“You will eat bhindi and dal chawal, and you will eat it without any complaints or crying about it, understand?”
He did not reply. It was usually not a good idea to reply when his
mother had her warrior attitude, as his father had described it. It happened on
most days but it always did when she had to watch her favourite TV serial and
she could not risk cooking a longish dinner menu. His sister was supposed to be
busy, preparing for the IIT entrance examinations, and she was given her time
and space to dedicate herself on that task. She did so, seriously, and would
also be allowed to ask for a second dinner, a small midnight tiffin, for she
had to practice solving physics problems and that went on well past midnight.
He did not mind it for he also got a bite though it was very clear that it was
not made especially for him. It was ok for he was allowed to stay awake and sit
up with his Phantom and Tarzan comics.
His mind was busy elsewhere as he had his dinner of a rather insipid
and tasteless plate of almost crispy burnt bhindi
and somewhat watery dal with sticky
lumps of steamed rice. He was thinking about the latest James Bond movie that
he had seen with his college classmates. They had bunked the theory lectures
and had taken the double decker bus to Regal Theatre and enjoyed Sean Connery
as “Bond, James Bond” as only he could be. It was supposed to be an adult movie
of sorts but the word had gone around in the colleges that the 11 am and 3 pm
shows were easy to sneak in if you were in a group. They were usually strict
about the age limit in the family slots of 6 pm and 9 pm.
Would it be a good idea to ask his father if he could become a
secret agent for India? Were there actually any James Bond like fellows
employed by the country? Or would he have to go to London and apply for a job
at MI6? He had read in an Ian Fleming novel that MI6 actually meant Military
Intelligence. So that would mean that these ‘intelligence’ agencies were part
of the military. Was it also the same in India? He would have to join the army
if he had to join the ‘intelligence’ agency. That would mean the entrance
examinations for the National Defence Academy. His father would be extremely
happy if he ever so indicated that he wanted to prepare for a national entrance
test.
He had checked at the college library. They did not have any book
about the secret service agencies in India. The British Council library had
only two books about the secret service but it was about some earlier secret
agent called Philby who had defected to the USSR and landed up in Moscow. He
had inquired very politely with the Parsi lady librarian who had very large
spectacles but was extremely enthusiastic in chatting about books. She had
asked him to read fiction titles about George Smiley. It was a very different
type of book. He could not read beyond the first five or seven pages when he
had obediently picked up the book from the ‘unsorted’ book-trolley near the
librarian. He had gone back to pick up two books, one each of Ian Fleming and
his other favourite thriller author, Alistair Maclean.
The American Center library did not have any books about their CIA
or FBI. He did not want to ask the rather strict looking assistant librarian at
the inquiry desk. He had only one answer to any question. He usually spoke out
that information for all US college admissions were at the basement section.
This was the library. No questions, he said, I do not want to even know about
any other inquiry. All books were catalogued and you have to use the card
index.
It would be better to ask his father, perhaps. He would have to only
risk volunteering to sit for the NDA entrance examinations. His father would
maybe stretch it out for him to go and visit the army recruitment office as a
non-commissioned officer or as a technical officer in the Navy or in the Air
Force. That would be the extent of the risk.
“Daddy, do you know if there is an intelligence service in India, something
like an international secret service?”
His father had been reading the centre page editorial of the Times
of India as he had trained himself to do whenever the missus had captured the
television and was watching her favourite programs. So he was quite happy to
get diverted and chat. He folded the Times of India in his usual meticulous
manner and placed it on the centre table.
“Intelligence service? Why? Do you want to just know about it or is
it part of some college assignment?”
There, he thought. His father was being cautious. He knows something
but he suspects about something else. He would have to be careful. His father
could easily smell out his actual intentions much before he had thought of
them.
“No, Daddy, not a college assignment. I was reading Ian Fleming and
James Bond and he is working for MI6 and that is some sort of an intelligence
service. It is an exciting job, full of danger, but it is about serving the
country. It says that MI6 is a Military Intelligence department. So if I want
to be a secret agent, does it mean that I have to join the army as an officer?
Can one become an international secret agent even if one is in the Navy or Air
Force?”
His father smiled, in his usual patronising manner. “If there is a
secret service inside the army, it would be secret, no? They must be having
many secret units for various things. But India is not like London or America
or the Soviet Union. They have problems with all other countries and they are
investigating everyone and watching everyone including themselves. We have
problems only with Pakistan and China and to a lesser extent with Nepal,
Bangladesh and Sri Lanka. So if you become a secret agent, that is where you
will go. Lahore or Kathmandu or Colombo. No Indian can be a successful secret
agent in China. One look at you and they will know that you are an Indian.”
“Our secret agents will not go to uncover secret moon rocket
installations or evil scientists in the Caribbean?”
“The only worry that we have from that part of the world is from
their fast bowlers. You saw the havoc that Andy Roberts, Malcolm Marshall, Joel
Garner and Wayne Daniels did to our batsmen? Sunil Gavaskar got hit twice on
his chest in one innings. You could become a secret agent for the Cricket Board
and go to Barbados and find out about the new and upcoming fast bowlers and
batsmen who will join the West Indies team. Did you know that Ian Fleming had
written about James Bond only after he actually met some real person with the
same name in the West Indies?
“Yes. I read about that in a book about Ian Fleming. He had met this
birdwatcher who had written about the birds of the West Indies while they had
gone deep sea fishing or something like that. James Bond was a real person.”
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