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31
‘Aunty, may I come in?’ I said.
Ananya’s mother looked at me through the mesh door with sleepy eyes. She wore a nightie; I had disturbed her afternoon nap.
I had told my agents I would be out for a late lunch. Before coming to their house, I stopped at Grand Sweets and packed two kilos of Mysore pak.
Aunty opened the door. I came inside. She went inside to change her clothes. I flipped through The Hindu util she returned.
‘Uncle’s back?’ I asked.
‘He came last night.’ She yawned. ‘But he is in office now.’
‘Sorry to wake you up,’ I said and passed her the box of sweets.
‘What’s this?’
‘I wanted to apologise for the dinner that night.’
Aunty kept quiet and looked at the coffee table.
‘I am sorry about the Ratna Stores incident. I assure you, nothing cheap happened,’ I said.
‘Chitra is a loudmouth,’ she responded. ‘She would have told the whole of Mylapore by now.’
‘I can understand. We have people like that in Punjabis as well. People who love to interfere in other people’s lives.’
Aunty ignored me. She went inside to keep the sweets in the fridge. She came back with a glass of water and their family dish of hard, brittle spirals that didn’t taste of anything.
I took one. My tooth hurt as I tried to bite it. I took the spiral out of my mouth and faked I had taken a bite by pretending to chew. We had an awkward minute of silence.
‘Aunty, I wnted to show you this,’ I said and opened my bag. I took out the Carnatic music CDs and gave them to her.
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‘T.S. Subramanium? Whose is it?
‘Mine.’
‘What?’
‘I’m trying to develop a taste. I’m learning , but it’s hard. There’s the swara, the raga, the shruti.’
‘You know about shruti?’
‘Only the basics. I am not an expert like you.’
She returned my CDs and gave a wry smile. ‘In Chennai I am a nobody. Even Chitra is better than me. Though people say she knows the corporator of Chennai, who asked Guruji to take her on. The corporator is in charge of the kutcheri venues, so Guruji had to oblige her. Can you imagine how shallow she is?’
‘There have ot be other gurus,’ I said.
‘I was ready for an advanced one. Anyway, I am sorry I overreacted that day.’
‘No, no, you don’t haave to spologise. I came ot apologise. And for a little request.’
‘Request? What are you requesting me? You young people do whatever you want, anyway.’
‘Nothis isn’t about Ananya and me. This is about our Citibank concert.’
Over the next half an hour I explained the upcoming event. I told her about the Fisherman’s Cove venue, the who’s who of Chennai that we expected to be present, the popular music concert for two hours divided between three singers, and that I wanted her to be one of them.
‘Me?’ she echoed, shocked.
‘Yes,’ I said.
‘I’ve never sung popular music,’ she said.
‘You have a trained voice. Switch on MTV and see the latest chartbusters.
Three Kollywood, three Bollywood. You are done.’
‘Why me?’ she asked, still bewildered.
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‘Actually, we are desperate. We need three singers and we found only two. My boss gave me the job of finding the third singer. So, my appraisal depends on you.’
‘Who are the other two singers?’
‘They are a bit known. So, the third one has to be fresh to balance things out.’
‘Who?’
‘hariharan and S.P. Balasubramanium,’ I said.
Aunty’s mouth fell open. She stood up and left the room. I followed her into the kitchen. ‘Aunty, it is no big deal. It isn’t a public concert.’
Aunty answerd by placinga frying pan on the stove and poring oil in it. Once the oil heated uo, she tossed in mustard seeds and curry leaves. A pungent smell filled the kitchen. I coughed twice.
‘See, this is what I do all day. I cook, I don’t perform. I am an amateur. I can’t even sit in front of Hariharan and S.P., let alone share the same stage.’
‘It’s fun night, not a competition. They sing after you.’
She tossed chopped onions in the pan. My eyes burned along with my throat.
“aunty, have you ever performed on stage before?’
