A Devoted Son| All Solution | NEB English Class 12 | A Devoted Son Q&A
Arjun EP
A Devoted Son| All Solution | NEB English Class 12
Short Story: Unit 3
A Devoted Son
Anita Desai
Glossary of A Devoted Son | Vocabulary of A Devoted Son
Alphabetically
accustomed (adj): habituated; used to
adamantly (adv): not change one’s mind; firmly
Ambassador (n): name of a car manufactured by Hindustan Motors of India, in production from 1958
ascent (n): progression; climbing
bedlam (n): a place where uproar and confusion prevail
betel-leaves (n): chewing leaf with tobacco or sweet spices; paan ko paat
bolsters (n): round pillows
cease to dazzle (v): end of darkening
cholera (n): fatal bacterial disease from infected water; haijaa
coaxing (adj; n): flattery designed to gain favour
complaisant (adj): merciful; obliging
conspirator (n; adj): traitor; betrayer
contemptuous (adj): insulting; scornful
contrive (adj): artificially; unreal
corpse (n): dead body
cracked voice (adj): broken voice
crave (v): desire; wish for; dream of
dab (v, n): to apply; swap; splash; A small quantity of moist
dangling (n}: hanging; swinging
decrepit (adj): weak; Lacking physical strength or vitality
delicacy (n): fine food item
deprived of food (adj) lacking of food
derisive (adj): expressing ridicule or satirical
desolate (adj.): feeling or showing great unhappiness or loneliness
dislodged (v): remove; eject; force out
distraught (adj): upset; worried
drifted (v) move slowly;
drongo (n): bird; species of bird
embrace (v): to hug
encomiums (n): a piece of writing that praises someone or something highly
enema (n): Injection of a liquid through the anus to stimulate evacuation
enviously (adv): With jealousy; jealously
envy (n, v): jealousy; green eyes
exaggeration (n): overemphasis; hyperbole
exasperating (adj): intensely irritating and frustrating
fame and fortune (phrase) reputation and luck
fathom (v): understand; puzzle out
frugal (adj): simple and plain and costing little
gastroenteritis (n): a disease triggered by the infection and inflammation of the digestive system
gloated (v): enjoy greatly; rejoice
gob of betal (n): paan
gobbling air (phrase): swallow air hurriedly; gulp air hurriedly;
gratifying (adj): giving pleasure or satisfaction
grunt (v) make vibrant sounds
spun (v): turn or whirl around quickly
hawking (v): clear the throat noisily
hedge (n) a fence or boundary formed by closely growing bushes or shrubs
hubbub (n): a loud confusing noise
humiliating (adj): feel ashamed and foolish
hushed (v): keep quiet; keep silent
hypocritical (adj): characterized by behaviour that contradicts what one claims to believe or feel
incoherent croak (adj): nonsense fellow
indulgent (adj): kind; merciful;
inevitable (adj): sure, certain
medley (n, adj): mixed; intermix
virtues (n): morality; good behavior
melancholy (n, adj): unhappy; sad
merely (adv): only; solely
miraculously (adv): miracle
multitude (n): a large number
peevish (adj): irritable; quarrelsome
peevish whim (adj): feeling irritable
placid (adj): sober; gentle; calm
plump girl (adj): rounded figure girl
prestigious (adj): decent; gentle
prophet (n): a person regarded as an inspired teacher
propped up (v): to place something upright (against something else)
pudding (n): sweet steamed dish made with flour
quavered (v): trembled; shook
radiant (adj): shining; bright; glowing
rag-pickers (n): scrap or wastage picker
rancor (n): bitterness; hated
regent (n): governor; minister
reproach (v): to blame or criticize somebody
shabby (adj): in poor condition
shack (n): a hut made of wooden
slaves (n): bondservant; a person who is the legal property of another
smirk (v; n): smile in irritatingly or silly way
sniffing (n; adj): smelling;
soothing (adj): calming; comforting; relaxing
spat out (v, n): dispute; quarrel
spry (adj): active; energetic
sterling (adj): excellent and valuable efforts or qualities
stiff (n; adj): dead body; rigid; firm; nonflexible
gaunt (ad): lean and thin because of suffering, hunger or age.
stone plinth (n): seating place made of stone
stream (n): a continuous flow of liquid water; narrow river; current
stride (v; n): long step; walk with long step
supplant (v): replace
sweetmeat (n): a small piece of sweet food, made of or covered in sugar
theatrically (adj): dramatic manner
tipped out (v): To empty the contents out of some vessel
triumph (n, v): a great victory or achievement
tucked (v): push, fold or turn
twitching (v): give a short jerking
tyranny (n): autocracy; cruel and oppressive rule
vague (adj): unclear; indefinite
vistas (n): a pleasing view
wailing (v): crying with pain
whim (n): feeling; emotion; craziness
whirl (n): cyclone; typhoon
whoop (v): shout; cry
wunderkind (n) : a person who achieves great success when relatively young
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Characters in A Devoted Son
Rakesh
He is the main character in the story.
