Short stories in Indian English

          

 Short stories in Indian English

I dedicate this collection of short stories to Inez Baranay, Eugenie Pinto and Meenakshi Hariharan without whom this would not have happened.

      

                         

   Contents

 

1.     A flash back guilt

2.     Tension

3.     Corruption

4.     Commitment

5.     Treasure

6.     Practicality

7.     Mahabharatha

8.     Money God

9.     Empty box

10.  Sakuni

11.  Winner

12.  The Royalty

13.  Destruction

14.  Kailash

15.  Puliamaram

16.  Mummy Daddy

17.  The Restaurant

18.  Clay Pot

19.  Shivan’s visit

20.  Liquid

21.  Surya’s decision

22.  Appearance

23.  Revelation

24.  The walk

1. A FLASH BACK GUILT

Twenty years back I was full-blooded, very proud of being short tempered, passionate, full of ideas. Life has cooled me - taught me. Let me tell you.

            It all started when Anthony, my close friend, wanted to marry Thangammal, my sister. Caste never mattered in friendship. You can show off your friends without bothering to introduce their caste.  But caste mattered in marriage. Thinking of marriage under such circumstances is misusing friendship. I didn’t like it. Anthony was, then, like Ghazni Mohammed. He kept on approaching me again and again asking for my approval. Anger built in me against Anthony, his caste and religion. I was furious with him. How dare he wanted to marry an upper caste friend’s sister? I fumed inside.

            Poor Anthony never read my mind. He never looked at people’s eyes when he talked. With vague eyes he would be looking elsewhere while talking.  He failed to look at the rage in my eye. My cheeks would burn in wrath, but Anthony never really noticed all those feelings that I must have displayed on my face. Poor observer. Or, he had too much of faith in my good character. I was a good friend until came to marriage with my sister. Only then I realized the importance of caste. Rather how important it was to me. I could not imagine going to Anthony’s house to see my sister and sit and eat in his house. I realized I have always had condescension for his family. Anthony was a brilliant chap and no one would treat him with disrespect in college. He topped the class quite comfortably. We called him the walking encyclopedia. He was what you call an intellectual of the first order. All this was fine in the college. Out side he could not expect, at least from me the same kind of recognition. He should know his limitations. Once when I had a chance to go to his house I almost felt like vomiting with the nauseating smell coming from their house. How do these people live with all that foul smell? With all these factors can a lower caste man try to become the upper caste fellow? The poor can easily become rich. But a lower caste man cannot become upper caste. Every one knew that, except Anthony, of course.

Slowly, like poison, anger spread in my system - hidden anger. My annoyance grew day by day. I did not talk whenever the topic came up. With all his intellect Anthony never read human mind and that was surprising.  Anthony misinterpreted my silence as quiet approval to his marriage with my sister. He was very sure the marriage would work out that he began planning where he would settle down after marriage. He told me he would not take my sister to his house. He would rent a house in the town and lead a life. He would not expose her to his family and would protect her very well.

Of course, he never proposed to her. It would have solved the problem in an easier way that way as I could have convinced my sister to reject him. My sister did not know about these developments in Anthony’s mind or that’s what I think. He did not stand in places to look at her. Even when he came to my house I never saw him giving glances here and there to see her. He was very honourable in his motives.  He visualized Thangammal as his wife not as his lover. It also could have been because of his friendship with me. I do not know what was the real reason. But only one thing I knew and that was Anthony was a cultured boy. He knew how to behave.

            One day the local church father instructed his parish members to join the singing loudly. He had just then seen two or three members dozing off. The guilty congregation brought the roof down literally with their singing as, by a stroke of coincidence, one or two tiles fell down. Anthony told me this later with full of laughter. There were no good singers in the church and their singing was really bad. Anthony himself could not sing well. Their songs were like readings from prose book.

            The practice of singing or screaming loud continued. All kinds of voices joining together, singing prosaically amplified hurting our ears and egos. For some reason the songs began irritating us. We felt it was purposely done. May be it was the expressions on the faces of the congregation, the expression of confidence, or it was simply jealousy I do not know exactly what it was, but we began to be irritated. My anger was also my community’s anger, though for different reasons. I could sense some new element burning in the air stirring people’s passions.

Karthikai and Marghali months came. With them Iyappan bhajans as usual also came with a lot of noise and clang. Somewhere the loud singing from the church had something to do with our own loud renderings of songs till late in the night. After one month, some Christian boys sitting on a compound wall were bullying a youngster who usually leads the bhajans with his stentorian voice. They called him a “killer of songs”. At some point the Hindu boy began imitating the Christian songs and verbally sang a few songs with a tilt making the songs sound like jokes and quite naturally those Christian boys imitated the Hindu bhajans giving the extra tones to make them foolish. A war was on in a jocular manner.

The next day while the bhajans were going on, some one spat outside.  At least we heard the sound of loud spitting outside as outside the temple it was very dark and we could not see who was outside. Spitting is our national profession as well as hobby and how do we know who did that act. But that day it was agreed unanimously that it was the Christian boys who did it. No one checked or rather no one wanted to check. We just knew.

            A few months went by. June arrived. The Christian schools, it was said, refused admissions for Hindu children. Prospective parents from Hindu families were furious. Why suddenly, we, that is my friends and I understood. We felt important. We young boys have been responsible for social changes. We were in a period of transition.  What happened in our village has blown into a big balloon, we were sure. By this time we had stopped talking to the Christian boys. Lower caste scoundrels!

            A devil inside me was smiling. How can that fellow want to marry my sister? If my father knows, that’s all. Finished. Thinking of equality? Just fifty years back, would he have even imagined such a thing? Democracy and voting rights. Nonsense. The Christian songs were becoming louder and louder. Iyappa bhajans, which usually last only two months, now became an every day affair. Different comrades came into my life. Manickam, Arasu, Murugan and Ramsamy. Same caste and same religion. We began meeting in the coconut grove after 9 p.m.. Slowly the membership increased. Four became fifteen. We heard even neighboring villages had similar youth groups. Similar Christian groups also, we heard, were founded.

            We planned the Operation on September 22^nd. That night one of our members removed the bronze church bell and threw it inside the common well where our Goddess bathes every summer, during her festivals. Our elders did not know about it. Secrecy was our code. Like any secret this was also flawed. It leaked. By ten o’ clock next morning the Christian boys started throwing stones at our temple. It was a Sunday and the entire congregation felt the missing bell was an insult to the church and them. Naturally.

            By eleven o’ Clock we heard that our neighboring village had some problem. Some one had removed their temple bell and thrown it in the dustbin. Word spread. By evening the village elders had a meeting. How to protect our religion was the topic. No body corrected us. No one told us dropping the Christian bell inside the Hindu well was wrong, because it wasn’t. Now matters were urgent, the committee decided. The men folk were divided into three groups, according to their convenience.  Each group was allotted its own time of patrolling to protect the families from the enemies. Women sharpened knives in every house. Men scratched slim swords, short and thick kuruvaals against stones to sharpen them. Children were told to use chilli powder on the enemies, if there is an attack. Once again our youngster’s forum had a meeting. Why wait for them to attack us? Let us attack them first. The enemies’ youth groups shouldn’t spring a surprise on us, we thought. An agenda was passed.

 That night around 2 a.m., we crept to the church, climbed inside by removing the tiles, and destroyed whatever came to our hands. Manickam picked up a beautiful flower vase, and smashed it right on the altar. Bibles were torn. We came back quietly. Ah! We have saved our religion. Outside the church, as we were coming out we heard some movement far away near out temple. As we had thought earlier it was some Christian young fellows, Anthony one of them, were fighting with Hindu older men. The youngsters were caught red handed while they tried to break our Gods and Goddesses inside the temple. Fury rising in our throats we fought, hit, bit, did whatever we could. I attacked Anthony personally. Even now I remember the expression on his face. We were friends from childhood. To him I was not only a friend turned enemy but also the brother of his beloved. His face haunted me later for so many years. But Anthony would have seen my poisonous anger and upper caste malice that day. I am sure, that would have shocked him more than the religious slant. We chased the Christian boys and then some one realized something. All these boys were untouchables and they have desecrated our temple.

            From then onwards it became a caste war. Our youth group, now a prestigious group, decided the next mode of action. We wanted to silence these low caste buggers once for all. Somebody suggested burning their houses. It sounded wonderful. We approached a rich man in our village with our plan. He arranged a lorry, petrol and some more men. The lorry went, petrol poured and at least hundred houses burnt. I only saw a few houses burning as we left immediately. Later we heard about huts coming down and exploding like Deepavalli crackers.

            The next day the police arrested us. Inspired by our heroism, youth groups in every village joined the holy war, as it looked like. Behind the religious facade the upper castes were bulldozing the lower castes. The upper caste Christians tried to intervene. But they were too decent and too well educated to join their lower caste comrades. Within a week the situation became worse as the lower castes began retaliating. They also started hiring lorries. Hoards of people were arrested on their side too. I met Anthony in jail. We looked at each other. Now there was fury on his face too. There was something else also – a look of contempt. An intellectual contempt for my attitudes and me.

            The police gave us good treatment. Methodically, they hit us with their lathis. Our bodies were bruised and blackened.  I could not even stand. The day we were released, my father, mother and sister had come to see me, and I couldn’t even walk decently. My mother broke down and wept for days. The Vaithiar came home and massaged my body everyday with oil and for an entire year I was on treatment.

            It took a lot of time to heal. The fear of enemy attacking us left slowly from our minds. I went to Madras for higher studies just like Anthony. We got my sister married to a rich man with a huge dowry. I started my career in Madras, got a deputation to Boston. Ten years abroad. Caste slowly moved to the background. Other status symbols have replaced it. My wife also works in Boston and my two daughters are exceptionally brilliant.

            Anthony has also done quite well I heard from my friends. In Rome, I suppose. I never met him after our jailing. But sometimes when I see my  brother–in–law hitting my weeping sister in front of me, I think of Anthony.

2.TENSION

                    The bell rang. The first period teacher would come at any time. I still had not completed studying for the test. Every day we had a test, you know. The timetable was on the black board - a permanent one. Life was miserable, as most of the time we didn’t understand what we were studying. We were asked to learn by heart everything- mathematics, physics, and any subject under the sky. Even when the teacher was on leave some one else came and made us write the test. Bowed by the hierarchy of marks most of us had already lost our self-confidence. It all depended on the teacher’s sari. If she wore a yellow one, that day we did not get scolding for getting poor marks. Instead if she wore a red one, it would be a terrible day for all of us. We all wanted a break.

Padma, my friend, told me in a whisper that she wanted to talk to me. I had no time to talk to her. I still had one more page to learn by heart and I did not want to be disturbed. The previous night I had worked till eleven o’ clock and yet I could not finish my work. I still had five more pages to learn by heart. I did not want my concentration to be disturbed. The test was in the third ‘period’, and that was just one and a half hours more. But Padma kept on nudging me. Probably, some thing was really wrong, I thought. Breaking my mugging up I asked her what it was. She said that she had taken a small bottle full of some chemical, in the morning. The powder looked lovely in its light blue shade, she said.

