Episodes from Rabru

Kunal Rao

Welcome to Rabru, my town, my world.

My name is Kunal Rao, and I am the only son of a very wealthy family. Apart from being considered the 'Future' of the family, I am also the Stupidest, Naughtiest and Fastest boy in town.

Being the heir of a fairly large estate in a small town like Rabru, isn't an easy task. The difficulty hinders an otherwise fun childhood, for you are expected to be equally great as your father, and the training begins when you enter the unripe age of seven or eight.

My case was no different.

The black soil of Gujarat is very famous, for it yields extremely rich sugarcane and cotton. My great-grandfather was a worker in one such farm under the British rule. My grandfather too worked in the same farm for some years before India got its independence in 1947. After that, he turned the farm's one-fourth portion into a sugar mill which came as a revolution to the 'Eleven Villages' back at the time, for the nearest sugar mill before this was a boundary away.

The mill blossomed, as each farmer of sugarcane cooperated and we became rich, as did the farmers. Suddenly, everyone was rich, at a time when riches were counted out of the number of cows or sheeps or vessels you owned, or even the number of male children in the family.

It was the end of cooperation and the beginning of jealousy and competition.

My grandfather was smart, rather like me. Instead of wasting money on buying cows or sheeps or vessels to show wealth, and time and energy in pushing for many male children, he opened a shop. Very few others were like him, while everyone else was busy bragging their newfound wealth. The shop did not sell anything fancy, but it sold everything that the villagers required. Since the needs and desires weren't much, it was easy to handle. Soap, tea, toys, salt... anything at all. Even cows and sheeps and vessels later on. Everything but alcohol and male children.

But all was not as good as it could have been. The Government had taken over the farms. As they were the main source of livelihood for many, the Government, on our insistence, gave us the reason. Apparently the farms were the British Empire's property and not the farmers' personal property, and as per the Act, all the properties and everything owned or controlled by the British Empire under the 'new' Indian borders, were to be transferred to the new government of the 'new' India.

To me, when I heard these things as a child the first time, having barely any knowledge of the geography and history of India, 'new' meant to me as an advancement, expansion or upgradation of some sort. Like my father became the Mukhya or the Head of the 'new' town of Rabru, where the 'new' implied the town of Rabru that was constituted out of the Eleven Villages in 1984. This meant expansion of small villages into a much bigger unified town as well as advancement and upgradation in many different ways. But when I grew old enough, with the knowledge of both history and geography of India to some extent, it came to me as a shock to realize that the 'new' India was, rather, a reduction, contrary to my belief of 'new'. And it was even greater a shock to me that the reduction was not just in the West but also the East. But, on this note of great shocks, my greatest shock was to know that ginis are not real, that I did not play cricket well and that I am a terrible singer.

So back to my grandfather. He counteracted this devilish act of the Government with protests. Indians had learned this art and mastered it over the course of struggle for freedom. He led the villagers, and got the lands back on the grounds that the families and their ancestors had worked in those farms with all their energy, blood, sweat, tears, joy and all other humanly emotions, and stuffs like that got them their land back, and today stuffs like that won't even get us a cab. I'm sure there was more to it, but that's all I was told. People have this habit of highlighting only the great points from the past, as it showcases a man to be better than what he truly is, giving a very different view of a man. Deceptive, really.

So the dark days of poverty, struggle and sadness finally ended on a good note. The happy days were slowly returning. Around this time came my father and his two brothers and three sisters, one after another. In order of age it was- my father, his younger brother Jamanlal, his younger sister Yuktiben, his youngest brother Kishanlal, his even younger sister Rasilaben, and his youngest sister Aalochnaben. My father's name was Harilal. I never got it why all the guys' names ended with 'lal' and all the girls' names with 'ben', but that was how it was. Fortunately, this ended with me. Just imagine Kunallal!

So flourished our business, and while it did, went my grandfather to the land of the dead. My father took over his business while the others either worked at the farm, or the mill, or had married (like all the 'ben' of our family) and were housewives.

But the family wasn't immune to bad luck, which struck on our family like a meteor, rather on a repetitive basis. Jamanlal died pretty early in his life, while Kishanlal hadn't married. Hence, the only way this family could move to its next generation was through my father. My father became the light in a dark room for the family. He was preserved as though he were some sort of jewel kept away from everything and everyone, as if locked in a royal chest for safety and security.

He grew up, though without the normal upbringing- much like me- with an amazing business mind, and when he took over the family business at the age of 19, he expanded tremendously. He expanded to Bombay (Mumbai in a couple of years), using a loan, which he was able to repay full with interest within five years.

Now life is smooth, life is easy and life is slow. I like it this way, though I don't really know what fast life is. To make sure that I don't, I've never been taken to cities. No problem. One day, surely.

So this was a brief history of one of the most respected and known families around, the burden which has to be borne by me sooner than later. But, people don't really see a sparkle in me. They call me a monkey for the climbing and running I like, and say I might as well join a circus. Why not? Seems to be a fun proposition, because my circle is nothing more than a circus, and I might as well play on my strengths than weaknesses.