‘A’ FOR APPLE: Short Fiction by Lakshmi Kannan

Lakshmi Kannan

P

rakash piled the seven flat irregular stones one over another in a vertical heap, and then moved back with his ball to hit his target. His team watched with bated breath. The other team stood on a side, waiting for its turn. Prakash squinted his eye, took aim and threw the ball. Three flat stones fell on the ground. 

   ‘Ha…Ho!’ the boys cried out excitedly. 

  Whether his team won or lost in the end, Prakash just loved to play this game of  pittu  with his gang that was a group of small boys from a primary school. At least, it made him forget his new ‘English medium school’ for a moment. 

   Initially, he was excited to see how happy his parents were when he got admission to an ‘English medium school’ in Malavalli. It was only to please them that he agreed to move out of his dear old school in which everything was in Kannada, the lessons, the jokes, the songs, the games, and the stories they heard and shared. But things became tough for him as he started attending classes in the new English medium school. And it all began  with the English class. 

   The minute his teacher said ‘A’ for Apple, pointing at a picture of a red apple with a glowing skin  on the chart, Prakash would get hungry. He looked with longing at the apple on the chart, for he had never eaten an apple. It must be a very important fruit if one has to learn English, he thought. Because almost all the English primers that he saw in the book shops his father took him to, began with the alphabet ‘A’ showing a shining red apple.

 

    The family got busy preparing for the upcoming Satyanarayana Puja. Prakash’s father was getting ready to go to the big fruit market to buy things. He always preferred the big  market for festivals and special occasions because it had a few wholesale dealers who sold fruits and vegetables at a price that was far less expensive than in the regular shops near his house.       

   ‘Let me come with you Anna,’ said Prakash. ‘I’ll help you carry some bags.’  

   ‘Really? Okay, get ready then,’ said his father, happy with the gesture of his youngest child.  ‘Good I’m getting some help this time,’ he said, pointedly looking at his elder children. 

   They finished buying vegetables and then moved over to the fruit stalls. 

   ‘Anna, will you buy apples?’ asked Prakash.  

   ‘Apples! Oh my God, they’re so expensive, my child. We can’t afford them. I’m getting the usual fruits for our Satyanarayana Puja, bananas, papaya and jack fruit. That’s enough for our purpose,’ said his father, hurrying him through the huge, crowded market. 

   ‘Anna, please. Can’t you buy one apple, just one?’ said Prakash.

  His father stood for a minute and smiled at his son. ‘What’s the matter Prakash, why this sudden desire to eat an apple? Is it because you’ve joined an English medium school?’ he laughed. 

   ‘No, no Anna. Just wanted to taste it, that’s all. I’ve never eaten an apple.’

   ‘Aah…and that’s not such a big loss, is it? Come now, help me carry this bag with bananas, and I’ll hold on to this big bag with the papaya and the large jack fruit. When you slice away this thorny covering, you’ll find the jack fruit, luscious, golden yellow and sweet as honey! Come, we must rush home now.’

 

   Prakash turned and tossed on the mattress as sleep eluded him. I must eat an apple, at least to see what makes it so expensive. Maybe if I eat apples, I’ll be a better student in the English class. He couldn’t sleep. He looked up at the roof and thought he heard the soft twitter of birds settling down to sleep on the shingled tiles of the ceiling. Then he lowered his eyes and glanced at the sleeping figures of his elder sister and brother. He got up and stealthily tiptoed out of the room toward the kitchen. The doors of the room where his parents slept was closed. They must be fast asleep. Ajji, his grandmother slept alone in the room adjoining the small prayer room. He noted that she was also fast asleep. Quietly, Prakash went inside the kitchen, switched on the light and reached for the sugar jar in which his mother kept some loose cash for the daily needs, to pay the vendors who brought vegetables, roasted ground nuts, the occasional ice cream for her kids, or for people who ask for alms. Prakash took out a few notes and coins, stuffed them inside the pocket of his shorts, closed the jar and went back to lay down beside his elder sister. 

   ‘I’ll go to the fruit market straight from school and buy an apple,’ he planned, and dozed off, dreaming of a ripe, red apple. 

‘Prakash, get up or you’ll be late for school.’

