Hello! I wanted to begin the guest post series with my father's post, and I had to hold a couple of posts I have already received from my friends. Our house is a messy place. It is so messy that we have an exclusive "looking-for-lost-things" time twice every day (once pre-breakfast, and once again post-dinner). On certain days, when what we are looking for is not extremely urgent, we stop to contemplate about our house, and we realize that there are too many books (along with too many every other thing). Not all these books are my appa's, but a lot of them are. He never restricts us from buying more books, and we generously pile on books we have no intention of reading. I believe there are books of all possible genres lying around. I have read only 10% of all these books, and I don't expect to read all of them at all. It is thanks to my father that the habbit of reading was inculcated into me, and it is thanks to him that I started writing. Among all heaps of books scattered around, I have seen a series of books on Journalism. There is no doubt that my father has had ambitions to write, so he didn't need much convincing. I asked him to write something about certain incidents from his childhood, but he was reluctant as they were too personal. When I insisted, he mixed in some fiction, and made it into a short story. Good luck trying to spot which is real and which is fiction.
The Volvo bus was stuck in a
traffic pile up between Jaipur and Delhi
for more than half an hour. “This has
become a frequent occurrence on this road.
Road widening on this stretch is going on for more than six years. Nobody knows when it will be finished”, the young man sitting beside him was telling him in Hindi. Kumar checked his watch. He was
doubtful about catching his flight to Chennai.
He asked the young man whether Airport
Metro Services had been resumed. “I believe it has” was the bored reply he got. The young man’s attention
was now turned to his smart phone.
Kumar’s
trip to Jaipur had been in
connection with an eight year old case in which he had been summoned as a
witness. It was only because of his alertness
that the forgery was found out and the payment on the cheque was stopped at the
last moment. He had been to Jaipur for
the fourth time in that year. He had expected it to be over this trip. But there was no hearing as the lawyers were on strike. A long drawn Judicial process was turning into
a chase of an elusive mirage. In a
country in which the wheels of justice did not even seem to move, lawyers by
going on strike put their spokes in that wheel. Perhaps they had more faith in Trade Unionism
than their advocacy skills.
There had been a time when he enjoyed travel
by road and the thrills of it. But now
it was getting on his nerves evidencing the fact that he was getting old. The
luxury of travel by Volvo AC Bus was lost due to the intermittent hold ups of
traffic. Kumar pitied those drivers who had to drive
in such conditions. He got down from the
bus and could see Aravalli range, a
broken and irregular line of hills. Ahead of and the behind the Volvo
stretched a long line of containers, trucks, and cars. The traffic jam was due to a vehicle struck
on the lane due to punctured tyres. Someone was spreading the good news that it
had been removed. After ten minutes, slow movement of vehicles ahead could be observed. He got back into the bus and settled into his
seat as the bus started moving. The bus
had to crawl and fight for space with
other vehicles to come out of the diverted lane to merge into the wide
highway. He hoped that he would be in
Delhi in another 2 hours.
But, it took more than two hours. After
reaching Gurgaon the bus had to crawl in the maddening City traffic. It was
humid and hot when he got down at Daual Kuan and took the foot over bridge to
reach the Metro Station. The silence of the Metro Station was a
striking contrast to the noise of traffic outside. Unlike the main metro services, these services
seemed to be patronized less. The near
empty metro train, traversing on the track above the road by which he reached Delhi, gradually descended from over head level to
ground level and plunged into the darkness of a tunnel. It was
a long walk from the Metro station to the Terminal. When he reached the gate for his flight after
completing the formalities, he felt that there was enough time for the boarding.
He settled in a chair to watch the
news in Television channels. Jammu &
Kashmir had been hit by the worst ever disaster of the century. Cameras captured Srinagar floating in water, cut off villages, half washed bridges, collapsed houses and the irreplaceable
tragedy of those who lost their kith and kin. The revenge of the nature for the stupidity of human tendency to destroy
the ecosystem was of horrible proportions. The visuals stirred memories deep buried inside him.
The boarding for
the Indian Airlines flight to Chennai had started. He would be having some
rest in the flight. His awful mood after
a futile and frustrating day was persisting. As people formed the queue for boarding, he
almost lost his temper when the person standing behind him in the queue literally shoved him to draw the attention of the tall handsome person with a prominent nose
standing before him.
“Ram what a surprise! How are you?”
He glared and stepped aside to
allow him to
join his friend. They started talking
animatedly in Tamil. Another Ramesh and
Sureshwithout chocolates in
their hands, he thought bitterly. Then he
saw the person who was addressed as Ram and remembered that he had seen before
him at the ticket counter. He had left
his Identity card in the counter and Kumar had to call
him back to collect it. From the Yellow ID card he could gather that Ram was a Central Govt. Officer. He looked younger and more handsome than his
friend.
