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My mom told me that, like Einstein, I didn't speak much before I was all of 3. But, unlike Einstein, I never ceased speaking, except to strangers.
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Since then whenever someone called at the door, I used to rush to find out who, what, why, and wherefore.
There was this milkmaid who used to visit us every morning without fail with her can and her chatak measure...much suspect. And I used to go in and fetch our bronze vessel and ask her to pour one or two or three chataks as my mom would instruct me for the day...there was no power and storing precious milk was an expert chore.
The milk belle carried in her sari-tug two small tins. One had red lime (choon) and the other white. Since she was illiterate, she would dip her reddish forefinger in her red lime tin and make marks on our white verandah wall...1 mark each for one chatak.
At the beginning of the new month, when payday arrived leisurely, she would count all her red fingerprints and declare with pride: 50 or 47. And would send for Father to come out and calculate the money she had to be paid. Could be Rs 10 at best. She trusted Father.
After she was paid she would apply her white lime on all those red spots and start afresh elsewhere on the wall. And in due course the whole yellowing wall would be covered with her white and red marks and Father had to argue with his unwilling landlord to get the wall re-coated afresh.
After she was paid she would apply her white lime on all those red spots and start afresh elsewhere on the wall. And in due course the whole yellowing wall would be covered with her white and red marks and Father had to argue with his unwilling landlord to get the wall re-coated afresh.
Often on the first of the new month, when the belle would ask for her money, I would go in, and Father, busy in his sandhyavandan, would ask me to tell the maid:
"Check hasn't yet come"
And she would go away to fight another day.
This check from the Treasury would generally arrive by post to Father's School address in its own sweet time...on the 10th or even the 20th of the month. And the day it arrived, news would spread like wildfire and there would be jubilation among the teachers of the school...and their milkmaids.
Father would then hand over charge to his First Assistant and take the first available bus to Nellore, an hour away. And would run to the Imperial Bank of India (now SBI) at Dargamitta before it closed at 2 PM, and encash it, and store the precious cash in his cloth bag and would insert it under his banian and travel back to our Village by evening.
And would sit in his verandah with his cash for what he called Disbursement of Pay to his teachers who would be waiting under the neem tree.
Each of them had to buy and get one revenue stamp worth 1 anna to draw their pay. Father would then open a red book called Remittance Register and would paste with tree-gum each revenue stamp against the name of each teacher and take his signature right across the stamp...he was afraid.
Once however Father, after disbursing all the monies to his teachers, found that he was Rs 100 short...someone had stolen it.
And Father was forlorn since his milkmaid couldn't be paid and the rule was, 'no-pay-no-milk'.
Those were different times. Word spread that Father was cheated of the huge amount of Rs 100...his own pay was Rs 120. So, instead of going to the police, all his teachers contributed and collected the stolen amount and reimbursed Father before our milkmaid arrived next morning.
And, now!...44 people are going to jail for swindling hundreds of crores from what was food for their buffaloes...ghas.
And the chief of them once gave a live demo to newsmen showing them how to milk a buffalo.
Some milking that!
"Check hasn't yet come"
And she would go away to fight another day.
This check from the Treasury would generally arrive by post to Father's School address in its own sweet time...on the 10th or even the 20th of the month. And the day it arrived, news would spread like wildfire and there would be jubilation among the teachers of the school...and their milkmaids.
Father would then hand over charge to his First Assistant and take the first available bus to Nellore, an hour away. And would run to the Imperial Bank of India (now SBI) at Dargamitta before it closed at 2 PM, and encash it, and store the precious cash in his cloth bag and would insert it under his banian and travel back to our Village by evening.
And would sit in his verandah with his cash for what he called Disbursement of Pay to his teachers who would be waiting under the neem tree.
Each of them had to buy and get one revenue stamp worth 1 anna to draw their pay. Father would then open a red book called Remittance Register and would paste with tree-gum each revenue stamp against the name of each teacher and take his signature right across the stamp...he was afraid.
Once however Father, after disbursing all the monies to his teachers, found that he was Rs 100 short...someone had stolen it.
And Father was forlorn since his milkmaid couldn't be paid and the rule was, 'no-pay-no-milk'.
Those were different times. Word spread that Father was cheated of the huge amount of Rs 100...his own pay was Rs 120. So, instead of going to the police, all his teachers contributed and collected the stolen amount and reimbursed Father before our milkmaid arrived next morning.
And, now!...44 people are going to jail for swindling hundreds of crores from what was food for their buffaloes...ghas.
And the chief of them once gave a live demo to newsmen showing them how to milk a buffalo.
Some milking that!
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