs. Tiwari always took this precaution. We found this rather cruel. Not talking did not help either. For then the teachers will get jittery expecting some more serious mischief from us.
I admired Tope for the skills he possessed. The way he cycled and handled the dao made me eager to acquire these skills. Tope could cycle with his hands off the handle bar and never took a second strike of the dao to chop a bamboo in half. After all, his people are famed for their dexterity with the khukri. At the age of nine, in grade four, I managed to persuade Baba to buy me a bicycle. He was reluctant because I was absent minded and accident prone. Rarely did one set of cuts and bruises heal that I will acquire another. My knees always had a little skin missing.
My bicycle arrived one evening, the answer to some passionate prayers. It was an earth brown in color. However, I did not even yet know how to get into the saddle. But this was a small deterrent. I was determined to maintain my bicycle with sufficient spit and polish. The very next day I bought some machine oil to grease the chain and the ball bearings. Not that the brand new bicycle needed the care, but I thought why take chances with its health? Now came the more difficult part of learning to ride. I was confident that under Tope’s tutelage it is only a matter of time before I am cycling to school. Every day one hour after school was allotted to my struggle with the vehicle. I will wobble down the street, dangerously unsteady, and Tope will run after me yelling instructions. I ran into cows and I ran into people. Thankfully, I grew up in parts where both cows and people were rather gentle. The people have changed character since; fortunately, the cows have remained the same.
I made slow progress. After a few days’ struggle I learnt to get off the saddle on my own. But Tope still had to hold the bicycle steady as I mounted the saddle. Frequently, I avoided riding my bicycle into a drain by a hair’s breath. Even if Tope felt exasperation he never displayed any. He was a patient teacher. I was a lousy pupil but was fortunate to avoid any serious accidents till one fateful day.
My afternoon training sessions with Tope continued for a few months. The unsteady cyclist and his yelling teacher became a familiar sight on the street we lived on. Sometimes, some other friends too dropped in to lend some courage and confidence. Devender was one of them, another champion cyclist who rivaled Tope with the range of his skills. He had recently picked up a pup from the streets and was trying to train it. Sometimes, all of us went to our school football ground. Sharp edged rocks peeped out of the earth there and the place was not the safest for a rather inexpert cyclist. But when you are nine losing a little skin of your elbows is a small concern. So, there will be days on which a strange sight could be witnessed on the ground. The inept cyclist, his patient teacher, a pup and the lender of courage will be seen going round in circles. Seventeen years have passed since and I have realized that those willing to lend some courage are far rarer than those willing to lend some money. I am grateful to Devender that he ran in circles to lend me some.
As the days drifted by I finally learnt to ride steady. But mounting the saddle without support still eluded me. The acquisition of this crucial skill had to be postponed for some time since the exams were drawing close. We decided to suspend the training sessions for the time being and both the bicycle and the pupil retreated into the house. In the month of March as the earth awaited spring and the far away peaks thawed, we awaited the exams, our courage too melting with each passing day.
When the exams got over and the result came out I was second in the class, just as the earlier years. And just as the earlier years Ma told me that if I had read a few comics less perhaps I could have been first after all. The fuss never made any sense to me. In those days I spent the summer vacation at my maternal grandmother’s and soon it was time to leave. Though we boarded the bus at six in the morning Tope came to see me off. “You are lucky to have a friend like him,” Ma told me. I knew that I was.
When I came back a month later the rains had set in. The acacia and the flames of the forest were in bloom all over the town. They also lined the street we lived on and formed blotches of yellow and red against the often grey skies. The school was soon to reopen, yet there was no sign of Tope. The school reopened and we all took admission in the new class, yet there was no sign of Tope. One rainy morning, perhaps it was a Sunday morning because I was at home, Tope’s mother came to see Ma sobbing. Tope had run away from home. Some days later I was to run my bicycle into a truck ending my cycling for then. I rode the bicycle again many years later as an M.A. student. Tope reappeared in the town in about a year, but that makes for a different tale.