   He opened his eyes to see his mother standing, with a questioning smile on her faced. He turned to his left. The mattress was vacant. He couldn’t see his sister or brother. Prakash sprang to his feet, brushed his teeth, rushed through his bath and gulped down the warm gruel made with rice or wheat that he had every morning. . He gathered his books in his bag and set off for school.    

      The day started with the English class.      

    ‘A for Apple, and B for Ball.  Now let’s make a short sentence out of these two words’, the teacher was saying. 

    A boy in the front row put up his hand.

   ‘Yes, Prahlad?’

   ‘Miss, can we also say ‘B’ for boy?’ 

   ‘Sure, why not?’

   ‘The boy eat an apple’, said Prahlad.

   ‘Good. But your sentence should have a clear tense. Either ‘The boy ate an apple’ or ‘The boy is eating an apple,’ corrected the teacher.

   ‘Yes Miss. The boy ate an apple,’ said Prahlad, sitting down, looking rather pleased with himself.

   ‘And so, children, the boy ate an apple. Right?’

   ‘Right, Miss,’ they chorused.

Prakash tried very hard to suppress the hunger pangs growling inside his stomach. He glanced around furtively to see if the ones sitting on the same row could hear the growls. Damn this English class–it always made him feel hungry. The thin, watery gruel  he gulped down before setting off for school had long since vanished, even before the class started. Also, he felt lonely in the English class. Some of the students, like Prahlad, were better than him in learning English. They dressed better too, and came in neatly pressed, freshly laundered clothes There were a few like him who struggled with English and had recently transitioned from a school where the medium of instruction was Kannada. He glanced down at his crumpled shorts and smooothened them with his hand. Suddenly, he became aware of the cash he had stuffed into his pockets. It was there, very much there.  

The next class was Math. Prakash forgot his hunger in the tension generated by the Math master, with his cane ever ready to come down sharply on the palm of an errant pupil. He concentrated completely on getting the sums right. He could manage, thanks to the multiplication table he learnt in Kannada. Nimbly, he   counted on his fingers as he whispered and mentally translated them into English,  but his trouble didn’t end with that. Today the Math teacher wanted the students to say the multiplication table in English. Fortunately, he had practiced a bit at home, painfully pushing back each Kannada line of the table to make way for English. .

Two twos are four
Two threes are six
Two fours are eight 

The class droned on, alert and anxious to get it right. Prakash felt that the Math class was also beginning to sound like an English class. The other day, his sister, older by just one year, had recited some numbering rhymes in English that she had learnt. The big show off!

One, two, buckle my shoe
Three, four, shut the door

 

Prakash had learnt his numbering rhymes in Kannada long before he had even joined the previous school that was in Kannada medium.  

ondu eradu, baalele haradu                 one, two, spread the banana leaf
mooru, naaku, anna haaku                    three, four, serve me rice
aidu, aaru, beilaiya saaru                     five, six, lentil soup
elu, entu, palyakke dhantu                    seven, eight, a dish of vegetables
ombatthu, hatthu, yele mudhuretthu      nine, ten, finish & wrap the banana leaf
ondhirendhu hatthu heegitthu               one to ten went on like this
ootadha aatta heege mugidhutthu         to complete the game of eating. 

   

     The next two classes went off like a breeze, as Prakash was very excited at the prospect of going to the big fruit market after school. He checked the cash and coins once again in his pocket. At the first strike of the gong, he sped out and walked rapidly towards the fruit market. It wasn’t too close to his school, but who cared? 

   He went toward the man selling apples, but something made him stop on tracks. He didn’t like the way the man talked to his customers, it was so rude and arrogant!

 ‘Apples from Kashmir, apples from Kulu Valley. Luscious apples, sweeter than sugar! You can have an apple, only for five rupees,’ the man was shouting above the heap of red apples in front of him. 

   Oh God, that’s so costly! No wonder Anna didn’t want to buy apples, thought Prakash. 

    ‘Rs. five for just one apple? That’s much too expensive,’ argued a customer. 

    ‘Hey! Have you ever seen the face of an apple before? This is apple, do you hear, not a lemon. Move on from here if you don’t have the money. Don’t waste my time,’ he barked. 

   Prakash hurried out of the place and went to a fruit stall that was two rows away from this apple seller. Cautiously, he picked a small-sized apple.

   ‘How much?’ he asked the man. 

   ‘Why’re you asking?’ said the fruit seller. 