He is a devoted son and a responsible doctor.
Mr. Varma
Mr Varma is Rakesh’s father.
He belongs to poor family and used to sell kerosene.
He is hardworking and happy with his son’s progress
Varma’s wife
She is Mr. Varma’s wife.
She is a normal housewife.
Veena
Veena is Rakesh’s wife.
She is an uneducated village girl.
Mr. Bhatia
Mr Bhatia is next door neighbor and best friend of Mr. Varma.
Mr Varma shares his joy and sorrow with Bhatia.
A Devoted Son
When the results appeared in the morning papers, Rakesh scanned them barefoot and in his pajamas, at the garden gate, then went up the steps to the verandah where his father sat sipping his morning tea and bowed down to touch his feet.
“A first division, son?” his father asked, beaming, reaching for the papers.
“At the top of the list, papa,” Rakesh murmured, as if awed. “First in the country.”
Bedlam broke loose then. The family whooped and danced. The whole day long visitors streamed into the small yellow house at the end of the road to congratulate the parents of this Wunderkind, to slap Rakesh on the back and fill the house and garden with the sounds and colors of a festival. There were garlands and halwa, party clothes and gifts (enough fountain pens to last years, even a watch or two), nerves and temper and joy, all in a multicolored whirl of pride and great shining vistas newly opened: Rakesh was the first son in the family to receive an education, so much had been sacrificed in order to send him to school and then medical college, and at last the fruits of their sacrifice had arrived, golden and glorious.
To everyone who came to him to say “Mubarak, Varmaji, your son has brought you glory,” the father said, “Yes, and do you know what is the first thing he did when he saw the results this morning? He came and touched my feet. He bowed down and touched my feet.” This moved many of the women in the crowd so much that they were seen to raise the ends of their saris and dab at their tears while the men reached out for the betel-leaves and sweetmeats that were offered around on trays and shook their heads in wonder and approval of such exemplary filial behavior. “One does not often see such behavior in sons anymore,” they all agreed, a little enviously perhaps. Leaving the house, some of the women said, sniffing, “At least on such an occasion they might have served pure ghee sweets,” and some of the men said, “Don’t you think old Varma was giving himself airs? He needn’t think we don’t remember that he comes from the vegetable market himself, his father used to sell vegetables, and he has never seen the inside of a school.” But there was more envy than rancor in their voices and it was, of course, inevitable—not every son in that shabby little colony at the edge of the city was destined to shine as Rakesh shone, and who knew that better than the parents themselves?
And that was only the beginning, the first step in a great, sweeping ascent to the radiant heights of fame and fortune. The thesis he wrote for his M.D. brought Rakesh still greater glory, if only in select medical circles. He won a scholarship. He went to the USA (that was what his father learnt to call it and taught the whole family to say—not America, which was what the ignorant neighbors called it, but, with a grand familiarity, “the USA”) where he pursued his career in the most prestigious of all hospitals and won encomiums from his American colleagues which were relayed to his admiring and glowing family. What was more, he came back, he actually returned to that small yellow house in the once-new but increasingly shabby colony, right at the end of the road where the rubbish vans tipped out their stinking contents for pigs to nose in and rag-pickers to build their shacks on, all steaming and smoking just outside the neat wire fences and well-tended gardens. To this Rakesh returned and the first thing he did on entering the house was to slip out of the embraces of his sisters and brothers and bow down and touch his father’s feet.
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As for his mother, she gloated chiefly over the strange fact that he had not married in America, had not brought home a foreign wife as all her neighbors had warned her he would, for wasn’t that what all Indian boys went abroad for? Instead he agreed, almost without argument, to marry a girl she had picked out for him in her own village, the daughter of a childhood friend, a plump and uneducated girl, it was true, but so oldfashioned, so placid, so complaisant that she slipped into the household and settled in like a charm, seemingly too lazy and too good-natured to even try and make Rakesh leave home and set up independently, as any other girl might have done. What was more, she was pretty—really pretty, in a plump, pudding way that only gave way to fat—soft, spreading fat, like warm wax—after the birth of their first baby, a son, and then what did it matter?
For some years Rakesh worked in the city hospital, quickly rising to the top of the administrative organization, and was made a director before he left to set up his own clinic. He took his parents in his car—a new, sky-blue Ambassador with a rear window full of stickers and charms revolving on strings—to see the clinic when it was built, and the large sign-board over the door on which his name was printed in letters of red, with a row of degrees and qualifications to follow it like so many little black slaves of the regent. Thereafter his fame seemed to grow just a little dimmer—or maybe it was only that everyone in town had grown accustomed to it at last—but it was also the beginning of his fortune for he now became known not only as the best but also the richest doctor in town.
