18 December 2012

MAN OF THE HOUSE



Lokesh calling...

Lokesh calling...

Lokesh calling...

Shiva saw 11 missed calls registered on the cracked screen of the mobile phone. A brief pause and once again-

Lokesh calling....

Rohini pleaded from underneath her blanket which she had pulled over her face, to turn off the phone. Shiva placed it on the window sill and looked at Rohini and amma who were lying down on the mat. It was almost midnight but from her visibly heavy and laboured breathing it was evident that amma was still awake. Nothing to do except stare at them and wish away the present situation. Two minutes later Shiva looked at the phone again.

17 missed calls.

****                                                                                                                                               

From the day her husband died, nobody had ever seen Gomathy motionless except she when she was in deep sleep. Idleness would force her to mourn and unless consciously avoided, grief and widowhood would consume her. The only way she could survive was to keep busy, constantly move and find things to do. It was not a difficult task when one had two children. Even in the most vulnerable, lonely moments that precede sleep, she had trained herself to worry about their future. It was a perfect escape.

Two days after her husband died, rubbishing suggestions of the family elders that she should not be seen outside the home, she resumed her duties at the Gupta mansion. The Setamma, herself a widow and matriarch of the Gupta family was more than willing to put aside her superstitious beliefs because the palatial house was falling apart and in two days dishes had piled up.

Gomathy spent the next decade working in that house with Rohini and Shiva as de facto helpers.

****

23 missed calls. 3 text messages.

i am outside of your house. waiting.

Shiva peeked through the window, and of course, there he was..leaning against his bike, smoking a cigarette.

u r wasting my time.

And...

if u dont come in 5 min deal off.

But Shiva knew that he would not leave. After all, they were both desperate albeit in very different ways and so was confident enough to text - 

Pls wait. 10 min.

And just as expected, came the reply.

ok i wait

Shiva was suddenly overcome with disgust and ran to the basin and threw up. Neither amma nor Rohini moved.

****

 “Shiva is like the man of the house now”, Rohini would hear her mother say to all and sundry who came to offer help, money, and in a couple of instances even re-marriage.  When people came to amma trying to convince her about the necessity of male companionship and protection, she would point to Shiva. True, her sibling had always been a precocious and outspoken child but as a result of their mother words, the 12 year old slowly began taking on the role of their father.

As Rohini grew older she too understood that she had an important role to play in ensuring that Shiva was able to master the role of the man of the house and altered her relationship and behaviour accordingly. So, even now as she heard  the muffled gagging sounds, she knew better than to offer help.

 ****
Gomathy's Rs.1000 would not suffice to meet the family's needs so Shiva became an apprentice at Gopal maama’s  tailoring shop and brought home Rs.1500 every month.  Gopal maama, the industrious brother of her late husband, managed to bag a contract with a big garment factory and in five years, Shiva was 18 and earning Rs.5000. Who knew something as liberating as employment would put Shiva’s fortitude to the test.

No amount of aggression seemed to suffice to protect oneself from the drudgery and humiliation on the factory floor. Constant abuse would often result in even middle aged men, twice Shiva's age breaking down. There was no reason, logic or sympathy. Just meeting targets and obedience. No, it was actually subservience, something that Shiva was not used to.

Adding to this, past illnesses that seemed trivial came back with such severity that amma was barely able to walk on most days. Discontinuing Rohini’s studies to take care of amma was not an option and so Shiva taking leave often was the only solution.  Lokesh, the factory manager preyed on desperation and ceased the opportunity. He had laid out his conditions if leave applications were to be considered favourably. For Shiva who had just begun coping with subservience, blackmail was unfathomable.

****

Gomathy had seen that vile Lokesh loitering around at the tea shop near their house, smoking and playing vulgar music loudly on his mobile phone. She had even noticed Shiva talking to him on a few occasions. It was 12.30am as  Gomathy pretended to sleep and she heard Shiva turn off the tap, walk across the room and shut the door gently, walking out of the house.

In a society that where a woman’s strength was only measured by her tolerance and acceptance of her circumstance, her beloved Shivagami would be Shiva, strong and aggressive like her late husband. As the man of the house, she would be able to make decisions and create choices serving as the rock of their family, their protector.

She saw her daughter everyday, to live up to this manufactured reality only to see it being broken little by little each day as Shivagami grew older. Tonight, she knew that that struggle had ended in defeat. She heard the bike speed away. Shivagami and Lokesh were headed towards the ARP lodge where she would fulfill  Lokesh's conditions tonight on a filthy bed in a dingy room. Gomathy turned towards Rohini and hugged her close. They lay in silence and eventually fell asleep.

****






20 October 2012

When you dont know what to write...

