A tamil month, p.24
A Tamil Month, page 24
KONGU NADU
Nanban, Kari and Valiban drove one last time in Nanban’s car. They parked at the roadside and walked up the stairs to a new eatery. They sat in a secluded corner and stared at the menu.
‘I had to drag him here,’ said Kari, pointing at Valiban. ‘He hates your guts.’
‘Brain fry?’ asked Valiban, ignoring the introduction. He did not look Nanban in the eye.
‘No, I cannot eat brain,’ said Nanban. ‘You know why.’
‘Chicken legs?’ asked Kari, rolling up his sleeves.
‘You go ahead,’ Nanban said. ‘I am done with plump thighs. They look manufactured.’
The other two looked puzzled.
‘Quail?’ asked Valiban. ‘It is a small bird, totally natural.’
‘No, not for me,’ Nanban said. He rustled through the menu and pointed to the vegetarian section.
They waited for the stuff to arrive. Things were downbeat thanks to Nanban’s mood. It turned out to be an awful meal. They left the place, walked silently down the stairs, sat in the car and held their stomachs. It was too late to go anywhere else. They parked near Elliots Beach, rolled down the glass windows and felt the city’s sweaty embrace. A cop car sidled up, a cop leaned out and he stared at each of them. They waited for his attention to wane. Finally, he moved on.
‘Kari visited Veerappan,’ said Valiban.
Nanban looked towards Kari who could barely hide his triumphant air.
‘Within half an hour of my being there, Veerappan began to move around,’ said Karivardan. ‘He tried to break his straps and pull out each tube and they had to hold him down and remove all the tubes. He sat up and within minutes he was on the phone.’
‘You should have seen it,’ said Valiban. ‘It was like a miracle. It was like he had woken up from sleep.’
‘And?’
Valiban stayed silent. ‘Tell him,’ said Kari.
‘He asked for you,’ said Valiban. His insides had churned when the first thing the Gounder leader asked was, ‘Where is Nanban? Why hasn’t he come with you?’
‘I was there yesterday,’ said Nanban. ‘Sorry, I should have told you. I met up with the doctor as usual and he told me the unpredictable had happened. “Your leader has started moving,” he said. We went in and he asked me to speak to him. He came to life.’
Nanban would never forget the moment. He realised how much he had grown to like Veerappan Gounder.
His first sentences were in Tamil. ‘Where am I? What has happened to me?’
The medical team brought him abreast gently, showing him his room, his tubes and explained to him his medical condition. ‘What brought me here?’ He was woozy. You are fine, they kept telling him, repeatedly. The family came in. There was a spontaneous outpouring of joy. It was as if the head of the family had taken birth again. Nanban sensed the heartfelt relief, tempered by the unasked question, ‘Can we assume he will wake up after he sleeps next?’ Veera tended to drop off even while speaking.
Nanban left the room for a while. He met him again in the afternoon, alone. ‘Why don’t you sit down,’ said Veera. Nanban could not. ‘You look awkward,’ said Veera. ‘I have never seen you look awkward.’
Nanban apologised. Veera brushed it aside. ‘Not your fault,’ he said. ‘I haven’t heard all the details but why should you apologise?’
Nanban briefed him on what had happened. He wanted to cry off his assignment. ‘You don’t need me anymore,’ he said.
‘Let me decide,’ said Veera.
They promised to meet again after 2–3 days. Veera looked tired. He asked for a calendar. He wanted a day-wise summary of all that had happened.
‘Finally, he was so tired they had to put him to sleep for the night,’ Nanban told the other two. ‘He wouldn’t sleep because he was nervous about waking up. He had lost faith in the simple instinct that we all have; we just wake up.’
‘He is a true veeran,’ said Kari.
An uneasy quiet followed. The two youngsters seemed impatient and restless and Nanban could sense an undercurrent.
‘Sir,’ said Valiban, looking awkward and sounding strange. ‘Kari wants us to part as friends. I have a problem with that.’
‘Dai minor,’ said Kari. He placed a hand on Valiban’s shoulder but the latter brushed it off.
‘Don’t touch me,’ he said. He got up abruptly, breathing hard.
‘You want to say something more?’ asked Nanban.
‘You don’t know what I am capable of,’ shouted Valiban.
‘I don’t,’ said Nanban. He looked unperturbed. ‘But I know what I can do to you.’
Kari held Valiban by the shoulders and forced him to sit down. He sat next to him. ‘What is wrong with you?’ he said.
Valiban sat, coiled, his muscles tense.
‘He wants to be an ugrawadi,’ said Nanban. ‘This hothead wants to take on everybody, including me.’
‘First, I need to teach a cop a lesson,’ said Valiban, through clenched teeth. He had imagined Murthy’s death at his own hands. He had imagined a trail of revenge that included his mentor. There were waves of rage that consumed him at odd hours and they left him sweating. ‘Sir, I cannot help it. One day I might come after you.’
‘Why give me time?’ said Nanban.
Nanban looked thoughtful. He tapped his fingers on the table as if arriving at a decision.
