We’ve always called him 5 Star Nanaji. The reason is that he makes people see stars. Naturally, we call him that only behind his back. Up in the hills, where I come from, it's important to show respect. You don’t tilt your head at right angle and do your pranams; you don’t bend 120 degree at the waist and touch people’s feet, with both hands; you don’t intersperse conversations with an adequate number of nods and “ji haans”, you wear tang patloons with shirt tucked in (yes, that too) and you immediately get labelled upstart and/or vahiyat (which is considered considerably worse than upstart).
But, keeping this information exchange classified, if you want to know what flavour of 5 Star, I'd say fruit and nut. The old fruit is completely nuts (even by my liberal standards of insanity), and way too gregarious for the reclusive Negiji who lives across the fence from our house.
Till the day before Negiji decided to get even with him, 5 Star Nanaji just had to be walking down Badrinath Marg, in his frayed cotton shirt, pleated trousers, Gandhi topi and Nehru jacket (which he did every morning/evening and a few times in between) and if he spotted a front door open (Negiji's or anybody else's), he would take it as a personal invite. Pushing open the iron gate that leads up the garden path, 5 Star Nanaji would walk in swivelling expertly past the lurking cows, waiting for an opportunity to sneak in and munch on juicy green hedges. The sound of 5 Star Nanaji’s lathi meeting cemented walkway has always been as terrifying for Kotdwar folk as the thak-thak of Daaku Gabbar Singh’s boots was for Ramgarh residents in the 70s’ hit film Sholay. And with good reason. Once he visited, he liked to stay on for about an hour of sadomasochistic know-deep-details (pun intended) -about-my-piles conversation, a cover to cover read of Dainik Jagaran, a longish siesta in the sun and some high energy snacks.
Chutki - Negiji’s black and white Lhasa Apso with the scary buck teeth and a hair style that can give Lady Gaga a complex (no, you definitely wouldn’t want to meet her down a dark alley on a moonless night - I mean Chutki not Lady Gaga, though I doubt you'd want to meet even Lady Gaga down a dark alley) - knew him well and would greet him with a fallen leaf offering and a complicated tail wag ritual. Giving her a tickle under the chin, he would pull out a grey plastic chair from the verandah and sets it under the mango tree where the sunlight filtered through the dark green leaves and fell to warm his knees. And there he would sit with his eyes half shut, ignoring the lame squirrel that had climbed down and was waiting patiently for the snacks to show up. Everybody knew that now, it was just a matter of time or who blinked first.
“Arre bhai, ghar mein koi hai,” 5 Star Nanaji would bellow loudly (sending Negiji – a loner – scuttling off to the safety of his bedroom). He would then wait patiently for Mrs Negi to appear, cover her shoulders with the pallu of her cotton sari, touch his feet (with both hands) and get him a cup of sweet milky tea and glucose biscuits. If he was lucky, guests over the weekend had left behind some kaju katli or motichoor laddus and he would get to sample those as well. (Our side, you go visiting people without a box of sweets, you get bracketed in the same category mentioned in para one above).
Now, ever since Negiji first stood under the mango tree at 1/37 Badrinath Marg, Upper Kalabarh, under a hot summer sun 22 years back and got Vishranti (his house) constructed in the plot of land gifted to him by his late father- in-law, he has intensely disliked 5 Star Nanaji’s intrusions upon his privacy. But, unlike the brigadier who moved next door much later, and who just shuts his door in the face of the predatory guest, refusing to open it despite persistent bell ringing, Negiji had been following the Gandhian philosophy of non cooperation. He would simply refuse to emerge from his bedroom till the old guest had left or (if caught unawares) pretend he had started meditating/or had fallen asleep if he was being spoken to. While non cooperation worked fine with the British, it failed miserably with the home crowd. And finally, a day came when Negiji gave up on non-violence and decided to pick up the weapons of science.