The best way to combat
imagined writers block
is to do something really pretentious
like stare at a ticking clock.

Then begin to write something deep
realise its deluded,
say screw the world
and feel very excluded.

Remember you have the vocabulary 
for pseudo intellectual words-
Ruminate, pontificate and complicate
the hidden meaning of your hatred of birds

Suddenly a brainwave
To be surreal and absurd.
Rhyme your dreams-
what could be more wonderfully weird.

Its Midnight in Parrys
home to the vada pau bank
where a man named god kills a monster
that mutated from a millipede in the fish tank.

Conversations with a bearded physicist
on upside down chairs
in a house with long corridors
and people who live beneath the stairs.

Trapped in a house of mirrors!
I can see the water level is rising.
Dont know if I'm inside or outside
but my teeth are falling.

A movie about a never ending river
of blood and scars.
Suddenly I am Nicholas Cage
en route to Ooty in an ambassador car.

Trapped in Cage's body
with my co-star Meryl Streep
The only escape, I'm told, is to
Slip into slumber-a hundred feet deep.

The alarm rings, time to wake up 
and bring this poem to a clever conclusion.
Its almost midnight and I need to catch the 7F to Parrys
Cant be late for Vada Pau Bank inauguration.













24 July 2012

The Nuisance on Manickam Road

He woke up with an all too familiar feeling of bitter, unbearable nausea and a headache that made him wish that his head would explode splattering what was left of his brain far and wide. It was peak summer and to say the sun was scorching would be putting it mildly. Through the sweat dripping into his eyes, he took note of the blurry sight of the feet of people ambling past him, some slowing down as they neared him and other hastening. Women would purposely step on to the road from the pavement even if it meant walking through heavy traffic to avoid him, pulling away the small children who would inevitably stop to stare. He lay there, legs and hands numb as he had passed out for hours, body bent at an awkward angle. Rajendran was the drunk who occupied the pavement every evening and on most nights outside the tasmac shop on Manickam Road.

For what seemed like an hour, he drifted in and out of consciousness, just staring at feet. People were walking to somewhere from someplace with purpose and vigour. The dirty white canvases of the children returning from St.Bedes primary school with mothers who wore worn our sandals barely protecting grotesquely cracked, over worked feet. Expensive looking sports shoes of the young men returning to the nearby basketball stadium after a smoke break at the petti shop. Shiny leather shoes of engineers and architects getting out of cars to inspect the construction site and not far behind, the worn out rubber chappals of Oriya construction workers who followed them. The Manickam Road that he knew and loved had changed so much over the last decade and he felt like an alien in a place that he once considered his world.

Rajendran’s parents were natives of Kambapuram, a village in Thirunavallur district, who came to the city soon after marriage. He had never been to Kambapuram, but thanks to their endless recounting of stories of simpler times, they had etched into him a fairly accurate picture of the village, their house and the life they lived. As much as it was nice to see his parents find peace in their nostalgia, he never saw the romance in idyllic rural life and would always be thankful that despite the dirt, filth and the difficult times, he was a resident of Ambedkarpuram in the heart of the city with Manickam Road only a stone’s throw away. His love for the city grew during his teenage years as he and his friends would spend hours on Manickam road. The large playground was the venue of many a life- and-death cricket matches during the day and secret trysts with girlfriends after dark. Two cinema theatres, small eateries and enough entertainment kept everyone happy during those days.

As he lay on the pavement, he heard the elderly couple who had walked out of the erstwhile Nadar kadai, now an air-conditioned supermarket, talk about how people like should be rounded up and thrown in jail. They waited for their driver to find a parking spot and to pick up their grocery bags. The husband, a retired IAS officer explained to his wife with great authority about everything that was wrong with the country. "Will we find drunk people like this in The States? All lumpen elements of some corrupt party, probably a criminal, a drug addict. A drain on the country's resources and the sole deterrent to the countrys progress.." Most people saw Rajendran as the generic drunkard. A wife-beating, good-for-nothing, lazy, irresponsible, potentially dangerous criminal.

At some point he must have vomited a little because suddenly a dog was licking his face and the man from the tasmac was shooing it away. It was surprising that he cared enough to come out from behind the counter despite the huge crowd of customers shoving and shouting. Meanwhile, he saw that the couple were still grumpily waiting for their driver complaining about the heat. "Another reason why this country will not progress.. Does it ever get so hot in The States?" The driver ran towards them murmuring apologies as he picked up large bags with colourful cartons and tetra packs of god knows what. As he put them in the trunk he looked at Rajendran with hint of guilt and pity in his eyes. Just a hint, mind you and turned away. Time usually mitigates the intensity of the most powerful emotions but Rajendran would always wonder why this was true for everyone but himself. If only it were that easy.