The movement in the plane was slow
as usual. At row no 23, he observed with vexation that the Govt. Officer who
was addressed as Ram was comfortably settled in the seat allotted to Kumar next
to his long lost friend. As Kumar
stopped to confirm his seat number from the boarding pass, Ram asked him, “will you mind shifting to 23 A?” Kumar was happy to get the window seat and he
nodded as if he was really doing a favour to them. He settled into his seat. Tomorrow, by this time, he would be in
Trichy. Beside him, the friends settled and continued
their conversation.
“Are you from Chennai?” Ram asked him in English.
“No. I am from Trichy”.
Kumar replied in English hinting in a tone
that he did not want to prolong the conversation. He did not have the patience to tell him
after a long life like a vagabond he
intended to settle down in Trichy. He could not tell him about all the places
traversed in his journey of life. Ram
turned to his friend and continued the interrupted conversation.
“Ishwar, what were you asking? Yeah, I am going on official business. It is a Court case. So you have finally settled in Chennai”
“Once I would have shuddered at
settling down in Chennai. Now I got used
to its madness.”
“How is Aparna? I heard your son-in-law is having a roaring
practice.”
“But Aparna is complaining that he hardly has time for her
and the child. Is Karthick still in Detroit? It is more than five years since we met in
the airport when you were seeing him off.”
“No,
Ishwar. He is in San Francisco. You know Detroit is a sinking city. I came back from San Francisco only last
month. I was there for three months. Vanaja is still there”
Kumar was really exasperated. If his son had been in Philadelphia or
Chicago, instead of Madurai, he could also boast like them. Considering the situation of the country there
was no wonder everyone wanted to escape
to some El Dorado. These
two would incessantly be talking till the
plane landed. No, his irritability should stop. It was unfair of him to grudge the success of
others. He had to get some sleep and
should not mind this. But it was
difficult to ignore the conversation that happened at such close quarters. It
seemed they were friends from childhood. Maybe from some village from Thanjavur District. Cauvery river flowed in their Tamil. To have such school-day friends and to meet
them in a faraway airport talking about distant foreign countries is another
blessing denied to him. How happy he
would have been for such pleasant encounters.
He had over the years lost contact with
his school and even college mates. His
father was in a transferable job moving once every two or three years. When he got employment, his job too happened
to be one which necessitated frequent movements. A succession of places, faces , events and impressions got super imposed in
his memory obliterating those of earlier years. In his position of carpet beggary
and with his reserved attitude, it took considerable time for him to break into an
entrenched group of students and
by the time he struck some friendship, his father got transferred to some other
place.
Suseela had on many occasions
chances of meeting her school or college friends in train journeys. “You are sullen and reserved. That is why you
do not have friends”, she used to
comment mockingly quite unappreciative of the fact that her entire schooling
and college studies happened in a single place. He had been like a wanderer hopping from place to place. There was a probability that somebody he met
somewhere in his school or college days might be in this very Plane. It could be even Ram. But when he replied to Ram curtly he closed
the opportunity of even knowing that. His assumption that Ram and his friend were from Thanjavur District
might be wrong. He was too tired for even petty
conversations. Explaining that he was traveling as a CBI witness would require him to offer more explanations, as if he was a criminal. It is
a system where criminals enjoyed more rights and powers than witnesses. He was feeling like a brooding character in
an old Russian novel. Was he slipping
into insanity?
The catering van and the cargo
carts moved off and the plane was
ready for take off. He dialed Suseela to tell her that he had boarded the plane. Outside, a haze of dust hung over
the big runway. The plane started moving
slowly, turned, and stopped, waiting for further
instructions from air traffic controller. A big jet approached from the
east, landed and thundered past the waiting plane. Now the plane moved again, turned slowly, gained speed and roared off into the sky. He shut his eyes. When he opened thrm, spread under him
were the luminous lights of Gurgaon and the lights of hundreds of vehicles
flowing into and out of Delhi. The flight
was gaining height and speed.
Kumar tried to recall his friends of
school days. But it had been nearly forty years and he rarely revisited the places of his school
days. Once he had been to Bhavani, a town near Erode, but it was a very short visit to the
Sangameswara Temple. He had stood at
Mukkudal to watch with sadness the lean strip of Cauvery and the barren Bhavani. That was before his marriage with
Suseela. Friendship could be renewed
only by being in constant touch. Of late
he had started pruning his acquaintances
and kept minimum relationships. In a way, he had become a recluse by choice
and he had no regrets about it.
