Hindi, Holi and Hilarity in Delhi

According to me, the best times of a person`s childhood are the years between age 6 to 12, before the pressure of board exams and the like set in. I spent the first 3 years of the said time period in Delhi, where my father was posted at that time. I can safely say that the years spent there, were the best of my life. I hardly remember having done any sort of activity that could be remotely related to what is called 'Studying'. The only time I did have to strain myself was when it came to learning Hindi, a language over whose mastery, I prided myself, since I was the only one amongst my group of friends in Mangalore, who could say, "Tumhaara naam kya hai?"(what is your name?). A week in Delhi, was more than sufficient to disabuse me of this notion, as I realised that the conversation did need to continue after learning a person`s name for the umpteenth time. That is how I found myself at the doorstep of Ms.Ahuja, a lady who lived next door, who gave private tuitions, but who I secretly liked to call, Ms.Oucha.

Ms.Ahuja, got the nickname, because she delighted in twisting your ear till you reached the stage where you felt that the ear did not belong to you anymore. She was an unmarried,unsmiling lady who stayed in a house with her mother, who was equally grumpy and a whole lot of cats. It was the kind of house that you`d call spooky, at the best of times.Add to that, learning a language that was becoming increasingly difficult to master, and you had a house that was downright terrifying. I would concoct all kinds of illnesses to avoid setting foot in that house, but there are only so many diseases a 6-year old can come up with, which his mom can`t see through. Every evening therefore, saw me reluctantly go over to her house to learn a language, that I was starting to heartily dislike.

Ms.Ahuja, was one of those ladies who believed she was Saraswati-incarnate. There were kids of all ages, learning all the subjects around a large rectangular table, with the Mataji hovering in the background. I tried to be at the far end of the table most of the times, to avoid giving more credibility to Ms.Ahuja`s nickname. The other kids however soon saw through my ploy and thereafter, a mad scramble for those seats ensued, which meant that bony kid that I was, I had no other option but to be at arms length from those ear-twisting tentacles.

I was a real oddity to the other kids. While they were learning Maths, Science and English, I was there to learn Hindi. Hindi...Hindi??? Hindi, was supposed to be something you started speaking as soon as you learnt to talk, wasn`t it? However, inspite of the initial hiccups, a genuine mutual dislike for the teacher was sufficient to transcend all the linguistic barriers, and I soon made a lot of friends, with whom I used a language that revolved around the sacred mantra, "Tumhara naam kya hai", with a liberal sprinkling of my own mother tongue Konkani, which thankfully was quickly picked up by all the kids there.

Gradually, I made a lot of friends in the neighbourhood. However, just like for every Harry Potter, there is a Draco Malfoy; for every Batman, there is a joker; for me it was Tarun. This fellow, rebuffed all my offers of friendship and delighted in being mean to me. Not just that, he would spread slander about me to my newly acquired comrades-in-arms, thus endangering the sanctity of our brotherhood. I was sad at this development, but I gradually reconciled myself to the fact that there was nothing to be done for it.

In the meantime, the atrocities of Ms.Ahuja were on the rise. Just when our ears had got inured to her ministrations, she decided to improvise and bought herself a weapon;a shining steel ruler, that was leaving us all with grievous injuries at the end of each class. We had to strike back somehow. But, what could we do and more importantly who would do it?

Very soon, it was time for Holi. I was terribly excited as I had never celebrated the festival of colours before. The day before Holi, I prepared my arsenal of balloons filled with coloured water, to be thrown on passersby from my flat on the 2nd floor.

There are certain rules you need to follow during Holi in Delhi. One of them, is that you never wear your best clothes if you are going to venture out of your house, since you will invariably be targeted for a drenching. Ms.Ahuja, chose to overlook this piece of wisdom, which proved to be her undoing. Just like a tiger lurking in the bushes, I was waiting for an unsuspecting target, and I was presented with the sight of her coming back with a set of freshly laundered clothes from the 'Dhobi' down the road. Now, I swear on everything that is evil, that I always meant that balloon to land just in front or immediately behind her. However, the balloon landed bang on top of her head, painting both her and the pristine white clothes, in a garish red.

There she stood in the middle of the road, spluttering and gasping. Before she could regain her composure however, I had the presence of mind to duck inside my house. So, when she finally did look up, who does she see peering at her from the first floor?...If you said Tarun, kudos to you for getting it right.

Needless to say, Ms.Ahuja, who in addition to being an expert at chaste hindi, also knew the colourful aspect of the language, gave Tarun an earful. What about me you ask? I became an instant hit amongst the kids of the neighbourhood, since I had got sweet revenge, though totally unintended. Tarun had been tamed, and Ms.Ahuja bested. Talk about killing two birds with one stone..err..balloon.