Silver lining

I knew Prateek''s grandfather — a humble silversmith operating out of a tiny shop in a crowded vegetable market close by. I often saw Prateek''s father Hasmukh as a toddler at the back of the shop, where the family stayed in cramped proximity to each other. Years went by and the toddler, now a partly young man, became the proud father of two sons besides being the owner of the store he inherited after the old man died.
Hasmukh modernised the tiny premises, put in a couple of air conditioners and worked on his client base.Sure, there was still no place to move and the counters were crammed with chunky silver doo-dahs, but the minuscule shop still attracted the famous and the glamorous.
I used to wonder what would happen to Hasmukh''s young sons. Would they be happy enough to stand behind the old counter persuading socialites to try on one more lapis lazuli choker?
These boys were growing up in an aggressively connected world. Where did they see their own future taking them? I found out soon enough. Last week I received a call. Young Prateek was seeking college admissions. And his parents were panic stricken. They''d obviously read reports about the lakhs demanded by venal principals out to loot desperate degree seekers.
They''d also heard of fathers borrowing huge amounts to procure a coveted seated for their sons. Perhaps Hasmukh would''ve considered this option too. For one thing was clear: He did not want his son to follow in his footsteps and become yet another semi-literate shop keeper. He had other dreams for Prateek. A good education was only the beginning. If the boy managed to get in, the family''s worth would automatically go up within the closed community. If he didn''t, it would bring shame. There was a small problem, though: His results were respectable but not spectacular. Did I know someone..? He had done well in Maths. Not so well in English. I''ll give it a shot, I replied. And called a dynamic lady principal. Bring the boy over, she said, and we''ll see.
At the interview, Prateek was asked what he wanted to do with his life. "I want to succeed," he stated sincerely and simply. His father glowed with pride. His mother, who hadn''t uttered a word till then, beamed at the 16-year-old and whispered words of encouragement in their native Gujarati. Prateek spoke about participating in quiz contests, taking an active interest in athletics and generally indicated his eagerness to be a vital part of the global student community. Yes, he got in. he deserved to.
The principal told me later that students like Prateek interested her far more than the privileged brats I''d seen rolling up in chauffeur-driven cars, clad in designer gear. "We also try and turn these kids around," she said. "Why shouldn''t they be given a fair chance? But it''s boys like Prateek who pose a special challenge." I walked around the college and met the peons. Such was the motivational level, that these young men had volunteered to undertake repairs and upkeep of the premises themselves. After college hours and during vacations, they slogged as masons, carpenters, electricians and plumbers to make sure that their beloved college looked its best. The same spirit was evident in the young students handling the admissions and helping nervous parents complete tedious formalities. "These kids actually run the college," a professor said.
Well, perhaps next year, I might see Prateek escorting freshers to the same room he had occupied earlier. This is the first independent step taken by a forward-thinking young man in the context of his family__generations of silversmiths, belonging to the Jain faith. He is tomorrow''s Indian__unshackled by the age-old traditions that used to determine one''s future and permanently mark one''s life. Prateek has broken free. And joined the 21st century. Bravo.