‘No. OK, yes, a couple of times in the Tamil Sangam events where Ananya’s father was posted. But his, five-star hotel, high-society, Hariharan….You’ve got Hariharan, why do you need me?’
‘Only professionals will make it too commercial. We want to give our clients a family feel. A casual vibe will be nice,’ I said.
Aunty shook her head. I continued to convince her until she had prepared the evening dinner of tomato rasam, lemon rice and fried bhindi. I had followed the recipe and could now make rasam from scratch. However, I still didn’t have her on board.
‘Why are you doing this? I accepted you apology, didn’t i?’
‘that’s not why I am doing it.’
‘Then why?’ She covered the dishes with plates.
‘I am doing this because I think you are a good singer.’
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‘How do you know that?’
‘Because Ananya told me. She also said you’ve trained all your life. And I believe her.’
She looked at me.
‘Don’t tell me the idea doesn’t excite you. Not even a little?’ I said as we came back to the living room.
‘of course, it is a huge honour, but I can’t.’
‘Don’t say you can’t. C’mon, we will keep it a surprise. We won’t tell uncle. We won’t even tell Ananya if you want.
We sat down on the sofa. I noticed the whisky bottle, the level was the same as I had left it.
‘OK, here is the deal. You give a tentative yes now. You prepare the songs when Ananya and uncle are not at home. If on the day of the concert, you want to back out, let me know the night before and I will manage. If not, give it a shot.
Deal?’
‘I will chicken out at the end,’ she promised.
‘I’ll take the chance. Please,’ I said.
She took ten seconds, but she gave a brief nod at the end.
I sprang up the sofa in excitement. ‘Cool, your practice starts now,’ I said and picked up the remote and put on MTV.
‘What are these songs?’ she said as the screen showed two hundred South Indian dancers dancing on the Great Wall of China.
‘I’ll let you figure it out. And now, I better go to work,’ I said, ‘The Citi never sleeps, but the Citi shouldn’t bunk office, too.’
I fist-pumped as I left Ananya’s house.
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32
People close to you have the power to disturb you the most. I should have torn my father’s letter. I ended up reading it thrice.
Son,
I am omitting the ‘Dear’ as I am not sure I can address you as that anymore. I knew you are on the wrong path the day you lost respect for your father. I am sure you remember that day. You have broken all contact with me since.
I have learnt you are involved with a girl in Chennai. I don’t know the details. I can only deduce so much from your mother’s conversations with her useless relatives.
We should choose the girl for you, not you. For you are on the path to becoming a man of low character. Such are the values given to you by your mother and her siblings that you may not even know how disgraceful your actions are.
That you chose to hide your actions from me only reinforces that at some level you are ashamed of them as well.
Unfortunately,
Your father
I changed my sleeping position for the tenth time. I wanted to sleep, but felt more alert than anytime in office. Forget it, he only wants to provoke you, I said to myself again. Go to sleep, now! – I scolded myself. The funny thing about sleep is you can’t instruct it to happen. Your mind knows the facts and repeats them to you – it is late, only five hours when you have to wake up again, you need res t.
Your
mind also has a million options on what it can think about; stars in the clear moonless sky, the beautiful flowers at the Nungambakkam flower shop, the smell of incense in Ananya’s house, your best birthday party. There are positive thoughts somewhere in people’s heads all the time. But somehow, even one negative thought will crowd them out. Maybe it is an evolutionary mechanism so we can focus on the problem at hand rather than rejoice in all things wonderful.
But it makes life a bitch, as good memories have to make space for the next pain AskManiG.com
in the neck item. And what does one gain by losing sleep? I hope our genes mutate ASAP so we can evolve out of this.
Memories of that day my father referred to kept coming back. What drama is he going to do when I tell him about my marriage plans?
I thought. Go to sleep, idiot, only
four hours to wake up, my mind scolded me.
My brain refused to relax. I sprang out of the bed at two and called home.
‘Hello?’ my mother said in a sleepy voice.
‘Sorry, it is me.’
‘Krish? Everything OK?’ she sounded panicked.
‘Yes,’ I said.
