We were on a train from Chennai to Bangalore. Appu was taking in the sights and sounds of the modern train we were on. And attempting to eat what was offered.
— And those cubes of love are prepared from fresh latex from the hills of Idukki, I began, pointing to the chewy white lumps floating in a thin gravy of chilli and turmeric.
— Amma he is talking nonsense again! Appu protested.
— Dear, why don’t you keep your timid attempts at humour where they belong? Amma looked at me with a knowing glance.
— How do you think he will learn about our agricultural heritage?
— From people a little more competent, I should think.
— Perhaps the makers of such products?
— Perhaps.
— Then let me tell you what they say: 18% soy, whey casein, stabilisers, permitted colourants…
— Enough! I will not let you malign perfectly ordinary train food, even if a little inedible.
— Should we not question the ordinariness? And the degree of inedibility? (If that is even a word)
— In our great nation, we have been bequeathed a cuisine that is extraordinary in its diversity and which takes advantage of the produce of multiple ecologies across a sub-continent. When we express that in our own kitchens, they do undergo significant changes, reflecting our own cooking styles, culinary inclinations and creative instincts. Respect for these is all I ask of you.
*
Appu had turned his attentions to shearing a tiny plastic bag which promised to deliver tomato sauce, a feat unworthy of such intense attention.
— Amma, will you help with this?
— Of course, son. The trick is to get to the black line printed in a curve on the side of the packet and focus your energies on that part of the packet.
— I did Amma, and it collapsed in my fingers. And you have told me not to put anything into my mouth.
I watched dispassionately, not wanting to be lectured on the packaging talents of our wonderful nation. Amma eventually resolved the issue by using her travelling nail cutters. Innovative, and effective.
*
The train rolled into the night. Amma gently snored, but Appu’s eyes shone with curiosity.
*
— Dada, when trains travel across large distances don’t the drivers need to do Number 1 sometimes? Maybe Number 2 also?
— Oh no, no. They are clad in very high-quality diapers that contain all their naughty things until they arrive.
*
The snoring stopped abruptly. And in the dimmed light of the quiet train, I felt sharp rays of heat on the back of my neck.
— When will you distinguish a time to joke, from a time to educate? Is it fair of you to use your superior range of learning and language to mock a perfectly normal and even important question with a crude attempt at humour? What kind of legacy will you leave this kid of ours with? Will he remember you as a teacher or as a joker?
Considering these to be rhetorical questions, I preferred to remain silent.
Appu had other ideas.
*
— Dada, do you think I could be a joker when I grow up? After all there are so many teachers at school already, and no one seems to make any jokes.
I thought that was pertinent commentary on our school systems, but held my tongue in case I said something politically incorrect. And daring authority was not in my play book, not in these circumstances anyway.
— Dada? Appu persisted.
Amma offered, when you grow up you take stock of your talents and then decide on what you would like to do. Then you collect knowledge in the appropriate areas and become an expert.
— Amma, Dada is an expert in his office work. But he is also a good joker. Did he learn more to become one?
— I’m afraid he grew up to be one, my dear. All of life is a joke to him, it would seem.
*
As the quiet of the night enveloped us, Appu slept deeply and soundly, head on his mother’s lap. I ruminated to myself that we have indeed become a nation of jokers, with politicians and nations competing to outdo one another in making a fool of themselves, albeit in a very dark way and oftentimes at the expense of the multitudes. What if we questioned everything with a light heart? Would it open minds to a fresh way of looking at old things? I dreamt of a nation of jokers toying with Appu’s questions with sincere logic and playful retorts, and I snored too.
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