Devimma ****

Fear and desperation pervaded the faces of the handful of people in the room. Some looked down, thinking despondent thoughts. Others had gone through the pain for too long, and were numbed to a large extent. They looked sullenly into the far distance. The remedies prescribed were exacting an equally horrid toll as the ailment itself. Most looked pale and listless. Thinning hair and trembling and unsteady hands were common features. Some shivered. Some panted sporadically.

“Mrs. Rathna,” the nurse called out. Mrs. Rathna stood up slowly, helped by her daughter, and slowly they made their way into the consultation room. Dr Veerabadran was himself a subdued character. He spoke slowly and haltingly. Perhaps the result of years of dealing with terminally ill patients. He looked up sadly as Mrs. Rathna approached. He forced a smile. Mrs. Rathna was in too much pain to respond. Veena spoke. “Doctor, amma has not been able to eat for 2 days now. She is so nauseous at the mere mention of food. Even water, we have to force feed to her. And she lies awake all night. Look at her doctor. She is a wreck.” Veena’s eyes moistened. Mrs. Rathna looked blankly at Dr Veerabadran. The doctor looked at her balefully. He knew exactly what was happening. The old lady was going through a double whammy. The cancer had taken control and was wreaking havoc in her guts. And the chemo and drugs were interfering with her every other bodily function. He let out a little sigh. He knew there was little he could do to help. She was just waiting to die a slow and painful death. But he couldn’t tell them that. “Let me examine her,” he said, gesturing to the examination couch.

***

The room was dimly lit. One florescent lamp emitting a yellow glare, and another near the door, daylight white. The combination produced a sickly and jaundiced light in the large room. Another room, presumably a kitchen, was just to the back. It was lit by a bluish hued fluorescent light. This one flickered every 5 seconds without fail, giving an eerie psychedelic feel to the place. A nauseating smell, the combined effect of rotting vegetables, animal excrement and damp walls permeated the room. Devimma sat on a low armchair. A sickly and sore covered dog lay near her chair. The chair itself had seen better days. It was threadbare and discolored. Devimma herself looked majestic, in a bright red sari, and a saffron yellow blouse. A large red vermillion dot adorned her forehead. Her sari was loosely draped over her shoulder, exposing her sizeable neck, on which dangled numerous thick gold chains and other beaded garlands. Her hair was tied in a large unruly bun at the nape of her neck, and a thick string of jasmines encircled the bun. Devimma looked around the room, at the people who were seated on plastic stools at the far end. She chewed slowly and purposefully on the betel leaves, occasionally wiping the dribble that escaped at the corner of her mouth. The glass bangles on her arms jingled loudly in the silence of the room as she did so.

Devimma sat erect, eyes closed for a while, as though in deep meditation. Then she slowly leaned to her right, shifting her weight to her right arm for balance. A soft throbbing sound emanated from beneath her, gradually growing in volume to a full throated splutter, and ended with a soft whistle. The sickly dog looked up and whimpered, and promptly settled again to its prone position. Devimma straightened, and grunted, relieved after the gaseous excretion. In a swift movement she turned to the back, and putting two fingers to her mouth, expertly spat a stream of red betel fluid at the far wall. Instinctively everyone looked at the spot on the wall where she had aimed. The place was caked with betel nut spittle, the latest shot dribbling down the wall in a sickening stream. Many of the visitors turned away, unable to stomach the scene.

“Inge va,” Devimma gestured to the old lady seated on the stool next to the doorway. Devaki walked slowly, helped by her son, and sat on a chair in front of Devimma. Devimma delicately caught hold of Devaki’s hands. She looked deep into Devaki’s half closed eyes. There were no words spoken. Devimma instantly understood Devaki’s predicament. She saw the chaotic emotions, the trauma, and the mental concoction of fear, pain and helplessness. Devimma smiled at her, stroking Devaki’s hands. Then she moved on to her shoulders, her neck, cheeks. Devaki closed her eyes. The relief she felt was magical. The pain was so distant now. Her mind was clear. She saw bright daylight, where only dark clouds had existed before. Devimma was hugging Devaki now, slowly and lovingly patting her back. Devimma was in ecstasy. Her eyes were closed, a beatific smile on her face. Bliss. For the moment, Devaki slept like a baby, cradled against her mother’s soft breasts, lulled by the soft beating of her maternal heart. Slowly Devimma released Devaki. As Devaki opened her eyes, tears flowed uncontrollably. She brought her palms together, “Amma..... Ammma,” was all she could muster.

