बंसी माझी के ‘सूखे’ अख़बार
Babu ji, today the newspapers are absolutely sookhe (dry). Why, what’s wrong? What do you think could be the problem, even on a Sunday? Now they come like this!
Sookhe? Dry? Newspaper? Meaning? His blabberings flummoxed me.
Without much thought, I looked up at the picture-perfect, clear, beautiful blue sky. A tiny, tipsy cloud was trudging a drunken gait in the far corner. There were no signs of rain, none at all. It couldn’t have even drizzled. To make sure, I looked at the floor. That too was dry and had traces of mud that had come with the car tyres last night. Besides, the grass on the adjacent lawn was also dry. Obviously, if it hadn’t rained everything would be dry, uff. Looking at Bansi Manjhi, I was about to ask if he had smoked ganja first thing in the morning, but I restrained myself. Better keep quiet I thought, you never know what he mean by ‘sookhe’! Taking the bundle of newspapers from Bansi Manjhi, I rubbed my eyes. Shaking my head in disapproval I went to the other corner of the lawn. On Sundays we get five newspapers at home, that surely is a bundle.
Bansi Manjhi takes care of our small garden, an array of potted plants, shrubs and trees. Bansi Manjhi comes from Gaya district of Bihar. His mother tongue is Maithili. Bansi has a sweet sing-song way of talking, an accent that makes it seem as if he is trying to sing a song or read a poem. Whatever he says is in tarannum, a set lilting tune. Although he doesn’t talk much with the neighbours, he loves to yap with me. Over time we have become friends – only to argue. He shares with me every new story or incident first and then only takes it to town. Bansi Manjhi has a smile locked on his lips which are hidden under his thick moustache.
I tease him. ‘Bansi Manjhi, you are so sweet and speaks so sweetly that you have inflicted diabetes upon yourself.’ We laugh together. Bansi is especially busy on Sundays and tries to move around fast. A small soil-trowel in his hand, a turban-like thing on his head, a gamchha (towel) around his neck and a heavy pair of 24-inch scissors tied to his bicycle carrier, Bansi paddles from house to house tending to small and big lawns. Last week, towards the end of Monsoons, he carried a big lawn mower on his bike. Cleaning the garden, pruning plants and trees, weeding the beds, removing old dry soil, watering, hanging and tying vines, spraying herbicide and applying fertiliser, Banse does all the work with style and elan. When no one is around he even yaps away with plants and trees. No jokes, he does.
Ten minutes ago I saw him talking to the Champa tree which is spreading fast and flowering profusely these days. Yes, he was chiding or admonishing the tree, saying, ‘Only last Sunday I had tied a bamboo stick to keep you straight and upright, again you are bending and spreading here and there, can you tell me why? If you have to grow, fine, grow tall, grow upwards brother, what are you doing moving left and right, the other plants also have to grow. Look at them, all are growing within their own limits bhai, no one is wandering all over like you, behave.”
Poor Champa, it must have been embarrassing for her. Specially considering I was listening to that from a distance. Decked with beautiful white flowers the tree would have felt ashamed being body-shamed. She possibly gathered two of her branches and turned them around to hide them. Bansi Majhi can say all kinds of things to humans too. Stepping in and out of the house he stops passers by and chit-chats with them, inquires about their well-being, of their family members in the village which he calls des, and feels happy on getting information about his own relatives. In between, he pinches khaini under his lips or enjoys a smoke if someone offers him a beedi. For the world, he is a non-smoker.
Removing the gamchha from his neck Bansi wiped off the sweat and smiled at me. I went and sat cross-legged on the swing at the other end of the lawn and scanned the headlines of all five newspapers. Tea arrived, one cup for me and one cup for Bansi. Two Parle glucose biscuits were brought for him. Bansi Manjhi is given tea without sugar but with biscuits. When tea is around Bansi takes it easy. Forgetting about work he sat on the grass and slurped with his eyes shut.
Looking at the madhu-malti creeper running up the wall, he went into deep thought as if he would stop Israel’s genocidal shelling on Palestine today itself. Looking at me, he said innocently, “You don’t understand Babu, I was not talking about wet or dry in terms of water. I meant that as it is these papers don’t carry news worthy of anything and they are worth nothing, still, these days they don’t come with those colourful leaflets, pamphlets, handbills and promotional advertisements. Till last year there came plenty shoved in the newspapers every day. You know what I am talking about, na?’ He looked at me to make sure that I had understood what he meant and continued, ‘they are the ones that tell you – buy this and that, announce a new product; offer 50% discount on TV and fridge; buy one get two free on shirts and pants; get 20% discount on shoes; one kg sugar free with 5kg atta, etc. etc.” I nodded. Without those leaflets the papers look ‘sookha’, Babu.
