My dad had slipped into a restaurant to get our lunch packed and I had gone to a CD rental shop to bring a nice movie that we could watch over our lunch. Our car was parked in the direct, brutal sunlight that is very often seen for a short time between heavy rains. My mom couldn't switch on the AC of the car as dad had yet again taken the car keys with him. Hot and bothered, she got out of the boiling hot car to seek refuge in the nearest shop.
I chose a nice, light, cute and silly movie (read: a teenage love story I'm sure my mom would be exasperated with and dad sceptical of) and made my way back to the car. Just as I was about to panic due to my mom's absence, she called out to me from the small shop. Relieved, I hurried over to her.
The shop was indeed small. Every inch of the floor and walls was made of white marble. It was dark yet oddly welcoming. There were no wares displayed outside the shop, as is the case with ninety percent of the shops in Dehradun. I glanced up to read the billboard identifying the shop. It was apujastore. No wonder its atmosphere was comforting.
I saw at once that my mom had slipped into an easy conversation with the keeper. This surprised me – my mom is a very reticent person when it comes to talking with strangers. The keeper was an elderly man with orange henna-dyed hair and moustache, an orangetilak, wearing an orangekurtawith a whitechudidaar.He had redpaan-stained teeth which still managed to shine in the left-over white places.
"Aur yeh hai meri chhoti beti, Radha", my mom introduced me. I mumbled a hello as I glanced around. There were idols and photos ofGaneshji, Shivji, Lakshmiji, Saraswatiji, Balajiand every God of the Hindu religion in that small shop. He beamed right at me and asked a question which people normally don't ask as soon as they've said hello.
"Toh beta, aap kya roz puja karti hain?"
I looked with apprehension at my mom and I recognized the twinkle in her eye. Ah, she wants me to take over the talking, I thought. I right away understood that he was the kind of man who just kept on talking, no matter how much you discourage him and you just couldn't be rude to an elderly guy who owns apujastore where you'd taken refuge from the harsh sun. I spiked my guns and decided to get into a full-blown conversation.
"No, uncle, I am not a very religious person. However, I am a spiritual person. "
"Hmm," he said, "so you don't pray?"
"Nahiuncle,I didn't say that." I replied quickly. "Of course I pray. It is just that I don't pray before amurti.I believe that God is within our conscience. That's all."
He smiled. "Tum jaise aur log ho na beta, toh meri dukaan hi band ho jaye."
I didn't know what to reply, so I smiled back uncertainly.
"Waise,"he continued, oblivious to our reluctance to make further conversation, "what do you think about my shop? Tell me the truth please, I won't mind."
"Uh," I said, taken somewhat by surprise. "It's a very nice shop. It has an atmosphere, you know. Very comforting. And there are all the Gods and Goddesses here as well as all thepuja samagri. It's heaven for a truly religious person."
He guffawed, to my surprise. I thought that my answer would please him but it seemed to have tickled his funny bone. I looked at him uncomfortably.
Then, even as he wiped the tears of laughter from his eyes, his voice grew serious.
"I have my wife to support, you know. She is quite ill. But I don't think that will be possible anymore."
He paused. My mom asked the obvious question, "Why not?"
"Arrey! Tumhe pata hai committee waalo ne meri dukaan band karwana kanoticediya hai."
"Kyun?"I asked, this time genuinely willing to hear his answer.
He turned away and popped apaanin his mouth before he turned back to me, once again guffawing. But this time, his laugh carried a tinge of hysteria.
"Beta, log kehte hai ki meri dukaan thik nahi. Main ko bhagwaan ko bhi bech deta hu! Ha ha! Main toh bhagwaan ko bhi bech deta hu!"
