Sharika Nair
I have been considering getting a car for a while now. A car doesn’t serve much of a practical purpose, no doubt. For my daily commute, I have my yellow bus. The rest of necessary excursions, from grocery stores to movie theatres, are easily managed in the car driven by the folks who live with me. But it would be good to have a vehicle of my own.
I am not one to delve deeply into my own psyche. However, I will not pretend to be obtuse enough to be unaware of the real motive behind my sudden desire for a four wheeler. It is to get even with Vihaan. He lives on the fifth floor. Ever since he got his new shiny blue car he behaves as if everyone else is a lesser mortal. He wouldn’t even let me sit in his car. His exact words were, “Hey! Get out of my car. The battery charge will get wasted.” The gall of him!
I know it’s not going to be easy getting a car. The problem is that, as much as I hate admitting it, I am pretty much dependent on the folks who live with me. I’ll have to convince them about it.
***
Today morning, being a Sunday, the lady of the house was lounging in the living room, lazily skimming through a book. I felt it was a good time to broach the topic. I have always believed that the direct approach is the best approach. Throw a tantrum, if necessary, if you can get away with it. I sat next to her, and gave her my most winning smile. She smiled back and patted me affectionately on my cheek.
Encouraged, I said, “Mama, can you buy me a new car? A new red car?”
Her expression changed to one of annoyance immediately. “Rishabh, you already have so many cars to play with? Why do you need one more?”
I hastened to make myself clear. “Not the small cars Mama. A big car. I can sit inside it and drive. Like Vihaan’s blue car.”
“Rishabh, you cannot keep buying stuff just because other kids have them. Why don’t you use your tricycle more? It’s been lying on the balcony, gathering dust for ages.”
“But the cycle makes my legs pain. I need the car to go to far places.”
She rolled her eyes rather dramatically, and insensitively if I may add. Unmindful to my hurt feelings she went on, “Really? And which far-off places do you need to go to, young man? You go to school on your school bus. You don’t need to go anywhere else.”
At the risk of sounding a tad misogynistic, I realised I was speaking to the wrong person on the topic of automobiles.
Once Dad got back from his Yoga class, I waited for him to settle down with the newspaper and a cup of tea. I perched myself on the chair beside him and asked him, man to man, “Papa, can you can buy me one red car?”
Unfortunately, his reaction was not the encouraging one I hoped for.
“No Rishabh, we cannot buy another toy that just adds to the clutter in the house.”
The afternoon found me in a pensive mood. Even the new Spider-Man show on television failed to cheer me up. My dark thoughts dwelt upon the vagaries of life and the pain and misery that had already descended upon me, at so young an age. However, temperamentally I am not one to give up easily. Once, I got my mum to buy me a packet of cream biscuits at a store, by asking her for it 32 times. It is the crème de la crème of my achievements. I have a natural talent for wearing down resistance. Another time, I got an ice cream sundae by rolling on the floor and howling at the top of my voice. That was a long time back, when I was just three and naïve, and yet to polish my technique. At the risk of sounding a little immodest, I am a lot smoother now.
I was yet to try my charms on one member of my family. Mili was doing her home work in her room. I walked up to her and asked her, “Chechi, can you can buy me one red car?” She made a wry face and said, “No, I cannot, you little monkey. I don’t have any money.” Though affronted at being called a little monkey, I let the remark slide since my sister had provided me with the missing puzzle piece required for the fruition of my automobile shopping plan. Money. That’s all I needed and I had a lot of money.
I quietly took out my money box from my cupboard, took it to the balcony and started counting the coins. Engrossed in my financial affairs, I did not realise that my mother had snuck up behind me.
“What are you doing, Rishabh?” she asked.
I swear the woman can move as quiet as a cat when she wants to. Startled, I decided to come clean with my plan. “Mama, I am counting my moneys to buy my red car.”
She started on one of her strange laughing bouts even though I hadn’t said anything funny. She finally stopped laughing, wiped her tears and said, “Rishabh, you hardly have 15 Rupees in your piggy bank. That is very less ‘moneys’. You cannot buy a car with that. You will need at least 5000 Rupees for a car that you can ride around like Vihaan’s.”
This put a spoke in my wheel, pun entirely unintended, and I deflated like a flat tyre.
***
A few days have gone by since my last attempt. It could be a few weeks as well. Time is pretty fluid when you are five years old. I have certainly not given up. I have been accruing my good karma points and keeping my parents in the loop. Just this morning, I told Mom, “Mama, you know human beams have to take care of our earth. We should not throw garbage on the street. We should not waste water.”
“Human what?” she asked.
