The Secret

Roni was in a rush. His chemistry tutor had taken an extra half an hour of class today to explain about metals and non-metals. As if he needed the explanation. He had been raiding his elder sister Tanni's table for over 3 years now, studying the notes and solving the problems she would give to her engineering students while they struggled. Roni was in class 10, but he felt like he was ready for college. But that's not why he was in a rush today.

He was late for his daily fix. Every day of the week he used to visit a different tutor straight after school. Staying in a small town filled with educators meant that nothing, especially teachers, was too far away. But every place, and everyone, has secrets, and he had discovered many nooks and crannies where, on his way home, he could indulge in the cigarette procured from the school peon in exchange for a part of his tiffin - usually a snack like an apple or some mithai, or the joint received from the school bully as reward for help on homework. He would light up, taking care that the smoke did not blow into his clothes or hair, and for a few idyllic moments get lost in a dream world. Later, once he was home, he would raid his sister's table for new nuggets of engineering wisdom, complete his homework, watch an episode of the Big Bang Theory or the Simpsons, take his dinner and go off to bed. He had the entire evening to himself. Despite having a family to speak of, he hardly had them around to speak to - his parents ran a BPO unit catering to law firms in the UK, while his sister would be out partying with her friends or working on her thesis with her PhD guide.

It was already 5 pm when his tutor let him go. Soon the parks and lanes and bylanes would be filled with myriad aunts and grandparents - out for their evening walk and on the look out for gossip material. What if he got caught? He would be reported and shamed for smoking, while his real fault was nothing more than to be born in a small town where people actually cared, a bit too much, about their neighbours rather than their own noses.

Lost in his thoughts Roni was ambling down the street. Up ahead was the half constructed and completely abandoned town-square-flyover project's remnants. As he passed under the construction, his eyes strayed to a cavern on his right that he had noticed before, but never paid any attention to. This was it! He was overjoyed! He quickly surveyed his surroundings to make sure no one was noticing him and slipped inside. As soon as he was sure that he was out of sight of the road, he lit up.

By the light of the matchstick, Roni noticed that it was not just a nook in the wall kind of place, the space in front of him seemed to stretch away for quite a distance. Roni suddenly felt a thrill. Here was another secret to be explored, another mystery to be solved. He took out his phone, switched on the torch and started walking. The place was damp and musty. To Roni it looked like this was being planned like some kind of  office - he felt like he was passing through a series of rooms. He hadn't spent more than a minute or two inside, but he was already bored - the walls were bare, and the musty smell was getting worse by the minute.

He was about to turn back when he heard a man call out - 'Hey you!' His joint was still in his fingers, and his secret would now be out. The gossip mills had finally caught up with him to make him their fodder for immediate consumption, and later regurgitation whenever required. Roni turned around, red-faced.

The man was standing in the 'room' just behind the one Roni was in. There was some sort of a window between these two rooms, and he was beckoning Roni through that. He was holding a torch himself, a regular brass one, pointing it at the ceiling above instead of on the floor or at Roni. By the light, Roni could make out that the man was wearing a white lab-coat. The look on his face was bemused, and Roni suddenly felt that he would perhaps be spared from becoming fodder for the gossip mongers. This man looked kind, he looked like someone who would understand a fifteen year old.

Roni replied weakly, 'Hello uncle!'

'Hello beta, who are you? I saw you enter here from my pharmacy across the road and I was concerned. What are you doing here? I mean I know' - here he briefly pointed the torch at Roni's right hand - 'but this is an abandoned structure, and dangerous.'

'I'm sorry' Roni stuttered. 'My name is Ranchordas Tiwari. Everyone calls me Roni. I was just looking for a place to... you know...'

'Its ok. It looks like you're done with that for today. As it is it's not a good habit. I won't tell anyone, I promise. Now drop the butt and come on out with me. You should get home, it's getting dark outside.' He seemed genuinely concerned.

Roni started walking with the man. Roni had switched off his mobile torch and they were progressing in the light of the pharmacist's brass torch. The man was making small talk about how generic medicines were making business difficult but life more affordable. Roni was smiling to himself. He was quite confident by now that his secret would be safe.

They had reached the road. They said goodbye and turned on their respective paths - 'uncle' crossed the street to his pharmacy, while Roni ambled on, thinking about ways to spend his Friday evening.

***

Weekends were the worst for Roni. Unlike school, where one could zone out of the teachers droning about topics that least interested him, tuition teachers promised, and provided, "personal attention". And on weekends, there would be an endless series of these sessions, one after the other. Roni decided to pay a visit to his new friend between his chemistry and maths tuitions to break the monotony.

Krisnapur Pharmacy. The lettering was as bold as the name was uninspiring. Roni pushed the glass door and walked inside. He had forgotten to ask the man's name yesterday. He had hoped that his 'uncle' would be there when he walked in. But he was not there. In fact there was not a single man there. The shop was entirely 'manned' by women. Roni was a bit stumped. Perhaps it was a slow day, so everyone was looking at him expectantly.

'When does uncle come in?' Roni blurted out.

One of the women who looked to be in charge, asked back - 'Which uncle?'

Roni replied - 'He works here, I met him yesterday, he is somewhat bald, round face, black spectacles -'

'No man works here.' Roni was cut short. 'Hasn't for 15 years since the original owner, Shankarnath Dwivedi died protesting the flyover. His daughter now owns this shop, and she has a strict policy to only employ women.'

Roni was confused. Perhaps the man had referred to some other shop? At that moment his eyes strayed to a dusty portrait hanging in one corner of the shop. His eyes grew large. He now knew that his secret was indeed safe for all time to come.