                                         Now I really got nervous. As it was I really had been feeling bad. And on top of that this problem too. This girl, Padma, can sometimes play the fool.  I asked her again whether she really tried to commit suicide. With a dramatic smile on her face she said yes. My mind was racing. If Padma dies what will happen? Will the school authorities declare a holiday? What about that day’s test? Would they postpone it? That would give me some more time to study, of course. I asked Padma if she told anyone else - definitely not. Who would be as trustworthy as me?  In fact she immediately took a promise from me not to tell any one else. I felt very proud of such an honour.

                                      Meanwhile I had stopped studying. Any way the test will be postponed. I can go home and study well later. Now let me watch Padma dying, I thought. But she was very normal. Would she really have taken the chemical? Our science teacher had  told us long back that chemicals could be very poisonous. How long did it take for someone to die in case of consuming it? If Padma were to die after the third ‘period’ then there is no point in the whole thing. Dying during the second period would be perfect. Poor Padma did not show any signs of death, not yet - no sweat, no tiredness. Her face was towards her book. She was trying, I was sure, to read. Calmness was on her face. Supposing she had lied. I got very scared of the test, which would be conducted if she doesn’t die and began studying seriously. This time if I fail, the teacher would put me in front of the whole class and bully me. No one understood how difficult it was for most of my classmates and myself to learn all the subjects in a foreign language. They loved insulting us for our lack of intelligence. If we don’t take these tests regularly we would fail in the plus two examinations, we were told. Last year two students in my school committed suicide after seeing their plus two results. Many of them became local rowdies as they had failed with miserable marks and were unfit for any decent future. I can’t take such a risk. My family was waiting for me to finish studies and get a job and the test was very important to me. I pushed the thought of Padma to the back of my mind.

                           The first period came and went. Nobody really paid any attention to that teacher. Everyday this happened as we were always under tension and could never concentrate on the teaching. Most of us had our textbooks beneath our notebooks and were studying for the test. The second period also started. The teacher was moving here and there saying something to which no one really paid attention as we were all studying. I had almost forgotten about Padma when she nudged and said that she started feeling giddy. Afterwards what did exactly happen? I really do not know. My friends told me later.

                        “ Arun, you suddenly jumped up and ran to the teacher and told her something. Immediately the teacher stopped teaching and went out. The headmaster came along with the peon. An auto was hired. Padma was taken to a hospital. It seems the Doctor said a delay of few more minutes could have cost her life.”

                             Even now I cannot understand how I saved her life. The test………we took it in the third period. Did I pass? I don’t remember.

    3.CORRUPTION

 

    The Aayah was very upset. She had tears in her eyes. My family was out and I was alone. I had some free time and so I asked her what it was. She said she wanted to talk to me alone.

 “Of course”, I said.

    “Amma, do not misunderstand me”, she said, “I wanted to ask you about this for a long time, but I did not have the courage. Today I thought I must ask this… You know Amma I would never have asked anyone else, but you…. You have a kind face. And when you smile it is genuine. That’s why I want to tell you”, with a slightly cajoling voice she pleaded.

                  “Tell me”, I said with a slight irritation, as she bluntly had reminded me of my weakness. Even in my family everyone misused this quality of mine for their own benefits. I always wanted to come out of my susceptible nature and sensitive reactions. People easily found out about my weakness and exploited me made me do things for them even when I did not like to do as I could never snub anyone on the face. They would put me in critical situations and make me handle the situation as it is claimed I won’t mind at all. The world is scared of harsh people and does things for them and mild people like me are always taken for granted. Even Ayahs, have come to know about my nature, I thought.  I have to learn to hide my feelings and sensitivity instead of carrying it on my sleeve and advertising to the world about my soft nature.

                “Amma, don’t I bring flowers to your pooja from the garden everyday? Don’t you offer the flowers to the God himself? I haven’t seen you washing the flowers before offering. Why?”, the Ayah asked, with what seemed to be a sarcastic doubt.

               “We don’t have to wash the flowers as they carry no corruption”, I said.

 Oh, she is referring to the same old story, I thought. Haven’t we given enough equality to these people? Is it possible to erase the human consciousness created before thousands of years?  All this social behaviour is pure imagination no doubt created to dominate a certain section of people and treat them like slaves – an efficient form of slavery where the slave himself is convinced he is no good. But is it possible to wipe out all the imaginary writings in our psyche that easily? Imagination is a very powerful tool that it is not so easy to erase things out of the mind written with its help. It will take quite some time to come out of the thinking bonds we have created for ourselves. Why are these people in a hurry? Can the said things be unsaid in a moment? These questions were on my mind and the Aayah meanwhile was continuing her talk.

             “Why these double rules Ma? I can bring the holiest of things - the flowers - in hands, but I can’t touch anything else in your house? You don’t even give me a cup of coffee in the morning when I bring the flowers to your house. Do you know that I have to get up early in the morning just to bring the flowers? On a rainy day, especially, I get wet trying to collect the flowers. At least on such days you can give me something to drink.”

              Her logic was quite right. We are an orthodox family and we didn’t indulge in giving tea or coffee to servants or helpers. If there are any plastic cups available I did give something to drink. But otherwise, I never gave them anything. At the same time I have never felt bad in collecting flowers from the Aayah. My kindness had nothing to do with this, as it was my birthright to get things done. This is the way we have been behaving and I never really thought about the feelings involves on the part of the servants about this treatment. I like to maintain my class and caste.

Who doesn’t? Everyone wants to keep his or her caste and religion pure. Many people refuse to take the laddus from the temples if I offer them as if the laddus are straight from the hells and we worship the devils themselves. I have accepted such refusals with dignity.  People want to feel high and mighty and they use some reason or the other to create the feelings of superiority in their hearts and in the society. We all need such feelings. We want to be higher than the other person. We only use caste and religion to fulfill our needs for being higher than the other person. Human insecurity.

         “What are you thinking Ma?” the Aayah disturbed my thought. “Am I not correct? You have two rules Ma. I can bring the flowers, but I can’t touch any thing else. Touch the flowers and not touch any thing else. Double tongue, isn’t it?”

   Now that she has mentioned about drinking tea or coffee, should I give her something to drink, I thought. But I couldn’t make up my mind. If this Aayah had been my neighbour, rich, educated belonging to the same caste, would I still have refused her a cup of coffee?  If so, her sari would have been a printed silk and her body would have carried a perfume, and she would have got down from her posh car about which I would have been proud of and I would have loved to see her sitting on my ordinary sofa. Whereas this Aayah wore a sari that as old as her and a kind of bad smell came out from her body, may be because of lack of water facilities, soaps etc. in her house. Money decides cleanliness and beauty. Poverty is the real base of caste, I thought.

                After she left I was thinking about her definition of double tongue. I wondered whether as a people we have the knack for creating rules, only to break it. Not only that, but also create different rules for different people. We are not ashamed of partiality. It helped us to think that if someone suffered it is because of their sins during their previous birth. It helped us to be callous towards others’ sufferings. It made us self-centered. We never bother about ‘the others’. And even our intellectuals are all the time bothered about how the European insulted us and are not bothered about how we have been destroying the confidence and spiritual identity of millions of our own people. We use knowledge only to protect the educated middle class.

 But if I give equality to my servants, the next day they might want to sit on my sofa right next to me. How would I tackle that problem then? So I decided to leave the matter as it is. Can I change the world in a day?

 I started collecting the flowers from the garden myself.

4.COMMITMENT

             Getting up early in the morning has become a habit to me. Exactly at five o’ clock I take my bath. My wife is a nice woman who understands my habits. No matter what happens, my routine never changes. When I was younger the sun rose only at six o’ clock. Nowadays it seems to jump up from the sea much earlier. I have a lovely picture of Murugan, and standing in front of Him for two minutes cleared my head and heart. Prayer is like petrol to me. The second important thing to me is my auto rickshaw. Every day I wipe it clean with a neat cloth. I apply chandanam and kunkumam everyday on its forehead. I never charge more than what is the right amount. The school children, who commute by my auto regularly, like me very much. Their parents respect me. I am dependable and committed.

                My life as you can imagine is smooth. Don’t think I didn’t have dreams. Long, long ago I wanted to become a teacher. If one finishes eighth standard in those days, one could become a teacher, but who had the money to study?

Nowadays there are so many government schools offering free education. It is only that, children don’t understand the value of it. When we were young, education was a great dream pursued by the rich. My father believed in proving his manhood, and I had thirteen siblings. As luck would have it, all of us survived. With the constant failing of the crops, eating one meal a day was a big question. Tell me, under such circumstances, where is the ambience for education? These white men had done a wonderful thing by bringing education to our country and education was a common dream for most of us. We would sit and watch the rich boys going to school by the horse carts, with sighs. Our village headman’s son had such an education and even spoke English like an Englishman. His pants and shirts made us all ashamed of our veishties and mundus. I wanted to live just like he did.

               What is the future for a young man in a village? Rains never came on time. With just one piece of land how can all of us survive? City became the only route to food and survival. Most of us came to the city. What can an illiterate man do in a city? In the initial days I have even begged for food. Some how I managed to learn driving, got a license, and started driving an auto for a neighbor. It took ten years for me to buy this auto. Now you know why I consider it next to God.

This auto has become my destiny and I never forget that. It is my God, providing my family with food. Don’t think my life stops here with the auto alone. I have one more dream left. Yes, yes, you are right. It is educating my children. I stopped with two sons and I want them to study well. If a man has a dozen children how can he ever educate his children? I did not want to make the mistakes of my father. My boys should speak English, wear fine clothes and drive at least a car. You see, my father never had any dreams for me. That is why I am only an auto driver. Sometimes my passengers behave badly with me and treat me with contempt. It is not what they say that worries me; it is the tone they use. My sons should never be addressed by anyone, like that. People should get up when they see my sons, in respect.

          My wife knows about my passion for education. I am lucky that way, as there are other women in my street who give a damn for it. She wakes up my sons early in the morning, sometimes even at four o’ clock in the morning and makes them study. Fine boys they are, that they sit studiously with vibuthi on their foreheads, and scream their heads off loudly repeating their notes. We are sure our neighbors are jealous of us. I forgot to tell you that my sons are twins and are in their tenth standard. They are hard working guys. Day and night I hear them studying aloud. The words are in English and I don’t understand a thing. My heart swells with pride each time they utter those magical English words.

               Dear reader let us move with times. Years have gone by. Now I am an old man. My grandchildren adore me. My wife still looks young and runs around looking after the needs of my family. Ours luckily is a joint family, and I live with my two sons and their families. My grandchildren are brilliant, going to a convent. They speak in English to their Patti. I still drive my auto. I will do so till I die. Isn’t it my duty to contribute to my family? School fees have to be paid. It is my right to pay the fees of my grandchildren. I am sure you must have realized that I don’t smoke or drink. I have a dream, even at this age. It is to give my grandchildren an excellent education.

