Confessional

Father, I want to confess.

Yes my son, you may.

Father hope what I say today will remain with you.

Yes son, it is between you and the Lord. Now tell me what you wish to confess.

I have sinned, Father.

What did you do?

I have stolen, I have flicked not once but many times over. Stolen from family and friends and people outside.

Tell me more, son.

It started every early when I was very young, maybe seven or so. My father would hang his trouser from a hook behind the door. Whenever I would get some time, when no one else was in the room, I would walk up and put my hand in his pockets. Often I would find some coins. Taking one or two would never be noticed or, maybe, my father, too much in love with me, preferred not to make an issue out of it. It went on and my cravings grew and so did my confidence. But I crossed my limit one day. I had a sister who was challenged. She would put all the coins my parents would give her in a box. This was no piggy bank but just a used tobacco box with a hole drilled on top of the lid. My sister would put the coins in it and bring it close to her ears, then give it a shake or two just to hear the sound and would smile. One day I opened up the box and took out a good number of coins. Feeling rich, I went to the market and bought a cheap plastic chess board. Next morning when my sister picked up her box she felt it light. She went to mother and said that the box was nearly empty. My mother, knowing her son well enough, straightaway came over and saw me busy practising my grandmaster moves.

“From where have you got this chess set? You stole money from your sister’s gullak….you thief….,”and her hands started falling all over me. It went on for quite some time till Lord Krishna in the earthly form of my father appeared and said, “I bought him the game.”

Love can be poison at times. Had he not protected me that fateful day, maybe I would have not committed many more of similar crimes in life.

Go on Son. Tell me more.

Father, this was when I was about ten years old. We lived in government quarters which were tight on space and we lived on budgets that were tight too. There was little of luxury that we had. One luxury I was fortunate to have was studying in a missionary school where many a Richie Rich and sons of senior bureaucrats sat next to me. One close friend was Harjiv. He lived not far from my place and would travel in the same school bus. We got along very well and there were many days when he would insist that I get off the bus and go to his home for lunch, after which we would draw and play and have fun. There were days when I would stay overnight at his place as well. His parents were also very loving and would take special care of me. They never differentiated between their son and me. I still remember one morning at the breakfast table, when I had no clue how to use the fork and knife while eating, his mother gave me my first lesson in table manners of knife in my right hand and fork in my left. They would even drop me back home in the car- my first car rides. His mother even gave me some of his good clothes which he would outgrow and I loved wearing those fanciful shirts that my parents couldn’t afford.

Why don’t you just tell me what you did, son?

Harjiv had a big collection of dinky toys. These were miniatures of cars of different makes and models. These ranged from the sports cars with Benson & Hedges written on them to Volkswagon Beetle. But I always had an eye on a James Bond Aston Martin car. It was a golden coloured car which had three knobs on left side below the doors. Bond would use these against his enemies for shooting them while driving. When you pressed the first lever, two guns would pop out from the below the bonnet. Press the second and a steel screen popped up behind the rear window. Bond had enemies who were everywhere. This screen protected him from the firing guns of the evil forces. The third lever was the best. Press it and the roof of the car would open up and the villain sitting next to Bond with a gun in hand would get ejected as our Hero saved the world on Her Majesty’s Secret Service.

I flicked the car, Father.

Harjiv never mentioned it to me. Maybe, he had so many that he never missed it. I kept the car safely stored away in an iron trunk in my house. Would take it out and play with it, show-off with it to my other neighbourhood friends and put it back again. The toy was so good that I had it with me for over twenty years till we shifted to another house, possibly lost in transit or there was another one like me who wanted the car too. Today I feel like confessing to my friend. Hope he forgives me.

Son, is that all or you have more to share? I have many more waiting to talk to me.

Father, just two more for the day.

Ok. Go on.

Next when I was eleven and studying in class six. Among the many friends I had, there was Sunil who had come a year ago from another school. He was quite my size and a friendly sort. We got along very well and soon he became my best pal. He would sit next to me and I would everyday copy his homework early morning before the teacher came into the class. In turn, he would munch the mughalai parantha and other interesting stuff my mother would pack for me for lunch. It was a great arrangement and you could see us together everywhere in school. His birthday was approaching and I wanted to give him something. With empty pockets, wasn’t very sure but was on the lookout for something. Among the other school friends was Rupinder who stayed in a massive bunglow at Lodhi Estate as his grandfather happened to be a minister in the central government. I had taken some comics from Rupinder and returned him all except one…a big, beautiful comic book….Tintin in Black Island. It looked almost new.

