The raddiwala was at the door. He stopped at each home once the annual school exams were over. That is when he made money collecting old newspapers and textbooks. A maniacal urge seized you — to throw anything and everything and declutter the house.
The newspapers were fished out from the attic. An enormous cloud of dust arose triggering a paroxysm of sneezing. Now, you sifted the newspapers to hand them over to the raddiwala.
Old newspapers were irresistible, especially the sports page with scorecards of matches played many moons ago. A picture of Gavaskar caught your eye. Surely, this newspaper could not be thrown away. Soon, I had formed a second pile of newspapers.
“Why are you saving up all the newspapers,” my sister asked. “There may be a quiz next year. I need to prepare,” I said. “You did not read the newspapers the entire year. Are you going to read them now,” she asked. “That’s because there was no quiz this year,” I answered. The argument went around in circles and ended in a stalemate.
But there was consensus on one point: textbooks of the previous year were not needed anymore. I rushed to the bookshelf and placed the mathematics textbook at the top of the stack. I wanted to send it off with a goodbye note that read, “Serves you right!”
My sister was appalled. “You are giving off the mathematics book? You will need it!” “Until when,” I asked, as though she was doubting my ability to pass to the next grade.
She replied, “You will need the mathematics books throughout life!” This was too much. I imagined the prospect of spending the rest of my life solving the same profit-and-loss problems. It was like enduring a toothache.
My sister now used an obtuse line of attack. “How would you feel if you were sent off with the raddiwala? Won’t the mathematics book feel the same way?” Imagination ran riot.
I was filled with images of going off with the raddiwala and sitting in the corner of his shop! Admittedly, it felt lonely. However, it was tough to imagine the mathematics textbook having any feeling. If at all, it was one of utmost sadism, terrorising generations of children.
Sister’s argument had a major flaw. “If the mathematics textbook had feeling, so did other books and newspapers.” I argued. Eventually, we were back to square one. The newspapers were restored their rightful place in the attic. Suddenly, there was nothing that could be thrown away.
Caught in this verbal crossfire, the raddiwala asked a pertinent question, “How will I earn my livelihood and feed my children?”
Sister and I blinked back, for want of a coherent answer!
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