“Onnum illa. Ellam sariyayidum. Veetukku poi rest edunnga. Amma irukken. Ungallukku onnum akathu,” she assured Devaki. Devaki’s son who was standing nearby was speechless, seeing his mother’s endless pain eased. He fell at Devimma’s feet, sobbing. Devimma caught his shoulders, “Ayya, neenga than ammava pathukkanum, thairiyama irunga. Ammavukku thairiyam solanum. Ponga,” Devimma watched as Dr Veerabadran left, holding his mother Devaki.

The accident ***

They walked briskly and tirelessly. Sometimes three or more abreast. Most carried food or other materials, making their way with single minded purpose. As they moved along, an equal number moved in the opposite direction. It was an endless chain. The whole operation was so systematic and precise. Everyone knew exactly what to do. There were no words spoken. There was no need.

All of a sudden, a large object came crashing down on the lines as they moved along. The object crushed several hundred of the workers, killing many and maiming several more. And as swiftly as the object came down, it took off.

The dead were quickly surrounded by the workers, who carried the bodies away. Others attended to the wounded, helping them walk to their home, where they were tended to. As all this took place, there was a little confusion. But soon, everyone went about their business once again. It was as if nothing had happened. The ants were streaming briskly and tirelessly, carrying food and building materials to their destination.

Flaw detector ***

Received this mail from China recently. I didn’t need the flaw detector to detect the flaws.

-----Original Message-----
From: sherry
Sent: Monday, December 21, 2009 5:30 PM
Dear Sir or Madam:
I am interesting in the direct-reading spectrometer. We are a manufacture which specializes in Flaw Detector for many years in China. At present many our customers want to buy direct-reading spectrometer, so we want to become a agent to search for high cost performance products for our customers. We can help you develop the Chinese market.
I want to know something about this product. As follow:
1. the price
2. Do you have any agent in China, if not .what can we do to be your agent?
We hope we can cooperate in the future, and we look forward to your early reply.
Happy Christmas
Best wishes,
Sherry

Vaibhav's father ****

Vaibhav was a pathetic wreck. He was sobbing softly, as he sat at his father’s feet. The scene would have been unimaginable not too long ago. Mahesan hugged his son’s shoulders. “Son, I am here. Everything will be ok. Don’t you worry. I will make sure everything is ok.”

Vishali looked helplessly as her husband groveled at his father’s feet. She felt an indescribable sense of humiliation.

***

It had not been easy for Vaibhav to make it on his own. He had always been under the protectionist care of his father. And his father was no pushover. As the leading business icon in the country, his tentacles extended everywhere. Businessmen, politicians, government – he had everyone in his pockets. But Vaibhav's wife had made her point. She did not want a Vaibhav to succeed under his father’s patronage. She wanted him to succeed on his own steam. “You can do it. Just have faith in yourself,” she had egged Vaibhav on. And Vaibhav too felt a strange stirring within. A hunger he had never felt before.

Mahesan had been devastated to hear his only son’s request. But he did not show it. “My son, if that is what will make you happy, go ahead. Just remember, I am here, anytime you need me.”

So the young couple had set out. They started from scratch. They worked hard, long hours. And in 5 years, Vaibhav was a successful businessman to be reckoned with. And he had not sought his father's help in any way.

And then it happened. Things started to go wrong. A business deal that they had been counting on evaporated, inexplicably. Credit lines were withdrawn, again for no apparent reason. Tragedy struck at uncanny frequency. Vaibhav was at his wits end. He even consulted astrologers and vasthu exponents, to no avail.

Then the last blow. He was faced with a crippling law suit. Bankruptcy and ruin stared him in the face. He had no choice. He went to his father.

***

Mahesan sat alone. He had comforted his son. He had settled the issues. Vaibhav and Vishali were ever grateful. Mahesan felt no remorse. Even though he had brought about the problems on them in the first place. He just had to be Vaibhav’s father. Always.