Strangely, today he had been recalling his Bhavani School
days as he was watching the visual images
of floods in Kashmir in Television channels. Long buried memories of an unprecedented flood
in Bhavani which wrought havoc on the town sprang back.
Amidst the memories of the loss of the limited household goods of his impoverished family, there lingered the happy memory of curtailed
school hours which was an outcome of that devastating floods which washed away two blocks of school. There was a let up of the incessant
chattering of his neighbours when meals were served. After the meals, he gradually drifted into sleep. From a height of thirty six thousand feet he plunged into the depths of a dream.
He along with his School friend Ravindran
was standing in Mukkudal, where Bhavani,
a rain fed river merged into the
perennial river Cauvery. Usually Cauvery
was in full flow and the Bhavani a
lean strip of water. But, on this day Bhavani was in spate overflowing
the banks meeting the waters of the Cauvery with an unknown ferociousness and
rising palm tree high. It was a terrific sight inspiring awe and
dread. All the people from the town were
there watching it spell bound. In the
crowd, he had lost Ravindran. He shouted
for him but could not find him. Now he was hungry and turned to go to home. But he had lost his way and suddenly found himself in the
Jaipuir CBI Court. A lanky lawyer showing his back to him was arguing the
matter.
“Your Honour, in spite of repeated
summons, the witness is not appearing before the Court to depose. He should therefore be punished for Contempt of Court”.
As the
lawyer turned he recognized that it was Ram, his next seat passenger in the plane. The stern and forlorn looking Judge ordered for
Kumar’s arrest. Four tall Police Constables, towering over
him by a head’s height, came to arrest him.
He wanted to shout “this is
really unjust. I am only a witness. It was only due to my alertness..........” But the
words were caught in his throat.
He had started running but he
could not find his way and strangely found himself in IX
C class room. Ponnusamy Sir was taking
Maths class while a roar of water was heard outside. A School
peon came to inform that the classes were to be closed. But Ponnusamy Sir who always had been very strict about attendance shouted at
him. As he was shouting the class room
was being flooded. Ponnusamy Sir had to
relent and order the students to rush out. Students rushed out of the class. Now they were surrounded by water
and Kumar found himself alone. Somebody
pushed him into the water. As he was
carried by the rushing water, no one was there to rescue him and he was
swept away in the floods. He could not
help swallowing water. He was feeling an unbearable pain and weight
in his lungs and was unable to breathe. He was drowning. In the rushing water over his head he could hear the
quiz master’s question.
“On which National Highway is
Bhavani Town situated?”
Mocking voice of a girl - “Rama, you do not know the answer for this simple
question”. Here he was drowning and
dying but nobody cared. He made efforts
to shout but nobody heard or saw him. At a distance, somebody was shouting. Suddenly pain shot from his head as somebody
violently pulled him up by holding his hair. A long silence followed which was
shattered by the words.
“It was the year of the great
flood”.
Kumar woke up startled and was
breathing with difficulty. It was Ram
who had been speaking. He was in the Plane from Delhi to Chennai. He had been thinking about his days in Bhavani before he went into sleep and had a dream. He had a sudden urge to use the restroom.
He got up and went to the rest room. As he washed his age worn face,
he was still confused about the dream. The
words of Ram was not a part of the
dream and their discussion was about a
great flood.
It was because of his fevered
imagination triggered due to the repeated
visuals of flood devastation in Jammu
and Kashmir. In the dream, the events of real life merged
into his fears and apprehensions he was undergoing on that day. On the day of
the flood, he had been watching the fury of the flood with Ravindran. But his near drowning was not on the day of the flood. That was one month before the floods. Now he tried to remember the
mocking voice of the girl. Then he recalled some long forgotten events during his school
days with distinct clarity.
They had been staying in the first floor of the house as tenants. The
ground floor was occupied by the house
owner. The daughter of the house owner had tried to draw him out of his shell many times. She ultimately succeeded in drawing to a conversation two days after the
day of the quiz competition. He had been
returning from the school and she stopped him before the entrance of the
house. She was congratulating him on his winning the first prize when Ramakrishnan crossed them in his bicycle. He stopped his bicycle and started coming to
them. Kumar could feel the antagonism in his
eyes. She did not speak to him but her eyes were mocking Ramakrishnan. He stopped
for a few seconds and glared at them for
few seconds without saying anything. Then he got back into his bicycle and sped away. At that time Kumar did not know Ramakrishnan was
related to that girl.