   ‘Because I want to buy it.’

   ‘Just one?’

   ‘Yes.’

   ‘Where’s the money?’

   ‘Here you are,’ said Prakash, giving him Rs. five.

   The man returned two rupees and said, ‘All right, pick one.’  

Prakash felt happy that his apple was cheaper than the one in the first shop by two rupees. He picked a medium sized apple, ran his fingers over its smooth surface, admired its glossy red skin and went out of the first exit point in the market. 

   Eagerly, he brought the apple to his lips. ‘Always wash a fruit before you eat!’ His mother’s voice wafted in from somewhere. Prakash looked around and couldn’t find a tap anywhere. He rubbed the apple vigorously against the side of his shorts and bit into it eagerly. All the suppressed hunger throughout the classes of the day burst out and filled his mouth with water. He chewed on the apple and  savoured its sweetness that spread over his palate. 

   ‘Hmm…I’m eating ‘A for Apple,’ he thought, biting deeper into the fruit till his teeth reached the core of the apple. It only made him hungrier. 

   ‘But there’s something missing in this apple,’ he thought. 

   He took another bite to find out what was missing. It was sweet, to be sure. But sweetness was the only taste it had. He wanted something more from the apple. He took another bite of the fruit and got tired of its uniform sweetness. Anyway, I’ve paid for it, so let me finish eating it, he told himself. He ate the entire apple and threw away the core. 

   There was still some money left in his pocket. Prakash went back to the fruit market, navigating through the narrow passages to reach the stall that had guava. 

    ‘I want guava,’ he told the trader.

   ‘Sure. How much? One kilo or half a kilo?’ 

   Prakash pulled out the notes from his pocket. He had nine rupees left. 

   ‘Give me guava for nine rupees,’ he told the man.

   ‘Pick the ones you like and put them here,’ he said, taking out a scale. 

   Prakash selected two large green guavas that were half ripe. He knew they would be tangy and taste sharp and crisp. 

   ‘Pick some more,’ smiled the man.

    Prakash gave him a bright smile, and happily chose some medium sized guavas.  They smelt divine. The man weighed the five guavas, wrapped them in an old newspaper, tied up the bundle tightly with a white string and gave the packet to Prakash.

   ‘Here you are, little boy. Enjoy the fruit,’ he smiled. 

   Prakash smiled back at him and walked out with a spring in his steps. 

   Standing in a corner of the street, he untied the bundle, took out one small guava, rubbed it hard on the side of his shorts and bit into it. The fruit exploded his taste buds, tingled inside his mouth till his entire body woke up to the fullness of the guava. This must be the twenty fifth or the thirty ninth guava I’m eating,  and yet it tastes so new and fresh with just that little touch of a tangy sourness! It’s juicy, yummy, and always reminds me of a fresh rainfall and the smell of dampened earth. 

    His hunger was now a bit subdued. Suddenly, he was filled with remorse for stealing money from his mother’s sugar jar. Would she find some notes missing? Does she count the money each time she puts in new notes, or coins? He felt awful that he had to steal money to buy an apple, which was not so special anyway. Let me give the remaining guavas to my mother, and my Ajji. They can cut the big guavas into pieces and share with my Anna, sister and brother. Won’t my mother suspect that I stole money to buy this packet of guavas? I’ll tell her that it’s from my friend’s garden and that he gave them to me. He took out the guavas,  stuffed the pockets of his shorts on both sides till they bulged, threw away the old newspaper with the string and walked toward his home.

   His mother was waiting outside the porch.

   ‘mari! I got so worried. You’re a little late today. What happened, my child?’ she asked anxiously.  

   ‘I was playing Kho- Kho, Amma. I’m okay,’ he smiled, taking out the guavas from his pockets. ‘Take these guavas.’

   ‘Oh. These guavas look so good. They smell nice too,’ said his mother, putting out the pallu of her saree to hold all the guavas together. ‘How did you get so many guavas?’

   ‘Amma, my friend has a big garden with lots of guava trees. He gave them to me.’

   ‘Very nice of him. Come. Wash your face, hands and feet. Change your clothes and put out your school clothes for washing,’ she said, going inside the house. Prakash followed her, pleased with his antics for the day.

   ‘mari! Thank god you’re back. Why’re you so late?’ smiled his grandmother. ‘Go to the bathroom, wash up. I’ll give you some freshly fried sandige’. 

