KGB ACT - Higher Level

This seems to be the final one in the unintended trilogy of “My Hand in the Till”. The practical knowledge gained in the KGB Act was passed on to the next generation, and how!

Pragati Maidan in Delhi is a happening place. Regular exhibitions are a norm. And whenever there used to be Book Exhibitions, we as a family made it a point to visit. On such a visit, my son and his cousin, my nephew, were in Class VIII. Now-a-days it is referred to as Grade, I think. 8^th Grade! Well, that year, we four and my sis-in-law and her son, making us a total of half a dozen as a family, were all enjoying ourselves browsing books. (How silly, what else will you browse in a book exhibition!) At one stall, I found a small pocket note book, which had various information. Like a small encyclopedia. I being of an unusual species, used to insist on my children to develop the reading habit and to carry a small note book and pen in their pockets, always. My Grandmother had taught me that ‘pusthakam’ is ‘hasthabhushanam’.

I thought that particular pocket book was pretty good, though the prints were tiny. It could easily fit into the shirt pocket or the hip pocket. We three boys took one each and stepped aside to have a good look at it in better light. They too liked the book and wanted to possess it. Suddenly Balakrishnan’s KGB Act from about a quarter century ago flashed in my mind like a bolt of lightning! I looked around, just as he did then, and on being certain that we were not under surveillance, told the boys to put it in their pockets. They said “what?” in unison, almost a shout in shock. I leaned closer to them and whispered in a conspiratorial tone, to just put the books in their pockets and to simply walk ahead. “What about paying”, they asked. Forget it, I said. Just walk ahead. They caught on and were about to embark on the adventure. “What about mummy”, they turned and asked, again in chorus. I don’t know why at such crucial junctures of such classic lessons being imparted orally by a guru to the sishyas, they have to ask doubts together and in one voice, which raises the decibel level with a chance of alerting those who are not supposed to hear it! Obviously (‘obvio’ as my granddaughter says) they didn’t know anything about conspiracy, unlike Balakrishnan and his friend, Me.

Both of them being of the same age and 'class', their expected thrill had an odd black cloud hanging over in the form of their mothers, who were sisters. Ether of the mothers or both could whack them, if they found out. Now I, like man and all, assured them not to worry, main hoon, na? And hissed a kind of muffled bark, “GO”. And they went. They swiftly, very swiftly, walked past a couple more of stalls. Being intelligent in their own rights, they knew they had to reach a safe distance from the looted stall. Seeing them going past in a hurry as if on some purpose, the sis-in-law (hereinafter called, sis), who is generally more alert about everything because of lesser confidence in general than her sister, aka my wife, shouted towards them: “hey, where are you going?” By then I had slunk in behind the family and so could tell her not worry as I was watching them. Sis turned and gave a look which had the stamp (if ever there can be one) of disapproval and acceptance at the same time. This kind of look is actually possible only by some experts, counted few, in Kathakali, wherein the heroine looks at the same time at two other characters on the stage, one eye expressing anger and the other, love. One of the characters is the husband. The sis accomplished something quite near. The arched eyebrows of this sis were but nowhere near that of the present day Priya Warrier who wasn’t even born then. That aside, there is no connection either. Priya looked and winked in love. That was not the situation there in Pragati Maidan.

Later as we caught up with the boys, we found them giggling away to glory, bending over. And as is the wont of good children, pulled out the books from their pockets, showed their mothers and told them the reason for their thrill, the secret. The sis attacked me like a hyena. “You are teaching them to steal?” and such silly stuff. I gave my justification and all but all those fell on deaf ears as the idiom goes. The daughter, who was three big years elder to the two boys, also joined her aunt in expressing her shock and total disapproval of my teaching. “Papa, this is not done”, I believe. Ha! 

I must say, may be, and because her sister and daughter were doing all that was necessary, my wife was rather stoic during these exchanges. She has that impeccable quality.

Now, let’s leap frog a couple of two years, which makes it four years, whether you approve or not, to when my son was in Class XII (it was still class, not grade. I don’t like ‘grade’ any way, which is how my grandchildren express it), in APS Delhi. Again there was a Book Exhibition in Pragati Maidan and for some reason only he and I went for it, then. We walked around a lot, bought some and had a packet or two in our hands. After some time, towards the end of our exploration, I noticed quite a few heavy carry bags with books being lugged by my son. On asking him what were all that (obviously they had to be books. Sometimes we ask stupid questions, “oh chutti se wapas aa gaya kya”), he said, “Books”. He, unlike me, is quite eloquent. “How”, I asked. “Paid for it?” with a little bit of pride, I might add, thinking that he had carried that much money, which was not a probability though, I being his father and all and he still in school. “No”. He is always eloquent in monosyllables. Even now! We are supposed to understand.

Phew! I was sweating. Or I think I must say, perspiring. But you get the drift. I remembered that KGB class and all those books we devoured and how nervous those spys got when something went wrong. So I told this son of mine as sternly as I could as a father, leaning down and wagging my pointing finger at him. “This is the last time you are trying this stunt. Never again in your life. Not only books, anything anywhere”. I straitened up and could not help remembering the backward glance of my sis-in-law, with those arched eyebrows.

We came back, reached home and he with a surreptitious but a proud smile (I don’t know how the family can come up with complicated expressions on their faces) kept the whole collection on the dining table. My wife was shocked, surprised and had a beaming smile on her face. (Where else will smile be? Stupid of me). Before she could admire her husband for spending his non existing money for such heavy, hard bound treasures (she being a voracious reader herself), the cat was out of the bag before the books, and then there was hell to pay for both the father and the son in that order! One begets, one pays! Here or There.

Man! That was enough of KGB Act for us, forever and for you, now. Cheers.