My Days Read Online Free Page A

only one?” someone asked unable to contain his curiosity.
    â€œI always had only one,” I answered breezily.
    â€œNonsense,” cried my grandmother, “I had both his ears pierced and fitted with such a fine pair of pearls set in gold! They were my father’s when he was the dewan at Arcot. And this boy does not even remember it!” she said, looking at me accusingly. All of them turned to look at me, a delinquent who not only lost himself but also a great-grandfather’s pearl; and they said in one voice, “You must remove this too, as any thief may wrench it off with his ear.”
    â€œAnd this chap will not notice it either!” someone added.
    Though I am not certain, it was perhaps after the Kodandam incident that they put me to school, suddenly realizing that I was developing into an introvert dreamer with no knowledge of the outside world; they must have been mystified by my conduct, as I suppressed all my references to Kodandam the fuel-seller. I could have made a clean breast of it, but I had many misgivings. Perhaps it might recoil on my head. If they went and spoke to Kodandam about it, he might get ideas and turn his attention on me, or perhaps he had been stealing flowers and my betrayal might send my grandmother flying at him and that might bring further reactions in its wake. In childhood, fears and secrecies and furtive acts happen to be the natural state of life, adopted instinctively for survival in a world dominated by adults. As a result I believe a child is capable of practising greater cunning than a grown-up. When they failed to get the truth out of me, I was warned, “Your name is now written down in every police station—take care!” I took care by turning in whenever I glimpsed the red turban of a policeman at the junction of Vellala Street and the High Road.
    Nowadays, I had no peace of mind. Presently I lost the tranquil companionship of my monkey too. Rama was developing into a mischievous creature. By steady effort and trials, he had learnt to undo the waist-band and chain with which he was kept confined to his cabin.
    On the first day he discovered his freedom, he took a leap up the roof of our house and leered at me from that height. I begged him to come down, but he did not care. He jumped on from roof to roof, wandered to his heart’s content, and appeared on our tiles again late in the evening. He would not return to his cabin or allow anyone to approach him. At the slightest move on our side he would hop back and put himself just out of reach. If you tempted him with nuts and food, he would only eye them pensively but keep his distance. My uncle did his best to capture him, and gave up. “Leave him alone,” he said. “He is probably happier living on the roof-tiles. No harm can come to him.” The problem was not one of the monkey’s own safety, but of the safety of others in the neighbourhood. He was not content to enjoy his freedom within the boundaries of our house but began to explore the city. He travelled up and down the street, all at a great height over roof-tops, and let himself in through any open window in any building. He picked up whatever he saw in a room and ran out when chased. Ultimately, he would return to our own house in the evening, wherever he might have spent the day, and occasionally gave us a chance to know what he had been up to. Once he brought home a black fountain pen, with its neck bitten off on the way, his mouth ink-stained. Another day he produced a shaving brush. He invaded the kitchen of a wedding party, filled his belly and the pouches at his cheeks with items spread for a feast, and needed no food for days to come. He ransacked methodically every fruit tree in the neighbourhood; people began to crowd at our door with complaints. We became unpopular. My grandmother declared, “We can’t help it. It’s no longer ours.” The public did not accept her statement, and