Hero Ranger

“K.Gajendranath, 9th class D section, roll number 36” the handwritten label read when I handed over my quarterly exams progress report to my dad.

Dad was wearing a checkered blue-yellow-black lungi, sat on the couch cross-legged, a part of his hairy anaemic leg visible through the lungi’s slit - quite usual with any lungi–wearer, as time taught me.

Dad unfolded my report while maintaining his usual composure. He leisurely turned around to pick his bifocal glasses from the duplicate victorian rosewood tea-poi, we bought from bajrang furniture mall last Diwali.

Straight down the nose, dad went through the progress card from left to right, one by one, slowly, curious to see the marks first and the concerned subject next.

Choli ke peeche kya hai…choli ke peeche..chuniri ke neeche kya hai..chuniri ke neeche..Ohh..Choli mein dil….

“Can you please turn off the BLOODY TV now” dad screamed at me while pointing his hand towards the TV. I turned it off to avoid further consequences, and was back in a moment, standing nervously only a few feet away from my seated dad.

I started drawing imaginary patterns on the floor with my left toe, while head upwards, depicting coolness and self-assurance.
“Uh hmmm.” Dad cleared his throat, mobilizing two days’ worth of phlegm within, the awkward sound closely resembling a choking hippo.

“B-grade..hmm” read out loud from the remark column in the progress card, his face beaming subdued satisfaction.

“Not bad uh. Better than last time’s C-grade” dad said with a frown, quite unsurprised, as if preparing to say something more in a few moments.

“You are very very weak in social studies”.

I remained silent. He looked up after two seconds to make sure I was listening.
“Only 52 in social is very very poor” he said with an expression as if he was about to vomit. I became more nervous and my pattern-drawings-with-toe became even faster, my sense of coolness and self-assurance have already escaped.

“How much did that Ramaswamy’s son get? What’s his name? “ dad asked, while shifting his weight from one ass to the other.
“Senthil Ramaswamy. Same, fifty two” I mumbled, radiating nervousness.

Dad looked at me with his eyes stretched out, the eyes seeming even rounder and wider through the bifocal glasses, clearly signalling a cocktail of anger and frustration.

“Tell me the truth you RASCAL”

“Sorry da.aad, I mean, nine.. ninety two” I muttered again, nervously scratching my left arm-pit with my right-hand fingers.

“BABULOO....Come and eat upma betaaa….!” came out a shout from the kitchen, my mom unaware of the proceedings here.

“And how about that S.Ananda Gokulmani?”

“Eighty Nine dad” radiating sincerity and obedience

“There you go.I always told you not to read those damn guides and model papers….TEXT book…always read TEXT book. Even I used to read text books. No guides, no model papers during our time. Didn’t we pass the exam.didn’t we score well huh ?

“May be that’s why you are still a head clerk” I was tempted to retaliate, but guts didn’t back me up.

“Don’t repeat this atleast in your 10th class..remember it would be your board exams”

“BETAAAA...have some bonvita naaaa…” comes from the kitchen again.

I turned a little towards the kitchen intending to respond to mom.

“BLOODY FOOL …are you listening to me here ?” dad screamed
“Ye yes….dad…”

“Better realize now that 10th would be your board exams. Mishra uncle’s son got 556 marks and he stood school first. He got admission into Little flower junior college also. Learn from him” and reached out to the reynolds pen on that ‘victorian’ rosewood tea-poi.

“Don’t expect signature for half-yearly with such pathetic marks in Social”

-----
“Mummy, that day you put god promise to buy me a Hero Ranger cycle if I get B-grade in quarterly exams. Will you buy me this Sunday?” I demanded, sitting on a neelkamal plastic stool by the the kitchen door watching mom doing utensils.

“Eat some upma Babuloo.You should be very hungry. Yesterday night also you didn’t eat anything except four chapathis and two bananas”

“NO. I don’t want upma until you buy me Hero Ranger”

Unconcerned mom adjusted her unruly hair with her fingers and continued rubbing detergent to the stainless steel spatula with aluminium scrubber.

“I will not even drink bournvita” I continued.

(Mom droped the spatula into the sink) “See Babuloo…you are troubling us too much now a days. We will buy you a Hero Ranger, a BIG Hero Ranger one day, but not now. Don’t make so much noise. Dad didn’t give his bonus to me this time. He put everything into his PF” and picked up a stainless steel plate for scrubbing.

“Full cheating mummy. I already knew one day you will say like this. Both you and dad are cheating masters. Abdul Aleem got tonty one marks lesser than me in social, and thirty three marks lesser than me in special english. Still his dad bought him a hero ranger. but you still don’t want to buy anything for me” I jumped down the stool not knowing how else to express my frustration.

“See Babloo..quarterly exams are just normal exams. Just like unit test and slip test. Get A-grade in the final exams,. we will surely buy you a Hero Ranger. God promise”

“NO.You said you will buy me Hero Ranger for b-grade in quarterly exams. DON’T LIE.”.

“Will you drink some bonvita betaa..”

“NO. I don’t want bournvita. I don’t want your upma. I don’t want to live in this house”

“GO. GET LOST THEN” mom screamed

With a punctured ego and pumping adrenalin, I forcibly kicked the plastic stool, which was airborne for a moment and then rolled over a few feet, narrowly missing my mom’s feet.

“SLAPP!!!” landed a sudden slap on my right cheek from no where.
“ABAAA!@##” I uttered in reflex. With a palm over my cheek, I turned around only to discover dad was the sole owner of that slap.

“BLOODY FOOL!! HOW DARE YOU BEHAVE LIKE A ROWDY IN THIS HOUSE?” (and rolled his lungi up, showing a part of his hairy thighs)

“BLOODY RASCAL. HOW DARE YOU KICK THAT STOOL HUH?” (his tongue hanging out this time)

“GET LOST IF YOU DON’T WANT TO LIVE HERE…” while pointing his hand towards the door..
Thoroughly hurt, my palm still over my cheek, I gave a quick self-sympathatic glance at mom expecting some support.

“ENOUGH?” she said

“I AM GOING AWAY FROM THIS HOUSE. I WILL NEVER COME BACK” I declared in anger.
“GO GET LOST” I heard a chorus.

With tears in my eyes, I ran across the living room, opened the shoe rack and hastily wore my white-blue hawaii chappal. Unsure about what to do next, I ran out of the door, down the apartment staircase, just like a woman running away from her drunken boyfriend after an attempted rape.
(After a few moments, silence filled the house, except the distant sound of street dogs barking at each other)
- TBC