What few people know is that Negiji is a gold medalist, Physics, from Allahabad University. He displays signs of genius alright. He has not brushed his teeth for many years now. It wears them out, he says. When he feels his teeth need cleaning, he eats an apple. Or, he chews on a radish. Yes, that does enhance bad breath but then for the reclusive Negiji it is like killing two birds with one stone. For many years, he also kept an old Ambassador car that never ran on the roads of independent India, but Negiji used the engine to light up the night bulb in the corridor of his house. Finally, he had to let it go but the driver's seat of the red Maruti 800 he got in its place has never been graced by the senior Negi backside. It remains an unloved car driven only by MS Negi (Negiji's NRI son) who visits during holidays.
One afternoon, annoyed with the monkeys that had been eating the papayas from his tree, Negiji connected a small circuit and placed one end of the wire on a freshly ripened fruit. Everytime, a monkey tried taking a bite of the papaya, it would get a nasty shock. The remedy worked like magic and soon Vishranti was rid of monkeys who went off to search for less electrifying lunch areas. High on this successful experiment, Negiji decided to test his pest control kit on mankind. Working quietly when his wife was occupied with her morning pooja ritual, he fixed a similar circuit at the iron gate to his house and then sat back to watch from behind the sitting room curtains. The rest, as they say, is history. A visibly shaken 5 Star Nanaji was heard telling people at the chai ki dukan in Jhanda Chowk that he had developed some electrical charge that gave him a shock everytime he touched iron gates. When this news reached Narendra Singh Negi, gold medalist, physics, Allahabad university, (through his incredulous wife) he just gave a half smile and reached out for his plate of freshly diced papaya. He spent the morning under the mango tree in his favourite spot, Chutki chewing the edges off his sandals. That evening, Brigadier Sa'ab made an exception to his rule of not mingling with civilians and came down to the fence to congratulate the eccentric genius. A mutual enemy had been vanquished.
Disclaimer: All resemblance to people living and breathing is completely intentional (and may they live forever). This story is based on true life incidents (well, mostly). :)
Ji: way of respectful address, like Mr or the Japanese san; pranam: namaste; tang patloon: tight pants; ji haan: respectful agreement; vahiyat: obnoxious; topi: cap; lathi: walking stick; Chutki: Little girl; arre bhai, ghar mein koi hai: anybody home; kaju katli: sweets made of cashewnut; motichoor laddu: well, laddus (OK, sweets again); chai ki dukan: tea stall
And this song comes all the way from the hills:
But, keeping this information exchange classified, if you want to know what flavour of 5 Star, I'd say fruit and nut. The old fruit is completely nuts (even by my liberal standards of insanity), and way too gregarious for the reclusive Negiji who lives across the fence from our house.
Till the day before Negiji decided to get even with him, 5 Star Nanaji just had to be walking down Badrinath Marg, in his frayed cotton shirt, pleated trousers, Gandhi topi and Nehru jacket (which he did every morning/evening and a few times in between) and if he spotted a front door open (Negiji's or anybody else's), he would take it as a personal invite. Pushing open the iron gate that leads up the garden path, 5 Star Nanaji would walk in swivelling expertly past the lurking cows, waiting for an opportunity to sneak in and munch on juicy green hedges. The sound of 5 Star Nanaji’s lathi meeting cemented walkway has always been as terrifying for Kotdwar folk as the thak-thak of Daaku Gabbar Singh’s boots was for Ramgarh residents in the 70s’ hit film Sholay. And with good reason. Once he visited, he liked to stay on for about an hour of sadomasochistic know-deep-details (pun intended) -about-my-piles conversation, a cover to cover read of Dainik Jagaran, a longish siesta in the sun and some high energy snacks.
Chutki - Negiji’s black and white Lhasa Apso with the scary buck teeth and a hair style that can give Lady Gaga a complex (no, you definitely wouldn’t want to meet her down a dark alley on a moonless night - I mean Chutki not Lady Gaga, though I doubt you'd want to meet even Lady Gaga down a dark alley) - knew him well and would greet him with a fallen leaf offering and a complicated tail wag ritual. Giving her a tickle under the chin, he would pull out a grey plastic chair from the verandah and sets it under the mango tree where the sunlight filtered through the dark green leaves and fell to warm his knees. And there he would sit with his eyes half shut, ignoring the lame squirrel that had climbed down and was waiting patiently for the snacks to show up. Everybody knew that now, it was just a matter of time or who blinked first.
