"Grandma! Tell me a story!" I yelled at the top of my voice, almost knocking off her bottle of hair oil which was placed on the windowsill with its cap open and drops of oil dripping at its side. Grandma, who was used to all of this chattering of mine, smiled at me and said." Story? Haven't I told you one an hour ago? Dear me, do you think I do not run out of tales to tell you? Maybe, you can go and play with your toys, Neel. Hadn't you bought a brand new book from the market when you'd gone to the barber to cut your hair." She smiled. "So many things to do!" She added as I continued to stare at her.

"Please tell me a story, Grandma." I pleaded. "Wouldn't you fulfil the dreams of your grandson? When I grow up, I'll tell my grandchildren loads of tales. I'm sure their minds would be blown away! My grandchildren would never be bored."

Grandma laughed. "Blown away?" She said, "Yes, you are correct. Too many stories might certainly drive you crazy. But, do understand, Neel. I have no stories to tell you now. I'm afraid you must go to your room. Why don't you bring the mangoes your mother has cut? As far as I remember, it is still on the kitchen platform in a transparent container. Get those mangoes. Maybe you are really hungry. "

On hearing that, I sprang up to my feet and ran to the kitchen as grandma waited. In just a few minutes, I was back with the bowl of mangoes. I kept them beside grandma and said. "Here! Now please tell me a story. I am desperate to hear one!"

Grandma laughed again. "I'd like to eat first. Maybe stories might form up in my mind if I eat. I wonder…"

I looked at her, "This does not seem practical, grandma. It sounds like magic. Are you speaking of magic? Ma says magic isn't real. She calls the shows I watch on television… Yes, fiction. She calls them fiction and she is quite certain about it. Anyway, let's eat so that your mind can be charged like a battery. Here!" I opened the lid of the container and gave it to her. I myself picked up a slice of mango and ate. Mangoes were tasty, but my thirst for stories wasn't quenched yet.

After eating a few slices I asked grandma to tell me a story. Grandma looked at me and finally, she decided to speak. But before she could say another word, she accidentally pushed the bottle of hair oil out of the window and down to the ground floor from their home which was on the second floor. Grandma yelped. Seeing this, I looked at her and said, "don't worry! Grandma! I'm going to get you your hair oil. You wait here, Grandma! I'll be back. I'll be back in a few minutes."


With that, I got up and ran downstairs to bring her hair oil. After I reached the spot, I looked around. But I couldn't find the bottle of hair oil anywhere. I wondered where it had gone. That's When I saw the trail. Yes, the trail. The trail of oil leading right out of the open gate of the compound. I did what I could. I followed it and soon spotted the reason for the trail. A dog had the bottle in his mouth. The moment he saw me, he ran away and took  the first right in a hurry.


"Hey! Come back! Come back!" I yelled. But the dog simply fled. So I decided to chase him. I took a deep breath and followed the dog yelling "come back! Come back" which startled many people on the road. There was only one good news, the dog left a trail of oil behind and that was the positive thing about it. Yet, it was all too difficult.


I was soon tired of running and I was panting. But I had to bring back my grandma's hair oil. I had to! There was no doubt about that. My grandma's bottle of hair oil was very important. I was firm. Although I felt exhausted, I still ran. I ran and ran as I followed the trail. Drop after drop. Step after step. I ran to get what I wanted to get without losing hope.


At last, I saw that the dog had stopped running and it was standing at the gate of a big bungalow. "Mr Sinha's house?" I said. That would be terrible. They said Mr Sinha hated children. He hated them so much. He lived alone in his house and no child would dare to talk to him. He walked with a cane and the children said it was for the beating. Mr Sinha was very strict and no one played outside his home. They called him 'danger' and that is in no means funny.   