However, all this was not accomplished in the wink of an eye. Naturally not. It was the achievement of a lifetime and it took up Rakesh’s whole life. At the time he set up his clinic his father had grown into an old man and retired from his post at the kerosene dealer’s depot at which he had worked for forty years, and his mother died soon after, giving up the ghost with a sigh that sounded positively happy, for it was her own son who ministered to her in her last illness and who sat pressing her feet at the last moment—such a son as few women had borne.
For it had to be admitted—and the most unsuccessful and most rancorous of neighbors eventually did so—that Rakesh was not only a devoted son and a miraculously goodnatured man who contrived somehow to obey his parents and humor his wife and show concern equally for his children and his patients, but there was actually a brain inside this beautifully polished and formed body of good manners and kind nature and, in between ministering to his family and playing host to many friends and coaxing them all into feeling happy and grateful and content, he had actually trained his hands as well and emerged an excellent doctor, a really fine surgeon. How one man—and a man born to illiterate parents, his father having worked for a kerosene dealer and his mother having spent her life in a kitchen—had achieved, combined and conducted such a medley of virtues, no one could fathom , but all acknowledged his talent and skill.
It was a strange fact, however, that talent and skill, if displayed for too long, cease to dazzle. It came to pass that the most admiring of all eyes eventually faded and no longer blinked at his glory. Having retired from work and having lost his wife, the old father very quickly went to pieces, as they say. He developed so many complaints and fell ill so frequently and with such mysterious diseases that even his son could no longer make out when it was something of significance and when it was merely a peevish whim. He sat huddled on his string bed most of the day and developed an exasperating habit of stretching out suddenly and lying absolutely still, allowing the whole family to fly around him in a flap, wailing and weeping, and then suddenly sitting up, stiff and gaunt, and spitting out a big gob of betel-juice as if to mock their behavior.
He did this once too often: there had been a big party in the house, a birthday party for the youngest son, and the celebrations had to be suddenly hushed, covered up and hustled out of the way when the daughter-in-law discovered, or thought she discovered, that the old man, stretched out from end to end of his string bed, had lost his pulse; the party broke up, dissolved, even turned into a band of mourners, when the old man sat up and the distraught daughter-in-law received a gob of red spittle right on the hem of her organza sari. After that no one much cared if he sat up cross-legged on his bed, hawking and spitting, or lay down flat and turned gray as a corpse. Except, of course, for that pearl amongst pearls, his son Rakesh.
It was Rakesh who brought him his morning tea, not in one of the china cups from which the rest of the family drank, but in the old man’s favorite brass tumbler, and sat at the edge of his bed, comfortable and relaxed with the string of his pajamas dangling out from under his fine lawn night-shirt, and discussed or, rather, read out the morning news to his father. It made no difference to him that his father made no response apart from spitting. It was Rakesh, too, who, on returning from the clinic in the evening, persuaded the old man to come out of his room, as bare and desolate as a cell, and take the evening air out in the garden, beautifully arranging the pillows and bolsters on the divan in the corner of the open verandah. On summer nights he saw to it that the servants carried out the old man’s bed onto the lawn and himself helped his father down the steps and onto the bed, soothing him and settling him down for a night under the stars.
All this was very gratifying for the old man. What was not so gratifying was that he even undertook to supervise his father’s diet. One day when the father was really sick, having ordered his daughter-in-law to make him a dish of soojiehalwa and eaten it with a saucerful of cream, Rakesh marched into the room, not with his usual respectful step but with the confident and rather contemptuous stride of the famous doctor, and declared, “No more halwa for you, papa. We must be sensible, at your age. If you must have something sweet, Veena will cook you a little kheer, that’s light, just a little rice and milk. But nothing fried, nothing rich. We can’t have this happening again.”
The old man who had been lying stretched out on his bed, weak and feeble after a day’s illness, gave a start at the very sound, the tone of these words. He opened his eyes— rather, they fell open with shock—and he stared at his son with disbelief that darkened quickly to reproach. A son who actually refused his father the food he craved? No, it was unheard of, it was incredible. But Rakesh had turned his back to him and was cleaning up the litter of bottles and packets on the medicine shelf and did not notice while Veena slipped silently out of the room with a little smirk that only the old man saw, and hated.
Halwa was only the first item to be crossed off the old man’s diet. One delicacy after the other went—everything fried to begin with, then everything sweet, and eventually everything, everything that the old man enjoyed.
