A stolen apple

Let’s go on a little stroll through the past. I was in the first grade and just 6 years old when I stole an apple from a fruit stall on the way to my school. Today I’m sharing with you a sweet reminiscence of mistake, dare, innocence, and a life lesson.

I was on my way to school with my father holding his hand on one side and my younger brother on the other. We were walking on a footpath jammed with fruit stalls leaving only a narrow edge for people to walk by. As I was approaching my school I was mesmerized by the colourful and juicy fruits on those stalls and their sweet fragrance was grabbing my attention. I wanted to have them first, because I have seen some of my classmates bring fruits in their lunch boxes, and every time I saw them eating fruits in class I felt envious of them. Besides, I was bored of having ‘achar roti’ or ‘sabzi-roti’ in my lunchbox. My father was rushing us to the school as per his daily ritual but that day we were getting late. Father was giving us instructions about behaving in a disciplined manner in school and inquiring us about our exams. Though I was trying to give satisfactory responses and affirmative nods to each of his inquiries to please his ears, my attention was wandering only around those stalls packed with varieties of seasonal and exotic fruits.

As I was looking and enjoying that sight, I saw a vendor stood facing his back to his fruit stall. He was taking out and polishing meticulously some freshly arrived apples from carets piled up against the wall and placing them on his stall decoratively in a way to make it appealing to people’s eyes. It was indeed a very capturing sight for me. As I was passing very close to those strings of fruit stall I was wondering if I could ask my father to buy those fruits for me for my lunchbox but then I reminded myself that my father cannot buy me those fruits because he was not in any job and hence he wouldn’t be able to pay for them. I was also aware that papa even if wishing to do his best cannot fulfil some of our whims and wishes and therefore, it won’t be a good idea to make a futile effort of asking him for buying those fruits.

In my mind, I was struggling to calculate the price of one apple as heard someone talking once that apples are very costly fruits. I curiously slipped my left hand into my pocket to see if I had some pocket money given to me by my granny. I was wondering at the same time how many days it will take me to collect at least ₹15 if amma ( we call ‘amma’ to our granny) will give me 2 rupees every day for my pocket money while leaving for the school. I will ask her for 3 rupees instead, I thought in my mind but still, it would take me many days to buy an apple. As I saw the zebra crossing we were about to cross for the other side of the highway where our school was located. Taking a deep breath I looked down to the ground and then to the face of my father. He was looking at the traffic light to go red. I looked at the vendor facing his back to his fruit stall and to my brother, who was not able to see me because of the silhouette of my father between both of us. I took an observing look around to the men and women rushing for their destinations, busy road, and some people across the road getting out from dazzling showrooms wearing fashionable outfits and sunglasses. I looked at that vendor once again and without thinking much I picked up a big red apple and placed it in my tiny pocket. My pocket though, was so little to hold that apple that there was no way I could have put it inside without making it distinguishable to the people or without it falling on the road.

Silently and scaredly and pretty much insecurely I was trying to hide that apple from the eyes of my father who was making his grip tighter on my hand as we were about to walk on the zebra crossing. My being uncomfortable was manifesting in my walking as I was looking here and there to save that apple from the eyes of people. I was wondering what if some passerby would have seen me and already told that vendor that I have stolen his apple and what if that vendor guy is behind me.

Father started asking me about my uneasiness and about me not walking swiftly. Finally, he asked me to show my other hand and lo… The kid got caught red-handed with a red apple in his hand. Firstly papa took it from my hand and then with a sceptical expression he asked me if I brought that apple from home. As I replied no, he understood that there was something fishy going on. He started laughing heartedly as I meekly told him everything with tears in my eyes and feeling sorry for my conduct. Papa, that day did something I believe every father should do in a similar situation. Instead of swearing at me or using threatening and demeaning words for what I did he went to my class teacher along with me and told me to narrate everything I did. I was ashamed, embarrassed and a little scared standing and confessing in front of my class teacher. I was scared of the idea of getting punished for what I did. Writing this I can recall that instead of punishing or shouting on me the lady (my class teacher) compassionately and emphatically explained to me the gravity of my mistake. Instead of raising her voice she brought me closer and held my hand as a gesture of solidarity. She told me that the shopkeeper might be a poor man and one should never touch others property without informing them. After telling me the importance of living honestly and truthfully she told me to make redemption for my misconduct by going back to that vendor right away and returning his apple with a confession. The apple I was fantasizing about on my way to school was no longer the apple I wanted. By then it was an object signifying a loss of dignity, guilt and shame. I went back to that fruit stall with my father. While returning it and making confession I felt happier and regained my lost honour in the eyes of my class teacher and my father. I saw everyone smiling afterwards. I was happy. My father as well as my class teacher, both lauded me.

I’m with my father and my younger brother, trying to free my hands for going far inside the waves. I love beaches and looking at waves. I’m not sure how safe it is to post personal pictures on this site but I can’t help sharing this one because this is so cute and nostalgic.

That day I learned the importance of being honest in life. A very precious life lesson. Looking back I can see how these little experiences contributed to building my value system. In most situations it takes nothing but courage and willingness to accept and improve from our mistake and to grow out of them. Though it took me years to inculcate these value system radically in all aspects of my life and relationships, that day I felt a sense of being human and something superior than self indulgence. This whole experience is so imbibed in my memory that I feel the ambience of that day every time I reflect.

How about you? Have you ever committed a mistake and then confessed it? Particularly talking about childhood, what do you think about how parents or teachers should correct children’s way and what was your experience? If you think the punishment is a more effective way of imparting moral values in children can you explain your grounds? If not then can you suggest a better way? Leaving you with these questions here. Thanks for reading. Until next post!