   ‘Oh Ajji, I would love to have them. I’m so hungry,’ he said, rushing to the washroom. 

   He washed, changed and went to the kitchen. His grandmother gave him a full plate of freshly fried sandige with chakli and a large piece of jaggery. Prakash crunched the sandige noisily between his teeth.

   ‘Ajji, I got some delicious guava for you, Amma and Anna. Please cut them up and have it.’

   ‘Really? From where did you get them?’ 

   ‘My friend has a big garden with guava trees. He gave them to me. Please have them,’ he said, returning to eat the goodies on  his plate with much relish. He went to the courtyard at the rear portion of the house to wash his plate. His grandmother was sweeping the area around the potted tulsi plant. 

   ‘Hurry up and wash the plate under the tap. Let’s both rush inside the house. mari, the tiles of the courtyard feel so hot! Come in, quicky!’ she said. She squinted her eyes and looked up at the sky. 

   ‘No sign of rain yet, although it’s time for rains. Oh God, will we have one more dry summer?’ she muttered.   

With his washed plate in hand, Prakash followed his grandmother’s eyes and looked up at the hot blue sky. And then burst into a song.

baaro, baaro, Maleraaya            come, come,  Lord of rains
balaiya thotake neerilla               there’s no water for the banana grove
huyyo, huyyo Maleraaya             pour down, and pour on,  Lord of rains
hoovina thotake neerilla             there’s no water for the flowering garden
baaro, baaro, Maleraaya              

   ‘Arre! mari, how beautifully you sing,’ said his grandmother, her face lit up with her broad smile. ‘Sing on, dear child. It is said that an innocent child’s prayer will always be answered. May your sweet song reach Maleraya and may he shower us all abundantly with rain, so that’ll we’ll have good crops this time.’  She cracked her knuckles on the sides of her temples in a characteristic gesture to ward off ‘the evil eye’ that may hover around her dear grandson.  

   ‘Come in,’ 

   Prakash went in and headed toward the room that he shared with his sister and brother. He took out his book for doing the day’s homework. And smiled at the primer with the pictures.

   ‘A’ for apple. 

   ‘A for Ajji!’ he cried out aloud. 

   ‘What! Prakash, what are you saying?’ asked his elder brother.

   ‘Nothing.’

****

The author wishes to gratefully thank:

 –Vanamala Viswanatha who vetted the rhymes in Kannada. An eminent bilingual academician and an award-winning translator, her rendering of Harishchandra Kavvyam, a 13th century Kannada work, created ripples in the literary fraternity. Her other notable translations include Sara Aboobacker’s Kannada novel, Breaking Ties and Lankesh’s anthology of short stories When Stone Melts. For more information, please visit her site. 

–Keerti Ramachandra for her valuable suggestions. A  distinguished editor and translator who works in three languages, Marathi, Kannada and English, she has translated the works of Gangadhar Gadgil, U. R. Ananthamurthy and Vijaya Rajadyaksha among many others. She is also on the panel of editors, The Beacon webzine  

Glossary

Ajji: Grandmother

Anna: Here, father. In some Kannada families, children address their father as ‘Anna’, while in others they call him ‘Appa’.

Pittu: A game played with seven flat stones and a ball, usually with two teams. 

chakli: Crisp fried snacks made with a rice and urad in a variety of combinations. 

mari: A tender term of endearment in Kannada used for small children. 

Maleraya: The Lord of rains. Indra. 

sandige:  Crisp snacks made with rice, sago and other ingredients. 

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Dr. Lakshmi Kannan is a bilingual writer and uses the pen-name ‘Kaaveri’ for her writings in Tamil. She has twenty-seven books published till date in English and Tamil that include novels, short stories, poems and translations. Her most recent publication is Wooden Cow (Orient BlackSwan, 2021), her translation of the iconic Tamil writer T. Janakiraman’s novel for his Centenary Celebrations that concluded in June this year (2021) Her other books are The Glass Bead Curtain, a novel (2016, 2020) and Sipping the Jasmine Moon, poems (2019). 
Apart from her creative work, she has written on gender, the politics of language and the art of translation. She taught English for several years and was on the faculty in the universities of Delhi and Jadavpur, Kolkata, and IIT, Delhi