The meals that arrived for him on the shining stainless steel tray twice a day were frugal to say the least—dry bread, boiled lentils, boiled vegetables and, if there were a bit of chicken or fish, that was boiled too. If he called for another helping—in a cracked voice that quavered theatrically—Rakesh himself would come to the door, gaze at him sadly and shake his head, saying, “Now, papa, we must be careful, we can’t risk another illness, you know,” and although the daughter-in-law kept tactfully out of the way, the old man could just see her smirk sliding merrily through the air. He tried to bribe his grandchildren into buying him sweets (and how he missed his wife now, that generous, indulgent and illiterate cook), whispering, “Here’s fifty paisa,” as he stuffed the coins into a tight, hot fist. “Run down to the shop at the crossroads and buy me thirty paisa worth of jalebis, and you can spend the remaining twenty paisa on yourself. Eh? Understand? Will you do that?” He got away with it once or twice but then was found out, the conspirator was scolded by his father and smacked by his mother and Rakesh came storming into the room, almost tearing his hair as he shouted through compressed lips, “Now papa, are you trying to turn my little son into a liar? Quite apart from spoiling your own stomach, you are spoiling him as well—you are encouraging him to lie to his own parents. You should have heard the lies he told his mother when she saw him bringing back those jalebis wrapped up in filthy newspaper. I don’t allow anyone in my house to buy sweets in the bazaar, papa, surely you know that. There’s cholera in the city, typhoid, gastroenteritis—I see these cases daily in the hospital, how can I allow my own family to run such risks?” The old man sighed and lay down in the corpse position. But that worried no one any longer.
There was only one pleasure left in the old man now (his son’s early morning visits and readings from the newspaper could no longer be called that) and those were visits from elderly neighbors. These were not frequent as his contemporaries were mostly as decrepit and helpless as he and few could walk the length of the road to visit him anymore. Old Bhatia, next door, however, who was still spry enough to refuse, adamantly, to bathe in the tiled bathroom indoors and to insist on carrying out his brass mug and towel, in all seasons and usually at impossible hours, into the yard and bathe noisily under the garden tap, would look over the hedge to see if Varma were out on his verandah and would call to him and talk while he wrapped his dhoti about him and dried the sparse hair on his head, shivering with enjoyable exaggeration. Of course these conversations, bawled across the hedge by two rather deaf old men conscious of having their entire households overhearing them, were not very satisfactory but Bhatia occasionally came out of his yard, walked down the bit of road and came in at Varma’s gate to collapse onto the stone plinth built under the temple tree. If Rakesh was at home he would help his father down the steps into the garden and arrange him on his night bed under the tree and leave the two old men to chew betel-leaves and discuss the ills of their individual bodies with combined passion.
“At least you have a doctor in the house to look after you,” sighed Bhatia, having vividly described his martyrdom to piles.
“Look after me?” cried Varma, his voice cracking like an ancient clay jar. “He—he does not even give me enough to eat.”
“What?” said Bhatia, the white hairs in his ears twitching. “Doesn’t give you enough to eat? Your own son?”
“My own son. If I ask him for one more piece of bread, he says no, papa, I weighed out the ata myself and I can’t allow you to have more than two hundred grams of cereal a day. He weighs the food he gives me, Bhatia—he has scales to weigh it on. That is what it has come to.”
“Never,” murmured Bhatia in disbelief. “Is it possible, even in this evil age, for a son to refuse his father food?”
“Let me tell you,” Varma whispered eagerly. “Today the family was having fried fish—I could smell it. I called to my daughter-in-law to bring me a piece. She came to the door and said no. . . .”
“Said no?” It was Bhatia’s voice that cracked. A drongo shot out of the tree and sped away. “No?”
“No, she said no, Rakesh has ordered her to give me nothing fried. No butter, he says, no oil. . . ”
“No butter? No oil? How does he expect his father to live?”
Old Varma nodded with melancholy triumph. “That is how he treats me—after I have brought him up, given him an education, made him a great doctor. Great doctor! This is the way great doctors treat their fathers, Bhatia,” for the son’s sterling personality and character now underwent a curious sea change. Outwardly all might be the same but the interpretation had altered: his masterly efficiency was nothing but cold heartlessness, his authority was only tyranny in disguise.
There was cold comfort in complaining to neighbors and, on such a miserable diet, Varma found himself slipping, weakening and soon becoming a genuinely sick man. Powders and pills and mixtures were not only brought in when dealing with a crisis like an upset stomach but became a regular part of his diet—became his diet, complained Varma, supplanting the natural foods he craved. There were pills to regulate his bowel movements, pills to bring down his blood pressure, pills to deal with his arthritis and, eventually, pills to keep his heart beating. In between there were panicky rushes to the hospital, some humiliating experience with the stomach pump and enema, which left him frightened and helpless. He cried easily, shriveling up on his bed, but if he complained of a pain or even a vague, gray fear in the night, Rakesh would simply open another bottle of pills and force him to take one. “I have my duty to you papa,” he said when his father begged to be let off.
“Let me be,” Varma begged, turning his face away from the pills on the outstretched hand. “Let me die. It would be better. I do not want to live only to eat your medicines.”
“Papa, be reasonable.”
