When my classmates used to call him by that name, besides tickling my funny bones it also made me wonder as to how a fair, plump boy got that name. It had nothing to do with the shape of his body. The boy was two years senior to me in school. One day I bumped into him and couldn't stop being amused at his long dishevelled hair - with rope like curls in them, which couldn't have come in contact with shampoo or soap for months I could bet. And stood still like adamant children who can't be persuaded from playing nuisance, despite being oiled and combed to a neat parting on the right .
'Here goes the story behind the name', I told myself and couldn't suppress my giggle. But at the same time, at that age - it also made me tensed. What if the boy took offense to my behaviour ? What if he was a school prefect ? Well.. he could easily get me into trouble then by finding fault with the way my shirt was tucked inside my three quarter shorts, for a missing tie or worse still for wearing keds instead of shoes. Will he complain to the principal ? My fear made me scurry away soon. As I shot a fleeting glance backwards, I saw the boy smiling. He was well aware that I knew the name with which the boys taunted him.
I hadn't met him for quite some time after that and so couldn't come to know of his real name - the one his parents had given him. We were looking for a private tutor for my younger brother to help him with his Mathematics lessons when suddenly one day 'Kouya' came to see my father. From where he had come to know of our address, I don't know, but as I returned from the playgrounds one evening I found the boy sipping a cup of tea in our drawing room - talking to my father. He greeted me with a stupid grin as I saw him for the second time in my life. I had not heard his name amongst those seniors authenticated by the teachers as good students to whom the school looked upto in Class Twelve board examinations .. Engg. .. Medical. 'He must be giving tutions to many, otherwise why did he come for the job ' I told myself.
It needs to be said in this regard that my brother didn't like to be taught by members of our family. Being just two years senior made me his friend rather than a brother who needed to be revered if only for his age. He could very easily bare his mind to me - his inhibitions, ambitions, accomplishments. I was perhaps the most enthusiastic listener of his running commentaries - the pranks he played at school, the goals he scored in the playground by tackling the ball away from the boy who took airs to be the best fullback in class and deceiving the goalkeeper an umpteen number of times, the girl living down the lane in the corner who watched him intently whenever he passed her - giving him meaningful smiles. He'd confide every little secret to me, but when it came to studies it simply wasn't cool anymore .
He was a headstrong .. just my opposite.. playful .. liked to hang out with friends .. and the most distinguishable part being .. he stayed miles away from books .. If I ever sat with him to solve any mathematics problem .. he couldn't stop laughing, watching my serious face ..
Sometimes father had tried to give him lessons in history and after sometime finding him heavy-eyed had left him with a sigh, murmuring. 'Nothing is going to get inside that boy's head now..' lamenting as usual about his younger son to have gone astray for which he always held me and mother responsible again for reasons incomprehensible to us.
It was only when the exams came knocking the door could my beloved brother be found in the company of books. His annual results were satisfactory - neither brilliant nor poor. Quite appreciable - given the little time he dedicated to studies; but the first board examinations were nearing and father couldn't take chances any more . We needed someone who could take the reins of a wild horse.
That he was capable of doing good enough, we didn't have a little doubt about. We only wanted someone to administer him - our love came in the way of that. Also it was too late now to become strict and harsh upon him - we had already been taken for granted . It was this one area in which I doubted Kouya's capabilities .
He started coming from the day and at the time agreed upon. I could see the boy from very close quarters now. Middle-heighted .. stout .. distinguishably fair. A line of faint smile crossed his lips when he spoke. But we found him to be reserved otherwise. I let go of my doubts I had had about him earlier and rejoiced with the thought that finally a person was found who could control my brother.
I learnt his real name to be Debasish Banerjee. It meant he was a brahmin and immediately my eyes wandered to the garland of rudraksh and a string of cotton thread adorning his neck. I was inquisitive to know if he also performed the household pujas. Finding a purohit for Saraswati or Lakhshmi puja during the festival times was a real torture to one's patience and circumstances compelled father to assign one of my prime duties during those times to literally catch a priest from the roads.
The bengalis reading this who have to organize these religious functions every year in their homes are well aware of the nature of these priests - hardly they reached the house at the time as promised or more still they came at all. To wait for them endlessly was to risk the auspicious time left for the puja .. which left the house owner with the only choice of waiting for a priest on the road and catching him on his way between households. Tsk..tsk.. I chuckled .. what was I thinking ?
If father came to know of my intentions it would certainly not be graceful on my part to receive a scolding infront of my brother. Sometimes I can hardly stop my mind into weaving such fantasies. A home tutor doubling up as a home priest .. gosh .. my brother would've laughed his head off.
