'Once a fight is created, it leads to another and so on. Youl can't really check
it,' lsh said.
'You know I used to teach zoology in college,' Ali's dad said. 'And I once read
about chimpanzee fights that may be relevant here.'
'Chimpanzee fights?'
'Yes, male chimpanzees of the same pack fight violently with each other - for
food, females, whatever. However, after the fight, they go through a strange ritual.
They kiss each other, on the lips.'
Even Omi had to laugh.
'So Hindus and Muslims should kiss?' I said.
'No, the point is this ritual was created by nature. To make sure the fight gets
resolved and the pack stays together. In fact, any long-term relationship requires
this.'
'Any?' Ish said.
'Yes, take any husband and wife. They will fight, and hurt each other
emotionally. However, later they will make up, with hugs, presents or kind
understanding words. These reconciliatory mechanisms are essential. The
problem in Indian Hindu-Muslim rivalry is not that that one is right and the other
is wrong. It is...
'That there are no reconciliatory mechanisms,' Ish said.
'Yes, so that means if politicians fuel a fire, there is no fire brigade to check it.
It sounds harsh, but Omi is right. People feel inside. Just by not talking about it,
the differences do not go away. The resentment brews and brews, and doesn't
come out until it is too late.'
We had reached the main road and stopped next to a paan shop. I figured out
why Ali's dad had come with us. He wanted I lis after-dinner paan.
'Tell Ali to be on time,' Ish said as we waved goodbye.
The image of kissing chimpanzees stayed with me all night.
Ali came on time in a white kurta pajama. He held his maths books in one
hand and his cricket bat in the other.
‘Cricket first. Keep the books away,’ Ish said.
The boy looked startled by the sudden instruction. I took him upstairs and
opened the vault. Ali chose an empty locker and put down his books. Paresh and
Naveen, two other kids had also come for cricket practice. They were both Ali's
age but looked stronger.
'Boys, run around the backyard twenty times,' Ish ordered in his drill sergeant
voice. His decision on how many rounds the kids must run was arbitrary. I think
he enjoyed this first dose of power everyday.
I went upstairs to the vault to look at Ali's books. The notebooks were blank.
The maths textbook was for Class VII, but looked untouched.
I came out to the first floor balcony. The students were on their morning jog.
'What?' Ish said as Ali stopped after five rounds.
'I ... can't ... run,' Ali heaved.
Omi smirked. 'Buddy, people here do hundred rounds. How are you going to
run between the wickets? How are you going to field?'
'That is why ... I don't ... like cricket,' Ali said, still trying to catch his breath.
'Can't we just play?' Ali said. 'You have to warm up, buddy,' Ish said. Ali had
more than warmed up. His face was hot and red.
avery
(avery)
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