                  My sons are smarter than me. They stopped with only one child each. The income they get by driving their autos would not be enough to feed the children and to educate them. Isn’t it?

   5.Treasure

        My jibba and veishtis have to be washed by me only. Rajeswari, my dominating, over smart wife could never understand this. She thinks she can impress me with all this washing. It only irritates me. I don’t like any one even touching my clothes, even if it happens to be my beloved wife. She never understood the concept of washing my clothes. I would soak my white clothes for exactly half an hour, and then scrub them with soap.  I would take them and beat them hard  against the cement plank I have for that purpose. Three times I would rinse them in buckets of water, and finally add some drops of blue, making the white colour look fresh and almost new. The dhobi, who ironed my clothes, always said that they were smart enough for any Lord to wear.

          If God had given me a child probably I would have had other interests in life. Now looking neat and tidy is my only obsession and when someone takes away that pleasure too I get very angry. Rajeswari has other hobbies - her siblings. All her sisters and brothers and their children take her attention away from our childless marriage. It seems God doesn’t give everything to every one. But He never gave me anything, except probably my pride.

People tell me I am too proud and arrogant. What they actually think is why I should be so egoistic when I am not so rich or well connected. I am not even educated in a modern sense. That is, I come from the old generation of acquiring oral knowledge, from elders. I am the local Vaithier. I am good at my job. I can diagnose any disease. I even know when a body is under the influence of a spirit or the devil. I never charge too much. I take what I deserve. My wife constantly tells me that I am a loser.

              She doesn’t understand. For whom should I earn? Let some people benefit from my treatment. I don’t know what sins I committed in my previous birth that God has not blessed me with a child. At least in this birth I don’t want to accumulate sins. I buy all kinds of eatables for her nieces and nephews, when they come for holidays. But after a few days, when their parents come and the children hug them and tell them that they want to go home, I feel badly let down. No one realizes how I feel, as a man is expected not to have any such feelings. I keep smiling and say bye to them - already waiting for them to come for the next holidays. A good wife is supposed to understand the husband’s feelings even without expressing them, but my wife has never done such a thing in my life.

           She has given a different picture to her family members, that I constantly torment her with her barrenness. Her sisters fixed me under their eyes, as if to tell me, that they would spare no efforts, if I dare insult their sister. They walked around the house with an authority that made it appear as if it was their house. We had no identity as a family as they interfered in everything I did. My mother-in-law eyed me with such sharpness as a man not capable of giving a son. My pride and my smart dressing were the only protection against this world of mine. No one read my vulnerability behind the mask of indifference. The relatives never spoke their thoughts. It was their dagger looks that said everything.

         Some day I wanted to put these women in their respective places. Teach them one or two lessons. If only God would give me a son…. Both of us would be together against all these enemies. He would understand my sense of individuality and privacy. I would put him in front of my cycle and take him around for rounds. I would teach him syllambam. He would use the stick with ease just like my master, Thambaiah. He would exercise like me everyday for two hours.  Above all he would be on my side. My blood and flesh.

              When will such a situation come? If only my wife prays a little more…. But she doesn’t. She sleeps and eats all the time. Never smart. I have never seen her light a lamp. When I light it she sits and scorns me, laughing at my efforts to please God. All your prayers are not going to clean you from your sins, she says. Actually the only sin I have committed is marrying her. And that happened because I had a rough past. My marriage was delayed. I was forty when I got married. Quite naturally I couldn’t choose well. One of my relatives who brought the alliance said that the girl was too good for me. Girl…hm…. a lady, one should say. She was thirty-two years old and dominating. My freedom took a back seat on the day of my marriage.

                  Tomorrow we are going to the temple. I am sure this time we would be blessed. Many have benefited, they say, visiting this temple. The God here loves giving children to unhappy couples like us. He is happy to give. And I am glad to receive. I thought if God blesses me with a child I would shave my head. I prayed to Him to that effect. Please god, please, give me only this. I don’t want anything else in this world. I don’t want a long life, money, not even happiness.

                  God took my prayers seriously and gave me whatever I asked for. He took my few belongings, my small savings, and my profession of vaithiam and gave me a wonderful boy. I think it was a deal between me and God and I got what I wanted. A son and poverty. We have become extremely poor. Sometimes we have no money even to buy milk. My lazy wife has started working. She works day and night. I am not able to take my son out, on my cycle as I have already sold it. I haven’t sold my prestige. I don’t go to work. My wife’s family comes to our rescue now and then, and looks down upon me more than ever.

                  I don’t bother about it now as I know one day my son will grow up and will become a rich man and will put every one in their place.

6. PRACTICALITY

Every one thinks I am very selfish. It is not so. I will tell you how. You know my father died when I was very young. I had to start looking after my family right at the age of eighteen. Now I am sixty years old. Don’t you think I would have understood life? I am a successful man and I know many things .I have learnt to live on my own and I have learnt it well. I have never depended on any one for support and I don’t expect any one to approach me for help. Why should I help people? They should learn on their own to live and survive. One man cannot help another man. In fact I think expecting help itself is a sign of cowardice. We should be proud of ourselves. Only then will we feel like working hard.

                  My relatives refuse to understand this simple logic. They think I am a bad man. My own son thinks I should establish a business for him. Why can’t he do it himself? These people don’t like to work. Instead of accepting their laziness they brand others - selfish. My son doesn’t lift a finger in the house. His mother has seen to it. He is a Raja. Why should a Raja work, is her policy. In this country, working is considered as something cheap.  Only the lower castes worked, you see, in those days. Only a fool or a slave worked. It is prestigious not to work.  All the time people wondered how to reach the top without working for it. Asking for more is considered as birthright, whereas, working is not considered so. People around me believe in previous births and the man who enjoys life without working is considered a lucky man who must have done a lot of good deeds in the previous birth. As I have become successful, they say it is because of my previous birth’s good deeds and not because of my hard work in this birth.

Therefore, they think it is my duty to help others with short cuts- a recommendation here and a bribe there…. My son asks me what is wrong in giving bribes. He says with my talent I could have reached greater heights if I had given bribes to the right people at the right time. If a man is destined to become rich with bribes, who can stop it, he says. I feel all this talk about destiny and previous birth is simply an excuse not to work. We have created a lot of convenient concepts to relax. If people really believe in destiny and previous births they would not dare take bribes or take any such short cuts to success.

            Any way my son wanted my money to start a business and as a dutiful father I have to give it. But if he loses the money, what will I do? So I am going to give only a small amount initially to see how he is going to handle it.

              Ah! A thought- why can’t I get him married? The girl will bring a fancy amount as dowry. She has to.  My son is an educated and eligible bachelor, you see. So definitely the girl will bring a handsome amount. It is very difficult to find a good boy like my son. He has no bad habits. The girl should be lucky to marry such a nice boy. He will be worth all the lakhs of rupees her father would be giving.  My son can take that amount for his business. This way my money is safe.

              Let me first consult my astrologer and find out if he has the destiny to get money from his wife.

                                                      7. Mahabharatha

            The two youngsters were full of energy and naughtiness. Heavily built, well dressed, laughing loudly, they irritated every one with their jokes and comments. Everyone in the family knew when they were coming. Like temple elephants with bells around their neck announcing their arrival, the boys charged in along with their noisy bikes and crazy horns. Hands on each other’s shoulders, they stood like Arjunan and Beeman. They were so close that every one knew that sometime there would be a terrible rift between them. Some of the relatives even looked forward for such a rift, as they had been bullied badly by the boys, once in a while. Strengths, when together, put fear in the minds of people. Secretly they wanted the friends to fight with each other. As they were also cousins fighting did not take place for a long time, that is, for many years. And finally when everyone gave up hope, it came.

            The boys started business together, selling mineral water. The money began coming and both of them never thought of recording the daily activities. It was fun- selling, collecting money, going to good restaurants and enjoying life. The flow of money in hands changed their outlook of life and they felt rich and powerful. Too casual, one would say. Words came easily, boldly from their mouths, harming others’ egos. They judged the entire world, and passed their superior judgment on every blessed thing around them. They knew everything. They would sit upon judgment on the behaviour of the elders in the family finding fault with their actions. The elders were waiting for their split. The boys took life for granted. And one day it backfired.

                       One of them signed a document without telling the other. Though it was a careless act committed without realizing the consequences initially, it boomeranged later. As they had never learnt the art of apology, it became a deadly issue. The relatives who were waiting for such a situation, naturally, blew the matter out of proportion and made complete use of this occasion. They sealed the rift. Like the breaking of a marriage because of interferences from people, the friendship broke.

He said this you know. The meaning is this. Each time he came here he talked about you. Don’t take his jokes casually. He is actually hitting at you. He is cheating you. I told him what you told me. He is mad with you. Don’t talk to him now. He will tear you to pieces. He is planning to separate. Don’t sign in the papers.

The elders now felt nice. Good. Things are under control now. They once again became important. How dare the boys advice them? Remember what they said on such and such a day? They deserve this.

               How many movies have we seen with the similar theme? Now the relatives expected a reunion like in the cinemas. Only after their fight did the relatives realize the value of these naughty boys’ contribution to the family’s welfare. Weren’t they the ones who stayed in the hospitals whenever some one was admitted in the hospital? When that young kid tried to commit suicide, who prevented him from dying? One by one all their good deeds came to their mind and they all wanted the reunion of the cousins as early as possible.

            But movies are only ideal situations as they fantasize about what the human mind wants. They do not portray the real reality that is actually lived. The relatives took the movies seriously. They longed to see the boys coming together, as they used to and they waited for the day this would happen. Now they spread more information about each other, all nice things what one is supposed to have said about the other.

He actually likes you. He misses your company. He never smiles now. He wants you back in his life. He is a nice man like you. What he did then was a mistake. He feels very bad about it.

 But it did not work.

         The family gatherings now became a matter of pain. The relatives wanted some one to tell a funny story but there was no one to do so.

          The boys lost the capacity to laugh heartily, as they used to earlier, and never passed any comments on any one, as the power was lost when they broke with each other. They were serious men now in charge of their lives and their families.  Each boy has become quiet and passive to the surprise of everyone. Life took something away from them, forever. It was their spirit, probably. It had flown away.

The boys had grown up.

8.     Money God

                  Ramamurthy was very upset. Everything was going wrong for him. He never expected Muthu to deceive him like that. He had so much of faith in their friendship. They were together right from their childhood and Ram shared everything with his friend.  But, Muthu had always kept his thoughts to himself, putting on a show of sharing every thing. He had quietly been getting ready for IAS without telling his friend, attending coaching classes, and studying regularly. Yesterday a common friend had innocently asked Ram why he also has not joined the coaching classes along with his friend. Hiding his fury, Ram politely dismissed the matter saying that he was not interested.