‘Babu just think’, Bansi was very serious, ‘the Hindi newspaper that my son gets at our house does not weigh even one and a half kilos in the whole month. Now, if those pamphlets keep coming, then it becomes like three kilos…., you see double, that i.e. a raddi of Rs. 54. So tell me, without those colourful, smooth and thick (chikne aur motte) paper pamphlets, the newspapers will only seem dry and desolate na, (rookha aur sookha) right?”
I was surprised at Bansi’s metaphor. ‘Dry and desolate newspapers’, wah!!! Hey newspaper publishers, here is an insight, the reader waits more for advertisements or pamphlets than for newspapers.
Keeping the empty cup aside, as soon as I picked up India’s best-selling newspaper, “Times of Indignation”, a flurry of pamphlets and leaflets slipped out of it. It was paper-rain pouring down. My fingers felt wet – drenched with the enthusiasm of the advertisements. I could feel the water-vapour oozing out of those colourful sheets. Bansi Manjhi, who was pulling the water hose froze in the middle of his step, his mouth agape at the site of dozens of fliers landing on the grass. ‘Babu, so many? There are a lot of them in there, how come I didn’t see any?” He left the water pipe and ran towards me gathering all the pamphlets one by one.
Seeing a giant aeroplane flying on a colourful leaflet, Bansi pulled it towards him and plonked cross-legged on the grass. The image of Phuket beach strewn with colourful umbrellas must have been especially attractive for Bansi Manjhi or maybe it was the magic of women roaming in their swim-suits that had mesmerised him. Sheepishly, he slid the pamphlet under the others and started looking at the others one by one. An English-looking boy wearing a wedding sherwani announced with arrogance, ‘Without Diwan Saheb’s sherwani, the wedding looks dull.’ Along with it, there was another one of Bharat Silk Suits which said, ‘For your special wedding day.’ On the next leaflet, a beautiful woman in a nurse’s coat was enumerating all the operations being done at Marengo Asia Hospital, Gurgaon.
By then I had understood Bansi Manjhi’s analogy of ‘dry’ and ‘wet’ newspapers. ‘Look Bansi, in our country everything revolves around festivals, and the festivals come around the time that the crops have been harvested or sold. See, right now it is September and for the next four months i.e. till Makar Sankranti, you will find a lot of them in newspapers. Look, shradhs got over just the day before and here are your pamphlets. The next flyer was inviting young beauties and couples to dance at the “Dandiya Night Dhamaka, All Navratras, Tickets only Rs 3,000, Venue: Rabindranath World School.’ My eye were ‘wet’ looking at the tragedy of school named after Gurudev being used for dandiya dhamaka.
I had also started enjoying the contents of these pamphlets which I normally ignored. One by one I handed them over to Bansi Manjhi like important documents are handed over to a bookkeeper. ‘Organic fruits straight from farms and orchards; Vote for Kumudini Rakesh Daulatabad- contesting MLA election from Gurgaon; Tata 1mg, medicines online; PPS Chemical – Eradicate termites; Sohrab Gold Bracelets – for beautiful arms; Narayana Hospital Emergency number 1234 5678; MK Power System Inverter’ and what not… Small and big leaflets of were floating all around us and Bansi’s heart was fluttering in them.
A casual glance tells you that it is not necessary to be literate or educated to understand these pamphlets. The language here is the same as it was thousands of years ago – the language of pictures and visuals. The trader who sells these goods wants to see and feel your pockets, not your degree.
Be it English or Hindi, Bansi Manjhi also has nothing to do with the language, though he has studied Hindi till class eight, but his need is to collect those handbills, to encash them and not to buy cheap goods.
Every Sunday, “Times of Indignation” has a special classified section of 16 pages in which proposal for marriageable boys and girls are solicited and advertisements to buy and sell houses, shops or offices are published by the thousands (Oh, I love those that say caste No BAR and have it published under a special category). Along with that classified section, I handed over all the pamphlets to Bansi Manjhi and said, ‘Every week you are welcome to take all the newspapers of the previous week from our place. But Bansi ji, dont keep the ‘bheega hua’ newspapers at home, you see ‘damp’ newspaper are not good for health.
It was Bansi Manjhi’s turn to feel flustered. But then, ‘sookhe’ newspaper achhe nahin hain.
-1 October 2024
Ankahi. Unsaid. 