Once again, thanks to a fortunate stroke of
serendipity, I have chanced upon a children’s story I wrote in 1974 and
abandoned to its fate. Pop Goes the Slop
is already home to a distant cousin of the latest find. http://bit.ly/1m7bEWO So without further ado, here comes the story
of Chintamani and his loco friends spruced up and updated for 2014.
Chintu comes up with a loco idea.
“Tweet you tomorrow,” whistled Speedy Sparky as he
whizzed past the loco shed.
“Whoosh,” sighed Huff’n’Puff wistfully. “Just look at
him go!”
“Awwww! Speedy’s just a big show-off, he is,” consoled
Chintu promptly. He did not like to see his old friend sad and fretful.
“Spare us the rubbish, young Chints. Show-off? Hah!
Speedily can easily touch 120 without huffin’ an’ puffin’. That’s at least ten
times faster than your slowpoke shunt-artist friends.”
This cruel barb came from Danny Diesel who had just
entered the loco shed for his last-minute check-up. Danny knew very well that
this kind of talk hurt the old timers and their loyal friend Chintu. But he
hardly ever let that stop him.
“Keep quiet, Danny” was Chintu’s angry retort.
Before he could continue, Cheerful Chuggy gave a
warning toot.
“Cool it, Chintoo. Danny is – toot! – right,” he said
a trifle mournfully. “It’s Danny and Speedy and – toot! – youngsters like them
who do all the real – toot! – fast work in the shunting yard these days.”
Chintu wanted to point out that, all said and done,
Danny guzzled diesel oil and Speedy thrived on electricity while his pals worked
strictly on their own steam. But he knew it wouldn’t do any good to dispel the
dark and gloomy mood Huffy was in right now.
“Times have sure changed, haven’t they?” sputtered
Huffy despondently. “Why I still remember the days…”
“Can it, Gramps,” cut in Danny with a sneer. “Spare us
another one of your – yawwwn! – rambling loco tales.”
Chintu sat quietly until Danny left the loco shed.
“Don’t mind him, Huffy,” he said once he was sure
Danny was out of earshot. “He just likes to tease, you know.”
That didn’t lift Huffy’s dark mood. But Cheerful
Chuggy was as usual true to his name.
“Quit being so huffy, Huffy dear,” he appealed to his
friend playfully. “Do tell young – toot! – Chintoo how you saved your – toot! –
train when the rains had – toot! toot! – washed away the bridge near – toot! –
Hoshiarpur, wasn’t it?”
Chuggy knew that would do the trick. It did. Like
always.
An hour later, after listening to Huffy’s tale (he had
heard it at least a dozen times before), Chintu left the loco shed in deep
thought.
His mind was made up. He had to get Huffy and Chuggy
out of the loco shed and the shunt yard pretty fast. The change would do them a
world of good. Also, it would teach Speedy and Danny a long overdue lesson.
There was an even more pressing reason for haste.
Chintu’s dad was the superintendent of the shunt year
where Huffy and Chuggy worked. He knew all that was going on in the yard and
the loco shed. Lately, there had been a lot of loose talk about retiring the
old timers to the junk heap. The sooner, the better was the verdict of the
Speedy and Danny gang. All that was now needed, it seemed, was the arrival of
the mini diesel-powered shunt locomotives (the requisition had already been
issued for them, said his dad) along with the final clearance from the Indian
Railways headquarters.
So, it was only a matter of time, maybe a few weeks
and no more.
Chintu shook his head resolutely to chase away the
wicked thought. He couldn’t bring himself to imagine the yard and the shed
without Huffy and Chuggy. He must save them.
But how?
“Chintoooo!”
It sounded like a musical horn out of tune. Only one
person besides Chuggy called him Chintoo instead of Chintu. And, before he
could run out of harm’s way, the “musical horn” had firmly taken hold of his
sleeve.
Pesky Meena, his next-door neighbor, was a very
determined ten-year old who simply refused to be discouraged by Chintu’s most off-putting
dodges.
Sometimes, with luck on his side, he could pretend not
to notice her and duck out of her way just in time.
Certainly not today, though.
”Chintoooo bhaiya,” Meena squealed as was her wont.
“Guess where we are going?”
Chintu knew he wasn’t expected to answer. All she
wanted was compliance. She had already started dragging him to wherever she had
decided they were going.
Meena took Chintu’s silence for consent and skipped
along the road merrily chattering nineteen to the dozen about the treasure
house of delights she was taking him to. She didn’t say a word about where it
was, though.
It took them a good part of a quarter hour to get
there. It turned out to be the squat grey bungalow, just beyond the railway
staff quarters. It was now housing the local Railway Museum.
“You know, Chintoooo bhaiya, they have on a special
show of old railroad pictures. Old locos and trains and stuff. Maybe we will
get to see Huffy and Chuggy’s grandpas,” Meena said sneaking a sly glance at
Chintu’s face. She knew how fond Chintoo was of the old timers.
They spent the next hour wandering around the main
hall and the back rooms. Any other day, Chintu would have devoted many more
merry hours in this treasure trove studying every detail of each locomotive and
passenger coaches and freight cars in the photographs. Today, preoccupied as he
was with the fate of his loco friends, his attention was at best perfunctory. Every
glance at the old locomotives in the pictures was a reminder that he may lose
Huffy and Chuggy’s company soon.