I admired Tope for the skills he possessed. The way he cycled and handled the dao made me eager to acquire these skills. Tope could cycle with his hands off the handle bar and never took a second strike of the dao to chop a bamboo in half. After all, his people are famed for their dexterity with the khukri. At the age of nine, in grade four, I managed to persuade Baba to buy me a bicycle. He was reluctant because I was absent minded and accident prone. Rarely did one set of cuts and bruises heal that I will acquire another. My knees always had a little skin missing.
My bicycle arrived one evening, the answer to some passionate prayers. It was an earth brown in color. However, I did not even yet know how to get into the saddle. But this was a small deterrent. I was determined to maintain my bicycle with sufficient spit and polish. The very next day I bought some machine oil to grease the chain and the ball bearings. Not that the brand new bicycle needed the care, but I thought why take chances with its health? Now came the more difficult part of learning to ride. I was confident that under Tope’s tutelage it is only a matter of time before I am cycling to school. Every day one hour after school was allotted to my struggle with the vehicle. I will wobble down the street, dangerously unsteady, and Tope will run after me yelling instructions. I ran into cows and I ran into people. Thankfully, I grew up in parts where both cows and people were rather gentle. The people have changed character since; fortunately, the cows have remained the same.
I made slow progress. After a few days’ struggle I learnt to get off the saddle on my own. But Tope still had to hold the bicycle steady as I mounted the saddle. Frequently, I avoided riding my bicycle into a drain by a hair’s breath. Even if Tope felt exasperation he never displayed any. He was a patient teacher. I was a lousy pupil but was fortunate to avoid any serious accidents till one fateful day.
My afternoon training sessions with Tope continued for a few months. The unsteady cyclist and his yelling teacher became a familiar sight on the street we lived on. Sometimes, some other friends too dropped in to lend some courage and confidence. Devender was one of them, another champion cyclist who rivaled Tope with the range of his skills. He had recently picked up a pup from the streets and was trying to train it. Sometimes, all of us went to our school football ground. Sharp edged rocks peeped out of the earth there and the place was not the safest for a rather inexpert cyclist. But when you are nine losing a little skin of your elbows is a small concern. So, there will be days on which a strange sight could be witnessed on the ground. The inept cyclist, his patient teacher, a pup and the lender of courage will be seen going round in circles. Seventeen years have passed since and I have realized that those willing to lend some courage are far rarer than those willing to lend some money. I am grateful to Devender that he ran in circles to lend me some.
As the days drifted by I finally learnt to ride steady. But mounting the saddle without support still eluded me. The acquisition of this crucial skill had to be postponed for some time since the exams were drawing close. We decided to suspend the training sessions for the time being and both the bicycle and the pupil retreated into the house. In the month of March as the earth awaited spring and the far away peaks thawed, we awaited the exams, our courage too melting with each passing day.
When the exams got over and the result came out I was second in the class, just as the earlier years. And just as the earlier years Ma told me that if I had read a few comics less perhaps I could have been first after all. The fuss never made any sense to me. In those days I spent the summer vacation at my maternal grandmother’s and soon it was time to leave. Though we boarded the bus at six in the morning Tope came to see me off. “You are lucky to have a friend like him,” Ma told me. I knew that I was.
When I came back a month later the rains had set in. The acacia and the flames of the forest were in bloom all over the town. They also lined the street we lived on and formed blotches of yellow and red against the often grey skies. The school was soon to reopen, yet there was no sign of Tope. The school reopened and we all took admission in the new class, yet there was no sign of Tope. One rainy morning, perhaps it was a Sunday morning because I was at home, Tope’s mother came to see Ma sobbing. Tope had run away from home. Some days later I was to run my bicycle into a truck ending my cycling for then. I rode the bicycle again many years later as an M.A. student. Tope reappeared in the town in about a year, but that makes for a different tale.
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