‘There is only one way to resolve this,’ he said. He looked at Valiban and Kari. He had discussed this with them before as a solution for disputes that were intractable. The water would decide.
‘Shall we?’
The three left for Elliots Beach. It was deserted and they removed their footwear and walked, their feet throwing up sand behind them. The wind picked up as they approached the shoreline. They stood abreast at the water’s edge. They looked at each other through windswept hair; each was ready.
Valiban spoke first. ‘Eye to eye and head to head,’ he shouted, ‘this shall end when one is dead.’
Nanban smiled, happy the protégé was well-read. He spread his arms wide as if he wished to take wing. ‘Turn for turn and twist for twist,’ he shouted, ‘hah, the hooded Death shall miss.’
They walked into the water. There was no turning back now until one had succumbed. It was high tide and the unruly sea came at them; crashing waves, swirling foam and, at every retreat, the deadly undercurrent. The earth sank and sloped, the sea rose. Nobody missed a step; none looked back. The force surprised them and they were thrown off their feet. But they recovered, splashing wildly, stood again, laughed, shouted at each other and continued forward, answering the call of the wild. By now it was perilous and the sound was deafening. The salty water stung their eyes, the current began to pull at their feet. Nanban was the first to cough, the first to splutter and the first to bob around before he began to sink. He was losing the battle, visibly. Valiban was swimming expertly away from the shore, fording each wave. Kari was still standing, his nose barely above the water. He began swimming as well, his powerful shoulders holding him in place.
‘Don’t,’ shouted Valiban.
Kari wouldn’t listen. He swam up to Nanban, bent a hand around his neck, held him up and swam ashore. They laid him on the ground and pumped his chest. After a while, he coughed and retched. He was incoherent and couldn’t see very clearly.
They took him home where Sharada opened the door. Her eyes widened in disbelief and fear. They sat him on a sofa where he collapsed, his head falling onto his chest, his eyes climbing their sockets. ‘Is he drunk?’ she asked. ‘Why are his clothes wet?’ They thought they would spin a story but looking at her, they could not.
‘Are all of you mad?’ she shouted. ‘Just look at him.’
‘He cannot swim,’ she said. ‘I hope you know that.’
The two youngsters left abruptly without saying anything. Sharada led Nanban to his room, removed his wet clothes, wiped him with a towel and laid him down on the bed. She sat next to him while he slept most of the next twenty-four hours. She kept staring at him. There were questions. She held Nanban’s hands in her own and ran her fingers over the cuts on his wrists. There was one big question mark.
When Nanban awoke, he had no recollection of what had happened. Was he pretending? ‘Was I drunk?’ he asked. ‘I must have been.’ He had a long bath revelling in the hot water from the overhead tank. He emerged refreshed; his face red, his eyes bright, for all purposes a new man. ‘I am so hungry,’ he said. He ate a whole meal, stood up, stretched his hands wide and burped.
‘Sorry,’ he said.
He walked down to a gent’s parlour, a swish outfit with a hoarding outside that showed youngsters with sculpted hair. He asked for the senior stylist and he turned out to be a young man with tattooed hands, two studs and a ring on his lip. He ran his fingers through Nanban’s hair.
‘Colour?’ he said.
‘I hope you mean black,’ said Nanban. The stylist nodded.
‘Could you give me a long-lasting dye?’ said Nanban. ‘I don’t care if it is expensive.’
The stylist laughed. ‘First time here, sir?’ he said.
Nanban nodded.
‘It doesn’t matter how permanent your dye is,’ said the young stylist. ‘Your hair will grow and your grey will show.’
After an hour of patient study of glossy magazines, Nanban emerged from the parlour looking younger and smelling of a zany shampoo. He peered into every mirror he came across. He rang the bell at home so Sharada could open the door as if to a stranger. ‘Look at you,’ she said. ‘Just look at you.’ He did look again, standing next to her. ‘I wish we could take a photograph,’ she said. He took one after she was ready. ‘Can you feel the excitement?’ she said. Duhhh? She hit him on the back of his head to jolt him out of his fugue. ‘Go meet your friends,’ she said. ‘There is so much to celebrate.’
He headed off to Chinna Tasmac. Thangabalu looked agile and he unveiled new malt. He raised the bottle from its round cask and peeled its cover. They opened the cork and Nanban got the first sniff. It was peaty, just as he liked it, the smell of smoke from unlit coal. He sat alone at his usual place and waited for Narsimhan to show up. He did not. Nanban drank that evening, alone, just him and a distant Thangabalu.
He raised his glass many a time mouthing toasts to his missing friends.
‘Bloody buggers,’ he said.
‘They will be back soon,’ said Thangabalu.
A glass sat heavily and broke. The drinking continued.
‘I haven’t enjoyed an evening as much in a while,’ said Nanban.
The barman smiled broadly. He waved a fat arm, stunning a drowsy mosquito. Halfway through the bottle, Nanban was toasting distant acquaintances. It was late when his solo performance tapered. He stood up and he stumbled. ‘Final,’ he said. ‘Last and final.’ He looked solemn as he raised a thimble. ‘To my unborn child,’ he said.
