Shala by Milind Bokil

doctor. He had explained everything to me and even gave me a book to read. He said it is good if the bottle bursts once in a while. It is quite natural. In fact, you need to worry only if it doesn’t.’
    We looked at him with newfound respect. Dashrath moved closer to him. Santya came down from the tree branch.
    ‘What if the bottle bursts every night?’ Dashrath asked.
    ‘It won’t happen every night,’ Chitre said. ‘And don’t bother even if it does. But don’t play around deliberately. I will give you the book to read if you wish.’
    ‘No need. I am fine as long as you are telling me the truth.’
    ‘Yes, of course. This happens to all of us.’
    ‘Just don’t go about fingering girls,’ Surya said, getting back to his elements.
    ‘Who the hell is asking for your advice, bhenchod?’ Dashrath said, flinging a stone at him.
    ‘Arre, Arre. Don’t hit me, saale,’ Surya said, dodging the stone. ‘Hey, Joshi. Why don’t you get that magazine from the library? What is it called Apsara or something?’
    ‘No,’ I said firmly.
    ‘Saale, why don’t you get it?’ He pleaded. ‘It is fun to read. When was the last time we read it?’
    ‘Joshi, get the magazine, please,’ Phawdya said. ‘Remember that serial? That fellow Govindrao and that woman Leela!’
    ‘Yes!’ Surya said. ‘Let us read what they are doing now.’
    ‘No way,’ I said. ‘I would be damned if I bring it again.’
    I had made the mistake once in the beginning of the year. The magazine was issued from the Municipal Library. Aaisaheb does not care, but Ambabai does not allow me to read it. She does not mind my getting it home for her from the library; she loves to read it. I had carried it to school the next day to show it to my friends. We read it first at our adda. In Pethkar ma’am’s class, Surya poked me in my back with his pencil and took the magazine away. For some time, he and Phawdya read it without making any noise, but then he got excited and whispered a tad too loud, ‘Hey, just see, bhenchod, what is written,’ he said and then read out; ‘Govindrao lifted Leela off the ground and threw her on the bed and then with his rough hands, started to paw at her ample bosom…’
    The boys around us giggled. The girls too must have heard as they sniggered. Pethkar ma’am, otherwise quite absent-minded, quickly identified the source of the disturbance. She came over to Surya’s bench. Surya did not see her coming. It was too late to hide the magazine by then.
    ‘Oh, so this is what is keeping you busy, is it?’ she said. ‘No wonder you are not interested in History. Why would you be, when you have such interesting stuff to read?’ So saying, she snatched the magazine and put it on her table and her purse on top of it.
    I was in deep shit. It was a library magazine. If I confided at home, I would be thrown to the wolves. I had to find a way of retrieving it. I asked Surya to go and get it from the staff room, but he just laughed out stupidly and walked away. I had no choice but to go the staff room myself. I went in with an excuse ready: how I had got it for my mother from the library the previous evening but had forgotten to remove it from my school bag; how Surya had seen it in my bag and had started reading it. I was prepared to plead the magazine belonged to the library and was on the verge of tears, but I soon discovered there was no need for concocting a story. To my surprise, I found ma’am engrossed in the magazine! She asked me to come and collect it after school hours.
    That taught me a lesson. No more magazines to school. Of course, I still enjoy reading the magazine when there is no one at home. A frisson of excitement runs through my body when I read the stories. Once Chitre had got an English film magazine with awesome photographs. He says seeing is not as much fun as reading. I agree. But these days nothing gives me as much pleasure as thinking about Shirodkar.

    T he much acclaimed Sholay was finally