“I leave that to you,” the father cried with sudden spirit. “Leave me alone, let me die now, I cannot live like this.”
“Lying all day on his pillows, fed every few hours by his daughter-in-law’s own hand, visited by every member of his family daily—and then he says he does not want to live ‘like this,’” Rakesh was heard to say, laughing, to someone outside the door.
“Deprived of food,” screamed the old man on the bed, “his wishes ignored, taunted by his daughter-in-law, laughed at by his grandchildren—that is how I live.” But he was very old and weak and all anyone heard was an incoherent croak, some expressive grunts and cries of genuine pain. Only once, when old Bhatia had come to see him and they sat together under the temple tree, they heard him cry, “God is calling me—and they won’t let me go.”
The quantities of vitamins and tonics he was made to take were not altogether useless. They kept him alive and even gave him a kind of strength that made him hang on long after he ceased to wish to hang on. It was as though he were straining at a rope, trying to break it, and it would not break, it was still strong. He only hurt himself, trying.
In the evening, that summer, the servants would come into his cell, grip his bed, one at each end, and carry it out to the verandah, there sitting it down with a thump that jarred every tooth in his head. In answer to his agonized complaints, they said the doctor sahib had told them he must take the evening air and the evening air they would make him take—thump. Then Veena, that smiling, hypocritical pudding in a rustling sari, would appear and pile up the pillows under his head till he was propped up stiffly into a sitting position that made his head swim and his back-ache.
“Let me lie down,” he begged. “I can’t sit up any more.”
“Try, papa, Rakesh said you can if you try,” she said, and drifted away to the other end of the verandah where her transistor radio vibrated to the lovesick tunes from the cinema that she listened to all day.
So there he sat, like some stiff corpse, terrified, gazing out on the lawn where his grandsons played cricket, in danger of getting one of their hard-spun balls in his eye, and at the gate that opened onto the dusty and rubbish-heaped lane but still bore, proudly, a newly touched-up signboard that bore his son’s name and qualifications, his own name having vanished from the gate long ago.
At last the sky-blue Ambassador arrived, the cricket game broke up in haste, the car drove in smartly and the doctor, the great doctor, all in white, stepped out. Someone ran up to take his bag from him, others to escort him up the steps. “Will you have tea?” his wife called, turning down the transistor set. “Or a Coca-Cola? Shall I fry you some samosas?” But he did not reply or even glance in her direction. Ever a devoted son, he went first to the corner where his father sat gazing, stricken, at some undefined spot in the dusty yellow air that swam before him. He did not turn his head to look at his son. But he stopped gobbling air with his uncontrolled lips and set his jaw as hard as a sick and very old man could set it.
“Papa,” his son said, tenderly, sitting down on the edge of the bed and reaching out to press his feet.
Old Varma tucked his feet under him, out of the way, and continued to gaze stubbornly into the yellow air of the summer evening.
Papa, I’m home.”
Varma’s hand jerked suddenly, in a sharp, derisive movement, but he did not speak.
“How are you feeling, papa?”
Then Varma turned and looked at his son. His face was so out of control and all in pieces, that the multitude of expressions that crossed it could not make up a whole and convey to the famous man exactly what his father thought of him, his skill, his art.
“I’m dying,” he croaked. “Let me die, I tell you.”
“Papa, you’re joking,” his son smiled at him, lovingly. “I’ve brought you a new tonic to make you feel better. You must take it, it will make you feel stronger again. Here it is. Promise me you will take it regularly, papa.”
Varma’s mouth worked as hard as though he still had a gob of betel in it (his supply of betel had been cut off years ago). Then he spat out some words, as sharp and bitter as poison, into his son’s face. “Keep your tonic—I want none—I want none—I won’t take any more of—of your medicines. None. Never,” and he swept the bottle out of his son’s hand with a wave of his own, suddenly grand, suddenly effective.
His son jumped, for the bottle was smashed and thick brown syrup had splashed up, staining his white trousers. His wife let out a cry and came running. All around the old man was hubbub once again, noise, attention.
He gave one push to the pillows at his back and dislodged them so he could sink down on his back, quite flat again. He closed his eyes and pointed his chin at the ceiling, like some dire prophet, groaning, “God is calling me—now let me go.”
Anita Desai
About the Author | About Anita Desai
Anita Desai, original name Anita Mazumdar, (b. 1937- ) is an Indian novelist, short story writer and the writer of children’s books.
As a biracial child born to a German mother and Indian father, Desai has been exposed to German, Hindi and English languages from her childhood.
After completing her B. A. from the Delhi University, Desai began to publish her stories and novels.
Her famous novels are:
Cry, The Peacock (1963)
Where Shall We Go This Summer (1975)
Fire on the Mountain (1977)
Clear Light of the Day (1980)
In Custody (1984)
Baumgartner’s Bombay (1988)
Journey to Ithaca (1995)
Feasting, Feasting (1999)
Zigzag Way (2004)
She received Shahitya Academy Award for her novel ‘Fire on the Mountain’
Her novel ‘In Custody’ was adapted into a film in 1993.