Just when I thought I had checked out with his ornamentation my eyes fell on his arms. He was wearing a half-shirt, the weather being summer at that time and tied neatly on his right arm was a silver amulet with a red coral stone in the centre - the ornament making his arm look fatter. Despite being oiled and combed well the hairs stood like coiled ropes on his head as usual as if in testimony to the name he earned from the naughty children.
Kauya wore light colured simple pairs of half-shirts and trousers when he came to give tutions. He never tried kurta-pyjaamas - the most convenient dress for the job. I wondered why though I could deduce the reason long afterwards. A foul smell filled the room where he sat - followed him from the street to inside our home. One could easily find his unkempt beard and irregularly washed clothes to be the reason behind our discomfiture. But still nobody of us could break the bonds of courtesy and ask him to wear clean clothes to our house on his face. We sprayed perfume in the room instead, when he left everyday.
Father had imposed the responsibility of looking after my brother's studies and after appointment of a private tutor my job got restricted only to the extent of keeping watch on how the new teacher was performing. However, my rejoicing over the relief of my tiresome and ineffectual duty was only an illusion, I found soon. Kouya was very organized and did his job well - little better than my expectations. Everyday he'd bring a note with the details of the topics he'd discuss that day. 'Very professional' I thought. Sometimes a fleeting glance would reveal even a few maths sums solved in them.
One day while passing by my brother's room I heard my brother ask his tutor why they were framing some equations. I heard Kouya say .. Yes and I can bet to have heard him correctly to this day .. even twenty-five years after that incident .. It was the strangest answer I've heard from any teacher .'To get down to the answer this is required' was Kouya's explanation to his student. I couldn't believe my ears . After that I found Kouya to be absenting from his job often. Upon asking all I could learn from my brother was that he had some urgent personal work to do and couldn't help otherwise. Acting on a sudden impulse I asked him to solve an equation from the chapter his teacher was teaching. My brother feined an excuse but as I looked at him he took his eyes away from mine.
It was the appropriate moment to charge at him and I knew if I let go of the moment my brother would come up with more clever methods to dodge me later. 'I'll have to tell father in that case .. he has given me the responsibility .. so without trying to act smart tell me what's exactly going on .. will ye ?' I was amazed at the growth in pitch of my voice. I knew I was a bit rude but the realization of this being my last chance to exercise my control over my brother and gain father's trust did not make me repent for my behavior.
He broke down this time and soon the cat was pulled out of the bag. I learnt that Kouya noted his student's maths problems, got them solved from his friends and copied back the same with comma, colon, full stop in front of my brother. This explained Kouya's 'urgent personal work ' for which he took leave frequently. 'Aren't you old enough to realize he is an imposter and it is your career which is at stake ?' I asked my brother in a fit of a rage ..'This is just suicide '
After a long time I saw tears in my brother's eyes. ' He told me he needed money badly.. had lots of responsibilities at home .. He held my hands and requested me not to tell father .. Dada .. he is a good man .. I'll take help from my friends .. Sirs.. Ma'ams .. I'll study well .. Don't tell Baba .. Please'
It goes without saying that my father had come to know of the story that night itself and the very next day Kouya was relieved from his duties. His last month's salary was spared though - our respectable family could not stoop that low. But the incident made my father to worry more about my brother.
Later on I learnt about him at school. I know I should've enquired about him earlier. Kouya had failed in classes eight and nine .. twice . Every time he fell at the feet of the principal and begged not to throw him out. He somehow managed to clear his class ten exams and take admission again in Class Eleven. His name was not nominated by the school for the coming year's higher secondary board examinations. But his family conditions were really bad. His late father worked as a Group D employee. He had responsibilities towards his two brothers and a sister. Due to our school being run by the railways, the monthly fees was nominal. Otherwise it would've been hardly possible for him to continue his education.
Even after that incident when I'd come across him at school his face didn't show up any sign of insult, rather he'd smile at me like old times. As if nothing happened between us. When boys of classes six and seven shouted 'Kouya' 'Kouya' after him - some even braving themselves to the extent of following him for sometime before running away I found him walking leisurely .. indifferent .. unperturbed .. !!! A face almost hidden under a thicket of beard and moustache , depicting faux seriousness .. a school uniform unwashed for months and a stench which could make people retch ..
(This photograph is an imagination run wild of what Kouya might look like today, twenty-five years later ..if he is alive .. Given the alarming figures of unemployed educated youths in the state .. a formal education which people like him could have had.. and living on the fringe line drawn by governments between the financial classes of the society .. 'Kouya' could only manage petty jobs to earn his daily rice .. that is if we're optimistic enough to think that he hasn't made begging his profession. The colour of his skin .. coral amulet .. the family prestige associated with his surname has all perished in the cruel battle for survival .. what lived was a name .. which combined with his looks made him a joker before others)
