A twenty rupee debt
Today I want to narrate an incident, something which happened to me many years ago. Perhaps in itself it is not significant or noteworthy, I cannot be unbiased and say. And why did I think of this story now? I always think of this story- very often at least. It is one of those memories that the years going by make more vivid, more true.
When I was in the 2nd grade, I had a friend- R. A “best friend” if you please, as every little girl of seven must have. We sat together in class (when the teacher let us), we played, talked, shared our food and our secrets and did all the other things that best friends should do!
One day the school planned a class trip. I don’t recall now where we were to go - must have been some sort of educational-fun trip to some museum or the other. Or perhaps it was not a trip at all- it is not important. The class teacher had asked us all to bring 20 Rupees for it- without fail. WITHOUT FAIL. Or else, she had told us, we would be left behind all alone in the school not to mention we’d be yelled at and scolded! Now, if you remember being in Class 2, and particularly if you were anything like I was, you would know just how terrifying that prospect was. Teachers are no less than gods in that little controlled environment. What power they have, what knowledge, how good it feels when they pat you on the back, how terrible to bear their wrath.
So it happened that on this fateful day, I forgot to bring the money. I was doomed. I asked everyone, anyone, if they had an extra twenty rupees. But twenty rupees is a lot of money for a kid, and I knew even as I asked that I was clutching at straws. My stomach was in a knot, and tears welled up in my eyes. R tried to convince me it was all right, that it didn’t matter- but I couldn’t be convinced. The bell rang and we trooped to our seats, the money was going to be collected. With a sigh, R took out her twenty rupee note and thrust it into my hands. Oh, how clearly I remember it, like it was happening right now. The nervous look on her face just before she gave me the money; the hesitation just before she let the money go, and then that look of happiness just after she did- for just one second, before she went back to being nervous. I remember being surprised, astonished. I can still feel the guilt I felt then as I shamelessly took the money. The grateful look I knew would never compensate for the deftness with which I put my guilt away.
That is where my memory ends. I don’t remember what the teacher said- so it could not have been that terrible. I never said thank you to R and we never spoke of it again. We were friends for many years, but eventually we drifted. I doubt if she has any recollection of this event at all. I wonder sometimes why I do. But I do.
Often I sit re-living this, thinking about it. Never do I analyze it as is my habit with almost everything else. I sometimes wonder if in life I will have the chance to give up my ‘twenty rupee note’ for a friend, and I wonder if when that time comes I will have the strength to do what I should. Or will I once again bury my guilt and play for myself like I did when I was seven.
R is a doctor now I think, I don’t know where. We are not in touch though we tried a couple of times. But I shall always remember this incident, when another seven year old taught me a bit about the kind of person I want to be.
When I was in the 2nd grade, I had a friend- R. A “best friend” if you please, as every little girl of seven must have. We sat together in class (when the teacher let us), we played, talked, shared our food and our secrets and did all the other things that best friends should do!
One day the school planned a class trip. I don’t recall now where we were to go - must have been some sort of educational-fun trip to some museum or the other. Or perhaps it was not a trip at all- it is not important. The class teacher had asked us all to bring 20 Rupees for it- without fail. WITHOUT FAIL. Or else, she had told us, we would be left behind all alone in the school not to mention we’d be yelled at and scolded! Now, if you remember being in Class 2, and particularly if you were anything like I was, you would know just how terrifying that prospect was. Teachers are no less than gods in that little controlled environment. What power they have, what knowledge, how good it feels when they pat you on the back, how terrible to bear their wrath.
So it happened that on this fateful day, I forgot to bring the money. I was doomed. I asked everyone, anyone, if they had an extra twenty rupees. But twenty rupees is a lot of money for a kid, and I knew even as I asked that I was clutching at straws. My stomach was in a knot, and tears welled up in my eyes. R tried to convince me it was all right, that it didn’t matter- but I couldn’t be convinced. The bell rang and we trooped to our seats, the money was going to be collected. With a sigh, R took out her twenty rupee note and thrust it into my hands. Oh, how clearly I remember it, like it was happening right now. The nervous look on her face just before she gave me the money; the hesitation just before she let the money go, and then that look of happiness just after she did- for just one second, before she went back to being nervous. I remember being surprised, astonished. I can still feel the guilt I felt then as I shamelessly took the money. The grateful look I knew would never compensate for the deftness with which I put my guilt away.
That is where my memory ends. I don’t remember what the teacher said- so it could not have been that terrible. I never said thank you to R and we never spoke of it again. We were friends for many years, but eventually we drifted. I doubt if she has any recollection of this event at all. I wonder sometimes why I do. But I do.
Often I sit re-living this, thinking about it. Never do I analyze it as is my habit with almost everything else. I sometimes wonder if in life I will have the chance to give up my ‘twenty rupee note’ for a friend, and I wonder if when that time comes I will have the strength to do what I should. Or will I once again bury my guilt and play for myself like I did when I was seven.
R is a doctor now I think, I don’t know where. We are not in touch though we tried a couple of times. But I shall always remember this incident, when another seven year old taught me a bit about the kind of person I want to be.
posted by inconsequential at 3:22 am
2 Comments:
That must have been some kid, that R! Rare to see such care and selflessness at that age, but then again, kids are so tender and I am sure you must have meant a lot to her for her to forgo her trip for you. Lovely lovey little story and it is indeed amazing that you still think of it every now and then, 'coz like you said, it tells us all a bit about the kind of person we want to be. You must touch base again and narrate this sweet anecdote. Should be a nice moment I think!?
god, this was beautiful and adorable!!!
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