She won the British Guardian Prize for ‘The Village by the Sea’
She published several volumes of short stories including:
Games at Twilight and Other Stories (1978)
Diamond Dust and Other Stories (2000)
Two of her children’s books that became popular among Indian children are:
The Village and the Sea (1982)
The Artist of Disappearance (2011)
‘The Devoted Son’ is extracted from her collection of ‘The Complete Short Stories.’
‘A Devoted Son’ is a realistic story set in a middle-class Indian family in an Indian village.
The story shows how parents cherish their ambition towards their children and how a son should fulfil his duty towards the parents.
Summary of A Devoted Son
Anita Desai is a well-known author.
She has written several English-language novels.
She writes is about everyday Indian life and individuals in her story.
A Devoted Son written by Anita Desai is a short story about the bond of father and son.
The story revolves around Dr Rakesh.
He is from a poor Indian village.
His father Mr Varma was a vegetable vendor.
His father wished for a well-educated son.
Rakesh is the first member of his family to attend college.
Rakesh completed his medical exams with the highest marks in the country, which is a cause for celebration.
Varma informs everyone who would listen about Rakesh’s grades and how he can now go to medical school in America.
Some people are frightened that Rakesh would forget his roots.
Rakesh spends a significant amount of time in America to complete his degree.
He successfully completes the degree and has job offers from major US hospitals.
This allows him to stay in touch with his family.
He adores (loves) America but he adores his family more; so he has come back to home in India.
He intended to work in his hometown (India) after gaining enough experience and money.
His parents disagree with his choices; such as why he wants to return hometown and why he marries a local girl with little schooling.
Varma believes he should have higher ambitions.
Later, he begins work in a city hospital, which differs from the American hospitals he had previously worked in.
He wants to work there because he wants to make a difference in his community.
He rises quickly through the ranks and eventually becomes director.
When his mother dies, his father is heartbroken.
Rakesh has not much time to devote to his father because he has his own family.
He does not want to lose his father so he applies his medical expertise.
He forbids his father (Varma) to eat more sweets because his father’s stomach cannot digest it.
Varma tries to get sweets from his grandson, which frustrates Rakesh.
Rakesh wants his son to have a positive relationship with Varma.
Varma tells Rakesh and his wife that he dislikes them, but he still keeps an eye on Varma.
Rakesh finally lets his father leave by knowing that he has done everything he can for his father.
Understanding the text
Answer the following questions:
(a) How did the morning papers bring ambiance of celebration in the Varma family?
The morning newspaper brought ambience (environment) of celebration in the Varma family because Varma’s son Rakesh scored the highest rank in the country for his Medical Examination.
It was a matter of pride for the Varma family.
(b) How did the community celebrate Rakesh’s success?
The community people grandly celebrated Rakesh’s success.
They arrived at Rakesh’s house and congratulated him as well as his parents.
They celebrated the day as a festival with sound and colours.
They blessed Rakesh by providing blessings and gifts like fountain pens and watches.
People were served delicious halwa.
(c) Why was Rakesh’s success a special matter of discussion in the neighbourhood?
Rakesh’s success was a special matter of discussion in the neighbourhood because he was the first son in Varma’s family who passed his higher education with top marks in the whole country.
His parents had sacrificed their whole life doing hard labour to make their son literate.
The neighbours liked Rakesh and his manners.
They felt pride in his achievement.
(d) How does the author make fun with the words ‘America’ and ‘the USA’?
The Author makes fun with the words ‘America’ and ‘the USA’ by presenting the opinions of Varma regarding the words.
According to Varma’s opinions, ‘the USA’ is more prestigious than ‘America’.
He has only learnt to say ‘The USA’.
He asks all his family members to say only ‘the USA’.
(e) How does the author characterize Rakesh’s wife?
The author characterizes Rakesh’s wife in a quite ironic tone.
She is an uneducated, old-fashioned, pretty and fat woman.
She seems a lazy but quiet and pleasant woman.
She tries her best to please others through her household tasks.
(f) Describe how Rakesh rises in his career.
Rakesh belongs to a very poor family background but is a hardworking and brilliant student.
Due to his father’s sacrifices and his labour, he passes higher education with top marks in the country.
He easily passes his medical education and becomes MD.
He starts his job in the city hospital then becomes a director.
Later, he leaves the city hospital and starts his own clinic.
He buys a car and is able to earn name, fame and money.
He becomes the richest doctor in the town.
(g) How does the author describe Rakesh’s family background?
The author describes Rakesh’s family as illiterate and very poor.
Rakesh belongs to a very poor and illiterate family background.
His grandparents were vegetable vendors.
