This was probably around 1977/78, I was home on short leave, it was a hot summer day, and my father told me the previous night that we were going to Rohtak the next morning. Like a dutiful young son, I was 20-21 then, I got ready next morning, did tel-pani check for the trusty Ambassador, and was ready to roll when Dad emerged with a small suitcase full of files.
We put the files in the back seat and started driving towards Rohtak. Halfway there, he suggested a stop for tea, I added pakodas to the repertoire, and we pulled over at some random dhaba to have tea and pakodas with dahi. Interesting combination, subsequently seen by me on trips towards hot parts of India – hot fried items submerged in thick curds with all sorts of interesting masalas and mirchis and pyaaz and adrak and more on top.
Till then, although I knew what we were going to Rohtak for, I had not brought up the topic because as far as I was concerned, I spoke when spoken to, we would meet a variety of relatives, some who were on “our side” and some who were on the “other side”- but it was fun meeting their kids and going wandering in Rohtak while the elders did whatever they had to in the Courts. By that time, in a separate incident, a cousin’s husband had already been pitch-forked to death in a land dispute in a neighbouring district, so I was not new to Punjabi land battles between family.
So when we were about to leave the dhaba, I hesitantly asked my father – “so why are we really going to Rohtak, I am not likely to become a farmer carrying a shotgun in my lap and facing the chance of getting pitch-forked?” “I was quite happy with the Merchant Navy,” I added, and there was a deep silence for a while, while I wondered whether I had over-stepped my limits and it was time to tell the shipping company that I wanted to re-join.
“We are going to Rohtak for my yet unborn Grandchildren”, my father told me, very gravely and seriously, for which I had an answer ready, because a few days before, one of the leading business families of Delhi then, their pater familias who used to present us with cricket balls and gloves, had pretty much told us the same thing as he saw his succession plans go adrift – “if your yet unborn Grandchildren are good guys, then they won’t need land in Rohtak (it was saline then and value was not much) and if they are not good guys, then we are bigger champions for going in this hot sun.” (Cars were certainly not air-conditioned in those days.)
My Dad looked at me, softened a bit, and said, OK, turn the car around, we are going back to Delhi. I have no idea what he did with the files after that.
(To be continued)
( Veeresh Malik was a seafarer. And a lot more besides. A decade in facial biometrics, which took him into the world of finance, gaming, preventive defence and money laundering before the subliminal mind management technology blew his brains out. His romance with the media endures since 1994, duly responded by Outlook, among others.)