Cash ****

Cash lay awake in the dark bedroom. He had been unable to sleep since the incident. His wife lay beside him, snoring softly. Cash glanced at her. Her face was peaceful, her sleep untroubled. Cash looked up at the ceiling. He cursed himself yet again, as his conscience pricked him. Ten years ago he would never have acceded to these demands. But things were different now. Ever since he had adopted the “American way”. He was trapped. There was no turning back. He felt impotent.

He was overcome by a momentary pang of painful nostalgia. How simple and uncomplicated life had been in India. Only his name had been complicated – Vallalarpuram Kasiviswanathan. Life had been easy going. But the longing at that time was to get out of India – which seemed like a hellhole then. America beckoned. Everyone he met wanted to know why he had not gone to America. “You are clever. Why are you wasting your time here? You will never get far in India. Especially being from forward community. Go to America. You will be appreciated. You can realise your full worth.”

So he did. Once he arrived, he adopted a new name, Cash. Mainly for the sake of the Americans, who found his name a mouthful. Soon he was adopting a lot of the American ways. First he stopped the regular Sandhyavandhanams, a practice he had been religiously following since his upanayanam, when he had been 9 years old. Next, off came his poonal, the pesky string that kept sliding down his shirtsleeves. As he interacted with his Desi American friends, he acquired a taste for meat. He overcame his initial revulsion at a surprisingly fast rate. Then he married Sandy. She was Indian too. But born and brought up in Atlanta. She had been named Sandya at birth, but had decided to rename herself Sandy. Sandy completed Kasiviswanathan’s transformation to Cash.

Cash thought of what he had got himself into. He had been perpetuating fraud. He had played into the hands of the manipulators. He had put his reputation on the line, and his name had carried it with his co-scientists. But he wondered, could they all be that dumb? Or were they aware of the scam as well ? Did they all know that the emperor was wearing no clothes?

Initially Muller had made convincing arguments. “We have to err on the side of caution. We cannot afford to wait for the perfect proof. We only have one earth. I know, trust me. The same thing happened with Y2K. Nobody gets hurt. Give the human race the benefit of the doubt.” And with the level of complicity , and the number of the scientists involved, Muller had the upper hand. Of course Muller was not alone. He represented a coalition of interests, promoting the theory. For a complex combination of financial and ideological reasons. And the greed of the scientists, the lure of lucrative funding, had caused them to play into the hands of the ruthless group. The media was in cohorts too. They needed a good story, and this one was the biggie. They had been flogging it for years. And the Governments – they had a worthy cause. Cadres of obscure bureaucrats were hard at work devising a system of 'global governance' , slowly gaining control over ordinary citizens. The economists were happy too. Colossal budgets were needed to take care of the problem. Jobs were created. Money flowed. Everyone was happy. It was the perfect cause – science, economy, politics and media interests.

As the incontrovertible evidence emerged, Cash had confronted Muller. But he was nonchalant. It was too far gone. Cash and the scientific community had burnt their bridges. It all thrived under the banner of a superior morality. Muller had been frank, "There is nothing wrong. Every one of the main players –- from politicians and scientists to big corporations and man in the street –- benefit from instilling fear into billions of human beings over this theory. "

"No matter if the science is all phoney, there are collateral environmental benefits. Even if the theory of global warming is wrong, we will be doing the right thing – in terms of economic policy and environmental policy. The human race will thank us. The end justifies the means."

Till death do us part ***

“There is no hope, absolutely no hope,” Deepa shook her head to emphasise it. Whatever the outcome, she had been prepared to face it. It had been a long five years, and she was exhausted. She could see no reason why it should be different this time. She did not believe in miracles. He mom looked at her sadly. As a mother, she wanted Deepa to lead a happy life. A normal life. But somehow things never seemed to work out. Deepa’s mom looked down at her wrinkled hands. Why did it have to happen to her? They sat in silence for a long moment. Then Deepa stood up.

