The courtyard smelled of fresh jasmines and mud as little Dilli tiptoed into the ancestral house, hiding a mischievous grin behind his innocent face. His great-grandfather, Mudunuri Subbaraju—known to the whole Atreyapuram as Vasantharaju Subbaraju—sat on the wooden chair, his newspaper folded with the precision of a soldier's bed. His snow-white hair and stern posture gave him the aura of a living statue.
"Tathayya…" Dilli called softly, dragging the word in a singsong tone.
Subbaraju lowered his glasses. "Ha Deepu, vachhava? (So, you've come?) What is it this time? Birthday aa? Chocolates kaavaalaa?"
Dilli immediately bent down and touched his great-grandfather's feet dramatically, like he was worshipping a deity. "Long live Tathayya! The light of Atreyapuram! The lion of communism! The encyclopedia of newspapers!"
The old man squinted, hiding a smile. "Ayy, bootlicker… tell me straight. How much do you want this time?"
"Only twenty rupees, Tathayya," Dilli said with a poker face, then added slyly, "Or maybe… two thousand?"
Subbaraju's thick eyebrows shot up. "Two thousand? For chocolates?"
Dilli grinned. "Not for chocolates this time, Tathayya. I want to invest."
That word dropped into the air like a thunderclap. Subbaraju, who had disciplined generations of his family without ever raising his voice, blinked in disbelief. "Invest aa? Deepu… are you possessed or what?"
"No, Tathayya," Dilli said proudly. "Nanna opened a bank account for me. He gave me ₹5,000 and even applied for PAN and demat. I want to buy stocks now!"
For the first time in years, Subbaraju's mouth fell open. He adjusted his glasses and looked hard at his great-grandson. In his heart, he always thought Gadhiraju, Dilli's father, was the sharpest of the clan. But now, this little boy—who once begged for Parle-G biscuits and Goldspot—was talking like an investor.
"What stock ra?" Subbaraju asked, voice deep.
Dilli didn't flinch. "Eicher Motors, Tathayya."
A spark lit in the old man's eyes. "Eicher? Why ra?"
Dilli's answer came crisp, steady. "Our country is vast, mostly agricultural. Transportation is essential—tractors, trucks. Eicher sells both. As India grows, Eicher grows. So I want to invest."
For a moment, silence hung in the air. Then, to everyone's shock, Subbaraju burst out laughing—a full, hearty laugh that shook his frail body. It echoed across the courtyard, startling even the cows tied outside. Dilli looked worried. "Did I say something wrong, Tathayya?"
Still laughing, Subbaraju got up, shuffled inside, and returned with a big cloth bag. He patted Dilli's head. "Come. Let's go."
Confused but obedient, Dilli climbed onto the carrier of his great-grandfather's old bicycle. As they rode to the State Bank of India branch, the villagers stared, whispering—"Why is the lion Subbaraju taking the little boy on his cycle like this?"
At the bank, they were met with Gadhiraju's stern face. He looked between his grand father's bag and his son's wide-eyed innocence. "What circus is going on here?"
Dilli, remembering the power of buttering up elders, quickly hugged his father with exaggerated sweetness. "Nanna…" he said in a sugar-dripping tone, widening his eyes like a saint.
Gadhiraju narrowed his eyes, suspicious, but before he could ask further, Subbaraju pulled him inside the manager's office. The boy was left waiting outside, swinging his legs nervously. Minutes crawled by until finally, the two men emerged.
Subbaraju, his face calm but his eyes twinkling, handed a slip of paper to his great-grandson. "Here, Deepu."
Dilli looked down. His eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. The slip showed:
₹1,45,000/-
The boy stammered, "Ta… Tathayya… this much?" His mind spun. This is the same man who gave me only twenty rupees on every birthday—even in college! And now… one lakh forty-five thousand?!
Subbaraju placed a wrinkled hand on his head. "This is my gift to you, Deepu. Don't waste it. Make it grow."
Gadhiraju stood silently, shaken. For years, he bore the pride of being the family's sharpest. But his grand father's next words cut him deeper than any scolding. Subbaraju patted his shoulder firmly and said,
"You are not the smartest of our family anymore. Look after him well."
With that, the old lion mounted his bicycle and pedaled away, leaving the father and son frozen, staring at each other in utter disbelief—one with pride swelling in his chest, the other with dreams blazing in his eyes.