What made it even worse was that neither Huffy nor
Chuggy had a clue about what was in store for them. If only he could think of a
way out in time…
It happened when he was least expecting it. Just when
they were about to step out of the Museum, a handwritten notice taped to the
door caught his eye.
NOTICE
VISITORS MAY PLACE THEIR
SUGGESTIONS ABOUT THIS
SHOW
IN THE BOX BELOW.
OUTSTANDING IDEAS MAY
WIN A PRIZE.
−→ BY ORDER OF THE CURATOR
“Eureka!” exclaimed Chintu who had just read the story
of Archimedes. The “loco” idea that had just popped in his head might be just
the thing to save his loco pals.
In the twinkling of an eye, he was on his way. Even Meena’s
high-pitched “Chintoooo!” did not make him break his stride.
He did not even pause to pet Moti who wagged his tail
furiously, jumped and raised a cacophony of woofs and yelps at his master’s
stormy arrival. He just couldn’t wait to put down his loco idea on paper and
into the suggestion box.
An hour later, a thoroughly confused and utterly
dumbfounded Moti once again watched his usually well-mannered master dash away
on an errand with nary a civil pat.
The next week passed uneventfully and without a single
word from Meena who seemed to have finally taken his unmannerly behaviour at
the Museum gate to heart and gave him a wide berth. Even Moti was subdued. And
so were Huffy and Chuggy.
It was only on Friday afternoon, after school, that
Chintu ran smack into the whirlpool of excitement that had gripped the loco
shed and the shunt yard.
As he entered the shed, Danny who had been talking to
Speedy excitedly called out to him.
“So, young Chints, at last they’ve had some sense
knocked into their fat heads,” he cried venomously. “They’ll soon be banishing
your dear old loco buddies to the junk heap where they belong. The crummy bunch
of losers that they are! My cousins, real fast mini diesel dudes both, will be
taking over the shunting chores. You’ll soon witness some fast and furious
action around this place, boy!”
His sneer was as palpable as a razor-sharp exclamation
mark. It hurt.
Chintu couldn’t believe his ears. So, finally, it had
come to this, eh? All his careful planning and desperate hoping had come to naught.
Poor dear Huffy and Chuggy! What was going to become of them?
Without uttering a word, he turned on his heels and
ran as fast as he could out of the shed.
Much, much later, a little after the sun had gone home
after a hard day’s work of lighting up the world, Chintu found himself walking
home with a heavy heart and a step to match.
“Where have you been all afternoon, Chintu beta?”
Those were his dad’s first words that greeted him as
he entered the sitting room in a daze.
His mom who was talking to a stranger sitting across
her and sipping a cup of coffee turned to him and said: “Look who’s waiting for
you since five o’clock.”
The tall, somewhat lanky stranger got up from his chair
and came forward to shake Chintu’s hand. Nobody had ever done that to him so
far: treated him as a grown-up, that is to say. He felt a bit awkward, not
knowing how to react.
“Well, well, well. So this is Chintamani, the bright ideas
guy,” beamed the stranger, his kindly eyes peering at Chintu over the top of a
pair of half moon glasses perched precariously on the bridge of his nose.
Chintu was at a loss for words. What bright idea?
Which guy? Chintu’s bewilderment must have shown on his face because his father
who was watching him intently said by way of explanation: “Didn’t you give a
suggestion at the Museum the other day about how to put to better use the old
denizens of our loco shed?”
At long last, a light bulb lit up in Chintu’s dazed
minds.
“You mean they liked my idea of a Museum Train going
round the country, lugged by Huffs and Chuggs? You mean they won’t be sent to
the junk yard?”
“Yes to both your questions,” said the stranger who
now had his arm draped over Chintu’s shoulder. “Let me introduce myself,
Chintamani. I am the Chief Curator of the Indian Railways Museum here on a very
pleasant and personal mission. I had to meet the guy who thought of sending the
Railway Museum to the travellers in the remotest part of our country of vast
distances rather than waiting for them to visit New Delhi or Mysore or what
have you to learn about its century and a half long history. I was especially
taken up by your brainwave of hauling Indian Railways’ history around India by
a couple of old timers in the loco shed.”
“He means Huffy and Chuggy, beta,” added Chintu’s mom
prompted perhaps by his as yet bewildered expression.
“It was evident to me,” continued the Curator, “that
only a true loco buddy could have dreamed up this loco scheme. I had to come to
shake his hand.”
“And you know the best part, Chintu?” asked his dad in
a tone of suppressed excitement.
“No, please,” interrupted the Curator hastily. “Let me
have the pleasure of telling him. By the way, did you know that Chintamani
means a magical precious stone that can fulfill wishes?”
“It’s also one of Lord Ganesha’s many names,”
contributed Chintu’s mom.
