It’s a borrower’s world!

By Renee Ranchan

ONE train journey is all it took for me to remember this breed is alive and kicking. Thriving actually. Come to think of it, that is the reason for this piece. Before you conclude that I intend to work you (and myself, of course) into a twirl before getting to the point, I must ask you not to worry. Borrower, that is the breed in question. Yes, the kind that do not seem to understand that borrowing means not coveting. That it comes with the in-built condition of returning. And yes, in the same state that it was given — dog-eared pages, threatening-to-fall-apart cover .... the book you had lent was brand new! But of course that was many summers ago ... I shall get into the man’s (you do understand that goes for woman as well) psyche step by step but first this train sojourn.

Jaipur, love the place. It has something to do with the colours, the vibrancy Rajasthan dishes up ... Did not (neither do now) understand how a cousin-in-law who happened to be visiting from England ‘fell into instant dislike’ (his words) with the town. That, I guess, must have something to do with the happy disorder of the place. In the West, disorder can never be happy. But you know what I suspect — the gentleman did not strike quite the bargain he had hoped for while buying that pouchful of gems for his better half. Promised not to digress, so I’m back to my journey. I usually taxi by air or by car so when the chance of chugging by train came my way, I was glad. Trains — they have come a long way and practically get you to your destination in plane-time. That is, if you count the check-in time and later luggage wait that goes with flying. With me I had the morning’s paper and a read-easy magazine (yes, we all do need a break from the heavy stuff. Does wonders for your complexion to look less reality-stricken too!) And there I was barely settled into my seat — revealing over its reclining ease — when my co-passenger asked for the paper. The question here: Could he not see it was an unfurled, crisp and therefore, unread paper? Another one: Why could not he buy his own two rupees would not exactly burn a hole in his pocket? Why, I would have happily dunked a coin in his palm for the purchase! The man turned out to be one of those diligent readers who devour every inch of the newsprint.

The paper was, at long last returned, in a dishevelled, page turned topsy-turvy state, half-an-hour before the destination. After which, he eyed my magazine. I, turned a blind eye. Can you digest that? The cheek! I am sure you have had similar encounters —and yes, in case you are one of those borrowers I suggest you return this paper pronto!

While on paper, cannot resist another paper-story. No, this one is not of the newspaper variety. I spend a couple of mornings every week at a nearby library penning (no, unfortunately not poetry) but articles — computers make me uncomfortable, nothing to beat the feel of pen and paper — and I am invariably interrupted by a gentle tap on the shoulder. ‘Could I please ‘borrow’ a sheet of paper?’ comes the request from some member or the other. Hand already extended. How on earth does borrow figure into this request? The sheet surely is not going to be returned. Why the fuss for a measly sheet? Two reasons. Number one, I have a dear, warm aunt who mails special pale yellow (legals pads, that is what they are called) paper all the way from the USA. An indulgence? I think not — I like its balmy touch and the way the pen glides over it, practically writing itself. I miss the paper colosally when I run out of it and yes, feel at sea till the next supply arrives. So with this history you do get the picture, if not understand no? Why not just say no? That would be creating heavy weather in the confines of the library — the man may be seated next to you — Speaking of this kind of borrowing one morning two months ago, a work-associate announced she was giving up perfumes. The way she said it you would think she was talking about liquor! The solemn, sad voice. (Yes, it is incredible how voices speak for themselves ... for instance my cousin Saasha has this cat-that-ate-the canary voice. Voices, shall we keep them for another day?) Perfume-holic, that is what she must be, I tidily concluded. No, that was not it, she said briskly wiping that threatening-to-become-evident hint of a tear. Her flat-mate (that was the first time I came across this term) was the reason. Single, careerist women in Delhi get themselves a flat-mate — a way of splitting the rent while having some company thrown in for free. An aunt visiting from my hometown in the hills wanted to know why these ‘well-settled girls’ just did not get a life-mate. ‘Marriage in the metros is on the decline’ screamed one article I stumbled on last Sunday. I, however, made no mention of it. The aunt was better off without this revelation. Perfume, flat-mate, that is where we were. This colleague decided to give up her mandatory spray before venturing outdoors because her house-companion (that sounds better!) would liberally and everyday ‘borrow’ the fragrance. There, got through most of the story’ The lady spent a wholesome slice of her salary on these bottles. Did I know Lancome perfumes cost Rs 3000, even more? (Thank God for my overseas family and their generous hearts! Family, there I go again!) And just as I write I recall another forgotten borrower tale.

Do not know how it has just popped up — funny, how a specific topic triggers off the memory. Many seasons ago, my mum had sent half-a-dozen ‘book audio-tapes’ from, yes, America (now you get them here too, but back then it was a novelty). A class-mate borrowed, as in literally swooped down on them. That was the last I heard (no, I did not even get a chance to listen to one) of them. And, broken-hearted, didn’t I try to retrieve them. Repeated requests, infuriated reminders ... nothing, however, worked. Anyhow let’s move on to some general ground. The archetypal borrower generally is of two moulds. Either he belongs to the-world-owes-me frame, where the lender, in-reflex hands over whatever he wants. Only later is the lender able to process what has happened. The other kind asks for the loan in a dissolving, infantile squeak. But of course, you comply, offering even more of the same, adding that there was no time-frame to adhere. Return, whenever... and, if (because of threats, mind you, not requests!) this species returns the stuff, he does so dramatically. He makes a show of it and yes, actually believes he has been ripped off, especially if its money.

Aah, yes another thing, the above mentioned types can unselfconsciously string out — excuse after excuse. Of the-dog-ate-the-homework genre. However, away from the borrower’s anatomy. I just remember something — a good deal of remembering today! With winter at the heels — the thought is warming enough for me to break out into a jig — I just recalled that, that black sweater I had thought was misplaced had actually been lent last year to a friend. No, she is not one of those bad, in-name-only borrowers ... took the woollen when winter was almost over. And with a scorching sun you cannot even get to remember woollens! And I just remembered (there we go again!) I am expecting someone for tea and I am short of sugar. Boy Friday never resupplies things in time (!) and kitchen essentials have a way of running out at odd times. Now if this was not Delhi I could have trotted down to the neighbour next door and borrowed a bowl of sugar. And then either actually return it or wait till the neighbour is in the same plight. Good old neighbourhood values, soon you will have to inform your kids that they were not fictional.

However, back to serious stuff. The borrower coils around you like a python! There are metal detectors, lie detectors ... Now if only some Smart Brain would come up with a borrower detector. The only way to steer clear of this clan!