                          Ram didn’t want Muthu to know that he was upset. He let his anger out by mentally moving away from the friendship. The friends went to movies as usual, went to temples as usual, had fun together, but all the while Ram kept on planning what step to take next. Some how he wanted Muthu to feel bad. He wanted to beat him in own game. Why I can’t try to become an IAS officer, he thought finally. He needed money to buy books, to join a coaching class. What to do for money? The question of money always loomed around his head, on the entire family. This collegiate education itself was a gift his childless uncle gave him. Some times he wondered whether it was a blessing or a curse that his uncle did not have any children. At such times he felt very guilty and took an internal vow that he would look after his uncle well, later in his life. At such a situation, what would be his opportunities of spending some more money on education, he wondered.

                His only hope was his mother. She understood him very well, his dreams and ambitions. Actually, Muthu could have helped him. He could have shared the notes with Ram, and they could have prepared for the exams together. That’s where it hurt Ram most, that Muthu knew the financial status of his friend and still had purposely not discussed any matter with him. It showed his character in a poor light and Ram found it difficult to forgive him. His innocence grew into a new unidentifiable quality that he never thought he had. Some kind of steel entered his soul and refused to go away or melt.

               Days together he planned what to do. How to raise the money was the raging question in his mind. Then he went to his uncle’s house. His uncle asked him how he was and other such things and finally Ram came to the point. He said that he wanted some money to buy books and to go for the coaching classes for IAS. After listening to the whole thing, his uncle gave him a way out of the situation.

                  That is, Ram should go to one Mr.Narayanan, and make a promise that he will marry his daughter, and whatever amount of money that he wanted would be sanctioned. Mr.Narayanan had a very good opinion on the character and intelligence of Ram and wanted to marry of his daughter to him with a huge dowry, as was a very rich man. Ram’s uncle said there is no compulsion, and Ram can take it or leave it.

            Years later Ram as an IAS officer, thought about life that pushed him in the name of broken friendship towards a career and a marriage.

9.     Empty box

           The room was full. A lot of people had come for the lecture. Everyone was waiting in silence for more than half an hour. Then slowly the noise started disturbing the air-conditioned hall in a posh five star hotel. The speaker hasn’t come yet the organizers said. They came up to the dais and apologized for the delay in starting the lecture.

Another half an hour went by. No signs of the great man yet. Some people went out to get some drink. Some moved in groups to talk. After at least another fifteen minutes the organizers emerged with the speaker.

                He was a tall man, with a short beard trimmed well. His paunch was very impressive. It told us he was a well off man eating four times a day. He showed the belly to maximum advantage by standing here and there in strategic positions and keeping his hands on those fat cells. He stood in front of the audience and surveyed them looking at each one them in the eye. I know all of you, his eyes said. I know your kind, his thoughts accompanied his eyes.

               Without wasting much time he started his talk. His slides were prepared in the most uninteresting manner. He knew it. So to cover up he started walking up and down in the hall. People were not impressed.  He started cracking jokes. Some laughed. They were kind people. He began making controversial statements to pull the listeners into arguments.  Once again some participated. Sensing his total failure, he began sweating in the AC hall.

                 Another two hours to go. How could this happen, he wondered. He comes to this place every year. Normally these very slides and this same personality incite a lot of interest this time some how things had gone wrong somewhere. He could not understand what had gone wrong. He was losing grip over the audience and he did not know how to get to get them back.

                He began attacking the established system of corruption in India, the medium of instruction in English spoiling the character of the people and the double standards of the politicians. The audience sat in perfect silence watching the comedy of corruption taking place in front of them. They knew he had prepared this lecture a decade back and had been using it successfully without realizing his mistakes. They were a kind group basically but were angry at his professional cunningness and cheating.

                  No one wanted to tell the speaker all these things. They would speak about it for ages, of course.  No one had the honesty to stand up and tell him that he was a conman. The culture did not allow it. You cannot insult a man on his face in front of an audience like that. At the end of the lecture a few people might go and tell him it was a good lecture. In fact such expressions continued to give him the feeling that he is very good as a teacher in public.  Honesty played a secondary role in the entire hall. It was looked at as arrogance and cannot be practiced.  The consequences of honesty also would be very expensive. This man was very powerful in a particular institution, a prestigious one that too. No one wanted to irritate him as he is known to remember who said what and later retaliate with equal ferocity.

               The listeners had all these social pressures on them and therefore remained silent like the ancient sages of this country. They will later make all the comments surfing through their mind to their close friends and family. No one can be trusted in this land as far as professional life is concerned. Any time a remark can reach the concerned person and that person will never forgive you. There was no possibility of ever receiving an honest review of your intellectual stand, as no one wanted to be honest in person. The poor speaker himself was a victim of this social set up and never learnt what his strengths as a speaker are and what his failures are. The intellectual ambience did not give him an opportunity to learn.

               The  victim stood there in front of the hundred people sweating it out in earnest not what to do. He did not know he is not to be blamed for his present position. He was a product of his society, a perfect caricature of what will happen to intellectual standards if the neutral quality of detachment and honesty is not practiced in scholarship. He stood at the climax of times, caught in a social web of thinking. He looked at some of the faces he knew personally and immediately they adjusted their expressions into one of listening. Lost in his own thoughts with his untrained mind and eyes he could not notice the shift in their listening style.

                     Time finally came to an end giving headaches to at least fifty people and neck pain to the others. They cursed the speaker in their minds for his lack of preparation and their inability to tell him so because of his position in public life.  Sinful thoughts floated in the air touching every one’s soul. They waited with lovely, sincere smiles on their faces waiting for him to take leave so that they can also move out in perfect order as he is the guest and they could not insult him. He still had the authority with him and moved with grace. He patted a few people on their backs; they were the ones who listened to him.

                 After a few minutes he left leaving the audience who began talking almost immediately.

10.  Sakuni

                   ‘How can she alone go to school?’ thought Ammini to herself about her close friend. Shankari was good in studies and her parents had the money to educate her if she wanted. My mother will never allow me to study. We have to give the rent, pay for my brother’s education and save for my marriage. How can Shankari alone go to school and enjoy life while I have to   work in the house everyday?  ‘I will stop this’ she decided.

                    The next day Shankari had to start her sixth standard. There whatever had to be done had to be done in the evening itself. She waited for her friend to come out her house in the evening to play. Shankari came out after doing whatever work her mother wanted her to do inside the house, as usual everyday, to play outside for sometime.

                     The children then began playing with sand and water and leaves imagining themselves to be cooking for their husbands. One acted as the husband while the other acted as the wife and vice versa. Marriage was their dream, cooking, cleaning for the house and the family. The husband would come home tired, demanding attention and food. The wife would run to him like an attendant and serve him with sand made rice, curry, and side dishes etc. they made use of all the available articles I the surrounding for their play.

              Ammini was waiting for an opportunity to start the topic to Shankari. Slowly she said, “jolly for me. From tomorrow you are going to school and I am going to be at home and play”.

         “Why? You don’t want to go to school?”

       “Oh no. Why should I? In another seven years or so my mother will get me married. On my wedding day I want to wear gold earrings, bangles, a beautiful nose ring just like my mother. To buy all this I am going to weave mats whenever I am free”

“Weaving mats. Isn’t difficult?”

“Not at all. My aunt does it every day. She is saving money for her marriage”

“Has she bought any jewels till now?”

“Of course. She has bought a lovely jimikki so heavy, almost one sovereign, hanging so long for her ears. It has bright white stones you know”

“I also want some thing like that. My mother will never make anything like that for me”.

            “That is very easy. You just tell me. Both of us will go to my aunt’s house and tell her we are interested in weaving mats. She will arrange for that man to deliver the instrument the very next day. Actually he wants more girls to weave mats it seems. There is a demand for these mats everywhere in the market”.

  When Shankari got married at the age of twentyfive, fifteen years later, she wore her golden jimikkis but sold them the next year as her husband lost money in business.

11.  Winner

                 It was irritating to me that this Shantha could talk so well and is reading so many books. I also read, I also talk but when she talks there is an air of originality that is very impressive and powerful. It could be her hurting way of speaking.

                 Let me introduce myself. I am   Shanker.  I am Shantha’s friend’s brother. Why should this girl irritate me so much? She competes with me always. Does she really plan her victories or is it naturally going in search of her, I don’t know. I want to put her in her place one day. When I discussed this problem with my close friend Arun, he said probably I am in love with Shantha. That’s how it all ends in movies, he said. I checked my feelings. Am I in love with this dark girl without a trace of beauty? Definitely not. I only hate her as I feel she is a little too intelligent than me. I am waiting for a chance to subdue her confidence.

                   In our school we had a meeting for the youth.  We conduct it every month in a good old room in the second floor. The previous day a few of us will go and clean the room and the next day our principal will come for the meeting and sit down with us on the floor and we will discuss various issues along with a few more teachers. Membership to this elite group was limited, as a student has to have an excellent record of service to be accepted as a member. You should have stayed in school teaching fellow students who have problems in studying, and been a part of the social service club that collects free dresses for poor people and so on. Shantha and I have been steadily members of this group for two years consistently.

                   As usual we met in the room meant for us and we were waiting for the principal to come. Not to waste time a teacher started to express her view on a controversial matter, the matter of giving a huge dowry with hundred sovereigns of gold and a few lakhs of cash for an educated girl with a job.  Shantha became vehement and began talking against dowry. It was truly superb. I wanted to say something. But like most of the times I had nothing to say. Shantha continued to talk and did not stop even when the principal walked in and sat down. She had totally forgotten herself where she was and what she was doing. The devil began laughing in my mind, as I knew today she would be put in her place by the principal. Shantha finally stopped, saw the principal and wished her so gracefully that the principal’s face began glowing.

                      There it is. This girl with her ugly face is so charming and wins everyone just like that. I couldn’t concentrate in the discussion further. I lost interest. If a boy cannot speak better than a mere girl what is the point in coming to these meetings?

                       The meeting was over. We all came out. Everyone was congratulating Shantha for her passionate speech.

                       I also went near her. I said, “Shantha, you speak very well. I liked your speech very much. But stop talking like this. You don’t know what people talk about you at your back. It may even affect your married life later. I am telling you because I care for you. Bye bye”.

12.  The Royalty

                 Once upon a time there was a handsome king and a beautiful queen who ruled a people who thought a fair skin was a  great virtue.  The king was fair, tall, with sharp features and queen was fairer, softer, with rounder eyes and plumper cheek.  Very lucky, both of them.

                   The handsome king was very particular about his handsomeness. He spent hours in front of the mirror everyday, applying creams and lotions made by his official Vaithiar of those days. He had five men to massage him every morning and evening. The queen was not to be put down by the king in this matter. She also stood in front of the mirror for more number of hours, in the morning and in the evening. She bathed in the loveliest of waters mixed with all kinds of known perfumes in their country. Badam and milk were used by her for her face to make it more and more bewitching for her husband’s eyes and as you might think not to everyone’s eyes. A woman’s duty is to please her husband isn’t it and she was an exemplary woman of that kind.