So, I stood there at his gate gaping at his house. I was angry at the dog. Why did he have to go to Mr Sinha's house? Why was he such a pest? I didn't know. All I wanted was my grandma's hair oil. But as minutes passed, I could feel myself failing. Suddenly, through the gates, I saw the door to Mr Sinha's house open and I yelped. I quickly hid behind the wall and literally prayed for protection. I hoped I wouldn't be seen. I hoped the dog would come out with the bottle of hair oil and lay it at my feet. But none of that happened. So, I started to cry. Hearing my sobs, a stern voice said: "Who is it?"

I gulped. Surely, it was Mr Sinha. How bad! I thought of running away, but the hair oil didn't let me do so. So, I stood outside the gate and kept my fingers crossed. What should I do? I thought. I was certainly headed for trouble.

In just a minute, the gate opened and in front of me stood Mr Sinha. His big, square face looked rather eerie and his cane was at his side. I didn't know what to do. I seriously did not know what to do. I was totally unprepared for this. I just hoped I would be spared. I hoped Mr Sinha would forgive me. "Who are you?" He asked at last. "What are you doing here?" Were you trying to trap my dog?" 

"Trap your dog?" I spoke with a shaky voice. "N..not at all, sir. Never. Never trap your lovely dog! I was just.. you know.. oil."

I was shocked at what I said. Even a kindergartener would have laughed at my voice. Mr Sinha looked at me strangely and I gulped again. This was too bad. If only the hair oil wouldn't have fallen down the window. Or if the dog wasn't there at that time. If only.. if only.. There were so many problems and things had turned really, really bad. Why on earth did all of this have to happen?


Mr Sinha suddenly asked me a strange question: "Do you love your grandmother? Tell me boy. Do you love your grandmother? I'm sure you would. Right? Who wouldn’t love their grandparents." He started to frown at me.


What do you mean…" I stuttered. Looking at the terrified side of me, he started laughing loudly. His laugh got his dog to the place where we stood. He laughed on and on until he now looked at me with a smile on his face. He said: "C'mon! Why do you worry? You look horrible! I wonder what happened to you. Would you like to have a cup of tea? I'll prepare one. It's been ages since I have had tea with another person. And yes, I have something to show you. Be prepared!"


Such strange statements had now been thrown at me. Was he calling me home? After a minute of persuasion, I followed him indoors. He opened the door to his house and I walked in. The entire living room had paintings on the wall. They were beautiful modern art paintings, mostly animals. Certainly gorgeous. There was a wooden dining table with a fruit bowl on top of it. There was an old group photograph on the showcase, but I was not interested in it.


Mr Sinha asked me to sit down. He said he would be back with a cup of tea. I asked him if I could help him but he said that he would manage. So I sat still, waiting for him. As I looked around the room I finally spotted his dog in the corner, with my hair oil. Luckily, he hadn't spoiled the bottle except for a few teeth marks on the label.


Mr Sinha was soon back with a tray and two cups of tea. He placed it on the dining table and gave me a cup as I tried my best not to spill it on his Persian rug. Sure enough, Mr Sinha was an art lover.  Thinking, I took a sip only to find that the tea was such that I had never tasted it. I praised him for the tea and he smiled. He said he loved to have guests, sadly no one came. I didn't say a word. I just sipped my drink really slowly and quietly. After a while, I placed the cup down, thanked him and started to leave when he stopped me right there and asked me to wait. "Just for a while, dear." He said. "I have something to show you. You must wait just for a while!"


So, I did as he said, wondering what he was about to do. Surely, the tea and warm smiles had lightened the mood. But I still was a bit hesitant. Mr Sinha asked me not to worry, which sounded rather embarrassing for me. He simply laughed and walked to his showcase with his cane banging on the floor after every single step that he took. Soon, he picked up a pen and handed it to me. I looked at it wondering what was so special about it. Then, I noticed. On it, was engraved: 

S. M. SHAH.

I quickly realised that that was the name of grandma. It was clearly there. The pen had a wooden body and a steel cap and on the wood were these words, completely clear in bold capitals. I looked at Mr Sinha for a while. "Who is S. M. Shah?" I asked, thinking there might be another person with the same name. Yet, Mr Sinha kept on smiling. Soon his smile turned into a laugh and I sat there looking at him with doubt.

