I met Deepu on a cold, cold rainy day in Bageshwar, a small town north of Nainital, nestled beside the stream called Saryu. Bageshwar is a small, sleepy temple town and derives its name from the Bageshwar Temple, a complex of ancient stone temples.
We reached Bageshwar on a particularly cold, late December afternoon. It was overcast and rainy with a light fog and I found a peanut vendor vending his peanuts on a porch in one of the buildings that lined the temple street. The coals in the pot that he was using to burn the peanuts glowed red, beckoning me to their warmth. I asked him if I could warm my hands over them and he nodded. Thankfully, I spread out my fingers, flexed them and rubbed my palms in relief. Sitting beside the warm embers, I bought a cone of peanuts for myself; one of those thin paper cones made of newsreel.
A sallow looking boy of around eight stood eying the peanuts. "How much?" he asked. "Five, ten, twenty" said the vendor pointing to stacks of empty paper cones, each one containing cones larger than the previous. The young boy dug into his pockets and drew out a couple of coins. He hesitated at first and then gathering his courage, asked the vendor "Give me for three rupees." He held out the two coins.
"No way," said the vendor. "Run away now."
The kid longingly eyed the warm peanuts, thrusting his hands into his armpits and turned to go.
"Hey," I said. "Will you have a couple of mine?"
He turned back, again hesitant and saw the cone of peanuts that I held in my hand. It was the ten-rupee cone. He climbed into the porch beside me and took one of the peanuts, cracked it open with little stubby fingers and popped the nuts into his mouth. Then he took another and another. Soon, the cone was empty and I bought another one, the bigger one for twenty-rupees.
"What is your name?" I asked. "Deepu," he said.
"Where do you live?" I asked.
He pointed up the hills.
"Don't you go to school?"
"Today is a holiday," he answered and then returned with a question. "You have come to see the temple?" I nodded in answer. "Where have you come from?" he asked me. "I am coming from Surat," I said. "But my home is Bangalore."
Evidently, he had not heard of either place. "Bangalore," he said rolling the word around his tongue, trying to get the feel of the distant sounding place.
"One of my uncles is in Delhi," he said. "It is very far away. It almost takes a whole day to get there." He pondered on that thought for a moment and asked, "Is Bangalore as far away as Delhi?"
"Further," I said. "Much further."
He contemplated on that, trying to figure out how much further this strange place would have to be if it had to be further than Delhi. "Is it near Mumbai?" he asked.
I could not help but smile. "Somewhat," I said.
"How long does it take to go there?"
"Two days," I said. "Almost."
His eyes were round as saucers. "That far?"
He fell silent again, and I felt he was trying to calculate the distances in his head again.
"I will come there one day," he said decisively.
By this time, the peanuts were almost done. "Can I have another small pack?" he asked. I bought a five-rupee cone for him, which he promptly stuffed into his pocket.
"You won't eat?" I asked.
"These are for my little sister," he said. "She likes peanuts. But mother only give me enough money for the vegetables."
He warmed his hands over the embers for one last time and hopped down from the porch.
"I have to go," he said. "But I will come to Bangalore one day an return your money."
We reached Bageshwar on a particularly cold, late December afternoon. It was overcast and rainy with a light fog and I found a peanut vendor vending his peanuts on a porch in one of the buildings that lined the temple street. The coals in the pot that he was using to burn the peanuts glowed red, beckoning me to their warmth. I asked him if I could warm my hands over them and he nodded. Thankfully, I spread out my fingers, flexed them and rubbed my palms in relief. Sitting beside the warm embers, I bought a cone of peanuts for myself; one of those thin paper cones made of newsreel.
A sallow looking boy of around eight stood eying the peanuts. "How much?" he asked. "Five, ten, twenty" said the vendor pointing to stacks of empty paper cones, each one containing cones larger than the previous. The young boy dug into his pockets and drew out a couple of coins. He hesitated at first and then gathering his courage, asked the vendor "Give me for three rupees." He held out the two coins.
"No way," said the vendor. "Run away now."
The kid longingly eyed the warm peanuts, thrusting his hands into his armpits and turned to go.
"Hey," I said. "Will you have a couple of mine?"
He turned back, again hesitant and saw the cone of peanuts that I held in my hand. It was the ten-rupee cone. He climbed into the porch beside me and took one of the peanuts, cracked it open with little stubby fingers and popped the nuts into his mouth. Then he took another and another. Soon, the cone was empty and I bought another one, the bigger one for twenty-rupees.
"What is your name?" I asked. "Deepu," he said.
"Where do you live?" I asked.
He pointed up the hills.
"Don't you go to school?"
"Today is a holiday," he answered and then returned with a question. "You have come to see the temple?" I nodded in answer. "Where have you come from?" he asked me. "I am coming from Surat," I said. "But my home is Bangalore."
Evidently, he had not heard of either place. "Bangalore," he said rolling the word around his tongue, trying to get the feel of the distant sounding place.
"One of my uncles is in Delhi," he said. "It is very far away. It almost takes a whole day to get there." He pondered on that thought for a moment and asked, "Is Bangalore as far away as Delhi?"
"Further," I said. "Much further."
He contemplated on that, trying to figure out how much further this strange place would have to be if it had to be further than Delhi. "Is it near Mumbai?" he asked.
I could not help but smile. "Somewhat," I said.
"How long does it take to go there?"
"Two days," I said. "Almost."
His eyes were round as saucers. "That far?"
He fell silent again, and I felt he was trying to calculate the distances in his head again.
"I will come there one day," he said decisively.
By this time, the peanuts were almost done. "Can I have another small pack?" he asked. I bought a five-rupee cone for him, which he promptly stuffed into his pocket.
"You won't eat?" I asked.
"These are for my little sister," he said. "She likes peanuts. But mother only give me enough money for the vegetables."
He warmed his hands over the embers for one last time and hopped down from the porch.
"I have to go," he said. "But I will come to Bangalore one day an return your money."
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