Going bananas!

This was year 1985. I was 9. My dad had just got transferred to a small island in the Nicobar archipelago. Since there was no school there, it was decided that my mom, my sister and me stay back in Port Blair. We had to forego our government quarters and move into rented premises. The house we moved into was owned by a rich landlord who had a huge amount of land (by Andaman standards). They had a small colony of houses and two large plantations of betel-nut and banana trees.

As I was in those days, a move to a new place was exciting. The first thing I usually did was pick up my dav (machete, which most households in Andamans used to possess) and explore the area and get a feel for the lay of the land and search for a suitable hideout. This move was no different as soon as we reached and unpacked I took the dav and was off.

I soon chanced upon this banana plantation. It had about 150 trees. The trunks of the banana trees looked succulent and soft and the dav, sharp. I took a swipe at the nearest tree. For a second nothing happened. Then the top half of the tree toppled over, almost in slow motion like you see in the movies. It felt good. At that age the realisation that you can cut a tree (even one with the robustness of a cucumber) in half with one swipe of the dav is a heady. I took another swipe another tree bit the dust. Slowly but steadily the plantation started thinning.

After about an hour and a half of carnage only a handful stood in front of me. I was tired, but was triumphant. Then I heard a shout in chaste Hindi "B@$%$c&^d kaun hai Saala?". The voice sounded vaguely familiar. It was our landlord's eldest son. The realisation that something terrible was going to happen sunk in and I ran for it. Unfortunately all the dav-swinging had made me tired and I was soon caught. I got the thrashing of my life with the landlord's four sons taking turns.

We were soon looking for a new house, without any plantations of course.