                Together they ruled the land with their well-maintained beauty and colour in this land of dark people. People came from all parts of their country to see their good looks and golden coloured bodies. Real gods, our king and queen are, the people beamed in pride admiring their immortal beauties. ‘The very air would stop breathing if only it had a human form’, some of the poetic ones discussed among them. The real poets, of course, called them the sun, moon and whatever other names that came to their minds at the time of writing their poems to pat the egos of their monarchs.

                 In their hearts of hearts, just like every performer, the king and queen knew all this admiration is for their skins and bones and not for their character or intellect or even valour. ‘If there is going to be a real war, finished’, thought the king. ‘If there is any administration problem in my court that involves my attention, gone’, thought the queen. They were real smart people that they knew where to keep their fears. They kept it in their hearts not even discussing it among themselves. See, only when you discuss a problem it become real and important. Just don’t identify the issues. They stop living. The rulers governed their lands with these simple doctrines of great wisdom. Always the great people think in simpler terms, you see.

                          Do you think anything went wrong in their kingdom? Definitely not. Everything was in order. The monarchs went in procession decorated like the ones in movies, real regal and aristocratic in demeanor. They did not move their heads unnecessarily or even give an unpracticed expression. Everything was modulated with the precision of an opera in western countries, completely rehearsed and ordered.

                       The people were watching amazed at the creation of beauty, smooth and neat. They lived their own lives in these dream like figures. With a total negation of their individuality they took pride in their royalty’s beauty and fairness. The fantasy healed their hunger for good things in life.

                 One intelligent man was watching this fever for fairness. He wanted to become rich using the situation. He invented a medicine and told the people that if they apply it on their bodies they will become like the king and queen. The public starved for attention and started buying it and made the medicine man the richest fellow in the country. The people using the medicine saw themselves in the mirrors as duplicates of their king and queen having lost the capacity to accept life as it is.

              The rulers continued their reign with greater confidence. The people continued their lives in fantasy.

13. Destruction

              The man went on screaming. The walls were shivering in fear.

                  ‘Take the pillow and move it this side. Adjust the fan speed. Where are you? Come fast. How many times to call you? Can’t you hear me?’

                 The woman could not move faster because of her age and she was moving at her own pace towards him and heard the onslaught with a forced smile of apology on her face. She quietly came up and adjusted the pillow and moved away to do one more chore in silence. She was used to this shouting and screaming. She has lived with it for forty years. She also knew how to give all this back. Down the years she had developed her own method of retaliating so powerfully to cow down her husband. She knew.

                    Time did not move fast when you are old. They were looking out into the garden in silence. The man suddenly started talking about his garden.

               ‘What a wonderful garden! These shoe flowers  have really started blooming. Isn’t it? How lovely! It’s all my work. I pour water everyday, that’s why they are in such bloom. You never bother about the garden your background is like that. Your family never had any taste.  Your brothers and sisters do not know what it is to have a garden. Only I know the value of flowers. Now I am sick and am not able to look after them personally, but once I get up from my bed I will get a few more varieties and plant them along the compound wall. I want red hibiscus to grow in a long row on the other side of the house’.

                The woman continued her silence. Her body did not move at all to any of the comments made on her family. A few more years to live. When the man constantly feels great only when he belittles others what can a woman with similar feelings do, she thought. Men can express their need to dominate. Lucky.

              The next day the garden looked unusually clean in the morning. The man got up as usual and finished his quota of shouting and finally looked out and saw his plants missing.

                  ‘What happened? What happened to my flowers? Where are the other plants? What, what’, the screams continued.

                After what seemed to be as ages, the woman said,   ‘they were creating a lot of problem to me. The whole place has become so dirty that I have no time to clean up the place. So I cut them away’ in a simple tone that could have irritated any objective onlooker too.

                  The man’s voice jumped up and down. Now the woman had an expression of iron on her face that slowly he came around and settled down to complain instead of screaming. Gradually even that changed to murmuring. His voice became subdued and finally stopped.

                    The neighbours were discussing how bad the woman was to destroy a lovely garden like that without any mercy at all.

14. Kailash

                   They were good friends, dear friends for ages, every one knew that. It was accepted. Understood. They went to the same temple Somasundareeswarer Koil in south car street, same park in the junction in the evenings, had same views about everything – on political parties, the budget, the election - that there was nothing dramatic in the whole thing. It was a casual and cool relationship that had grown down the years slowly and steadily. When they were together other people did not exist for them and they continued talking to each other as if others did not exist. Decades of love and friendship. But life changes you see.

              Ramasubramaniam wanted to go to Kailash. No government sponsored such visits. You have to save and go. He had a brilliant plan. When his friend, Shankaran was in necessity - actually his daughter’s marriage and for what else could the simple living Shankaran have borrowed such a lot of money- he arranged two lakhs rupees from his wife’s brother.  It was agreed the interest rate was five percent – very low as the market rate was ten percent – and that every   month it should be given on the fifteenth. Shankaran took the money and has been steadily giving the interest to Ramasubramaniam’s wife to be sent to her brother in the gulf country. And with Shankaran the money was safe, as when he retires from his government job as a schoolteacher he will definitely return the money, knowing his credentials so well.

                       Ramasubramaniam’s enemies knew the money was actually not from his brother-in-law, but his own. What the enemies did not know was the fact that the interest created an enormous savings to him, which the couple kept aside to go to Kailash. That justified everything if you doubt the integrity of Ramasubramaniam.

                         This week they have to start their pilgrimage. But this month’s interest hadn’t come yet. That money would be very useful in their journey. How to ask Shankaran for the money? The husband and the wife broke their heads over the problem.

There was only one more day to go for the journey. Shankaran hadn’t come yet. Ramasubramaniam started getting tensed, as the couple really needed the money very badly and made a call to Shankaran reminding him of their journey the next day. Shankaran excused himself and said as the interest was not ready he won’t be able to give it immediately, but only when they come back from Kailash.

                     There was anger in the house. How can you go such a long way without much money? Ramasubramaniam’s wife called Shankaran’s wife over the phone. Women are more practical in such matters than their husbands and promptly she let her husband down and told the lady that the monthly interests actually go to them and not to her brother and now they need the money for the travel. She shifted the blame on her husband efficiently and confessed all the details one by one making her the saint and her husband the devil. That was the smart way of asking for the money and she did it very well. It was her husband’s plan not to reveal the truth to his close friend as he thought that would spoil their friendship. For friendship was more important than money. But there is an emergency and they need the monthly interest very badly. Can it be arranged some how?

                    One has to be sensible and smart and not sentimental in money matters. After all if they had given the money to outsiders for interest they would have got ten percent as interest. Also it was given to help a girl get married. If they hadn’t given the money Shankaran’s daughter’s marriage would have never taken place. There is no question of losing face in this matter. Giving money for interest is not a criminal act. Most importantly, the interest money is used for going to a temple of such holiness and sanctity. It was not used for anything bad. Shankaran must be thankful for the good use his money is put through.

                  Within a few hours of the phone message Shankaran’s wife came home with a haggard, exhausted face with not only the interest, but also the capital – two lakhs rupees. How did they arrange such a huge amount of money in just two hours, Ramasubramaniam wondered. As his friend’s wife walked out he noticed her hands, neck, ears and even her nose had lost their usual jewels. Instead of gold chains in her neck she wore a fresh thread yellow in colour.

                   Ramasubramaniam forced the feeling of guilt and shame away from his heart. What can he do if some people are foolish?

                  But later when he was at the Himalayas, the face of Shankaran came to his mind many times.

15. Pulia maram

                  My legs are aching. I have been standing now for the past five years in front of Manickam’s house.  He is now ten years old. When I came here to stand the boy was just learning to run faster. He would come to me and give one shake and run away. At least for another half an hour my body will ache. I won’t even be able to cry as God had sealed my mouth long ago. You don’t know that story isn’t it, how my mouth was sealed? I will tell you.

                   Once I was walking happily along the clouds I was singing aloud my favourite song thinking of my beloved girl.  Have you ever walked on top of the clouds? It is simply great. You have to balance your foot on each cloud and carefully adjust your weight. You will not get it in a day. One needs years of practice. I was taught how to walk on the clouds by my father and not by my mother. Women are not allowed to walk on clouds in our world as they may talk too much and take away the silence of the skies I have heard elders discussing.  So, when I was gaily singing along on the clouds, my lover’s face came to my mind. Slowly her entire form came to my imagination. I visualized her very clearly and wished she were with me. If only she had been with me, then I could have danced with small steps down there on those hills, I was thinking and dreaming. And then I saw her coming towards me. She was radiant. Looking every inch a great beauty she was. Her head was thick green, and her limbs were amber, pure gold. Her fingers looked elegant and light green. There was a song on her lips too. I heard it. It was a love song. I was thrilled. I ran and held to her tightly that she began objecting.

                       Her voice was slightly different than usual but I had no time to think. I began kissing her. And then suddenly I was pushed so hard with the brutal strength of a man and I fell down lost my balance and fell right down on the rocks. I opened my eyes and saw the great God himself standing on the clouds with lightening in his eyes and thunder in his voice.

             “Have you gone mad? Why did you hold me like that without any respect, whatsoever?”

                 Now you can imagine what had happened. The form that came near me was not my girlfriend, but God himself. What a fool I had been!

                You know that Gods when they get angry they seriously are so. He cursed me.

“You were like a piece of wood without any feeling and did not realize that it was me. Therefore you will lose your capacity to talk and move and have lovers. You will go to earth and stand in front of Manickam’s house for five years as a puliamaram”.

                           Ever since I have been standing here. God put my soul inside a tamarind seed and threw it in front of Manickam’s house and brought a mild shower immediately. The next day the sun looked at me, understood my situation and gave me some special light and I started growing the third day. The family saw me growing steadily and began pouring water everyday. The woman of the house would sprinkle cow dung water on the ground in front of the house and then the rest of the same would be thrown on me. The first day I was very upset about the treatment. Later from learned men like Narathar I came to know about the sacredness of the cow dung and started feeling honoured. The cow dung did a lot of good. My leaves came out fresh and green. My stem put on weight like a woman after delivering a child. The breeze when he touches me becomes cooler as I have the special touch of gentleness to make any thing cool.

                            Time really traveled fast. Standing in the same place for years together my feet are now rooted to the ground. I have become familiar with the local customs and traditions. When Manickam’s sister attained age I saw her being given a bath with neem leaves and turmeric powder.  I saw the newborn child being given some special juice of crystallized palm jaggery and dry grapes through he windows of the house. I know many secrets too. The next-door girl, Kamakshi is always looking at her cousin Mohan of the same age. I can see her interests in the future marriage. Unfortunately he never noticed. And innumerable new things I noticed too. Time kept its schedule on the moving path. When that boy Mohan left for the city, Kamakshi forgot him quite fast and started looking at another boy slightly older than her.