“Arre bhai, ghar mein koi hai,” 5 Star Nanaji would bellow loudly (sending Negiji – a loner – scuttling off to the safety of his bedroom). He would then wait patiently for Mrs Negi to appear, cover her shoulders with the pallu of her cotton sari, touch his feet (with both hands) and get him a cup of sweet milky tea and glucose biscuits. If he was lucky, guests over the weekend had left behind some kaju katli or motichoor laddus and he would get to sample those as well. (Our side, you go visiting people without a box of sweets, you get bracketed in the same category mentioned in para one above).
Now, ever since Negiji first stood under the mango tree at 1/37 Badrinath Marg, Upper Kalabarh, under a hot summer sun 22 years back and got Vishranti (his house) constructed in the plot of land gifted to him by his late father- in-law, he has intensely disliked 5 Star Nanaji’s intrusions upon his privacy. But, unlike the brigadier who moved next door much later, and who just shuts his door in the face of the predatory guest, refusing to open it despite persistent bell ringing, Negiji had been following the Gandhian philosophy of non cooperation. He would simply refuse to emerge from his bedroom till the old guest had left or (if caught unawares) pretend he had started meditating/or had fallen asleep if he was being spoken to. While non cooperation worked fine with the British, it failed miserably with the home crowd. And finally, a day came when Negiji gave up on non-violence and decided to pick up the weapons of science.
What few people know is that Negiji is a gold medalist, Physics, from Allahabad University. He displays signs of genius alright. He has not brushed his teeth for many years now. It wears them out, he says. When he feels his teeth need cleaning, he eats an apple. Or, he chews on a radish. Yes, that does enhance bad breath but then for the reclusive Negiji it is like killing two birds with one stone. For many years, he also kept an old Ambassador car that never ran on the roads of independent India, but Negiji used the engine to light up the night bulb in the corridor of his house. Finally, he had to let it go but the driver's seat of the red Maruti 800 he got in its place has never been graced by the senior Negi backside. It remains an unloved car driven only by MS Negi (Negiji's NRI son) who visits during holidays.
One afternoon, annoyed with the monkeys that had been eating the papayas from his tree, Negiji connected a small circuit and placed one end of the wire on a freshly ripened fruit. Everytime, a monkey tried taking a bite of the papaya, it would get a nasty shock. The remedy worked like magic and soon Vishranti was rid of monkeys who went off to search for less electrifying lunch areas. High on this successful experiment, Negiji decided to test his pest control kit on mankind. Working quietly when his wife was occupied with her morning pooja ritual, he fixed a similar circuit at the iron gate to his house and then sat back to watch from behind the sitting room curtains. The rest, as they say, is history. A visibly shaken 5 Star Nanaji was heard telling people at the chai ki dukan in Jhanda Chowk that he had developed some electrical charge that gave him a shock everytime he touched iron gates. When this news reached Narendra Singh Negi, gold medalist, physics, Allahabad university, (through his incredulous wife) he just gave a half smile and reached out for his plate of freshly diced papaya. He spent the morning under the mango tree in his favourite spot, Chutki chewing the edges off his sandals. That evening, Brigadier Sa'ab made an exception to his rule of not mingling with civilians and came down to the fence to congratulate the eccentric genius. A mutual enemy had been vanquished.
Disclaimer: All resemblance to people living and breathing is completely intentional (and may they live forever). This story is based on true life incidents (well, mostly). :)
Ji: way of respectful address, like Mr or the Japanese san; pranam: namaste; tang patloon: tight pants; ji haan: respectful agreement; vahiyat: obnoxious; topi: cap; lathi: walking stick; Chutki: Little girl; arre bhai, ghar mein koi hai: anybody home; kaju katli: sweets made of cashewnut; motichoor laddu: well, laddus (OK, sweets again); chai ki dukan: tea stall
And this song comes all the way from the hills:
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