His father has worked so hard for forty years in kerosene depot.
His mother has spent her life as a housewife doing her household tasks.
They have a small yellow house at the end of the road.
(h) What is the impact of Rakesh’s mother’s death on his father?
There is a bad impact of the death of Rakesh’s mother on his father.
His father felt sad about the death of his wife as well as his retirement.
He starts complaining each time.
He becomes ill frequently with mysterious diseases peevish whim.
Due to his uncommon acts, all family members have to take care of him.
Even his son Dr Rakesh is not able to find out the real cause of his father’s illness.
(i) What did Rakesh do to make his father’s old age more comfortable?
Rakesh tried his best to comfort his father.
For this, he used to bring morning tea for his father in his favourite brass tumbler.
He used to read morning news for his father.
He used to advise him to move outside in the garden.
He helped his father get him down from the bed, taking him outside under the stairs during the night.
(j) Why did the old man try to bribe his grandchildren?
The old man tried to bribe his grandchildren to fulfil his desire for sweet items.
Because his son Rakesh banned various unhealthy foodstuffs like soojie-halwa, jalebi and oily food for his father’s good health.
The old man provided 20 paisa out of 50 paisa bribe to his grandchildren to bring jalebis from the shop and eat secretly.
(k) Are Mr. Varma’s complaints about his diets reasonable? How?
No, Mr. Varma’s complaints about his diets are not reasonable.
His son Rakesh has banned various unhealthy foodstuffs like soojie-halwa, jalebi and oily food for his father’s good health.
He wants his father to be healthy and only have healthy foods.
Being a devoted son, he does not want to lose his father.
As a doctor, he is aware of various diseases which are increasing in the town with high speed.
He wants to keep his father away from getting weak and ill.
Reference to the context
(a) How did Varma couple make sacrifices for their son’s higher education?
Varma couple made sacrifices for their son’s higher education by doing hard labour in their entire lifetime.
They had a lifelong dream about their son’s education.
To achieve their dream, Varma had worked hard for forty years in a kerosene depot whereas his wife had devoted herself honestly to household tasks.
Varma couple had never been admitted to the school.
As the son of a vegetable vendor, Varma did not get a chance for his studies.
But he desired quality education for his son Rakesh.
He became able to accomplish his goal and turned his dream into reality.
His son Rakesh was the first son in the family to get higher education.
Varma and his wife finally got the fruits of their sacrifices.
The achievement which they got was quite golden and glorious.
(b) Mr. Varma suffers from diseases one after another after his wife’s death. Would he have enjoyed better health if she had not died before him? Give reasons.
Mr. Varma suffers from mysterious diseases peevish whim.
His body starts reacting badly after the death of his wife.
Rakesh even does not get a proper idea behind his father’s frequent illness.
Varma was quite good while his wife was alive and was happy and satisfied in mentality.
But after his wife’s death, he found himself alone and suffered from depression.
He felt broken into pieces and started doing unusual activities.
Due to his health hazards, he was forbidden to eat his preferred foodstuffs.
He reacted even more badly after that.
He supposed himself that family members disliked and ignored him.
At last, he preferred dying rather than taking medicines.
Yes, he would have enjoyed better health if his wife had not died before him.
Because his wife would take care and prepare delicious foodstuff for him.
(c) Dr. Rakesh is divided between a doctor and a son. As a son, he loves his father and worries about his weakening health but as a doctor, he is strict on his father’s diet and medicine. In your view, what else could Rakesh have done to make his father’s final years more comfortable?
Dr. Rakesh is divided between a doctor and a son.
As a son, he loves his father and worries about his weakening health.
But as a doctor, he is strict on his father’s diet and medicine.
In my view, Rakesh could have done the following things to make his father’s final year more comfortable:
He could have treated his father more friendly instead of shouting at him.
He could have tried to understand his father’s feelings instead of becoming tense about his health.
He would not have been so strict about his father’s diet.
He could have provided his father with mental support.
His loud voice toward his father “No butter, No oil, No more bread” makes the old man very miserable.
(d) What does the story say about the relationship between grandfather and grandchildren?
The short story ‘A Devoted Son’ by Anita Desai shows loving relationships between grandfather and grandchildren.
In most families, we find good relationships between grandparents and grandchildren.
For grandfather Varma, his grandchildren are his best friends with whom he plays and passes his lonely time.
Varma’s son Rakesh has prohibited oily fried food and sweets.
He starts trying to fulfil his demands through his little grandchild.
He starts providing bribes to his grandchild to get jalebis from the shop for him.
We find innocent, tricky, trusty and bonding relationships between grandfather and his grandchildren in the story.
(e) Do you call Rakesh a devoted son? Give reasons.
Yes, I call Rakesh a devoted son because of the following reasons:
Rakesh is a very good son with full of manners.
He always respects his family members.
He returns from America for the family sake.