“Mom, we have to do it. Now. There is no point in waiting. It is already late. Let’s go.” Anusuya sat for a while. She looked up slowly. Deepa came over and helped her up. They walked slowly into the room. They stopped at the bedside and looked down at the frail figure on the bed. He was pale, and just skin and bones. The tubes and wires made him look even more alien. The dim monitor showed the saw tooth pattern of his weak heartbeat. As they looked down into his half closed eyes, he looked almost lifeless. But a tiny tear welled at the corner of his eyes. Deepa felt a lump in her throat. She glanced at her mom. Anusuya stood woodenly. Deepa turned the knob slowly, cutting off the oxygen. They watched as the saw tooth on the monitor weakened, transforming into a line, with a faint continuous beep. Deepa used her palms to push his eyes shut. As she did, she felt a sudden tugging on her arm. She turned, to see Anusuya collapsing in a heap.

“Mom, what’s the matter? Mom ! Mom!”

But Anusuya was gone. She had followed her husband on his final journey.

Deepa sobbed, holding her mom’s frail body in her arms.

Anju ****

Cherian loved Kerala. God’s own land. The rains, the greenery, the earthy smell. The sing-song language. It was heaven on earth. He lived with his elder sister, and her husband. They lived in a small house in the village, with a tiny plot of land behind. Like the rest of Kerala, the land was bountiful. Fruits and vegetables grew in abundance, and this sustained the family.

Cherian had finished school. He attended the village school at Kozhipara, on the fringe of the forest. He attended school because everyone else did. He could not remember much of what he learnt. School had made him literate, but other than that, his knowledge was sketchy.

Cherian had no ambitions. He did not look beyond the present. At most he wondered about the evening dinner. He took life at it came. His sister doted on him, and treated him as a baby. Ever since Cherian’s parents died of Malaria, Anju had take on their role, caring for and protecting Cherian like her own baby.

Cherian and Anju had few relatives. At least not many who proclaimed themselves to be their relatives. Except Kunjamma. She lived in neighboring Eechanur. She came to visit Cherian and Anju when their parents died. She claimed to be their Aunt, although neither Cherian nor Anju had seen her before that. Kunjamma had a son, Vellan. She quickly arranged for Vellan to marry Anju. And then Vellan moved into their house in Kozhipara. Vellan liked Anju. He liked his new life. But most of all, he liked the sweet heady arrack in Kozhipara.

***

Every day Anju toiled on the land. She cleared the weeds, sprayed pesticide and sprinkled fertiliser. She perched precariously on the rickety ladder, wrapping the newspaper sheets on the fruits. She plucked the ripe fruits and packed them in the bamboo baskets, and placed them on the front of the house, to be sold to the market shopkeepers. She managed the whole business. In between chores, she cooked, washed and cleaned. As she did all these, Cherian would watch, smiling at her once in a while. Sometimes he would ask, “Chechi, can I have a glass of moru?” And Anju would come over, wash her hands and get a glass of the cool moru for Cherian. She loved him so much. Cherian loved her too, in his own way.

Anju's husband, Vellan usually slept till late morning. Then he would get up, wash up and drink some gruel which Anju would pour out for him. He would sit on the veranda awhile, watching Anju. Then he would head for Kuppachchan’s arrack shop, to spend the rest of the afternoon and evening. Vellan was seldom home. Late at night, he would stumble in, to sleep, have an occasional meal and ask Anju for money. That was the only time he spoke.

Anju took life in her stride. She had accepted Cherian as he was. And she had accepted Vellan too. So life went on. Until that fateful day.

***

Anju was arranging the baskets of guava fruits in front of her house, her blouse drenched in sweat. Changanna the shopkeeper was there, with his small Tempo. As Anju bent and moved the baskets, Changanna watched hungrily. He saw Cherian sitting disinterestedly on the veranda. Changanna caught Anju by her shoulder, causing her to straighten up and look at him. Changanna was tall and handsome, with curly hair falling over his forehead. Anju felt a strange sensation coursing through her. She looked into his eyes. Changanna smiled, accenting the dimples on his cheeks.

“Anju, you are a pretty girl. Why are you suffering this fate? Look at that good-for-nothing boy. And your useless drunkard husband. Why are you torturing yourself? How long are you going to do this? Kick your husband out. On to the street where he belongs. Tell your useless brother to find a job and stand on his feet. Come with me. I will give you a good life. We can be happy together.”