How could I give Sunil just a comic? So I picked up one of the two new staplers Baba had got from office. These were the Kangaroo Brand staplers, which were small and cute, not like the usual big ones we were all so used to. I took one of them and along with it took a box of staple pins for the new stapler. Then I took a big envelope, put the comic and the stapler and the pins in it, and sealed it neatly with staples for the other remaining stapler. Pleased with the packing and the contents, put the same in my school bag. Next morning handed it over to Sunil…. “This is for you. Happy Birthday, Sunil.”

Sunil was thrilled. He still remembers the present. My father kept on asking me about the second stapler that he couldn’t find. He remembered it late into his life but I kept the secret to myself. Don’t know if Rupinder ever missed his comic book….maybe not. He had too many to worry about one old comic book and anyway comics are meant to be taken and never returned.

The next crime, Father, I committed was when I was twelve. It was summer vacation and the days were long. In the early morning, say around 5am, friends would call out your name while you slept in the balcony of your government flat. In no time you were ready to go either for a long walk which could be ten odd kilometres from R.K.Puram to Palam Airport to watch the planes take off and land or to go to a nearby park to play. We were back around 9 am and then in peak summer there was little to do other than play indoor games. We also had some young entrepreneurs in our colony. My first brush with start-ups, as they call it today, was to start a borrowing library. Ravinder and Sandeep were two brothers who gave me this idea and I lapped it up. We collected all the books and magazines we could lay our hands on, pulled out and cleaned a wooden shoe rack and placed the books on it. Everybody in the colony was informed about the library. They could borrow any book for 25 paise for a day. All details of the borrower’s name, address and date were entered in a long book maintained diligently by Ravinder who was the eldest of us all. Sundeep kept the monies in a tin box and also kept records of our daily collection.

It was so far so good but in some time we realized our readership had declined as people did not find new books there. They had finished reading almost all we had on display. We had to get more books. Ravinder came up with a plan. There was a market not far from where we lived in C- Block, Vasant Vihar. There was a book store which had many children’s books as well as comics. Ravinder said that in the afternoons the owner of the store went home for lunch leaving behind his twelve year old son to take care of stray customers. All three of us did reconnaissance a couple of times and knew the exact time when the store was in the custody of the youngster.  The plan was hatched and one afternoon the trio went over to the store. The place was completely empty with no other customer there….perfect. As we entered, the boy asked us what we were looking for and we told him magazines and comics. While Ravinder and Sundeep started asking the boy to fetch them some film magazines that were in the far end of the store, I sat down where the comics lay and quickly picked up 4-5 small sized comics and shoved them inside my trouser while pulling out my shirt.

My bad luck or my amateurish act possibly caught the eye of the boy who rushed towards me. “What have you taken? Show me what you have taken.” I stood there frozen like a fool while Ravinder and Sandeep rushed out of the store. I simply took my hand beneath the shirt and pulled out the comics I had taken…. “Oh Commando Comics….!” he shouted. By now I had come back to my senses and threw the books at the boy’s face and made a mad rush. As I was running out I realized that just next to the store was the Vasant Vihar Police Station. There were policemen walking in and out of the station constantly but I was hardly in any position to watch the cops. My life was at stake and my legs were to be my saviours. The boy ran out shouting “Chor…Chor…”but by then I had gone into an alley and neither he nor the cops saw me. Somehow I reached home, watching every step and every person on the road…I didn’t want to be caught. Exhausted I entered home and found the brothers waiting for me. That was the end of the library dream.

Son, all this happened when you were very young. I am sure you would have done even bigger things later in life.

No Father. That Commando incident was the last. The fear of getting caught by cops, thrashed and put behind bars haunted me for a long time and I didn’t do any more of this flicking business ever.

But why are you confessing after forty years.

Father, you are right. My parents and sister are no more. So surely they’ll never know the truth but I have friends who still are very close to me. Whenever I see them, I feel like confessing but fear that they will shun me after that makes me weak and I keep quiet. I’ve been living with this guilt for so many years and now I want them to know about it when they read this story. They will get time to think over the relationship….to forgive or not to forgive. I shall accept their verdict even though losing them now will be more painful than anything. But I still must confess.

Often parents in their excessive love for their children cover up the mistakes which gives the child the impetus to do more of them without fear. On the other hand, the fear of being beaten up and put to shame can do the child a world of good. No wonder someone wrote, spare the rod and spoil the child.

SS