He marries an uneducated, old-fashioned village girl of his mother’s choosing.
He always remains faithful and honest towards his family members.
His father falls ill frequently and mysteriously.
He tries his best to keep his father away from illness and weakness.
He only gives priority to his father’s health.
His father becomes angry with him but he never leaves his devotion towards his father.
He remains honest, faithful and devoted towards his father till the end.
Thus, Rakesh is not only a perfect son but also a loving father and husband.
Reference beyond the text
(a) Write an essay on The Parents’ Ambition for their Children in Nepali Society. You must give at least five examples.
Family is a wide network of extended relationships.
The parents are the base of children.
Parents are the best supporters for their children in Nepali Society.
They do a lifetime whatever they can for their children.
Poor and middle-class family parents invest most of their income for their children.
Parents do their lifelong sacrifices and hard labour for their children.
They play a vital role in shaping the bright future of their children.
They always think about their children’s future and happiness being optimistic.
Most of the parents are predetermined and preoccupied with prejudices.
They insist their children to be a doctor, engineer or pilot.
They should insist to be a good citizen and loyal to their family.
Following are some of the ambitions of parents in Nepali society.
1. Parents in Nepali society are quite ambitious about their children’s good manners.
They always try to teach them good manners along with the knowledge of cultural and religious aspects.
2. Parents in Nepali society always take care to fulfil the demand of their children.
They are seen to fulfil their children’s right demands.
3. Nepali parents give much preference to their children’s quality education.
Quality education is the best way to shape their children’s bright future.
4. They want to see the progress of children in their lives.
They feel quite happy to find the achievements of their children.
5. The parents invest with a sense of security.
The parents expect a lot from their children.
They desire to love, care and support in their old ages from their children.
(b) Medicines replace our diets in the old age. What can be done to make old ageless dependent on medicine?
Old age is a part of life that comes after a young age.
Old age is the final stage of human life.
This age is considered as loneliness, weakness and illness.
This age depends on varieties of medicines.
At this age, old people suffer a lot because of various health-related problems.
In old age, body organs do not work properly and cannot digest many foodstuffs.
Due to these reasons, a doctor also refers to chemical based supplements or medicines.
By using varieties of medicines, the body becomes weak and provides troubles in life.
Following are some tips which we can be done to make old ageless dependent on medicine:
Eat plenty of colourful fruits like oranges, grapes, blueberries, strawberries, pomegranate etc.
Eat plenty of colourful vegetables like carrots, pumpkin, sweet potatoes, cabbage, tomatoes etc.
Eat high fibre cereals like oat, wheat flour, rice bran, corn bran, barley, millet, rye flour etc.
Use low-fat or fat-free milk and curd.
Use of mustard oil or olive oil as a cooking medium as both prevent high cholesterol.
Egg whites are a good source of protein to repair worn-out cells and tissues.
Vegetable soups without cream and thickening agents are a healthy meal.
Drink water properly to prevent dehydration especially in summer.
Avoid alcohol, tobacco, smoking, gutka etc.
Avoiding mental stress and try to be busy with easy work and leanings.
Watch favourite programs on television and YouTube.
Spare time with friends, life partners and grandchildren.
Try to adjust with the young generation without interrupting them.
Do easy physical exercises and yoga regularly for at least 30 minutes every day.
(c) Write an essay on “Care of Elderly Citizens” in about 300 words.
Elderly citizens are also known as senior citizens.
They are the backbone of the family.
According to countries, the age of senior citizens is 60+, 65 or 70 years
Mostly our present time depends on our parents and grandparents.
They do lifetime supports whatever they can for their children and grandchildren.
They play a vital role in shaping the bright future of their children.
They always think about their children’s future and happiness.
Elderly citizens are considered as retired people from their jobs as well as responsibilities.
These people suffer a lot due to their unstable health conditions.
At this age, they lack various things in their lives.
Their old age provides them pain.
In this old age, they lose their physical as well as mental support.
They suffer a lot due to various kinds of diseases.
Varieties of health risks are seen within them.
Sometimes, their acts are uncommon.
Most of the elderly citizens are seen complaining about various things.
The loneliness in their life makes them one-sided and irritable.
They are seen as monotonous and even depressed.
At this age, they need proper care, love and support.
They depend on us; so they have a lot of expectations from us.
They want to see conditions in their favour.
They seek a fine company to share their experiences and ideas.
They want to spend their remaining days happily along with family members.
Caring for the elderly is not only a responsibility but also a moral duty.
Elderly citizens must be respected, cared as well as loved.
Everyone should be aware of their responsibilities towards elderly citizens.
The task of caring for senior citizens must be given importance.
It is the stage where all the humans reach one day and expects a lot from their younger.
Elderly citizens have been treated well for their lifelong contributions to us.
We should try our best to fulfill our elders’ desires and demands.
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