Markness set in faster in the mofussil town I grew up in, not because the sunset set in quicker, but since streetlights were dim and scantily spread. I was only 12, but as the eldest son it was my duty to watch over my younger siblings when the parents went out in the evening. The rear veranda of our rented accommodation abutted an open field, which became pitch dark at night. While my brothers slept soundly, all I could do was to sit under a faint light and stare unblinkingly at that spectre of darkness. “Oh, God,” I would pray every day, “today please send my parents home early!” It elicited no response from Him, but it did infuse me with a spirit of courage against a sea of induced dread.
One evening, my three-year-old sibling, the youngest, suddenly woke up and started crying. Perhaps he had a bad dream or had wet his pants. Soon his scream assumed howling proportions. All my attempts to hush him added fuel to the fire. I was at my wits’ end. My mother had not prepared me for such a calamity, so confident had she been of her eldest son handling any situation.The neighbours were out of bounds since they, like most ‘mofussilians’, went early to bed.
The ill-lit streets were becoming deserted, even as my little brother upped his volume of protest. Desperate times called for desperate measures. So I dressed him, lifted him up to my slender waist and boldly stepped out. If my parents could not be brought home, I would take the ‘home’ to them! The night sky was full of stars. Twinkle, twinkle little stars ... Soon the child became quiet. But I pressed on towards my destination, the local cinema, which was no hall but a circus-like tent.
By the time I reached the ‘hall’, my brother had fallen fast asleep in my arms. I entered the huge tent, transiting from the starlit darkness outside to a star-struck one on the screen. I pinched my brother hard to make him cry again. He yelled obligingly. A hundred heads turned in my direction and my mother was promptly by my side. I unburdened my load in her arms and collapsed under the teary eyes of Meena Kumari.The incident did not deter my parents from their evening routine. They only engaged a servant to ‘give the children company’ in the evening till their return.