Lost Innocence Found

It was Manthan who first brought Amar Chitra Katha into our lives. His collection was vast, brimming with titles spanning from the epic to the obscure. Sunday afternoons were an event: the lot of us crammed into his old, charming home, books strewn about the floor in delightful chaos. Manthan, Cecil, and I would each pick a character and throw ourselves into acting out scenes, hour after hour. Parental figures would occasionally intrude, pleading for us to take up painting or cricket instead, but we held fast to our theatrics, unmoved by scoldings or entreaties.

Occasionally these theatrics also made their way to school. Some days, the classroom would suddenly be transformed into a battlefield with arrows and grenades flying everywhere. Wooden benches would become handy battleground hideouts, capable of withstanding even the most valiant of assaults. Chalk missiles launched via rubber bands and damp handkerchiefs wielded with precision soon earned a reputation as the most formidable of weapons, leading to their eventual banishment for being 'against the spirit' after a few unfortunate incidents. The playground, on other days, would become a dense jungle teeming with prowling predators at every corner. Naturally, these escapades drew the ire of the schoolmasters, whose patience was as limited as their punishments were impartial. Whether you frittered away time, pulled a prank, or engaged in creative endeavor like ours, the consequence was the same—no leniency, no exemptions.

Manthan and I found these settings stifling, the kind of places where walls closed in on your imagination and artistic endeavors were met with blank stares. Though we hailed from comfortable, even affluent backgrounds—proof, as they say, that money doesn’t buy taste—we felt the itch to break free and showcase our true potential. It was clear: the only way to breathe life into our creative ambitions was to venture into the world beyond. Thus, we hatched a plan to pool our pocket money and skip school the following Saturday. With any luck, we’d either earn a mention in the local paper or, better still, cross paths with a director in search of fresh talent for his next masterpiece. 

The winter months in Pune possess a certain misty charm, a haze that wraps around the city like a whisper. That particular Saturday morning, a few tentative rays of sunlight broke through the chill, hinting at an adventure waiting to unfold. Though Manthan and I had orchestrated the plan, it was Cecil who buzzed with the most excitement since he had never set foot out of Kothrud. Manthan and I, by contrast, were seasoned travelers, having even been to Mumbai on a couple of occasions. We all boarded our respective school buses, met at the creek near our school and hid our bags in the deep end of the lake. When we were satisfied that our belongings were safe, we started out explore the city of Pune. 

The sun had just begun its climb, casting a warm golden hue over the city as we set out with the carefree energy only school kids could muster. The first stop was the bustling Shaniwar Wada, its imposing stone walls and echoes of history immediately pulling us into stories of Peshwas and palace intrigue. We darted through its archways, playing a mix of hide-and-seek and amateur historian. Next, we wandered into the lively lanes of Tulshibaug, where the scent of fresh flowers mixed with the spicy tang of street food. Vendors called out, displaying glittering trinkets, colorful bangles, and handcrafted artifacts that caught the sunlight like little prisms. We sampled vada pav from a corner stall, the crispy bread and spicy filling eliciting gasps and giggles as our mouths burned and eyes watered. The day stretched on as we moved from one iconic spot to another, letting the rhythm of Pune’s streets guide our impromptu adventure.

As the afternoon waned, we made our way up the winding path to the ARAI Tekdi, the hill known for its sweeping view of the city at sunset. The climb was peppered with laughter and the occasional challenge to race up the slope, our legs propelled by the thrill of adventure. When we reached the top, the sun was a glowing ember, casting long shadows and painting the sky in hues of orange, pink, and purple. We sat down, catching our breath and taking in the serene panorama of Pune’s bustling life below. Just as the first cool breeze hinted at the coming dusk, a figure appeared from the grove of trees nearby. He was a short, plump man, draped in a tattered shirt and brown spectacles with deep-set eyes that seemed to carry stories untold. He approached slowly, a faint, knowing smile on his lips. For a moment, the chatter among us stilled, replaced by the quiet rustle of leaves and our quickening heartbeats. 

“Do your parents know you’re hiding out here?” the man asked in a strict tone. We responded with an empty smile and avoided the question. Just then, Manthan jumped up and started chasing a dog that had wandered over. Cecil and I shared quick looks as the man dusted off a bench and sat down next to us. “When I was your age, I had two girlfriends. Any of you boys have luck with the ladies?” Cecil, ever eager to stir things up, quickly ratted out Manthan, saying he was dating a senior girl. I shot him a sharp look, not wanting us to engage further with this stranger. “Ah, a cheeky one, is he? I bet he skips school sometimes for some funny business, disgraceful bugger.”

We ignored his comment, but from the corner of our eyes, we soon noticed him dancing oddly. Cecil couldn’t help but laugh at his peculiar moves, but as I watched more closely, I realized they were unsettlingly suggestive. A sense of discomfort washed over me, and I decided we should leave. I grabbed Cecil’s arm and started to lead him toward Manthan. Even when we reached the top of the hill, we could still hear his voice trailing behind us. “Naughty boys need a proper punishment, red and swollen backsides—oh, what a sight that would be!” Manthan, unaware of our earlier encounter, muttered, “What a pervert.”

The rest of the journey was quiet and heavy. The promising day had taken a bitter turn, leaving us with an uncomfortable truth: the world outside was not the haven of wonder and creativity we had imagined. It was sometimes dull and, worse, could be dangerous. A newfound appreciation for the safety of home settled in. New timetables were drawn up, dedicating more time to studies and only an hour or two a week for play. This renewed focus, of course, only lasted a week or so, but the shift in our worldview was permanent.

PS: loosely based on James Joyce's short story "An encounter" from Dubliners.