Ravi, the driver, was a dear friend. He was Rajendran's neighbour and classmate all through primary school till the 12th standard - his companion, partner in crime, protector and confidant. They both studied in St.Bede's Charity school which was in the same compound as the St Bede's High School for the rich kids who paid a much higher fee. Ravi's parents were killed in a bus accident when he was young and although his grandmother took care of him, he spent most of his time in Rajendran's house. He disliked his grandmother and her rigid ways, always fighting and quarrelling with her. Studying in the same compound with boys from middle class families made both very aware of their circumstances at an early age. Even now Rajendran had vague recollections of elaborate plans hatched to earn enough money to buy a maruti car, drive along the Marina beach, loud music playing to impress all the girls on Manickam Road and going to Royapuram to bash up Gangadhar, the loan shark who was constantly troubling their families.

Rajendran was not one of those rebellious, irresponsible teenagers. He was always amazed by his parents’ resilience. Life as construction workers in the city was not easy but they would never make their sacrifices apparent to him or shove their poverty and hardship down his throat. And it was this realisation that made him love them even more. All he wanted to do was pass his 12th standard and join a polytechnic. Any reasonably paying job would have sufficed as he only wanted a comfortable, debt free life for his family. A two bedroom flat with 24 hours water supply, a TV and big windows was the description of his dream home. Ravi on the other hand was completely indifferent to life and to his future. It was probably because he felt no attachment to anyone since his parents had died.

Whenever Rajendran would try to help Ravi find a job, he would constantly refuse saying he wanted to be his own boss. When they were 21 or maybe 22, Ravi was deep in debt after failed business partnerships with dubious characters. Rajendran on the other hand finished his course at the polytechnic and found a job at the mobile phone service center.On returning home one evening, Rajendran found Ravi severely bruised and bleeding. He had been beaten by Gangadhar's men for not paying up his debt. As Rajendran ran toward him, he completely broke down sobbing, wishing they had killed him. Despite his tough exterior could not live in constant fear and was now desperate to make a change.

Together they were able to raise the money to pay off the debt and Ravi was taken in by Rajendran's family. Ravi's grandmother fell ill after she witnessed the beating he had received and passed away a week later. When the new indoor stadium was built on the playgound on Manickam Road, both were sad that they had lost such an important part of their childhood. But Rajendran was able to find Ravi a job as security guard at the stadium. Ravi had a tough time adjusting to his job and would often complain to Rajendran and his parents about the arrogance of the rich boys who came for coaching classes there.

One night, Ravi and Rajendran woke up to loud banging on the door. Three men with cricket bats and hockey sticks barged in ransacking the house, breaking everything in sight. Ravi and Rajendran were dragged outside and kicked mercilessly until they lost consciousness. Neighbours stood speechless too afraid to react until the gang sped away on their bikes. Both were injured severely and bleeding. The neighbours rushed toward them, helping them get to their feet. One of the women who had gone into the house came out screaming hysterically. Rajendran's parents were dead.

That was 10 years ago and time had not mitigated the pain. The sorrow and the pain were indelible as he relived the moment he saw his dead parents every day since the incident. Police said that they could not find the culprits but everyone knew that they were boys from the stadium with whom Ravi had picked a fight. They were sons of important, rich men who would go scot-free and Rajendran had no will to fight. He shut himself in his house for days together after being discharged from the hospital, stepping out occasionally for tea.

 Ravi had fled soon after the incident to his cousin's village, unable to find the courage to face his friend. He came back after a month to find his Rajendran emaciated and in a horrid state. On seeing Ravi, Rajendran felt a surge of anger, screamed and flung his fists at him. Beating him, slapping him, taking out all that suppressed anger and blaming him for ending his life. Ravi stayed still, taking the beatings, hoping in vain that it would rid him of the guilt. When Rajendran fell on the floor sobbing and exhausted, he told Ravi that if he laid eyes on him again, he would kill him. Ravi placed in front of him a small parcel with rice, a bottle of liquor and some money and left never to be heard from again.

That was the beginning of the end for Rajendran. It all started that night with that bottle of brandy which Ravi thought would help calm him down. But Rajendran wasted away in the years to come,  making sure that he stayed drunk most of the time and sober long enough only to go to relatives and beg for money on some pretext or the other. He would go to the tasmac three times a day and drink, not speaking to anyone and would on most days eventually pass out on the platform all night until he became conscious next morning. This had been his routine for years.