                       The fifth year will be over tomorrow. How do I get back to heaven I don’t know? I have been praying to God for these five years to relieve me from my sins.  Wait. Someone is talking about me to Manickam’s father. Let me listen.

                  “You should cut this tree down. It brings misfortune. That’s why you have been having a series of problems in your house. No body told you before… Why I myself deal with the sale of firewood.  …. No. No. This tree will not fetch a good price. I am ready to cut this for you because you are known to me. No one else will buy it from you. You know, last month I saw a similar tree in front of another friend’s house and I told them to bring it down. They listened to me, smart people they are and immediately, I think within a week their daughter’s marriage got fixed. Now whenever they see me they thank me profusely. Even you will realize after cutting this tree your financial troubles will be over”.

                  From the clouds when I look down I see the house of Manickam standing alone without my presence. Manickam’s mother has found out a new place to throw the balance cow dung water - a neem tree just growing.

16. Mummy daddy

                   I am very tensed. From the past few days my mother has been training me. I have great difficulty understanding what she says. I wonder if she herself understands. They are songs I know. But not in Tamil, a language that I understand very well. This is English. Not songs. Rhymes. ‘Sing a rhyme’, my mother would say and I have to sing. I will sing those sounds aloud and she would tell me the sounds are not yet perfect. If only I know what I am singing definitely I would do it better.

                        One day I asked my mother the meaning of the songs. She said, ‘why do you worry about such things’? Only then I got the doubt if she herself understood the meaning of whatever we were singing together everyday for the past two weeks.

                     The day for the school interview came up.  My mother took me from the mattress and took me to the place all the children in the colony bathe. Hot water was already there in an aluminium tub and my mother began scrubbing me hard with a new soap after brushing my teeth. All other necessary things were over in another five minutes. And then I was powdered extensively and I looked shining bright in patches of powder all over my face and body. My eyebrow was penciled and made thicker. She applied some oil on my hair so that my hair will stay in the style she wanted. Extra pink clips were added to my hair. A touch of bright red lipstick to my lips. Suddenly my mother remembered that I had not been given anything to drink. The running began and soon a cup was brought with the lovely liquid and I drank heartily from it.

                  I like the fragrance of Bournvita. It reminds me of chocolates. My mother will never buy me chocolates. If at all she gets me one it would be the smallest one under the sky and not the big, beautiful ones you see on the TV. I long to eat those huge chocolates. Sometimes the TV shows grownups eating brownie, attractive, tempting chocolates and I burn in jealousy. I try to touch those figures and run my hand over the TV screen. Oh! The chocolates would disappear in a flash of moment. How lucky those girls are, all the time eating chocolates and laughing and looking so beautiful all the time smiling and laughing. When I grow up I will also do that. Eat as much of chocolates I can and laugh.

Why can’t my mother buy me those chocolates? I keep asking her this question again and again whenever I feel she is in a good mood. She simply shrugs and says they are only for children who have their fathers living with them. They are lucky children. Some good thing they would have done in their previous birth she says. I don’t know what this previous birth is. Then how would I have looked… If one wants a good father then it is better they start practicing all good deeds in this birth, my mother would say. I don’t understand what she means.

                      Any way I am a good girl. I don’t irritate my mother for she is working all the time in many houses to buy rice, dhal and other things to cook and eat. She leaves me in my neighbour’s house during the daytime. No body has to take care of me. I am smart and don’t get myself into mischief like other children. I simply keep playing in the street with the other children in my street. Sometimes in the evenings my mother brings good food like biriyani and we share it with our neighbours.   I am proud of her for she has dreams for me, wants me to grow up like those children in the houses where she works, and I am the only one who drinks Bournvita in the morning in my street of huts. She wants to educate me, my mother. I should be a great person she tells me everyday. I will.

We have reached the school. I must tell you my mother carried me all the way, a long way that too. Many kids like me had come. All mothers and some fathers stood aside wondering if the children would get a seat. One by one the children went inside the office and came out after some time. And they all had a chocolate in their hands. I became very alert with desire. When would my turn come I became impatient. It came at last.

                     There was a table inside the office. A senior man and a woman were seated inside. Very serious that I got scared. The woman asked me to sing the songs and I sang with my voice quivering not wanting to disappoint my mother, controlling my fear. My mother’s happiness was more important to me than my own feelings. But my legs were shivering and I couldn’t control that. Luckily no body noticed it except my mother. She saw my face and the fear and my will that was trying to overcome that nervousness. Pride was written on her face. She knew I would come up in life and be a comfort to her.

                    A week later she got a letter. It seems the school wanted her to pay a huge amount of money as fees. She fell down on the floor and began crying loudly beating her chest. I did not know what to do.

17. The restaurant

                 The restaurant looked every inch a place visited by the affluent.  The latest cars were parked out side and fancy churidars and jeans were moving in and out. A lot of English was heard. Rich and educated. Chins were up in the air.

                  I entered. The turbaned fellow in white uniform bowed, a real bend it was, and saluted me without the stiffness of a soldier in uniform. I looked through him and went ahead as if he never existed. When he realized I did not really notice he bowed once again and saluted again. I was irritated. What a culture I thought. Making people bend to others as if they are dolls standing at the entrance to pat and please the egos of the visitors. Maharajahs that we are, we want the guards to bow down in front of us. Our deep desires to bring back monarchy or deep insecurity. I was thinking all these thoughts while I felt embarrassed at the guard’s total lack of pride.

                   There was humility, the symbol of our geography on his face. He knew his position was lower to the visitors. He was born to bow to others. The people who visited the place are all wealthy and lucky. Very fair, very rich, good looking and smart. His face, as a contrast was brown, oily and uneven and   to a certain extent crooked. How many times he has compared his face with the people who floated in and out on the mirror walls. His job was to show respect to them and he did it well. When he removed his turban his milky white hair shone in the bright sun light outside contrasting with his dark face. There was the air of achievement on his face when I gave him a smile. The happiness of a slave when he receives a word of appreciation from his master, the white god. 

Inside the restaurant the ambience was subtle and dim. Space smiled in satisfaction breathing easily. The walls were not overcrowded with huge paintings in multi colours.  Mild half cream walls matched with the light coloured lampshades. Quiet money with taste – subdued colours and subdued arrogance.

The food was good. The serving was excellent. I tipped well. When I came out once again this guy at the entrance bowed and saluted me as if I was the Mysore Maharajah himself.  Now he stood a little in front of me and I noticed his slightly extended right hand. I saw the almost brown palm with a rough skin telling me volumes about his hard childhood in some village where he must have tended the plough or done some similar works. Or it could be simply he could have been a city fellow who must have done a lot of physical work in his youth. The palm fixed me. It reminded me my duty.  It was his right to demand and it was my duty to pay. As simple as that. I thought of the countless days I have studied from three years onwards in English medium schools and toiling to get above ninety nine percent of marks to write umpteen examinations to get a seat in colleges with tags attached, competing in the world of special reservations trying to set right the mistakes of the unknown past studied in history books, sitting in front of computers spoiling my sight and health, acquiring diabetes, high blood pressure in the process of establishing myself in society and even now on the way to meet a client who will give me hell as the project I did for him had flunked.

 I told my wife in the   night how this uniformed and turbaned senior man at the entrance shamelessly asked money by extending his right hand.  She said  “why, you can tip the waiter for his service. You don’t think there is anything wrong. You consider that as a sign of prestige and class. A sophisticated behaviour. Then, why can’t you tip the man for his treating you like a Maharajah? You people have double standards. Just because tipping is a western culture you think it is right. Bending is truly Indian and you consider that as lower.”

              I kept my comments to myself. No one argues with a wife when she is in one of her correcting and moralizing moods, you see.

18. Clay pot

               

             Her name was Deepa.  She came from a middle class family just like others and me that I mixed with. We do not mix with different people, as their language is different from us in accent and pronunciation. Languages are very important, I think. We cannot speak to people who speak differently from us. That would be losing class. Every one in my society wanted to keep class, not lose it by mixing with ‘other’ people. We maintained our position as superiors. We do not know what they thought about us. For all you know they could have laughed at us. We did not laugh at them. We only had secret contempt for them. A kind of a harmless contempt.

            My friend luckily came from the right caste and the right class. Her language had the right sounds and inflections. When no one was around we spoke in the way we would speak in our houses. It gave us a sense of identity. We felt very homely and secure at such times. Don’t we need security in life? We all need our own clan and group. I was no exception in this matter. High or low people lived, live in groups. Reader, don’t think I am a snob. It is just that I am honest enough to confess my qualities whereas generally these matters are not discussed with any neutrality.  

             Deepa was educated like me and worked for her living as both her parents had died at a very early age leaving her with her aunt. She was a courageous girl fighting her life from the beginning. I liked her hardworking nature and sincerity. We used to sit for a long time discussing books in the marina beach those days. As both of us were not married we had all the time in the world living in hostels.

         As I told you my thoughtlessness was the only problem in the friendship. We both worked in the same office and I was secretly scared of a few of my colleagues.  They had an imperial sense of honesty and would point out my mistakes mercilessly. I began to get scared of them slowly. I tried flattery to soothe their egos. I would please them with praises. When Deepa did achieve similar things I won’t even bother to do these things as I felt she was my friend. It is here I had gone wrong you know. I simply could not help being harsh with her and being nice to my enemies. What a strange thing this human mind is. When some thing is good and simple we take it for granted and try to stamp it to prove our greatness. We do not realize the power of the meek. Why, the gentle people have a little more power than the violent people I learnt very late in life.

              One day Deepa was presenting a project paper in the office in front of the entire office members and a few foreigners who had come to sign an agreement with our company. She was doing a great job but some how I could not agree she was great. A secret jealousy must have burnt in my heart I do not know, but I realized I got up to attack some of her points with an air of right. Now when I think about the fatal day I think I must have been a headstrong woman that I did not like any one else to dominate me in my office. All the colleagues that I hated must have been quite good people who must have pointed out my mistakes and I must have hated them for that. May be my friendship with Deepa happened as with her I could play my role of the boss.

              I got up to speak pointing out the flaws in Deepa’s argument forgetting in my moment of pride that actually we were in an international conference with foreign dignitaries and as a company we were presenting our plan for future. I only saw Deepa making her presentation so neatly and well and I wanted to out smart her in office. Everyone knew I was Deepa’s friend and expected me to say something in support of her argument. I found myself attacking Deepa’s argument and therefore the company’s proposal. I talked probably for two minutes. Immediately the usually calm and shy Deepa looked at me straight into the eye and said,

“I thank you so much for your valuable perspective from the negative side. I know you are doing that to give me an opportunity to analyze the situation better with a negative point thrown in”

I had to sit down treated categorically like this by the unassuming woman till then suddenly looking like a monster to me. She continued unnervingly in the same speed, as even my question was a part of the presentation. She told the listeners,

“Well, ladies and gentle men let us look at the negative side of this proposal too. As it was pointed out my valuable colleague these are indeed the problems in the project. We don’t want you to think that we are here only to visualize success. Let us also discuss where we could go wrong in future following these methods. The company has trained the staff so well in looking at any project with this concept of negative questioning. This is the secret of our success”.

