MASTER CARD

You gotta stand up straight
Carry your own weight
Those tears are going nowhere
You got to
Get yourself together
You got stuck in a moment
And now you can’t get out of it
Don’t say that
Later will be better
Now you are stuck in a moment
And you can’t
Get out of it

U2

For the lack of better names, in my vocabulary at least; let’s call it a ‘jingler’. And the jingler was a kid’s toy made of plastic, pink in colour, shaped like a micro version of a cricket bat. The inside of it was hollow, with a lot of small, circular steel plates arranged in stacks so that whenever you shook it, it made a sound that may perhaps be better described a rattle, but I like to stick to jingle, since it was much sweeter than what you associate with a rattle. And so, jingler.

I must have been about ten then. My uncle had bought a plot nearby my house, and we had some tapioca planted there, and I was given the tedious job of drawing water from a nearby well and watering them. I dint bother about it much then, of course the ever lazy me was working on an alternate basis; half the plants today, other half next day. Still, in two days I used to do as much exercise as I have done in last 3 months.

My sister, molu was about 7. And apart from an assortment of dolls, the jingler was one of her toys. I don’t exactly remember which uncle gave her the jingler. She was not very interested in it at first, and it lay in some corner; forgotten and gathering dust. Then one day I found it, due to its resemblance to the cricket bat more than anything else, and I started using it to play my imaginary boundaries and sixes and my imitations of sachin. And each time I played a cover drive or pull shot in the air, there was that sound, much to my annoyance. But that must have been what caught her attention. There is a thing about little sisters - they may be least interested in something, but as soon as you pick it up and they see it in your hands, it becomes the only thing in the world they want. And of course, as all elder brothers are always fated to. I had to give it to her. I didn’t make as much fuss about it as I usually would have done; it was too small for me anyway.

From then on it became a part of her, to say the least. The doll ammu/divya/maya (same doll, but I remember the names used to change on an hourly basis and these three were the usual. After all, dolls don’t grow up, and so every day they have to be reborn as someone different. And of course, with different make ups.) was already a part of her, cuddled in her right hand wherever she went. And with the jingler, which had a convenient cricket bat handle for her little fingers to grip on, she found something finally to hold on to her left. It was always nice to watch her if she had to use her hands for something else - she would place her doll and the jingler somewhere safe with as much care as my mom would have took while putting her in the cradle. I call it a jingler, but she never was interested in making any sounds with it at all. But it was always, always there, tightly held in her little left hand.

And then, this one day when I was going to the tapioca plot, she scooted along. While I watered the plants, she played in her own world, talking to herself and showing whatever she found amusing in the world around her to ammu (?). But after sometime, she started watching me closely. She came by the well and seemed quite interested with how was I drawing water. That was when I, who has always been obsessed with impressing people, had this brain wave.

“Let me show you something”

A curious questioning look.

“I will put this thing in the well and get it back for you”

I threw a leaf into the well and then with the bucket got it back. Her beaming smile encouraged me, and the leaf was soon followed by a plastic ball I had brought, some things that were scattered around the place like coconut husk, paper bits and so on. With each item, my confidence grew and her curiosity level decreased. That was when I decided to go be a bit more daring.

“Let’s give ammu a bath in the well”

She seemed doubtful, but I stripped the doll, threw it into the water and got it back.

Next my eyes were on the jingler.

She was a bit more doubtful.

And her brother, still not fully informed of the practical aspects of principals of buoyancy, threw it confidently into the well. .

And it sank.
Slowly, after bobbing up and down for once or twice,
It S-A-N-K.

“Athenthina angottitte?”
(Why did you put it there?)

Inside a ten year old’s rib cage;
Something else sank as well.
And sinks to this day, every time I remember the jingler.
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I may be filthy rich one day.
I could buy her Gucci or Vuitton or Prada.

But until I can bring back that little pink toy from the depths of a well that no longer exists , there will always a debt left unpaid.