The 'Kagaz Ki Kashti' Moment

"Ye daulat bhi le lo, ye shohrat bhi le lo
Bhale cheen lo mujhse meri jawaani
Magar mujhko lauta do bachchpan ka saawan
Wo kagaz ki kashti wo barish ka pani…"

Who isn't captivated by this evergreen eternal soulful rendition by the maestro Jagjit Singh !
Like most I too very frequently enjoy this beautiful gazal, appreciate and move on with other chores of life.


But today...... , it was different.

As my music system dutifully played this mesmerizing gazal and kept staring at me awaiting for my next set of instructions, I was already transported by the maestro to a different world... just wading through a series of childhood memories ; some hazy, some so so and some prominent. Amidst this sweet journey of my early life, flashed in front me Kallappa Vaddar.

Amongst the many memories of my early schooling days at a modest Govt Primary School in a small laid back town of Muddebihal (Karnataka), my brief association with Kallappa in the Third Standard /Grade or Class in 1968 perhaps, has left a lasting impression in me.

Kallappa, son of a Potter, came from an extremely backward family who barely managed to make both ends meet. But there was something different about this ever smiling, ever affable boy with a pleasant demeanor. Always meticulous with whatever he wore, clean and well kempt hair and always carried a nicely embroidered satchel to the school. Whenever he smiled, which was very frequent, he dazzled his bright white teeth cozily surrounded by his dark complexioned lips. I was never really a close friend of Kallappa. However we shared some invisible affectionate bond inexplicable then and even now.

Our Class Teacher had organised a Hand Writing Competition in the class in the ensuing week. We were expected to write two paragraphs of Kannada text in the double lined sheet. Those days, only the rich used fountain pens and refills.. In the competition, we were to bring our own paper, inkpot and the dip-in-ink 'taak pen'. That previous evening I pestered my dad to buy me new writing material for the competition. When his persuasions chidings and admonitions to force me to use the old writing pen and ink failed, he bought me a new set much against his will. For me the first battle was won.

Next day, as our Class Teacher Bidnalmath sir entered the class, we were naturally tense. Bidnalmath sir, a devout Lingayat and a senior teacher, had a towering personality. May be in his late forties or early fifties, we were always in awe of the aura he carried with him. He always wore a spotless collarless white kurta, equally bright white dhoti and a crisp Gandhi topi to cover his shining partially bald head. His forehand always glowed with the three striped Vibhuti or the 'tripundra'. In the local lingo, it is often referred as 'Ibatti Patta'. He wore the silver case covered divine Lingam on his body. The sacred thread carrying the Lingam was always visible from his collarless neck while the protruding Sacred Linga showed its presence from underneath his crisp starched khadi cotton shirt. The kids were in awe of his mystic avatar despite his friendly and affectionate nature.

As the time for the handwriting competition neared, our sir wrote the two kannada paragraphs on the board and asked us to write them on the double ruled sheets we had brought. Kallappa had a very beautiful hand writing. I always envied him for this. His father, a Potter who produced pots of beautiful shapes and sizes out of sheer mass of clay, had magic in his fingers. It was perhaps no wonder Kallappa too had neat tidy and artistic fingers. He happened to sit beside me during the Competition. As I flaunted my new pen and Camel Brand Inkpot, Kallappa quietly took out his old pen, half empty unlabeled Inkpot and began with his work. As seconds ticked and time elapsed, beautiful letters and words started appearing on his sheet. While he exemplified a sea of calmness and focus of an intense artist at work, I struggled to keep my round letters round and straight lines straight.

Oh! My! God! What I see.... As Kallappa was pulling out his pen from the inkpot, while still looking at the board, he accidentally dragged the pot on to his sheet along with the pen. The ink was all over his paper. As some of the ink started flowing towards my shorts, I angrily looked at him. That sight is deeply etched in my memory. Kallappa, looked like a scared rabbit, his ink all gone, paper moist with ink and eyes moist with tears, it was as if all hell was let loose on him all of a sudden. This was where the child-friend in me woke up. I promptly took him to the side, gave my extra sheet to him, we shared the 'Camel' Inkpot and both managed to finish the work in time. With a sense of gratitude in his eyes and a disarming smile on my face, unspoken, uncluttered and uninhibited, we handed our sheets to sir and found our ways.

Bidnalmath sir, who was observing all this from a distance, called me, with a smile on his face, put his hand on my head, affectionately pulled my arm and shoulder towards him and said well done. Never bothered to understand what he tried to say, I was only keen on wriggling out of his warm grip and join my friends in the game of Lagori.

After that Academic session, I moved to another school and later to another town. From those days till date, I have neither seen nor heard of Kallappa. From the heart of my hearts, how I long to meet Kallappa, only I know.

Wo kaagaz kahani,
Wo Kallappa ki dosti....

The unadulterated spirit of friendship and the purity of love and affection of those teachers can not be put in words. I really wonder whether destiny will ever let our paths cross again anytime in future. But Kallappa shall ever remain like a shining star in my heart and life. God bless him wherever he is.


✍️✍️satishdeshpande