“Quite so,” agreed the Curator. “Coming back to the
good news, the Indian Railways Museum has decided to roll out at the earliest
opportunity the Museum-on-Rails right away. Coming to even better news,
everyone linked to the decision-making process has unanimously decided to
reward the author of the scheme in a way that will recognize his love for all
things connected with the railways, locos not excluded. So as soon as the
summer holidays start – in fact, on the evening of the last day of school − the
Museum-on-Rails will chug out of the shunting yard on its way to its first
stop. And, guess who will be the passengers in the specially attached coach?”
Chintu scratched his head and then shook it.
“Give up already? Never mind. I’ll tell you.”
“As you know, Chintamani, your dad is the
superintendent of the shunting yard and, of course, the loco shed. He is one of
the best in the business. What he doesn’t know about keeping the hard-working
locos – including and especially the old timers − in shape is not worth
knowing. He has to cope with unreliable supplies of spares and make do with
recycled stuff. We think we cannot find a better guarantor of the rail-worthiness
of the Museum-on-Rail than him. So, he will be in charge of the show. Your mom
and you will keep him company. But, hey! I have earmarked the two of you for
special duties throughout the journey. The two of you will be the official
chroniclers for Museum-on-Rails. You will write a blog every day, go on Twitter
to mark every notable event, post to Facebook and Pinterest, report to me every
day on email. By the way, this is not an honorary assignment. That is what I
was telling your mom when you came in.”
Chintu was busy preparing for his annual examination while
Huffy and Chuggy were being overhauled and groomed for the real long haul to
come – in a securely cordoned-off corner of the loco shed. The driver’s cabins
got new upholstery. Their bodies were buffed to a sparkle. Every afternoon,
Chintu and his mom visited them when nobody was around, made notes about the progress
and took pictures to post on the blog, Facebook and Pinterest. Work also went
on apace inside the coaches to arrange the pictorial depiction of historical
landmarks – the exhibits, in other words.
Come D (for departure) Day, the Museum-on-Rails was
flagged off by the Curator with Huffy proudly puffing away in the lead and
Chuggy happily bringing up the rear with an occasional Toot! Or, maybe two, at
times. Chintu rode with his mom and dad and Moti in the last bogie, the one to
which Chuggy was hitched.
And when he saw Danny and Speedy enviously watching
the Museum-on-Rail chugging out of the shunt yard, he had to make a special
effort to stop himself from sticking out his tongue.
That, boys and girls, was quite an effort.
His consolation was Moti woofing away to glory at the
envious pair. For once, his usually well-behaved master didn’t tell Moti to
mind his manners.
And that, boys and girls, did not take much of an
effort.
© Deepak Mankar 1974, 2014.
Afterthoughts.
The story you just read is obviously not for The Cloud and the Kite readers’ age
group but for the pre- and early-teen crowd.
The latter half of The
Cloud and the Kite is based loosely somewhat along the lines of the
simple-minded logic of the following nursery rhyme:
For want of
a nail the shoe was lost.
For want of a shoe the horse was lost.
For want of a horse the rider was lost.
For want of a rider the battle was lost.
For want of a battle the kingdom was lost.
And all for the want of a horseshoe nail.
For want of a shoe the horse was lost.
For want of a horse the rider was lost.
For want of a rider the battle was lost.
For want of a battle the kingdom was lost.
And all for the want of a horseshoe nail.
(The
earlier part works on the equally simple-minded logic of “if not this then that”.)
The story of Chintu
comes up with a loco idea has a logic all its own. When I wrote it, I eschewed
what I think of as the classic Reader’s
Digest approach to writing: pre-digested and condensed, no “big” words
(“plain, common, short words” of “Anglo-Saxon origin” with greater emotional
punch), minimum use of adjectives and adverbs, short sentences, enhanced
readability, treatment of a subject in outline (no details please, we’re
pressed for time, remember?). I’m referring to Reader’s Digest of the DeWitt and Lila Wallace (1889 - 1981) vintage,
of course, when every article reportedly
got 20 to 30 hours of editorial attention. http://bit.ly/1tBjDND The present-day
incarnation of Reader’s Digest is a
very pale shadow of its erstwhile self.
I have a running debate with Ujwal about emulating the
writing style of Reader’s Digest of the
DeWitt Wallace era when I am writing fiction. My understanding is the Reader’s Digest style is okay for Reader’s
Digest. They want to make reading effortless and painless. It is also okay for
writing print ads and direct mail. But, mind you, it is one-way writing: Reader’s Digest −→ reader. The onus of
reaching the reader is always on Reader’s
Digest. There is nothing left for the reader to do.
I want my reader to be someone who will make an effort
to read what I write. He must enjoy reading and want to graduate to even better
class of books. Every time he reaches for what I have written (other than
advertising, of course), there must be a tacit understanding between us that
the onus is shared between me and him. If he doesn’t know a word or two that
happens to be in the text, I want him to look it up. In short, what I am
looking for is an alert, interactive reader who reads on his own steam rather
than likes to be spoon-fed Reader’s
Digest style. Readers from the pre- and early-teen crowd are probably the
ideal target for what I have in mind, I guess.
And, much as I admire Groucho Marx, I cannot
emulate his example in this particular case, shrug my shoulders and walk away after
declaiming:
“Those are my principles, and if you
don't like them
... well, I have others.”
