To Pran, most things were pointless. Vegetables, for instance. What was the point in eating vegetables to stay healthy when they were full of pesticides? He failed to see why he had to learn arithmetic when there were calculators. Why have weathermen when they couldn’t stop a cyclone? What was the point? At twelve, Pran was a wise little man who had decided that the world was an absurd animal. It did things without rhyme or reason. It was a mad little puppy chasing its own tail. Pointless.
Amongst all the pointless things that Pran had scrawled on his list on the door, History was pinned right at the top. It seemed silly to devote so many hours studying a subject that was completely useless. Emperors with moustaches and ministers with turbans; small wars and mighty conquests; princesses with tempers and monuments on each page. History was like your neighbour’s family album. You didn’t know anyone in the pictures, but you had to listen to their life-stories.
That day, Rina Miss was talking about the partition of India. Countries like separated twins, she was saying. Gandhi was a most unhappy man. There were riots. People were killed and families were lost. Pran was thinking about the 20-20 World Cup final.
When Misbah hit the ball high in the air, Pran’s heart had dropped to his feet. It came surging back when Sreesanth caught the ball and India erupted in joy. No, he wasn’t sad at all about the partition. It was pointless to be sad about it. There were two countries and two cricket teams; that only made life more exciting. When he came home from school, his grandpa was nodding on his chair in front of the TV as usual. He was eighty one and rarely spoke. But today, he seemed strangely agitated. “What are these people doing to the country?” he hissed. Pran glanced at the screen. The newsreader was saying something about riots. Somebody hitting somebody else. Bombs going off like Diwali crackers. Pran didn’t understand why grandpa should be so upset. News channels were boring; they repeated the same stories over and over again till the words made no sense at all. And it wasn’t happening in their city anyway.
“It’s nothing, grandpa. Go back to sleep,” he said in a comforting voice.
“It is everything, boy. Everything. Everything we fought for…that’s what is crumbling before you on that screen!” thundered grandpa.
