was my destiny, and earning that meagre income from it my karma. More was not
meant to be. I breathed out, felt better and opened the cash drawer.
'Pretty low for two weeks. But first the earthquake, and now the India-Australia
series,' Ish said from his corner.
'People really don't have a reason to play anymore,' Omi said.
'No, no. It's fine. What's happening in the series?' I said. I had lost track of the
cricket schedule.
'India lost the first test. Two more to go. The next one is in Calcutta,' Ish said.
'Damn. One-days?'
'Five of them, yet to start,' Omi said. 'I wouldn't get my hopes high. These
Australians are made of something else.'
'I'd love to know how the Australians do it,' Ish said.
Mama's arrival broke up our chat. 'Samosas, hot, careful,' he said, placing a
brown bag on the counter.
In my earlier avatar, this was my cue to frown, to comment about the grease
spoiling the counter. However, the new post-quake Govind no longer saw Mama
as hostile. We sat in the sunny courtyard having tea and samosas. They tasted
delicious, I think samosas are the best snack known to man.
'Try to forget what happened,' Mama sighed. 'I have never seen such
devastation.'
'How was your trip?' Omi said. Mama had just returned from Bhuj. 'Misery
everywhere. We need camps all over Gujarat. But how much can Parekh-ji do?'
Mama had stayed up nights to set up the makeshift relief camp at the
Belrampur school. Parekh-ji had sent truckloads of grain, pulses and other
supplies. People had finally begun to move out and regain their lives.
'We'll close the camp in three weeks,' Mama said to Omi, 'and I can go back to
my main cause, Ayodhya.'
The camp had won Mama many fans in the neighbourhood, Technically,
anyone could seek refuge. However, a Muslim family would rarely go there for
help. Even if they did, camp managers handed out rations but emphasised that
everyone in the camp was a Hindu. Despite this soft discrimination, the new-me
found it a noble exercise.
'Mama, about your loan,' I turned to him, but he did not hear me.
'My son is coming with me to Ayodhya. You guys should join,' he said. He saw
our reluctant faces and added, 'I mean after you restore the business.'
'We can help here, Mama,' Omi said. 'Is there any project after 1 he camp?'
'Oh yes, the spoonful of mud campaign,' Mama said. We looked puzzled.
'We are going to Ayodhya for a reason. We will get gunnybags full of soil from
there. We will go to every Hindu house in Belrampur and ask them if they want a
spoon of mud from Rama's birthplace in their house. They can put it in their
backyard, mix it with plants or whatever. A great idea from Parekh-ji.'
I saw Parekh-ji's twisted but impeccable logic. No one would say no to a
spoonful of soil from Ayodhya. But with that, they were inadvertently buying into
the cause. Sympathy for people fighting for Ayodhya would be automatic. And
sympathy converted well into votes.
Mama noted the cynicism in my expression.
'Only a marketing strategy for a small campaign. The other party does it at a
far bigger scale.'
I picked up another samosa.
avery
(avery)
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