“Human beams,” I enunciated clearly.
She laughed and said, “aww.. aren’t you a beam of sunshine?”
“Mama, can you can..”
“No! No car.”
***
I am running out of ideas. Things are becoming intolerable. I have been avoiding the apartment play area since Vihaan is always there in his blue car. To make things worse, Yash has got a new car too. Black with sliver streaks. Just like the colour of his heart. Without the silver streaks, that is. His heart is plain black. He wouldn’t allow me to sit in his car as well.
***
The doorbell rang about an hour back. I opened the door to let in the food lady. Though she cooks our meals, my interaction with her has always been minimal. My situation has been so bleak that I was ready to grasp at straws. My command over Hindi is not great and the food lady speaks no English. Still I managed to tell her “mujhe car chahiye (I want a car)”. She smiled and nodded as if she was impressed. What is the point in smiling and being friendly, if you are not going to help? Grownups really are the worst.
Desperate times call for desperate measures. I decided that auto theft was the only recourse left to me. My conscience did not prick me much. Ethics are pretty fluid when you are five years old.
My challenge was coming up with a fail-safe plan. I decided to keep it simple. I would wait till night time and go quietly down to the fifth floor. Vihaan’s car is usually parked outside his apartment door. I would bring it upstairs and keep it in my room. I would probably have to hide it under a bed sheet to avoid awkward questions.
***
The D-day was yesterday. I had brushed my teeth, changed into my pyjamas, and got into my bed. Dad read me my favourite Noddy story. Once he was done, he kissed me goodnight, took out his cell phone and walked off to make a call. This was my chance. I quietly walked to the front door when I realised that my very first hurdle might be insurmountable. The top latch of the door was bolted and it was far too high for me to unfasten. I pushed a chair towards the door and climbed up on it when Dad walked in.
“Rishabh! what are you doing?”
I said, “Nothing,” and threw in a shrug for good measure, trying to look as innocent as possible. “I am not a stealer,” I added, to ensure my reputation remained unsullied. I was lifted up and taken unceremoniously back to bed and I am ashamed to confess that I fell asleep before I could attempt the heist again.
***
I have been slightly under the weather since yesterday. I felt hot and cold at the same time, when I woke up. Since it was Saturday, I didn’t have to go to school. I slept most of the afternoon wrapped up in my blanket. My mom made me drink hot turmeric milk in the evening but I made it clear that dinner was off the table. I knew since I was sick, it was a good occasion to appeal my case yet again. I was just too drowsy and all I could mumble was “red car”. The last thing I heard as I fell asleep was my Mom worriedly asking Dad, “Do you think he’s developed a fever because of his car craze?”
Today morning, when I woke up I was happy to find my fever gone. About an hour ago, Dad called me to the living room. Mom said, “Go and see. Papa has a surprise for you.” Can you believe it? There it was, a shiny red car with the cling film still on! I broke into a spontaneous victory dance around the car and Dad, Mom and Mili laughed at my antics. I can’t wait to take it downstairs and watch Vihaan and Yash go green with jealousy. It’s been a good day.
***
It’s been a week or two since I got my red car. Could be a month. My mom was grumbling about the car lying unused, so I took it for a drive around the house. That should placate her for the day.
As I turned on the television, the advertisement came on again. The blue and the red colours were vivid, almost magical, and seemed to flow out of the screen, right into the room. I could not wait any longer. I had to do something. My mum was shelling peas in the dining room.
I walked up to her and said, “Mama?”
“Yes?”
As I might have mentioned before, I believe in the direct approach. But I faltered this time and found myself questioning my usual style. It could do with some refining, I decided.
“Mama, I love you.”
“Awwww baby I love you too.”
She bent down and kissed me gently on the forehead and turned back to her peas. It was now or never. I mustered all my courage.
“Mama?”
“Hmm?”
“Mama… Can you buy me one Superman toy?”
Sharika Nair previously worked for the digital magazine YourStory, where she wrote articles on gender issues and feature stories on entrepreneurs and start-ups. Her short, flash and micro fiction has appeared in 101 Words, Deccan Herald, Kitaab, Mean Pepper Vine, The Punch Magazine, Out of Print, Flash Fiction Magazine, Muse India and in anthologies like The Best Asian Short Stories 2023 and Bridges not Borders. She has authored a children’s book titled Tara and the Quest for the Cursed Prince. Sharika is the winner of the Queen Mary Wasafiri New Writing Prize 2023 in fiction and London Independent Story Prize 2024 in flash fiction. She lives in Bangalore.
Featured photo by Cottonbro Studio (Pexels)
Nicely etched – desires, longings on repeat.