Whatever the case may be, I can at least say that I have set foot in England! And let me not forget to mention, I made sure to step with my right foot first, just as I had resolved. Despite my meticulous care and scientific precision in placing my right foot forward, London itself seemed utterly indifferent to my arrival. It stood there, cold and unwelcoming, like a wilted face holding a burnt-out ceremonial platter. After all, if fortune favors you, it doesn’t matter which foot you put forward. If luck deserts you, any foot will do—it’s all the same.

No sooner had I landed here than half my enthusiasm seemed to wither away, or rather, it was thoroughly chilled. I cannot quite say why. The moment I set foot in London, my barometer of spirits seemed to plummet. Slowly, I gathered my luggage and stood on the platform. I had no idea what to do next. I didn’t even know which way to go! Everything felt utterly confusing.

If only this were Mogalturru! The moment I returned home from school after a long journey, all the folks at home and the neighborhood boys would come running, crowding around me, playing and joking with me for hours. There’s no need to even mention my mother. “Oh, you’ve come, my boy! First, wash your feet and face, your eyes are sunken, your cheeks are hollow—how are you, my dear?” she would fuss, hurrying me along. After I washed my feet, she would set out some snacks for me. Sometimes, she would even ward off the evil eye. I always felt so embarrassed. “Oh mother, what is this nonsense? You and your superstitions! How much longer are you going to keep doing this?”

"Do you still think I am a little boy?" he had said, feigning a bit of anger. Remembering all this, I suddenly felt a pang of sorrow. Rubbing my eyes, shivering in the cold, I was wondering whether to take the shawl from the next seat and wrap myself up. Just then, as if someone had kicked me up from the netherworld, like a Cook Company’s agent emerging from the depths, he appeared before me—no, not like that, rather like a goddess descending from the heavens to rescue me.

He glanced at me with a mischievous look and said, "Ha Ha! Ah! Good evening. What is your name? Ah! Let me see. You are the Great Mr. Parvateesam, aren't you? Fine, we were hearing a lot about you. Good, fine day. Bit chilly, what?"

(Good evening! Your name is—ah—yes, you must be that great man, Parvateesam. We've heard so much about you. Ah, that's good. It's a bit cold, isn't it?) he greeted me with a pleasant smile, and it felt as if my soul had returned to my body. But he called me “Great Parvateesam.”

He said he had heard a lot about me. How strange! How could he have figured out that I was an important person? I had barely set foot in London, not even half an hour had passed—how could he have heard about me already?

Puzzled by this oddity, and not wanting to appear any less than him, I replied in English, “Yes Sir, I Parvateesam, how you know me, Cook-garu?” I do know English, mind you! I wanted to warn him that if he tried any silly tricks, he wouldn’t get away with it with me.

“Good, lad! Clever, aren’t you? Come, hurry!” he said, grabbing my hand and starting to drag me along. “Yes, coming, my samans, sir,” I kept saying, but he paid no attention. What sort of deaf fellow is this, I wondered. With a single yank, I freed my hand and said, “My saman there, I go and get saman and come.” I turned back and pointed at my luggage. (What’s all this rush? My luggage is still there! I’ll go get it and come.)

“Oh oh! You and your bloody saman! What do you mean, saman?” he said, exasperated. (What’s with your wretched ‘saman’? What do you mean by ‘saman’ anyway?)

“My box, sir, and bed, sir,” I replied, pointing to them.

“Oh, that!” he said, letting out a big laugh. He repeated “saman, saman” four times, then said, “Alright, your luggage isn’t going anywhere. I’ll tell someone to bring it. You go ahead.” He called a man to fetch my things. “He’ll bring them. We need to hurry and catch that train,” he said, pointing to the train nearby.

All the people who had disembarked from the steamer were rushing toward that train and boarding it in a hurry.

“We’ve come to England, haven’t we? Why do we need to take another train? Where are we going now?” I asked.

“This is England, true, but this is just the beginning of England. London is still a few miles away from here. It’s about a three-hour journey. We’ll reach there by around eight o’clock. Once I drop you off there, my responsibility ends. After that, you’ll have to find your own way,” he said, walking briskly. All this time, he didn’t let go of my hand, poor fellow.

This entire conversation took place in English, mind you. Don’t start wondering how he knew Telugu! Even if he spent thousands of years in penance, he wouldn’t be able to utter a single word of Telugu. Even I, born and raised in Telugu land, still have plenty to learn…

Barrister Parvateesam

If there are words that are unclear, words that cannot be spoken clearly, tell me, how does he manage? Is that what you call pure English? Anyone and everyone can learn it in a year or two!

We reached the railway station, and as I was about to climb into a compartment, I found—without knowing who brought them or when—my box and bedding already inside. “Here you go, sir—your, your, whatever-you-called-it…” he said. I looked at him and laughed. He was laughing for one reason, and I was laughing