Little Baba’s Progress Report

Everyone was present to get their progress report card. They were in their classroom waiting for their turn to come. At last the teacher called out, “Little Baba come and take your Progress Report”.

Little Baba rushed out of his chair with his dimple-faced smile and stretched out his hand. He took the card and back to his seat opened and saw his performance of the year dancing before his eyes.

English, he looked and wondered why he did not get the pass marks. He thought hard and found that the essays he had learnt by heart did not come in the test. For Grammar, he had simply heard the voice of his heart and written down as he liked. Comprehension, he did not bother to attempt the answers for he did not read the paragraph. 

History marks were miserable. He knew the history of his family – grandma, great grandpa, pa, mama, sister, but never bothered to concentrate on the text book.

Geography was no better. No like for maps and atlas and about the area that covered the different states in his own country. Just threw flukes and that was where he was caught unaware by the teacher in giving him marks.

Science was something he thought he liked for he liked the speed of Jupiter more than other things. Nothing else interested him. But no flying marks here either.

Social Studies was his favourite subject but he did not fare well in this too. How he loved to go to huts and share a meal with those poor ladies was his main aim. But the teacher was rude not to give him pass marks.

Mathematics was compulsory so had to do it otherwise would have kept it aside.

Moral Science was something he liked like the skipping rope game. He did not like this subject for he felt how moral could go with science.

In the end he read, “Promoted on trial”.

Teacher’s remark: “Try to do better next time or you’ll have to repeat in the same class again."

Little Baba was not at all disheartened with his report card. He held hands with friend Diggy and with cute little hops from one leg to another he took out two lollipops, handed one to his friend and both of them sucked their lollipops on their way home.

RaGa Alaap – NaMo Chanting

Early morning is best for Riyaaz, the clean fresh air was moving around bringing with it the sweet breeze. The sun had just popped out his head from his sleeping bag and had not yet stretched far and wide with its sunshine but light enough to call it bright sunlight. Many early risers were out of their bed – some out for their morning walks, a routine they followed religiously while some others sat and sipped their morning cup of tea to gather energy and vigour to cope the long day that lay ahead. There were some who were still in bed – no blame to these souls for they crept into their bed late and were still sleeping snugly.

Lalitji and his wife Lalitaji sat on their balcony when the Raga Alaap was heard with NaMo Chanting. The elderly couple looked at one another and in-between sips were heard discussing.

Lalitji: RaGa is good.

Lalitaji: NaMo Chanting is better.

Lalitji: RaGa is best.

Lalitaji: NaMo the best.

In their good, better, best and the best they at last settled to come to discuss on points for RaGa and NaMo.

It will be point against point said the man.

Agreed said his better-half.

Start…and then went the flow.

RaGa: He has the chocolate boy look and has so many female followers.

NaMo: He has that strong and stout look and admired by men and women alike.

RaGa: RaGa rolls his kurta sleeves to get fresh air for his arms.

NaMo: Wears half sleeves and no fighting.

RaGa: Loves to visit huts and eat food there.

NaMo: Meets people in public and only some selected ones.

RaGa: Still Mother’s Baba.

NaMo: goes to his mother to seek her blessings.

RaGa: Enjoys his given space which is his family legacy.

NaMo: Has worked hard to reach his space among the people.

“Enough, my cup of tea is finished and I’m going in”, said Lalitaji and stood up for the whole days work was waiting for her.

Lalitji drew a long face for he wanted to carry on as he had very little duties for his home. He would read the morning newspaper, ask for another cup of tea, to the toilet and then relax on the big sofa with his legs stretched out and watch the TV.

The RaGa Alaap came to an abrupt halt and the NaMo Chanting died down.