"It is her, my dear child!" Said Mr Sinha as if he'd found a chest of pirate's treasure. "Don't you really believe it, boy? It’s your grandmother! I'm telling you! Your grandmother!"

I looked at the old man and looked back at the pen. Was he turning insane? Or was I? He looked so sure. Was he a 'danger' to my grandmother, too? This was raising questions in my mind. Confusing questions that were very, very difficult to answer.  Questions that I would better avoid.

Mr Sinha was still laughing. After observing my face, he walked up to the showcase one more time and picked up the photograph. He sat down beside me and pointed at it. I realised that this was a tattered black and white school photograph with young children seated around a teacher. Mr Sinha pointed at the photograph and said, "This is me." 

I looked at the part where his finger touched. A boy with short black hair in a brown uniform.. He was looking straight into the camera. I looked at the boy and looked at the real Mr Sinha. Mr Sinha started to laugh. "It is me! Dear child, it is me! Now, see here. Do you see this girl in the left corner?"

"The one with short hair?" I asked, looking.. "Is that…?"

Mr Sinha nodded. "Certainly. That is your grandmother. We were in the same class. She had really short hair and she would always apply lots of oil to her hair. We all teased her for that. But the brave girl took it nicely and never got angry at us. It wasn't a surprise. Your grandmother was indeed a calm and quiet girl. Let me tell you, she was always first in class."

"So you were in the same class?" I asked.

Mr Sinha nodded. "Yes. In fact she was really quiet and let me tell you, she was a marvellous student. She scored higher than the other girls and yet she never seemed prideful. A very obedient girl, she was. A really  obedient girl. We were good friends. Oh! Yes we were. We always invited each other to birthday parties. I remember how she was frightened of  firecrackers when we were six years old and during Diwali, I had to comfort her when her friends were not present. Sadly, she doesn't know I live here. You see, neither did I know she was in this town until I saw her in the market. I tried calling out to her but she just vanished amidst the crowds. Then one day I saw her with you and realised you were her grandson. I wanted to call the two of you for lunch but I never got a chance. Until today, when this dog brought us together.”

I smiled at Mr Sinha and he smiled back. I had not expected this. Never! All I had expected was a harsh man. But, Mr Sinha seemed to be a completely different person than I had expected him to be.. He was a good man and not as I had thought him to be. Thus, we talked for fifteen minutes as I told him how I had come after the bottle of oil. He laughed and finally walked to his dog and took the bottle of oil that lay at his feet. Mr Sinha gave it to me and said: "Now, before you leave, I want you to take this pen. You see, your grandmother had given it to me to use for our mathematics examination and she didn't take it back. Then, I shifted to Delhi. Now, we are in the same town after many, many years.”

I nodded and took the pen from Mr Sinha's hand. As I did, I felt happy. A cool sensation spread through my body as if I touched it. I shook Mr Sinha's hand for the last time and finished the cup of tea. After saying goodbye to the old man. I walked back home. At home I saw my mother. As soon as she saw me, she said: "where have you been, Neel? We were looking for you. I even thought of calling the police! Never do that again. Do you understand? You scared all of us!” She gave me a tight hug.

I apologised and to her surprise, ran straight to grandma's room. I found her there reading the newspaper. She looked at me and said: "What took you so long? We were so worried!"

I didn't say a word. I ran up to her and said "you would never guess where I had been. You wouldn't! You wouldn't! Here, I've got something for you. You know what it is. I'm sure you'd remember. But, first I'd like to tell you a story! Would you like to listen to it?”

Grandma agreed to hear it which made me happy. I sat by her side and took a long and deep breath. Then what did I do? I looked at her and told her the tale. It was a marvellous tale. It wasn't a long tale, yet it touched her heart. It was a story of friendship and a story about two young classmates who were connected when they were old by a bottle of hair oil. The story's title? After a lot of thinking, I have named it "THE BOTTLE OF MEMORIES" and I was quite satisfied with it.













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