Magical world of Malgudi

WHEN I was around eight or nine-years-old, I was fascinated by a pair of white and blue glass marbles. The boy who owned the marbles demanded two annas. I pestered my mother for two annas without success. We were not allowed to handle money at home and I already had dozens of marbles.

I could not forget the marbles. I dreamt of them. But mother remained unmoved. The only way left was to approach God. I prayed fervently. But that was not enough. I picked up two clean pebbles, placed them in a small cardboard box along with some flowers and kept it in the puja room. For nearly an hour that night I prayed to God for a miracle to convert the pebbles into the blue and white glass marbles or a two anna coin. I promised God I would study hard, obey my parents, visit the temple regularly.

The bargain with God was a failure. The next morning, when I opened the cardboard box with a prayer on my lips, the pebbles remained pebbles. My faith in God was shaken and I threw away the box and the pebbles. But fearing divine wrath, I sought forgiveness from God and gave the box a decent burial.

Ready cash was always a problem while growing up. Parents believed that children should never handle money, because everything we needed was provided at home. Father often bought Huntley Palmers biscuits and Cadbury's chocolates, but I longed for arai (half) anna to buy the local sweet kamarkat which was sold outside the school. The desire to handle money and buy things on one's own, grew. The jingle of coins in the palm was a sore temptation.

On the eve of an examination, I made a list of items needed for the ordeal. Ruled and plain paper, pencils, pen nibs, ink, eraser and so on and submitted it to father. "I need about two rupees," I told him. "These are things needed for my examinations." Father glanced quickly through the list and snorted. "You don't have to buy any of these," he replied. "Everything is available at home or I can get it for you from the office. Now, go and study and don't waste your time." The precious list found its way into the waster paper basket.

Do these anecdotes ring a bell? Some years later, I read the same happenings in R.K.Narayan's wonderful first novel, Swami and Friends. I understood Swami, the novel's hero, and he became close to me. The association with R.K. Narayan which began with Swami continued and I found parallels from my life in his next book, The Bachelor of Arts.

I must have read both books at least 15 times each and still find them fresh. This was mainly because I could identify myself totally, first with Swami and then with Chandran. The college scenes in the second book were exactly what I experienced during my years in Ernakulam Maharaja's College and later at Palakkadu's Government Victoria College. Like Chandran in the novel, I was an active participant in college debates, revered my professors and was in awe of the college Principal. And there was another interesting parallel.

Like Chandran, I also enjoyed watching Hollywood films, where the heroes and the heroines kissed without inhibitions. After the films, along with my friends, I condemned the orthodox Indian society which forbade any kind of relationships between men and women. Strict segregation was practised in the college, boys and girls seldom talked to each other. Like Narayan's Chandran, our imagination was active on this issue. Chandran used to come across a girl who sat on the river bed every evening and would imagine himself to be in love with her without exchanging a single word or look with her.

To the modern generation, this may sound farcical. But young men of our generation also experienced such dreams. I was no exception. Wasn't I continually "in love" with a number of girls in college? Some names still linger in my memory. O.V.Remani, Padmini and two girls with the name Radha, all in the B.Sc. class. Today, they must be grandmothers. But if they happen to read this column, they will know that they had a secret admirer! How rapid was my heartbeat when I handed over my autograph book to them for messages!

These illusions passed away quickly, though in Chandran's case, they lasted longer. But I was amazed at the kind of affinity that I found between myself and the characters in R.K.Narayan's books.

Going back to Swami and Friends, like its protagonist, I too often snuggled close to my wonderful grandmother, periyammai patti, played pallankuzhi (a desi indoor game) with her and listened to her delightful stories about Kudumipana Krishna whose tuft of hair rained money when shaken or the naughty jackal which disguised itself as a brahmin and married some of the village girls! Like Swami and his friends, my friends and I organised a cricket team, thought of ordering the kit from a Madras firm and adopted the names of famous cricketers. Swami was nicknamed "Tate", I was Len Hutton.

It was the same with Chandran. I am sure that, like him, most college students prepared elaborate work schedules in the second term even as the final examinations approached, but never implemented them. At least, I did not and I know of many other friends who were in the same boat. Today, my college-going daughter does the same.

I am not qualified to critically assess the novels of R.K. Narayan. As I grew up, I read hundreds of novels, but very few gave me as much pleasure as Swami and Friends or The Bachelor of Arts did. R.K. Narayan is no more, but that hardly makes a difference. Malgudi is still alive and so are the characters from that town. I am sure I will go back again and again to the wonderful world of Swami and Chandran.

V.GANGADHAR

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