One week after that event, Kumar
along with his parents went to the house of Ramakrishnan. They had been
there to thank Ramakrishnan who rescued
a drowning Kumar. It was a huge house having a big Central Hall with four rooms on the four corners. His father was in conversation with
Ramakrishnan’s father. His mother could easily chat with Ramakrishan’s mother as if they had known each other for a long time. He was
standing in a corner with Ramakrishnan; lost for words and awkwardly shaking hands with him. “He is very
shy”, his mother was telling
Ramakrishan’s mother who was busy giving coffee to the guests. Ramakrishnan, who had saved him from death and could have been
a friend, but never really became a friend - a
face erased from his memory by time and distance. If he
met Ramakrishnan now, it was
doubtful whether he could recognise him. How ungrateful he had been.
He returned to his seat. The conversation was still continuing. He closed his eyes and started reminiscing about the flood. It was rumoured that the flood
was due to a breach of canal brimming with rain waters. The breach was caused by villagers upstream Bhavani who feared that their village would
be inundated The town was cut off for
two days. When the waters receded taking
away two blocks of the school, sediments
of the flood were left with an awful smell in
every article in the house. Along with stories
to be told and retold of the great
flood.
One of the haunting memories was the
washing away of a house. They had been
watching from the first floor of his house the increasing levels of water. The newly constructed unoccupied house was obstructing the full flow
of Bhavani which had entered the town and was draining through various channels
into Cauvery. The force of the water splintered the house
into two. One part of it fell and after a lag of few seconds
another part fell and was washed away.
His recollections were sharply
intruded by the conversation between
Ishwar and Ram.
“We have decided to sell the house.
His business had run into losses. You know, they have their own ideas of
business and do not change. I had to convince
him to come and settle at
Chennai. That is why I had to
come to Delhi -- for getting the consent of my uncle for the sale of the house”.
“It is really a big house. I remember during your sister’s marriage, the
house could accommodate the entire marriage crowd. Oh! How I wish to visit Bhavani once. Maybe this November when the Cauvery is in full flow, I should make a visit. In that great flood of our school days, your house accommodated many
of the people from inundated houses.”
Kumar was startled on hearing
this. They were talking about Bhavani. Or was it the dream that was continuing? It is
inconceivable on a flight miles away and
after nearly forty two years three
people were dreaming about the same event. Either he was in their dream or they were in his
dream. Or else they were also in a film directed by
Shankar based on Film Inception. But it seemed too real to be a dream. Why, this Ram could be Ramakrishnan! And
he was saying that Vanaja was in
USA. Now he remembered the name of the
girl with mocking eyes - it was Vanaja.
“But
Ram your house was bigger. What a time we had there! I still remember the hide
and seek games we played in that house. Oh that big Central hall! Pity
your father had to sell it long back. Last time when I saw the house, demolition work had started. Yes, we
will visit Bhavani and see all those places where we played and fought. At one time you were a hero of the town when
you rescued one boy from drowning. How
you were feted and treated for that heroism. This
was in spite of your disliking for that boy because he got the first prize in
the School quiz contest. A very sullen and shy boy who had few friends. He just vanished away. "
“Ishwar, I was never a hero. With a
detached sense of seeing things from a distance I realize how childish I had been in many of my actions. My reaction on loss of first prize was
churlish. But there were times, I was afraid I would
lose something more. .........”
Ram, Rama, Ramakrishnan. He was sure that this was the same
Ramakrishnan - his saviour. There was an untold part of the
story of that day which was known only to two people. He was feeling a breathlessness as he visualized that day of his near drowning. The drama
of that day played once again in his mind.
He was
watching the silent flow of Cauvery from the bottom most step of the banks. There was no one else. Suddenly
he heard steps behind him. Before he
could turn somebody pushed him into the water. As he fell and struggled into the water he thought he saw a lanky
handsome boy with a prominent nose standing on the steps of the desolate bank. The initial exultation in Ramakrishan’s eyes now gave way to a panic as the implication of his act dawned on him.
It was forty two years since that
day and on that big Central Hall. Other than “Thank you”, Kumar had not found any words to utter. He and Ramakrishnan had been standing there apprising each other like
two adversaries in an arena. Kumar couldn't imagine why the loss of the
first prize could mean so much. Now, on
a plane from Delhi to Chennai the answer
to a question which was elusive to him for all these years became apparent to
him. It was not the prize. How blind he had been.
And it
did not matter. So much water had flowed down the Cauvery since.
The plane was slowly descending. There was an announcement about the landing at Chennai in a few minutes. He saw below the lights of Chennai emerging slowly out of the infinite darkness of
the sea and night.
“I do not even remember his full
name. It is some Kumar.....” Ram was muttering.
“Ram, I think it is Krishna Kumar. No.
But it started with a K”
“Kesava Kumar”.
Shocked childhood friends turned to face the silent passenger at seat No. 23 A offering his
hands to Ramakrishnan.
Lights started dimming and the
landing begun.