‘What happened?’
‘Dad sent me a letter. I’m quite disturbed.’
‘Oh, really? What did it say?’
‘Not important. He knows about Ananya.’
‘Your friend, no? yes, so what?’
‘Mom, she is not just a friend. I want to marry her.’
‘Oh Krish, don’t start this so late at night. A girlfriend is fine, do whatever you want in Chennai. But why are you forcing her on us?’
‘I am not imposing. I am telling you about my choice of life partner,’ I said, my voice loud.
‘Stop screaming.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘If you have the guts, shout at your father.’
‘I don’t speak to him at all. You know I don’t care.’
‘Then why is that letter bothering you?’
I kept silent.
‘Hello?’ my mother said after five seconds.
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‘I’m here,’ I said, my voice soft.
‘Are you OK?’
I held back my tears as I spoke. ‘I’m lonely, mom. I don’t need this form dad.’
‘Tear the letter and throw it.’
‘I am battling Ananya’s parents here anyway. This is such a strange city, I am welcome nowhere. And now you think I am imposing on you,’ I said and couldn’t control myself. I held the phone tight and cried.
‘Stop Krish, don’t,’ my mother said.
I composed myself and used my left leg to open the fridge. I took out a bottle of water and drank it. ‘What do I do?’ I said after I regained composure.
‘Come back. Why don’t you apply for a transfer back to Delhi?’
‘I only came here six months ago.’
‘Say you have family issues. Tell them I am sick.’
‘Mom, please.’
‘Leave your job if you have to. We’ll find another one. There is a Canara Bank right across our house.’
‘Mom, I’m in Citibank. It is an MNC.’
‘Fine, we will look for a multinational. Swear on me you will ask for a transfer.
Don’t be trapped in the city with horrible black people.’
‘Mom, they are not all bad.’
‘I don’t care. Apply for a transfer or I will send a letter to your boss. I will say I am an old woman and you have to consider my plea on humanitarian grounds.’
‘Mom, swear on me you will never do anything like that,’ I said and smiled at her choice of words inspired by Indian government offices.
‘Then you do it.’
‘I will, mom. I have to finish a few things first. I am almost there,’ I said and regained my composure.
‘OK, you fine now?’ she said.
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‘Yes, I am good.’
‘Good. And don’t take any nonsense from these Madrasis, give it back to them.
They get scared fast.’
‘OK, mom.’
‘And don’t get serious about that girl.’
Already too late for that, mom, I thought. ‘Good night, mom,’ I said.
‘I love you. Good night,’ she said and hung up.
I came back to my bed and tossed the letter in the bin. I felt light after speaking to my mother and drifted off to sleep in five minutes. What would the world be without mothers?
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33
‘Bike?’ Ananya beamed when I went to pick her up on a black Yamaha RX 100.
‘Bala’s,’ I said.
Ananya sat pillion in a maroon salwar kameez, using her white dupatta to cover her head and face. She looked like a member of Veerappan’s gang.
Pondicherry is a hundred and forty kilometres away from Chennai, down the East Coast Road, or ECR, running along the Bay of Bengal. Fisherman’s Cove falls on the way, twenty kilometres outside Chennai city.
We left Ananya’s office at Anna Salai. She sat behind me and held the sidebars tight. By the time we left the city at Lattice Bridge Road, she switched from gripping the sidebars to my shoulders. We took the Old Mahabalipuram Road, which led us to ECR.
‘This is beautiful,’ I said as the sea became visible.
‘I told you.’ Ananya planted a kiss on the back of my neck.
We halted at Fisherman’s Cove where I met the catering manager briefly.
Everything seemed under control for the Citibank event. We left the resort and came on the ECR again. An hour of driving later, we passed Mahabalipuram. It had stunning rock-cut temples next to the sea.
‘Wow, these are amazing temples,’ I said as the wind swept back my hair.
