The Compass Box

The books were all covered with brown paper, creased perfectly at the sides, with perfect pointy corners. It had taken a few hours but it was satisfying work. Measuring and cutting and folding and pasting.

“Ma, where is my school bag?” he shouted out.
“It’s drying out in the balcony, open your eyes” his mother yelled back.

He had really wanted a new bag this year, the glossy, colorful plastic ones with the foam straps, but his mother had said they were too expensive, and they would probably lose their shine and rip in a few months. So, it was back to his old canvas bag, bought at the military surplus store near Kolsa Gali. It had a few holes, small ones, and the strap buckles were getting a bit rusty, but it was all right. He liked its feel, its smell, its familiarity. He carefully stacked his books, the small ones up front, the larger ones behind, in neat rows, and soon his bag was bulging at its seams.

“Ma, where did you keep my pencil case?”
He heard a loud crash in the kitchen, like a bunch of pots had tumbled down from the shelves.
“Never mind, I’ll find it.”

He hadn’t looked for, nor needed his pencil case all summer, but there it still was in the corner drawer, with a solid film of dust lining it. He picked it up gently and walking gingerly to the window, took a deep breath and let out a huge puff to blow the dust away. It blew right off the case and straight back into his face sending him into a spasm of sneezes that took a few minutes to subside. He opened the case and it looked fine, a couple of pencils, his silver sharpener, a shaving blade, two halves of an eraser, a wooden ruler, chipped at the edges and his trusted Hero fountain pen. The ink seemed to have dried on the nib and the pen didn’t write so well, so he went to the sink and washed it, using the shaving blade to carefully clean the crud near the nib. He pressed the dropper and dipped the pen into the ink bottle and watched the ink gush into the little tube attached to the pen. He wrote his name on a piece of paper in terrible cursive writing and smiled as the ink flowed out of the pen smoothly and consistently. Good as new, he thought. He put the pen back in the case and closed it shut. Shit, he thought. Shit. Geometry. I have Geometry this year. I need those Geometry thingies, the poky pointer stuff and the circle drawing stuff and the weird shaped rulers he had seen some of the older kids use. A compass box, he remembered. That’s what I need. A compass box.

“Ma …” he yelled.

It was almost seven thirty in the evening by the time the rickshaw dropped them off near the Bata Store on Main Street. Walking briskly towards Shivaji Market, he watched in panic as many of the stores started to shutter down. They turned at the lane with the flower shop which although closed for the day still smelled like jasmine and marigold. They passed by the Karachiwala sweet shop.

“Ma, Suterfeni?” he asked.
His mother gave him one of those deadly looks that only mothers could give. What was he thinking.

There were two stationary stores, right next to each other and luckily both were open. What was not so fortunate was that they were both crammed with people that made going inside almost impossible.
“One day before school opens this idiot remembers. One day ..” his mother scowled.
“You go here” she said pushing him into the crowd in front of Popular Book Store as she walked on to the neighboring Hindustan Book Store. He tried to squeeze his way through bulging bellies and sweaty armpits and smelly buttocks and eventually gasping for breath reached the counter and shouted out, “Compass Box. I want a Compass box.”
“Sold out” the man behind the counter replied.
“What do you mean sold out? I just need one. You don’t have even one in the store?”
“Sold out” the man replied dismissively.
“Bhenchod” he said, “Behnchod” he said again.

He thought he had said those cuss words to himself. But the sudden silence that immediately engulfed the store made him aware that those words had actually come out, loudly ad clearly. The store owner gave him a stern look as did many of the other grown ups next to him. The crowd made way for him as he walked out of the store. His mom was outside, waiting. Had she heard him? Of course she had. The shame, the horror, the disappointment. He had tears in eyes. She shook her head and gave him a giant hug.

He fell asleep in her lap on the ride back home.

He dreaded going to school the next morning. What would the teacher say? She’d be disappointed for sure. What an impression to make on the very first day. He opened up his school bag. There, right on top was a compass box. It wasn’t a new one, but it had everything in it. Was it his brothers? Maybe his dad had one? Maybe his mother borrowed it from one of the neighbors?

When he got back home that evening, he rushed into his mothers arms.
“Thank you” he said.
“Come now” she replied, “You must be hungry.”
There was a heaping bowl of Suterfeni on the table.