SODA MUDI
For the first time, the Nokia phone was on display, out in the open in the living room. Nanban called the Delhi number every day for a week. Nobody picked up. He was at a loss. This was the only way he could get in touch with Raghavan. Other than landing up in Delhi. Should he?
‘Go,’ said Sharda.
He waited another week, the phone heavy in his pocket. No call came and his messages remained unanswered. Shortly thereafter the sim card died.
‘Go, and be done with it,’ said Sharda.
‘I am not that desperate,’ said Nanban. ‘They should be calling me.’
‘To thank you?’
‘Why not? Why this silence? I am a little hurt.’
He hung around at home.
‘I don’t know where I stand,’ he said.
The thought crossed his mind of a boat adrift, a catamaran marooned by listless tides.
He landed up at Chinna Tasmac. He drank two quarters without blinking. Thangabalu refused him a third.
Kari in his newfound prosperity rented a small office for Valiban. It had cement floors, steel furniture, posters on the wall, newsletters and amateur videos. Evenings it was busy. A small group of young educated men and women gathered in the veranda to hear his views. When Valiban spoke, they listened. He was well-read and he had the life experience of a kind they had never seen. Where would this lead to? He had a vague idea.
Kari dropped in at night carrying a couple of quarters. The two licked their lips and watched the dark outside.
‘Nanban is at a loose end,’ said Valiban.
‘How do you know?’
‘I follow him.’
‘How?’
‘On foot.’
‘Why?’
‘I cannot get him off my mind.’
Kari laughed. ‘Minor, you are still a puppy dog and he is still your guru.’
Valiban snorted. He stumbled into the pantry and pulled out a crate. He returned with a soda bottle. He found a rusty opener and popped it. The metal cap lost shape and fell on the floor.
‘Pick it up,’ said Kari. ‘It could hurt someone.’
Valiban stared at it and didn’t move. ‘That is Nanban sir,’ he said, his voice slurring.
‘That soda mudi?’
‘Yes. He is useless now. A week ago, I followed him to the airport. He caught a flight to Delhi and he returned the same evening. It looks like he was turned away by his masters. You should have seen the look on his face the next few days.’
Valiban was right and Kari was amazed at how much his friend had gleaned from a distance. Kari had met Nanban on his return from the capital. The latter had spoken at length on how his efforts had not been appreciated. He had gone expecting a welcoming committee, at the very least a thank you speech, and a handshake of some kind. Instead, Raghavan had met him at the entrance with a barely disguised air of impatience. ‘Why have you come?’ his manner implied. ‘It’s over,’ he said.
‘That’s it?’
‘All recordings have been erased, files have been deleted and the team has moved on.’ Raghavan pointed towards the building. ‘Nobody here knows who you are.’
‘I see.’ It was disorienting.
‘It is better this way,’ Raghavan had said.
Valiban drank the soda and burped.
‘Why do you drink that stuff?’
Valiban burped again. ‘It is good for my acidity,’ he said.
The soda eased his insides, repressed the bile that rose in his throat on most days.
Kari picked up the bottle cap. ‘I must leave,’ he said. He rose to his height and looked down at Valiban. ‘I have a gift for you from Nanban. A Nokia phone. He asked me to give it to you.’
Valiban was unsure. ‘This is a gift?’
‘He said so,’ said Kari. They looked at the outdated model. ‘Such a small screen. It looks like a museum piece.’
Valiban switched it on.
‘It works,’ he said.
The phone stayed on the office table and blinked through the night. It rang in the morning at 10.00 am. Valiban peered at the 011 number.
‘Landline,’ he said.
It was a call from Delhi.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
This book was on the drawing board for a few years. My thanks to Sucharita Dutta-Asane and Minakshi Thakur for their feedback on earlier versions. I’m grateful to Indira Chandrasekhar who published an extract from this work in Out of Print and Chitra Viraraghavan and Krishna Shastri for publishing an extract in their collection on Madras.
My publishing journey began some years ago with Nandita Aggarwal, and I’m grateful for it. Her acquiring A Tamil Month for Bloomsbury meant a lot. Nandita left this book in great hands with Faiza Khan. It’s been wonderful working with Faiza and team Bloomsbury.
And finally, all my thanks to Priya Doraswamy, my literary agent, for being there at every stage.
CREDITS
The work of Valay Shende, referenced in the narrative (dining table with chairs et al.), is titled Farmer Suicide 2009. Dimensions variable.
‘Art is Elsewhere’ is an engraving on a block of marble. It is an editioned work by the artist NS Harsha.
Four lines (with a minor change) have been extracted from Rudyard Kipling’s The Jungle Book, Chapter 5, titled ‘Rikki-Tikki-Tavi’.
A few sentences of Jorge Luis Borges have been modified and used in the narrative.
‘Daylight Moon’, an extract from an early version, was published as a short story in a collection titled Madras on My Mind, publisher HarperCollins India, June 2017.
‘Karivardan’, an extract from an early version, was published online by Out of Print magazine in March 2016.
A line about birds in a cage is taken from a quote by Alejandro Jodorowsky.
V Sanjay Kumar, A Tamil Month