The ECR ended an hour after Mahabalipuram. The roads became narrower. We passed several little towns with long names and sprawling paddy fields. At a few places, I had to stop to make way for bullock carts, village school kids and goatherds. We reached Pondicherry around noon, and my first reaction was disappointment.
‘This is it?’ I asked as I reached the main chowk in the town. It was like any other small town in India, dusty and noisy with Cola ad signs painted on uneven walls.
‘The nice part is inside, the French quarter and the Aurobindo Ashram,’
Ananya said as I negotiated a sharp bend in the road along with fifty other two-wheelers and four trucks.
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The only French I saw was an underwear billboard with the brand Frenchie.
‘Drop me here,’ Ananya said as we passed Cuddalore road, where HLL has one of its factories.
I had three hours to kill in this Malgudi town as Ananya had an extended lunch meeting. We had agreed to meet at the L’Orient hotel at four for coffee.
I drove out of the factory compound and followed the signs to the Aurobindo Ashram on Rue de la Marine. The Ashram building resembled a quiet hostel by the sea. I came to the reception. More foreigners than Indian thronged the ashram lobby.
A forty-year old Western woman in a sari and beaded necklace sat at the counter. ‘What are you looking for?’ she asked me.
Maybe, because I was in an ashram, or because the way she said it, I suspected deeper meaning in her question. I looked at her. She had blue eyes with wrinkles around them. ‘I’ve come for the first time,’ I confessed.
She gave me Ashram brochure. Another person came and bought meal tickets.
‘Can I get lunch here?’ I asked.
‘Yes, at the Ashram Dining Hall,’ she said and showed me the coupon booklet.
I bought one for myself.
‘Come, I’m going there,’ she said, walking out with me from the reception. We walked along a lane adjacent to the ashram. The dining hall was half a kilometre away. She told me her name was Diana and that she came from Finland. A former lawyer, she now found more satisfaction as a volunteer at the ashram than helping Nokia secure patents.
‘Are you a seeker or here as a tourist?’ She handed me my coupon.
‘Seeker?’
‘Yes, if you wish to seek your path. Or if you seek answers to a specific problem.’
‘Frankly, I came with a friend who had some work here. I wanted a day away from office.’
Diana laughed. We reached the dining hall and picked our stainless steel plates. We entered the eating area where everyone sat on the floor. Lunch was simple – organic brown rice, yellow daal and a carrot and peas subzi.
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‘OK, so I seek an answer. How do I get it?’
‘Well the answers are within us. People stay in the ashram for a few weeks to introspect, they attend satsang and ask questions of one of the gurus. How much time do you have?’
‘I need to meet my girlfriend for coffee in two hours. Then head back to Chennai.’
Diana smiled and shook her head. ‘That’s a pretty stiff deadline to sort out life’s unresolved answers.’
‘Maybe I shouldn’t even try then,’ I said.
‘Wait, see the gentleman there,’ she said and pointed to a seventy-year-old man in white robes who sat two rows ahead of us. ‘He is a guru. Maybe I can introduce to him.’
‘No, no, please don’t,’ I said.
‘Why not? If he is busy, he will say no.’
‘Pranam Guruji,’ Diana said and touched his feet. I followed suit and he blessed us. ‘Guruji, this is my friend. His name is,’ Diana said and paused.
‘Krish.’
‘Yes, he has only two hours. But he wanted to seek answers to some problems,’ Diana said.
‘What do you have to do in two hours?’ Guruji asked, his voice calm.
‘He has to meet his girlfriend,’ Diana said, excitedly stressing on the last word.
‘And surely, the girlfriend is more important than the problem,’ Guruji smiled.
‘Actually, she is the problem,’ I said.
Diana threw me a puzzled look.
‘Not her. But her family,’ I said. ‘It’s OK. I know it is very little time.’
‘Send him to my house in fifteen minutes,’ Guruji said and left.
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34
I hovered at the open door of Guruji’s house before walking in.
‘Come in, Krish,’ Guruji said. He sat on a day-bed in his living room. I had thought I’d be roaming around French cafés in Pondicherry. I had no idea I’d end