After that she took each of my objection and explained its weaknesses finally making my argument sound meaningless. The foreigners at the end of the meeting came told me how brilliant my questions were and how well we had rehearsed the negative questioning and answering to allay the fears in the project. In fact Deepa used my questions to convince her arguments so well that the project got the approval from the international company on the spot.

                  I must tell you my boss blasted me and Deepa was given five more increments the same day. She did not accept the offer but left the next week. She did not speak to me at all. But smiled at me whenever I spoke to her before she left.

                

19. Shivan’s visit

               There was furor in heaven. In the last few years in spite of the establishment of a system called western medicine lots of reports had reached Lord Shiva Peruman from the earth. It seems most of the people had developed diseases who lived in the cities. Bhoomi Matha was unable to bear the suffering of her children suffering with health problems eating tablets, no, no, consuming them like poison every day in multitudes. Some people had to swallow at least 10 capsules in the morning and ten in the evening. The pharmaceutical companies were becoming richer and richer.  Something has to be done immediately to stop all this confusion, the fellow gods decided. The money that has to go to education or to the temples now went to the hospitals. Mankind was groaning under the pain of diseases and would collapse at any time, predicted the sages of heaven.

The supreme God this time did not want to send Narathar to find out the source of the problem as he might confuse people more. He did not want his wife by side as she talked too much and distracted his attention. Sometimes she would shower her love to one creature and ask him to grant favours and sometimes she would hate some one too much and ask him to curse the poor soul. Her whims and fancies were too powerful that he could not ignore them at all. Therefore Lord Shivan decided to come down alone and took a human form for that matter.

                   He became a software engineer with western accents and wore a tie along with the most fashionable shoes. He drove his car to a sophisticated part of the city (don’t ask me which city. That is a secret that the Gods do not want the mortals to know) and tried to park it. There was no place. Actually there was place. But the car in front was parked in such a stupid manner that it took away most of the place. Shivan wanted to know whom the owner of that car was. And then the owner came started it and drove away without bothering to look left or right. He looked every inch and educated fellow and rich. Shivan laughed to himself at the stupid arrogance of the man as he thought having a car was something so great in life that he wanted the rest of the world to bow to him in obeisance. At least that was the attitude of the man who drove away.  These people still haven’t got used to money thought Shivan.

                   Slowly Shivan parked his car and got down. Outside the heat blasted his face. His tie strangled his neck as if it was trying to kill him. His shoes burnt his legs inside. His most expensive suit roasted him alive. He wanted a white veishti and mundu as worn by people long long ago in this land. He began walking. He couldn’t. The road was meant for technological vehicles. The road ends were meant for parking similar vehicles. The platform was occupied completely by the shop owners. Shivan now had a big doubt. Who owned the platforms? Not an inch of the platform was left free to walk. He had to use the small gaps left free apart from parking on the road to walk. He just could not manage. A lorry came so close to him screeching that he had to close his ears with both his hands and his briefcase fell down. He lost his balance and fell down too side-by-side his brief case. The road was full of dust and some got into his eyes. No one came to his help. He managed to get up after some time. He looked around wondering where all humanity had gone. Then he realized apart from him no one was walking on the road. The shopkeepers were seated without moving here and there. The guys who drove car also sat without moving. People inside the bus sat without moving.

                       Shivan took a by lane and saw a school. It had many floors and no free space around. There was no garden in front of the school. There were no trees near the school. All was stark open and ugly. Shivan went inside the school and looked at the children. They were seated. He visited class after class. All children were seated on benches so tightly they couldn’t move at all. There was no fresh air or even electric fans in the classes. The children were sweating profusely inside their uniforms. With his third eye Shivan saw their feet soaked in sweat making them cakes of flesh wet and soggy. The children could not concentrate in what the teacher was saying because of all these discomforts. The God’s heart melted seeing their silent suffering.

                     In a bench that can accommodate three children comfortably, six children were seated. As a result they had no place to sit comfortably and they had to sit six hours a day. Naturally they hated each other with the vehemence of enemy nations living too close. He counted the children. There were sixty to seventy children in a small airless, compact class and the poor wriggly looking teacher was screaming her head off at nothing particularly. There was no fan even above her head. She was also sweating. Classrooms had a terrible stink with the smell of the human vapour coming from their bodies. This knowledge society has made even the children suffer in the name of future jobs, he thought. Will this lifestyle give them jobs alone or diseases too, he wondered. They will earn to pay for medicines his Gnanathirushti told him.

               Shivan moved further on and visited offices. Even there people were seated and working or sleeping on papers. He visited homes and saw the women seated and watching TV and crying. They got angrier and angrier watching the good, soft heroines suffer and the powerful villies plot to take revenge forever.

                   He realized civilization has reached its peak of achievement and went back to his cold seat with more wisdom.

20. Liquid

             Mohan walked on in the hot sun with a hungry stomach and a hungry heart. His tall frame recorded itself in the form of shadows on the muddy road in grotesque shape. The previous day’s rain had messed up the roads and the sun had come out with a vengeance to suck all the water from the earth.  He did not notice any of these small matters of life as his head was involved with the only thing that he cared for – a government job where he need not run around like a slave and work. He did not want to ‘work’ in a private concern. ‘Slaves’ was the word that came into his mind when he thought of his friends working in private concerns. He wanted to live like a lord enjoying the privileges of having a secure job where your boss cannot order you around. He held on to his file in which he had kept his certificates – the passport to a bright tomorrow.

                    Even if we work for a few years we should work for a government organization, he thought with full conviction. Day after day he dreamt of sitting with authority on a chair ordering the peon to get vadai and coffee. He will have umpteen holidays, get promotions with more salary every year, his friends will treat him like a king, and he will become influential. When strangers ask him where he is working he will proudly, but casually say he is working in such and such an office. If the government irritates him and his colleagues he will just go on an indefinite strike along with them. Who do you think he is? A government employee. He has the ability to change the fate of others. What scale! What salary! When will such a day come he wondered. On that day he will break hundred cocoanuts to Lord Ganesan, he mentally decided.

                    He came home and wanted some water to drink. There was no water in the house. Where is his sister? It was her duty to collect drinking water from the far away spring that gave out sweet drinking water. Everyday morning she went to the place and brought a few pots of water to the house. What was she doing to day morning?

              “Selvi, Selvi”, he called out loudly.

                There was no answer. He went inside the kitchen. She was not there. Where could this girl have gone? A girl of that age could not go out except to collect water with her friends. If she is seen outside at other times the family will lose its prestige. Mohan’s cheeks began burning. How dare she leave the house in the noontime like this that too without collecting water for the day?

                        How could he take the pot now and go to the spring now to get water? His friends will bully him and call him a woman. Mohan thought of going to the neighbour for water. That would be a shame as only yesterday he had fought with the neighbour and torn his shirt in the fight. It would be a misfortune to go there now. I would rather die of thirst. Let me at least eat some food, he decided.

                       He opened the vessels and found nothing inside to eat. No cooking had taken place in the house. How dare the women in the family behave like this he thought thinking of his mother and sister? His mother would have gone for work as a maid in a few houses in the morning itself and he could not blame her.  The previous day’s rice in water was what they ate every morning and afternoon. What happened to that too?

                   Mohan wondered how one cooked rice. He had never done it. Now he was thirsty and hungry. And angry too. Which deserved the priority? Searching for the missing sister or getting something to eat? He couldn’t decide for sometime. Finally hunger won.

                   An hour went by searching for some money to buy something in the local teashop. He could not succeed in that also.

                    When I get a government job I will not suffer like this for food. I will go to the city. I will marry a girl working in an office and will have a lot of money to eat, the famished boy thought in his pain. He lay on the floor and soon sleep came over chasing his hunger and thirst away.

                  In his dreams he saw himself in an office, wearing white ironed clothes, sitting and shaking his legs, ordering for vadai and coffee.

21.Surya’s decision

                 ‘I will do what I think is right’, thought the child.

                    She had lost her mother and her elder sister was trying to treat her like a slave. All the time she was getting instructions. ‘Surya do this. Surya do that’. No hug. No kiss. No plaiting hair with affection either.

                      Surya was very unlucky. Every one knew that. Her mother died only last month. But from the time Surya had born her mother had fallen ill and never recuperated her energy. At least her sister called her Surya. The neighbours had a nickname for her – ‘mother killer’.  You cannot go and fight with them for that. If she had had a brother he would not have allowed such a thing to happen. Her sister was worse than an enemy. She herself supplied information to the neighbours against her.

                      ‘Surya’s father is going to marry’, people were talking. ‘Will he?’ she was wondering. If he marries again where will I go, wondered the child’s heart. A stepmother would be definitely bad. Her close friend’s father married last year. The stepmother treated her friend like a servant that the girl went and jumped inside the well and died. The body was found out only after two days. Now there was a talk of Surya’s father getting married again. That’s what every one said. It would be right definitely. When would it happen, she did not know. Surya felt suffocated. Everywhere there were dead ends for her.

                      Surya decided to run away. ‘But where?’  To her school of course, to the nice little nun who showered love on her. Surya began imagining her as her dear mother. The nun gave her biscuits, dry nut, mangoes and sometimes even chocolates. Surya loved listening to the nun who had a nice voice and a soothing tone. It healed her wounded heart that was hurt everyday by her family situation. If only she can spend the rest of her life with the nun how nice it would be, she thought.

                        The next day she went to the nun after school and told her that she wanted to stay in the school it self. The nun was a kind woman who herself had grown up without a mother and understood the loneliness of the child. She explained the realities of life to the young child and told her it was impossible. But Surya had determined to become part of the nun’s life. She tried to point out the advantages of her coming to the nunnery.

                       “I can clean vessels for you. Sweep the ground. Even make tea and coffee. Please let me stay”, Surya argued.

        “But we are Christians. We worship Christ. What will you do?” the nun pointed out the practical difficulties of entering the convent.

           “I will continue to worship my goddess”.

“That won’t be possible. When you come over here you have to become like us”.

“You will not accept me as I am?”

“No”.

            The child was not prepared for this. When I can enter the church and pray to my goddess why can’t I live with these nuns, she was thinking and thinking. She could not arrive at an answer. But she had to take a decision.  If she leaves the house now never again will she come back here.