The sun was burning his skin now, so Rajendran stumbled to his feet. But just as he steadied himself, two policemen on the bike stopped him, shoving him so violently that he felt back to the ground. He heard the TASMAC shop owner feebly tell them that he was a harmless drunk but the police dragged him into a van and took him to the police station. He sat in the corner barely able to keep his eyes open as the policemen were busy filling out paperwork, stopping occasionally to curse him. He passed out again and the constable woke him, nudging his shoulder with a lathhi. He was given some sheets of paper to sign and as he tried to stay on his feet two policemen held him. He managed a scribble when suddenly something caught his eye. It was a letter of complaint on crisp white stationary signed by a retired IAS officer. 

Even in his inebriated conition, Rajendran knew that he could not be put in jail for merely being a drunk and passing out on the pavement. He protested, telling the police officers that he had done nothing wrong. One of the constables slapped him and said that they had witnesses to say that he was being troublesome and threatening to assault anyone who asked him to move. Just as he was being forced to sign more papers to his absolute shock, he saw Ravi in the other room being reassured by the inspector that the matter was taken care of and to thank his boss for his good deeds. The retired IAS officer had decided to be a 'good samaritan' and rid Manickam road of this nuisance. 

Rajendran spent a week in jail where he suffered horrible withdrawal symptoms, he would wake up other prisoners screaming in pain, body trembling and then collapse again. Thankfully, a relative had come to know about his arrest, spoke to the police and bailed him out. Rajendran thanked him and ran straight to the liquor shop, begging for a bottle. But his pockets were empty, he had no money. Sobbing, he began begging and pleading passersby for money and eventually gave up and went home. He sat on the bed crying for hours feeling utterly and hopelessly alone. As he looked around the room only the image of his parents lying in a pool of blood came to his mind. He ran towards the small kitchen and found a knife, ready to slit his wrists. He wished to suffer no longer.

Just then, the door slammed open. It was Ravi, standing there in his white-and-white uniform. He grabbed the knife from Rajendran and put it away. He pulled a small wooden stool and gently sat him down and handed him a glass of water. "I am sorry Rajendran", he said handing him a large bottle of brandy and an envelope with Rs.5000 and walked out, closing the door behind him. 





25 June 2012

The Mountain and The Valley


The Valley


The girl from the valley-
The Valley of Laws
Bathed daily in the river-
The River of Flaws


Humming and whistling,
She was a peculiar recluse
Staring at The Mountain of Symphony
for it was her muse.



The Mountain was far away.
But in its beauty lay promise
Of a place filled with happiness
And all its people free from malice.

One must not forget that this wretched valley
Had its name for a deliberate reason.
For anyone who attempted to escape
Would be punished by The Rulers for treason.


Fearlessly, she plotted day and night
a seemingly impossible escape.
As she looked at that elusive Mountain
and its musical landscape.


The River was the only way out
But no one but her dared go near.
For the Rulers had led the subjects to believe
That the River was the devil's tear.


The Devil was most feared and hated.
The Rulers put up pictures of him
And told all the subjects he lived in the Mountain
He was none other than late Morrison, Jim



Soon the girl inevitably became
The object of the Valley's scorn
And the Rulers threatened punishment
"You'll wish you were never born"

The girl could take it no more
She was firm in her resolve.
One night she jumped in the River
And felt her sorrow dissolve.


The Mountain


She swam for what seemed like miles
And finally reached her destination.
Where the Mountain's hippie citizens gathered
To welcome her with grand celebration.


The girl was over joyed! 
No words could describe her relief,
That the Mountain's hippie citizens
Shared none of the Rulers beliefs.


She watched them sing and dance
Recite poetry and prose.
They would love and hug each other
The Mountian was free from woes.


But as days went by the girl became weary
That the citizens were talented beyond measure.
They spent all their hours honing their craft
Known the world over as the Providers-of-Pleasure


The PoP were renowned and respected
They traveled the world to teach art.
Admitting only artists of the highest standard
The girl was told she needed to be a class apart.


It seemed impossible that this poor girl
From the wretched Valley of Laws
Would have the ability or skill or talent
To win the PoP's applause.


Nevertheless,she put her hopelessness at bay
And all day she practiced her singing. 
At night would dream of her travels
And the the pleasure she would be dispensing,


The citizens gathered for the PoP's audtitions
It was a grand affair.
The Girl from the Valley took the stage
And stood terrified under the spotlights glare


She suddenly gurgled a horrid harmony
Choking, she spat out the blues.
Weeping, she whined her tragic symphony
Fell down and blew a fuse.


And when the lights came on
The Citizens said
They found her lying on stage.
No breath-no life: She was dead.


Thus ended the life of The Girl from the Valley
She was buried in the Mountain.
As the hippie citizens got high and softly sang 
The End by Jim Morrison.