The Legend of 'Andy'

The Legend of ‘Andy’ in Kharkhoda is as popular as the legend of ‘Hallaq Kuttaq’. So popular that it has seeped into the everyday language as an adjective that can mean ‘Awesome’, ‘Wonderful’, ‘Unparalleled’, ‘Unique’, ‘Stylish’. When someone is called ‘Andy', it means all these and much more.

The tale of ‘Andy’ is a tale of the old times, as old as the first fable of Kharkhoda. It is said that in the times when Kharkhoda was like a desert with few oasis, covered with golden dust all over, and a cruel sun always above the people, when the oasis were the places of storytelling and refreshments, a foreigner in a big bright pink turban was seen in the oasis. He had deep green eyes which brought the coolness of ocean to that dusty place. He was white-skinned with a light golden beard. He wore a shining bright leaf green shirt that was also like a T-shirt, that fluttered in freedom when the winds blew. He wore white pyjamas with long black vertical stripes. And he had very long and thin artistic fingers.

‘Andy’ told strange stories and often children gathered around him. His stories were of alien worlds, out of this world. He did magical things, so magical and so unbelievable that their secrets are unknown to this day. What he did was more magical than what science would be to a prisoner who has returned from jail after being there for more than 30 years. He had secrets, he dealt in enchantments.

Once, Andy called a feeble, sick, and dumb-looking boy from the crowd gathered around him, touched his little hand with his long fingers and the boy turned suddenly healthy, not only in the body, but also in the mind. It is said that the same boy went ahead to become one of the prominent scientists of Kharkhoda. Once, Andy was seen floating in the air, and at other times talking to the spirits.

Andy amazed all, and Andy loved all. Once there was a big calamity in the village. There was a plague which had affected everyone, people were dying like flying moths on a light. Andy was sitting in the oasis sipping his favorite Lassi when he considered the situation. Andy came out of the oasis and summoned the Gods of the winds, to bring about a terrible storm, thunder, rain, and lightning. Once the storm was over, there was a renewed freshness in the village, each leaf and flower had a new life – Kharkhoda was no longer a desert, but a bed of flowers and gardens as beautiful as Kashmir.

The people thanked Andy with their tears of joy. Andy disappeared into the sky showering fragrant white-pink flowers that looked like cherry blossoms. From that day on, people take his name reverently. Nobody knows whether he was a God, or an Alien, or simply a Man with super powers, but he won the hearts of the people and his name got into Kharkhoda’s everyday language, and till this date when someone says, ‘You are Andy!’, it is taken as the biggest complement.

© Manan sheel.

Billu's Shop

 

Billu was the shopkeeper of the little shop in front of the Kharkhoda house. Manu, Golhu, Uma, Chhotu would all go to Billu’s shop to buy biscuits, toffees, imli pipes, sweet jellies, and little toys in the shapes of animals and birds made of colored plastic. One particular delicacy that had come up and was popular with children was the ‘ABCD’ biscuits – biscuits in the shapes of letters, that all the four children used to make names from, and then gobble up – the simple taste of these biscuits was a taste of happiness, as they were eaten during the happiest, most playful moments created by the name making game.

‘ABCD’ biscuits costed a rupee for 20 of them. Billu was a frugal shopkeeper, he counted 20 little biscuits each one like a part of treasure he was about to share, with utmost attention, as if he was using his weak, spectacled eyes in the best possible way – to get a little money, that was the motive of his life, and in the process making his eyesight worse. Billu was in the habit of saying little phrases three times consecutively – for instance, to make the animals like the cows and dogs to go on from the gate of his house, he would say ‘chal re, chal re, chal re’ (go on, go on, go on), and to make someone step aside he would say ‘hat re, hat re, hat re’ (step aside, step aside, step aside).

Billu was dark as the night, slim like a stick, cunning like a fox, attentive on matters of money, trapped in a little house that contained a shop in the top corner – a small ladder was used to reach to the shop, it was a kind of metaphor for his philosophy – that business and matters of money are 2 feet above all the other matters in life. Billu was not honest – he would try with his cunning mind to remove 2-3 biscuits while counting, he would sometimes miscalculate willingly for his profit, and to the simple children, he would often sell washed colorful stones that he had gathered from his walks at a good price.

Whatever the case, his shop was the favorite of the children – it had so many of the things that the children are crazy about, so many colorful bright things, so many of the lip-smacking sticky delicacies – and thus Manu fondly remembers Billu’s shop – it was a fortunate thing in the order of the things that happened – that a shopkeeper like Billu chose to open a shop in Kharkhoda, that made up Manu’s childhood…

© Manan sheel.

Child's World - a childhood account of my love for comics...

It was before I was introduced to poetry, even before I loved songs and movies. It was a long time back. It was the time when I walked with a comics tucked under my arm and thus had everything. Desire had not raised its head, and if I had a comics with me, I had everything. It was as simple as this. My world was a wonder. I was the King of my world. My comics were my joy.

Me and my parents lived in a rented house on a narrow street. I was less than four years old and was able to perfectly read Hindi. I don’t remember how often I went to the little shop at the other end of the street, that sold many little toys for children, some domestic things of daily use, and rented many comics. In the shop, the comics were put on display on a rack in the wall. They were covered by plastic sheets to prevent them from damage. I used to look at them with wonder in my eyes, and a little greed, for I knew somewhere inside that each one of them would take me to a different space, that would become a part of my dreams, a part of my waking hours, and would make up my world.

The act of choosing one of the comics out of around fifty of them was to me a difficult task, and yet it was something that I could do all day. I had to be shook from my dreamy state by the shopkeeper who was a big fellow with a face the shape of an egg, and with very short hair, very close to baldness. I would make a calculation, not something of mathematics, but something of the heart. I don’t know how I concluded, but I know that I enjoyed even that calculation. The shopkeeper would pick up the comics selected by me and would brush the dust off the comics, slapping it twice. Even that slapping filled me with wonder. And an old smell came out from the comics. Oh! Not a smell, but a fragrance of adventure. Even today, I remember that fragrance of adventure. Then, I would pay the one rupee rent to the shopkeeper, tuck the comics under my arm and was off to my house lost in the thoughts of my comics, and walking in an odd way, taking a few steps to the left, a few to the right and occasionally skipping.

As I reached my house which was on the upper floor, my mother would be waiting for me with my food. She used to feed me with her own hands the food she cooked with love. She would be feeding me Daal and Roti, but all my attention was on the new comics. I had already started reading it while eating, and sometimes, even when my mother was careful, some food would fall on my clothes. Then, I would sit in her lap and was enveloped in the comics.

There was no other world, there were no ambitions, there was no regret, neither was there anything incomplete. It was just me, my mother’s love, and my comics…

© Manan sheel.