              Let me take a decision after the festival in our temple. The two days of festival was great and the Goddess will come around the entire village to bless the inhabitants. All the houses had pots of water, neem leaves, turmeric and rose water to greet the Goddess.  The water with rose water was poured on her head, already mixed with turmeric paste. The goddess took her bath standing on a wooden plank and then blessed the family. It would be a big moment for anyone to receive vibhuthi from the goddess. To some lucky ones she did speak too. Last time she came she looked at Surya and said all her troubles would end.

           I will ask her this time whether I can become a Christian and then will take a decision, she decided finally.

22.Appearance

               Kannamma wanted a new sari – a new silk sari. It was her tenth year of marriage and still her husband had not got her a new silk sari. The only silk sari she had was what she wore for her wedding. It was a lovely mango yellow sari with a green zaried border. ‘Very expensive her’, husband had told her. Every one else also said the zari is of very good quality. She had married into a well to do family and her husband’s father owned such a lot of lands everyone said. But now the lands had to be divided against five sons and they decreased in volume. Still Kannamma’s husband had a lot of fields, mango groves, coconut groves and you can call him quite well off. But the problem was he did not have any intention of getting her new saris, especially silk saris.

                   A philosopher would mock at this problem. He would think what is so great about a new sari - a silk sari. He will not understand the significance of a sari. First of all he will never understand what a woman feels when she wears a new silk sari  along with  jewels. All eyes on her, jealousy in the eyes of other women, appreciation in the eyes of other men, the woman wearing a new sari will walk like a queen not obviously looking at any one, but looking at everyone closely, much more closely than a philosopher ever would have done. He would consider these problems as small and insignificant. ‘Silly’ would be the word coming to his mind. To Kannamma it was not a silly problem. The philosopher thinks certain things are problems and ignores the rest. Any problem becomes great or silly only from the way you look at it. So Kannamma’s problem was as important to her as the great problem of the sage Vyasar or Vashishter or Galileo or Newton, contributing to the constant flow of life. She was an intense particle of life and was pulsating in her great action of living. This was her role in life and she was living it fully.

                    Kannamma could not sleep peacefully. She turned this side and that side and dreamt herself wearing a new silk sari. What colour would it be? Green, like the sari of Kasthuri in the next street? Blue like her sister’s wedding sari? No. No. These are ordinary colours. She wanted a colour, which no body had, in her village. It would be the colour of brinjal. Every night she went through these same motions of thought and finally settled down for purple.

                     Where is the money for buying a sari? Her lands yielded well but the constant threat of water scarcity dominated their lives. This was the era before the use of motors to bring out water from the intestines of mother earth. Lands depended on rains.  Paddy needed a lot of water and was a difficult plant to grow. Even coconut trees lost their glory without water.  Constantly the lands put them through severe times and her husband had no other income. The seasons were highly impartial and destroyed everyone’s confidence. Having lands was no security from difficulties. Kannamma knew it was because of lack of flowing cash that her husband did not get her a silk sari. But she wanted to wear one badly.

One day she went to the town to a silk sari shop to enquire the prices. All the saris were above at least five hundred rupees. It was a lot of money. One sovereign gold was only two hundred rupees but a silk sari was five hundred rupees. How bad. Till then her savings without her husband’s knowledge was only twenty rupees and for this she had worked incessantly making mats out of coconut leaves, baskets out of palm leaves and had even sold her hens apart from the regular sale of rose flowers, drumstick, eggs and milk.  With a heavy heart she came away and the sales man called her.

              “Amma, do you have old silk saris? We can dye them for you with new colours and they will look every inch new”.

              “How much would you charge for that?”

              “Just twenty rupees”.

              He took some dyed saris he had got ready for some one else and pointed out the shine and polish on them. The saris almost looked new, though at close inspection they revealed their age.

               A new hope was born in her that moment and like a flash of lightning she dashed home and went back to the town to that shop and gave the money and the sari. A few days back she got her shining purple sari and her heart was racing. This was exactly what she had wanted to wear. She almost ran home and wore it and stood in front of the small mirror that showed only parts of her body at a time and she seeing the image of her smiling self thought she was in the seventh heaven.

               The next month she went for her youngest sister’s marriage and stayed in her mother’s house even before a month of the wedding. She hid the purple sari to herself putting it under all other clothes as she expected her mother to react badly to it. On the wedding day the bride wore the new silk sari – as usual a mango gold sari with green border. All other women were wearing their wedding saris looking the years of their marriage. And then Kannamma walked in the center of the pandal wearing brand newly dyed purple colour sari out beating her sister’s wedding sari. All eyes were on her. It was a moment of glory. It was sweet and nice. Carefully Kannamma avoided looking at others, and the various expressions on their eyes. The most important thing was no one found out it was her old sari dyed new. The entire day she was elated.

               But some woman cast her eye on Kannamma as all her happiness died in the night when she over heard her relatives discussing the sari in the next room. One voice rose over the other grumbling, jealous voices.

                “So sad. Her husband had brought her a new sari, so that she will not feel bad. It is almost ten years she got married. Isn’t it? Still no children. She is lucky that her husband treats her like child instead of marrying again. She should thank her stars for that. Let her enjoy herself wearing a new sari. Don’t become jealous of her”.

23.Revelation

It was already ten in the morning on Monday. I had so many guests visiting me the previous day, who thought it was their right to come on a Sunday without informing me earlier. After cooking for all of them and cleaning the dishes and the house after they left the house I was dead with exhaustion and over slept. This life is bad, I thought. People come and we are expected to be nice to them. They don’t realize I work outside in an office from nine to five and travel four hours everyday. Plus, I work in the house cooking and cleaning at least three to four hours. And, we in our office are expected to work even on Saturdays. After working like this standing in buses squeezed between men and women standing for hours won’t I be tired?  The men feel my bottom with so many of their parts that I can’t even describe in words. What a horrible thing to educate yourself and work out side? I think women have been cheated with by this knowledge revolution designed by men. We only have ended up working more and getting in return less. The family needs our money, physical work and we are expected to practice the virtues of the Tamil culture of hospitality.  At least on Sundays we must take rest and sleep in the afternoons. Who cares?  Guests in such love for us land up on that one-day too. I hate phones robbing my little hour of rest in the nights. I hate life. How many more years to live?

The auto had stopped in a petrol station. I have to give this auto guy fifty rupees.  I don’t know if my husband will give me some more money this week. It’s going to be a miserable week.  I earn but I have to beg money like a beggar to my honourable husband. I can’t tell this misery to my friends who buy this and that. I want to buy a pair of beautiful earrings for myself. When? Only god knows. I should not have got married.  I would have happily lived alone. But my parents thought it was a sin to have a daughter unmarried. I suppose such a family goes to hell or something like that. To escape from their future hell they pushed me inside this hell. How convenient!

Why is the auto not moving still? Oh, there is another auto blocking the way right in the front. Seconds were moving slowly to the others and fast to me.  Acid began in my stomach. To divert my mind I tried to pray. I could not. I decided to concentrate in the life around. It was a dirty petrol bunk, very small compared to the regular ones. It was a quiet place where no one talked. The boys and girls were moving around communicating in silence with their eyes and expressions mostly. They wore blue and orange uniforms. The girls had a saree or a churidar inside their dirty coats and I wondered how it must be for them in this hot climate. The coats served another purpose. It neutralized the ladies’s sexuality. In a way good I thought. This sexual advances of men and women in this repressed society is very difficult to handle. The only way out seems to be more repression, I thought.

Still the auto had not moved. I peeped out to see. The driver in the blocking auto was slowly getting down from the auto in what you call the tortoise speed with an empty oilcan. He pushed his torso out moving to some unknown slow rhythm not responding to the fast rhythm of a Monday morning.

“Go fast saar” urged my auto driver to him.

He didn’t answer. He didn’t even turn around to look at us. He was keen on what he was doing. In irritation I looked at the direction of what he was looking at, the ground. As my eyes travelled down I saw the misshape of both his legs bending towards the exterior world. His uniform was neat and ironed. He did not wear slippers and with his feet looking at opposite directions he inched the ground in the slowest moments possible. He reached the vending machine, got his oil and came back in the same style and opened the back of his auto for the pouring in of petrol with total concentration and focus. The uniformed boys silently and patiently waited for him to come and then poured the petrol in his petrol tank. He walked back to his auto after paying the boys, and took his seat after struggling to get inside.

All the while he did not look at any one in the petrol station particularly. He did not look at any one. His head was at forty-five degrees to the ground and his eyes looked as if they were constantly measuring the floor and therefore we couldn’t see his expressions clearly. Probably he felt guilty, lonely, depressed and gloomy as we were waiting for him to finish and did not complain because he was lame. He must have been a proud man who did not accept his lameness. Or he felt his inferior situation in life compared to other normal human beings.  May be he did not like to be pitied. May be he hated his lameness. Once he was inside the auto his auto charged into life in a fraction of a second without the least hint of the driver’s lameness and fled away with smoothness without leaving any trace of him.

People had already forgotten him and continued with their work.

24.The walk

I felt the cool breeze on my old face. The morning was chill, after the rain in the night. The cold air seeped through my clothes alerting my senses. I enjoyed the newness in the atmosphere, and felt the exhilaration and excitement of the greenery. There was a quiet mood of happiness, a celebration. Nature beamed. Her joy overflowed in small rivulets near the broad road. The road itself was clear and black in its original glory. 

The birds were talking in soft tones discussing the rains. Some flew here and there saying ‘hai’ to each other, while the others stood simply admiring the scene. Insects were cheerfully moving around feeling the freshness of the soil. The rain had revived a mood of rejuvenation in everyone.

The tall, silent trees were surveying the invigorating scene with a serene calmness. They were real beauties, with thick foliage, standing like broad umbrellas, protecting various species from rain and shine. Naturally dignified, and aristocratic in stature, they were gazing at the world with hundreds of years of wisdom. Hardened philosophers they were, they knew to accept life as it is.  I looked up and saw the sky through the blank spaces in between creating a picture of blue and green. Spontaneous architects designing themselves, I thought admiring their well-formed structures.

A noise broke out from the extreme end of the road – a false note disturbing the quiet scene.  It grew louder and clashed with the quiet tune of nature’s peaceful strain. Slowly the form of a girl emerged in my vision and I could now distinctly hear her thunderous voice breaking the silence mercilessly.  The girl was shouting loudly, all the while moving her entire body to support her words. Some violent emotion was in her mind, I suppose, and she was oblivious to the brilliance of nature on her way. Is she mad, I wondered, screaming at the top her voice like that on a lonely road? Her bawling continued, her voice crashed into my ears like an airplane landing.

I looked around to see how the other beings have taken this ferocious intervention. The birds had stopped their low-keyed conversation and were watching her. The greenery was shocked.

Now she came really close to me. I saw her right in front of me. She did not look at me or even notice me. But I saw her vacant eyes and the machine hanging on her neck with extensions reaching her ears and mouth. She went past and her hullabaloo continued for some more time, slowly fading away. I looked up to see what the trees were doing.

They were standing still.