‘That drug is not to be sold without a prescription.’
‘Believe me…’ Sadashiv pleaded in English.
‘I’ll say the same thing even if you speak in English. Get the prescription…’
Sadashiv stared at the adamant shopkeeper. He was now in a fix.
With his hands clasped behind his back, the shopkeeper said, ‘Shop inspectors do their rounds and make surprise visits. They act like customers and say things like “my wife is ill” or “the patient is serious”. I don’t want to take chances. I’ve already fallen for such a ploy once last week and paid the price. So scoot now!’
The shopkeeper wasn’t lying. He had given sleeping pills to an old man who had pleaded that he needed them. The inspectors, standing a few feet away, had pounced upon the shopkeeper. He’d pled innocence, but they left only after extracting a sum of fifty rupees from him. The shopkeeper had no choice but to pay the bribe to keep his licence.
‘Do you need some change?’ Narvekar shouted from the car. Sadashiv didn’t reply. Narvekar got down from the car and Sadashiv explained the situation when he reached the shop. Narvekar, confident of making the shopkeeper understand, peeped in through the window.
‘Sir, please oblige. Please give us the medicine.’
‘I’ve paid a fine just last week for giving in to such requests.’
‘Sir, we’re not inspectors. Here’s my licence and my ID card. Take a look.’
‘They all say the same.’
Narvekar turned and said, ‘Sir, his wife is having serious back pain. And here you are, hung up on your principles.’
The shopkeeper came forward and said,
‘Do you think I’m a fool?’
‘Why would you say that?’
Realizing the situation, Sadashiv interrupted, ‘Let’s go. No point in arguing.’
‘I didn’t want to interfere, but now I’m keen to know why he feels we are cheating him.’
The shopkeeper had lost his patience. He erupted,
‘So you’re using contraceptive pills to cure backaches? You’re trying to fool people at such a late hour? I recognized you guys the moment you came. You guys have nothing to do but trouble poor shopkeepers like me.’
Sadashiv’s face fell, the way an ice candy falls from its stick. His face looked like a deflated balloon. He went and sat in the car. Narvekar got in as well.
‘Let’s get what you want. I know where you can get it.’
Narvekar took Sadashiv to his house. The moment Mrs Narvekar went into the bedroom to change, he opened a cupboard in the living room. He took out a box and kept it on the centre table and said, looking at Sadashiv,
‘Just take the brand you use.’
Sadashiv stared at the pile of medicines kept in the box. There were all sorts of contraceptive pills in there.
‘Narvekar…’
‘My friend, it’s like this. This box represents all the things we want to forget. We just love kids. We play with our neighbours’ children, and take them for car rides and movies. We take them out to picnics each month. But the pain never goes. After all, there’s no substitute for having your own children. You can’t get the same satisfaction by entertaining and showering love on other children. We’ve filled this house with imported toys. Children from the whole building come here clamouring for them, but when they leave in the evening all we’re left with are these inanimate toys and our emotions…’
‘I can understand,’ Sadashiv said, not knowing what else to say. He was feeling guilty for having children of his own.
Narvekar collected himself and said in a level voice,
‘It’s all right. I hope you got what you needed. Let me drop you home.’
He let his wife know, and they both got back into the car. The cool breeze lapped at Sadashiv’s face. His head felt heavy.
‘Narvekar, may I ask you something?’
‘Don’t. I know what you want to ask. We have everything, but we’re unable to forget the pain. Then I take out the box full of these pills, and I feel good. I tell myself that we will surely have children some day. It has to be. Even insects and ants do. After all, we’re healthy adults and from a good family. There’s no need to worry. It’s just that we don’t want them now… We’re not going to allow that to happen right now…’
Narvekar continued speaking. Sadashiv fingered the packet of pills. The touch of those twenty-one camels felt comforting.
GOKHALE
There are people whose smiles have a meaning that’s not easy to decipher. Sadanand Gokhale was one such person. Even a simple smile of his seemed different. As if it reflected a deep understanding of the meaning of life. Such people are not fooled by anyone, but can fool others in an instant and without any qualms. They do not dwell on any issue for too long and, thus, are very happy. Sadanand Gokhale was one such person. We worked in the municipality as building inspectors, but he was posted in the suburbs while I was posted downtown. We would meet at the head office once in a while. He earned the same salary, but there was a huge difference between his standard of living and mine.
I would hurry to catch the 9.46 local, while he would happily go to work on his scooter. Seeing his clothes, no one would believe that he was a mere inspector in the municipality. His wife, decked up in finery, could easily pass for royalty. I had no clue how he managed to live a life so far beyond his means. I couldn’t take the liberty of asking him. I didn’t know him well enough. The only exchange of words we had were the usual,
‘How are you?’
‘I am fine.’
‘So, where’s your work taking you these days?’
Such were the conversations we’d had so far. He would then laugh heartily and move on.
‘Look at the way this Gokhale laughs,’ I said to Kelkar.
‘What do you mean?’
‘I don’t know why, but it feels like he’s laughing at us.’
Kelkar smiled meaningfully.
‘You learn this art when you spend a lot of time with contractors.’
I looked askance and Kelkar continued,
‘It’s
