My India 6 - 1950-55

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One morning in Nellore, about 1953, I was stunned by the loud whisper of an uncle of mine: "Waterbury Compound has vanished into the Black Market".

I still recall the feverish impact of this statement on my young imagination, although I didn't care to know what that Compound was and why it did that vanishing trick. The very existence of such a frightening place as the 'Black Market' gripped me for days on end.

Now I know that 'Black Market' is a necessary adjunct of Nehru's SPS (Socialistic Pattern of the Society).

But before going into this colorful Variant Market, let me enumerate the prevailing Market Forces in oue somnolent Village Life around 1953. I think it is safe to define Market Forces as the interaction between us, the Consumer Family, and the various Producers of Goods and Services in our Village:

First the Service Sector:

Typical early morning of the Pongal vacation. Pleasantly cold with that urge for an extra ten minutes of snooze.

I am woken up rudely by my mother: The servant maid, Lingi, a tribal girl of about 25 hasn't yet truned up. There seems to be a guest or two expected by the noon and it would be a bad start for the day if Mother had to do the dishes and washing herself, instead of looking after the bonus cooking for the honored guest.

I am ordered to go to Lingi's tribal hamlet nearby and fetch her. I get up cursing and take what turns out to be an exhilarating morning walk of ten minutes (everything in the Village is ten minutes or less away).

I approach her closed hut and bawl: "Lingi, Lingi!"

There is a stir and a tiff, and I hear her: "Get along Babu, I'll be right behind you in a minute".

I walk back and on my way am stopped by a friend who was waiting to show off his new Top. He claims his uncle bought it for him from Madras.

Now, everything that looks new is supposed to be bought from Madras, even though it is stolen from Nellore's own Santhapet Bazaar. As Oliver Wendell Holmes would have said, for us Village bumpkins, the very Axis of the Earth passes through Madras. (All my father, as HM, had to do to rivet the diluting attention of his Staff in his Meetings would be to start; "When I was in my Final Year at the Madras Christian College.." and everyone, in particular the Telugu Pundit and the Hindi Visharada, would stop gabbing).

Anyway, the Top really looks novel, being somewhat prolate than the usual oblate design. I mean, not the usual fat and squat variety but the lean and mean one. He winds up the thread, flings it into the air and catches it on his palm. It looks colorful, but nothing new except the noise it and its owner make. One has to see how it withstands the 'ring' on the ground. Rings in our Village can be quite cruel especially to city-slick tops made for 'show and tell' but not 'stand and stick' of the rural variety. Attempts will be made to pierce it full and whole by half a dozen home-made Tops all raring to have a go at it. But, style apart, strength will last: the more the number of holes it takes, the really tough ones get nastier and nastier when their turn comes; like the seasoned heavy-weights in their ring.

That is the 'Top Market' of our Village.

By the time I reach home thoughtfully, my mother is upset that I came back alone without her favorite Lingi.

I then have to go on a second run.

This time, the tiff turns a brawl and eventually Lingi emerges, her face in mild ruins, and follows me at a brisk pace.

I envisage a brawl, this time between Lingi and my mother; but none of that sort: Lingi coyly whines: "What can I do, that 'Brute' refused to let go of me".

The two 'ladies' smirk knowingly; while I am left in a lurch. My imagination soars. I was only seven or eight then, but I have always guessed the 'Facts of Life'.

I am no Salvador Dali to brag that I knew them from my sojourn in the womb; or even earlier, to go one up on him; but I am reasonably certain that every Village kid has a rough idea from his age 4 or so; "It is blowing in the wind".

I would call this the Slave Market of our Village.

In a few minutes, the milk-vendor lady arrives with her brass pot (no aluminum vessels yet) and dip-dip cans of several sizes. Mother asks me to take two paavs extra for the day. She readily obliges and makes her marks on the wall. Now, this lady doesn't know how to keep a count of the number of paavs that she supplies us in the month, nor trust us to keep it. She has a 'system' of her own. She has a tin of 'khatthha' (a fast-colored paste like lime mixed with turmeric or something) and makes the appropriate number of notches on our wall. At the end of the month she will count the number but rely on my father to do the 'computing', of which she has no idea. It is enough for her conscience if the month's measures are ok. Like I am happy when I get my 'Income' right to the Rupee; the rest I leave it to my Income Tax Consultant and write the check as he deems it fit. I don't care for the mysterious calculations of tax liabilities, surtaxes, fines, deductions etc...that all comes under 'Higher Mathematics' for me and RKN.

Just before she leaves, she will ask for a glass of water surreptitiously to slake her thirst (not of the throat, but of that pouch of cash she has hidden in her sari's knotted end). When she thinks I am not looking, she would decant that glass of water in her milk-pot to more or less make up for the extra paavs she poured in my vessel.

I would like to call this the 'White Market' of our Village.

Then comes the 'Vegetable Auntie' with her huge basket on her head.

My mother (busy preparing 'extra delicacies' like payas) asks me to take one snake gourd, one paav of lady fingers and three bundles of saag.

The lady tries to cheat me thinking I am an urchin, and tries to palm off the shortest and bitterest snake gourd, brittlest lady fingers and stuff.

Then I give it to her: I fetch my Father and she would be scared that the whole street would know that she was trying to cheat a lambkin; and she would plead guilty and give whatever Father chooses at a 'cut-rate' hoping to fight another day.

I would call this the 'Green Market' of our Village.

But, Black market, no!!!

...............To be continued tomorrow...................




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