Funday Times

Fairy Tale Country
By Ramendra Kumar; Illustrations by Aneesh Jaisinghani; (First published in The Deccan Herald on May 1, 1999)
Her grandmother was still asleep. It was quite bright outside. ‘It must be eight. Why hasn’t Naani got up?’ she thought to herself. She placed her hand on her naani’s forehead. It felt warm.

“Naani,” Anjali softly whispered in her ear. Naani opened her eyes and looked around. “Oh my! You will be late child. I am sorry I should have got up earlier,” she said attempting to get up. “Take it easy Naani,” said Anjali, placing her hand on Naani’s arm.

“There is no hurry. Last night’s khichdi is there. I’ll have that and go. You take rest. I think you have fever.”

“No, child. Don’t worry about me. I am all right. I just have a slight cold and cough. I’ll boil tulsi leaves and pepper and drink the concoction. By the time you come home in the afternoon I will be all right.”

Anjali was a nine-year-old orphan who had lost her parents when she was four. Ever since, she had been staying with her naani in a garage which belonged to a retired army captain. The captain had sold his car and was not using the garage. He had rented it to Naani for Rs 75 per month.

Naani was a thin and frail sixty-year-old woman with a lot of determination. She had passed her matric exams way back in the early fifties. After the death of her husband and her only daughter, she had managed to run the house on the money she got by taking tuitions. Since the past one year her health had started failing and she had had to stop taking tuitions. It was then that she had been forced to send Anjali out to work to ‘Nikhaar’, a beauty parlour run by Mrs. Ipsita Choudhary, a qualified beautician.

‘Nikhaar’ was just around the corner and Anjali would go in the morning at nine and come home by one. From two to five in the afternoon she would attend a school run by the local ladies’ club for poor children. In the evening, from six to eight, she would again work in ‘Nikhaar’. Though the job was not difficult, it was quite tiring. Anjali had to help Mrs. Choudhary in preparing creams, lotions and face packs, keep the place spotlessly clean and run small errands. Mrs Choudhary was a hard taskmaster and some of her clients were quite rude and often ill-treated Anjali.

The poor girl would suffer everything silently. She knew if her naani would come to know she would not allow her to go to ‘Nikhaar’ and instead would resume taking tuitions. And Anjali did not want naani to do that at any cost. She was aware that any strain would prove dangerous to Naani’s health.

Anjali was on her feet the whole day. The only time she looked forward to was bed time when she would cuddle up to naani and listen to stories. Naani was a real treasure house of stories. She would tell a new one everyday and in all these years Anjali had never heard Naani repeating a story.

That evening, as Anjali was returning from ‘Nikhaar’, she stubbed her toe against a metallic object. She looked down. It was shining brightly. She picked it up. It looked like a computer game - the kind she had seen Mrs. Choudhary’s son, Bablu, play with. It was the size of a slate with a screen covering the top half and rows of knobs below. The knobs were bright red in colour with numbers written under them in yellow.

‘Today is eighth August and the time now is eight. So let me press eight three times,” she thought to herself. She pressed 888. Suddenly the screen came alive and a beautiful girl dressed in pink appeared on the screen.

“Hi Anjali! Did you recognise me?” Anjali stared in amazement, not believing her eyes.

“W..wh..who are you?” she managed to stammer.
“I am Cinderella.”
“But Cinderella was in a fairytale ...once upon a time, long, long ago.”
“I am the very same Cinderella from FTC.” “FTC?”
“Yes, Fairy Tale Country.”
As Anjali stared goggle-eyed, Cinderella asked her, “Anjali do you want to visit FTC?”

“Y..yes,” Anjali stuttered, not quite sure what she was letting herself in for.
“Okay, now first press 5, then 20 and finally 3. F is the fifth letter of the alphabet, T the 20th and C the third. Thus 5,20,3 stands for FTC. Close your eyes and don’t open them unless I tell you.”

“Anjali carefully pressed the numbers and then closed her eyes. She felt herself being lifted and carried away at great speed. After what seemed only a few seconds she heard Cinderella’s soft voice, “Anjali, now you can open your eyes.”

Anjali slowly opened her eyes and looked around. The sight she saw she would never ever forget in her life. She was sitting on a bench in the middle of a beautiful garden. All around her were the prettiest flowers she had ever seen. Roses, tulips, daisies, daffodils, lilies, dahlias, chrysanthemums and many more she couldn’t name. Birds were singing the sweetest melodies she had heard and animals were frolicking in gay abandon. She could see men, women and children clad in colourful clothes, singing, dancing, laughing and playing.

“W...where am I?” Anjali asked looking around. She saw Cinderella coming towards her, holding the hand of a handsome young man.
“Welcome Anjali to Fairy Tale Country. Meet my Prince. We are now happily married and are proud parents of two beautiful girls.”

Anjali held out her hand shyly. The Prince went down on one knee and taking her hand kissed it lightly, making Anjali blush. “Come Anjali, we will take you on a guided tour of FTC,” Cinderella said. She took Anjali’s hand in hers and the three of them walked along a narrow path which led to a garden even more beautiful than the previous one. There she saw a young man and woman sitting under a mistletoe tree, looking deeply into each other’s eyes.

“That is Snow White with her Prince Charming,” Cinderella said. As Anjali stared in fascination at the attractive couple, she saw a boy and girl walking hand in hand. -From Pitara Network
(to be continued next week)

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