Chapter 6

So once again, this time accompanied, I was at the ghats, but this time neither
to die nor to reborn……simply for breathing a gentle wind warmed over the holiness of ganga by the departing half orange sun; and gulping delicious banarasi lassi on Abhishek’s pocket at ‘Pehelwaan Lassi mahal’, a lassi shop ran by a man thin to the point of emaciation. Earlier I used to question what fanatical idea amused this skinny vendor to label his shop as ‘Pehelwaan’s shop’, a wrestler’s shop, before grandpa silenced my query one day.

The history behind the label: Once upon a time a renowned and elderly professional wrestler, waning with time, decided for a new profession before going moribund. Lassi being his darling drink swayed him into opening a lassi shop. Despite being uneducated he had gathered ample managerial sagacity from wrestling organizers regarding brand marketing, and hence titled the shop on his well known moniker ‘Pehelwaan Ranabahadur thakur lassi mahal’. The strategy worked and he lived economically joyful ever after before the day he died of his third and final heart attack while laughing. The shop was then for a while managed by his only daughter, who after marrying to a non-wrestler handed over the responsibility to her husband. The son-in-law embarrassed to run a shop on father-in-law’s name shortened it to ‘Pehelwaan lassi mahal’, retaining the tag pehelwaan for himself. Although with a brand name shortened by the heir’s embarrassment, the inherited shop thrived, and the son-in-law lived even more joyfully before succumbing to his very first heart attack. First one on third and second one on first; the thinning resistance was a result of change in legacy ………wrestler to non-wrestler. As if to exemplify this shifting legacy even more distinctly there came a visual evidence, a skeleton of a child, as the next heir to the dwindling legacy. The wrestler’s daughter and her non-wrestler companion collectively spawned this current owner, a man thin to the point of emaciation, an all skin-andbone wrestler, a haddi-pehelwaan.

Though the legacy of the proprietor declined with subsequent generation but the quality of lassi persistently sustained against putrefying effect of time, and pluckily survived the challenging impact of market globalization, which as per grandpa in case of lassi would be coca-colaization of Indian thirst.

-------------

Brother Paul is the public relation officer in St. Xavier, a fool-of-a-man semi-reverend though. Too old to be a brother as he lost his way up the echelons of priesthood by frequent imprudence in priestly matters. He was a self made brother who owed his lack of success to nobody. Anyway his unmatched temper, which graciously refused to loose itself on the unintentional as well as intentional insulting sarcasm from others, landed him to a job in Public relation office. An office where the wing legged has been rebuked plentiful times since kindergarten, in front of his worried parents, by semi-reverend brother Paul, for putting his naughty legs in and over numerous monkey business.

--------------

Son-of-an-owl is surely an idiot on all measures but one; this ungrateful son has got brains enough to trick the owl, his father. The owl had inherited enough money to make it work for him instead of working much himself. He owns a lot many petrol pumps in and around the city. The owl never wanted his riches to spoil his son-of-an-owl after a limit, and therefore provided Vibhor with as little pocket money as possible but the son was free to full his bike’s tank at any of his owl’s pump free of cost. Now there was the loop hole to exploit and was exploited. Vibhor got his tanks filled to max at one pump only to sell it to acquaintance at significantly lower price before reaching the next pump for a refill. That alone would not have made his pocket deep if the owl had only two three pumps or if the son played this trick once in a while, but blessed was the owl and an industrious was his son.