One of the daily chores that Innocent Baby Chandy, all of eleven years, enjoyed was vegetable shopping every evening at 5.30, that she carried out for her mother, Radha Mercy. She would wait for Khan-chacha, the vegetable vendor, who would come from Badshahpur to Sector 41 every evening and park his covered autorickshaw loaded with potatoes, onions, peas, apples, and bananas. Around that time, Innocent usually cycled around the neighbourhood on her new sky-blue mountain bike which her father, Bijou Jolly Chandy, had bought for her from the Decathlon outlet at Millennium City Centre Metro Station, the last time he was back home from Dubai. It was a tough, rough and ready bike ideally suited for Innocent B Chandy’s temperament.
Within a week she had become an accomplished biker, and now in the evenings from 4.30 to 5.30 pm, could be seen zipping around the neighbourhood in gay abandon. Sometimes her good friend, Mata Rani Tomar, who was seven years old and the granddaughter of Mrs Tomar, the landlady, accompanied Innocent Baby on her daily adventures. Mata Rani rode a pink BSA bike which Innocent had outgrown and had now lent to her young friend. The pink bike still had its training wheels on both sides of the large rear wheel.
Around five o’clock, as Innocent Baby and Mata Rani were on their second tour of the neighbourhood market, they saw a man pushing a handcart laden with vegetables and fruits towards the Dulcimer Luxury Housing Society. The man parked his cart at its gate and sold the watchman a kilo of potatoes and half a dozen bananas. Innocent quickly noted it down in her pocket diary. Now where was Khan-chacha? Who was this new man? Innocent Baby asked Mata Rani what the time was and Mata Rani looked into her new digital red and black smartwatch and said “17.05 hours”. Innocent duly noted that down as well. So it was still early. Khan-chacha usually arrived around 5.30 and parked his autorickshaw near Balwan Boys School.
“Let’s follow this imposter, didi,” Mata Rani said to Innocent Baby.
“What’s an imposter, Mata Rani?”
“Well, you know, that’s a pig who is pretending to be something else, like a cow, for instance. For creating mischief.”
Innocent Baby was again struck by how varied and extensive Mata Rani’s vocabulary was in English and it was all due to Peppa Pig. Innocent remembered the role Doraemon and Nobita had played in her Hindi language fluency – as a three-year-old who had newly arrived in Gurugram from Kerala eight years ago, she only knew Malayalam – and she was once again thankful for the all-round benediction of Cartoon TV to both their childhoods and language skills.
“Let’s follow the imposter.” Innocent said to Mata Rani as the vegetable vendor pushed his cart and loudly advertised his wares:
“Come one, come all, buy fresh tomatoes, potatoes, onions, and pepsicum.”
“Did the man just say pepsicum?”
Mata Rani inquired; her eyes had enlarged and were popping out like ping-pong balls.
“Yes, he did. Pepsicum, not ‘Capsicum’,” Innocent assured Mata Rani.
“What did I tell you? The man is an inveterate imposter.” Mata Rani said triumphantly and flicked back her jet-black curls.
“What does ‘invete…’, oh never mind. Let’s keep following the man,” Innocent said somewhat exasperated with her young friend and ward.
“A man who pronounces capsicum as pepsicum surely can’t be a vegetable seller. Everyone knows what a capsicum is.” Mata Rani made her suspicions very apparent.
“Perhaps he is part of a burglar’s ring, observing vulnerable houses they can attack in the night,” Innocent said to Mata Rani, as they both slowly cycled behind the cart.
“Or perhaps he is a bootlegger. And Pepsicum is code for Mallya No1, which incidentally is my grandmother’s brand of choice. You know like Pepsi ‘Kum’, that is less and whisky more.” Mata Rani gave her extremely precocious mind, one more almighty whirl.
“Mata Rani, you are too much, but that is certainly a person of interest to us. Let us go and interrogate him. What is he doing in our territory? What has he done with Khan-chacha? I anyway have to buy a kilo of potatoes and some green chillies.” Innocent said to Mata Rani and they both cycled a bit faster and caught up with the vendor.
“Hello, hello, Mr Sabziwale, we want to buy some potatoes,” Innocent said to the vegetable vendor as she and Mata Rani overtook the poor man from both sides and screeched to a halt.
“Yes, of course, why not? How much do you want? A kilo, a mon, a ton?”
“Just a kilo please,” Innocent primly said to the man. Stiff upper lip and all. The vendor started sorting out potatoes to weigh them properly. All this while Mata Rani Tomar was watching the vendor like a hawk. Her eyes had become like slits and her nose had grown sharper at the tip.
“Where’s Khan-chacha? He sells vegetables here,” Mata Rani started her inquisition.
“Khan-chacha?” The vendor laughed and pointed towards the sky.
“What do you mean?” Innocent asked the vendor.
“Dead kargaye. From now onwards, I will sell vegetables here. I am Ram Bharose.”
Both Innocent and Mata Rani were too shocked to utter anything for a while. It was only yesterday that Innocent had bought tomatoes and cabbage from the poor man and chacha had given them both slices of sweet crunchy coconut. “Do you want anything more? Onions? Bhindi? Mango? Pepsicum?” Ram Bharose asked Innocent while rapidly filling up a polythene bag with a kilo of potatoes.
“Pepsicum? What pray is a pepsicum?” Innocent asked the vendor.
“This ‘pray’ is a pepsicum. Also called shimla mirchi. You harvest it not with water but with Pepsi-Cola. The rich and famous eat it by the kilo.” Ram Bharose picked up a large bottle-green bell pepper and dangled it in front of the two girls.
“That’s not a pepsicum. It is a capsicum.” Mata Rani Tomar shook her head and corrected the vendor.
“Pepsicum.” Ram Bharose patiently corrected the girls.
“Capsicum.” Innocent Baby stood her ground.
“Just because you study in an English-medium school, you think you know more than all those who have studied in the vernacular schools?”
“Capsicum. And listen, I go to a Hindi-medium school in Sohna. It is Innocent who studies in an English medium school,” Mata Rani reiterated her stand.
“Mata Rani, never divulge personal information before strangers,” Innocent cautioned her young friend.
Excerpted with permission from Neighbourhood Watch: The Domestic Capers Of Innocent Baby Chandy, Siddharth Chowdhury, Scholastic India.