Anju was dumbstruck. She had never thought about this. But she slowly pushed Changanna’s hand away, turned and walked away. Changanna stood for a while, then turned and left.

***

That afternoon, Anju scolded Cherian for the first time. “Why don’t you do some work around here ? Or go to the market to earn some money? All day you just sit, eat ad sleep. Learn to stand on your feet.”

Cherian blinked. It made no sense. His sister had never spoken this way to him. Why was Anju angry? He was hurt, and lay awake, thinking of what to do. Sudden loud noises startled him. He couldn’t believe what he heard. Anju was shouting at Vellan. She was throwing the pots and pans at him. “Useless good-for-nothing man. All you do is drink all day. Get out of my sight.” Vellan peered at her myopically. Why was she shouting at him?

***

It was just after dawn. Anju was pruning the banana trees when she sensed the movement behind her. She whirled around, startled. What she saw left her speechless. Cherian and Vellan stood, hoes and sickles in their hands. She stared open-mouthed for a while. No one spoke. Then Cherian spoke, in a whisper, “Chechi, we are here to do the work. You go and take rest. I will get you a glass of cool moru. ” Vellan nodded.

Anju looked at them, tears welling in her eyes.

The Pakistani American ****

Sheik Naseem was a happy man. He had a steady job as a teacher in the New York middle school. He had adapted to life in the Big Apple, over the two years since he migrated from Naubatpur, a tiny village in Pakistan four years ago. Naseem had blended in nicely. He enjoyed the vibrant life in New York. He dated many girls – white, black, Latino, Asian. He enjoyed beer, and frequented the pubs. And he had developed a taste for bacon. All forbidden in his Islamic religion. But Naseem had no qualms about these.

In spite of everything, Naseem had one yearning. He missed home food. He missed conversing in his mother tongue. And he wanted a balance. His life was too American now. He wanted a Pakistani wife.

***
Naseem was in Muzzafarabad, a village outside Quetta. His cousin had arranged the meeting with Muhamad Balkish Sarwar. Muhamad had 8 daughters, and was desperate to marry them off. Naseem was paired with Muhamad’s third daughter, Rabia. Naseem was pleased with Rabia. She was pretty, wheat complexioned, demure and a great cook. She spoke Pashtun, Naseem’s native tongue. It was a marriage made in heaven.

But Naseem was realistic. Rabia had had a strict Islamic upbringing, and all she knew was this rural hell-hole. How would she adapt in New York? Will she be able to cope with the cultural shock? Well, she would have to. He will make sure of that.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The bleak landscape of the Sind region of Pakistan was broken by the mud-walled thatched huts of Muzzafarabad. The women worked on the dry rocky land. Rabia was dressed in a black burqa, as were all the other women. She toiled from dawn to dusk, in her father’s small parched plot, tilling, planting, weeding and watering. She also tended the goats and the chickens. The work was never done. And the girls bore the brunt of the curses which their parents rained on them incessantly. But today, it looked like Rabia’s luck was turning. A man was coming, from America, to look at her, and possibly marry her. It sounded too good to be true.

So when Naseem appeared, Rabia realised that this was a gift from the heavens. Naseem looked so handsome in his western clothes. And he spoke so glowingly of the good life in America. Rabia was a little confused. She had always been told that America was the land of the devil. The land of infidels. Enemy No 1. But then she wanted to get away from Muzzafarabad. No matter what. Nothing could be worse than Muzzafarabad.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Naseem was puzzled. He had expected resistance from Rabia, but not to this extent. He had coaxed her to include ham in her meals. And even to drink beer. After much persuasion, she had done so, albeit reluctantly. But Rabia looked so depressed. She seldom spoke. Naseem had expected her to get used to things here, but she seemed to be bottling everything up, and had become increasingly withdrawn. Well, time is a great healer. Even this will pass, he thought.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Rabia lay on her bed, the tears wetting the pillow. Soon after arriving in their new home in New York, the stark reality of her new life had dawned on her. Her home was an apartment, quite different from the thatched mud-hut in Muzzafarabad. But this gave little comfort. It was a decrepit 5th floor flat, which she had to walk up to. The whole place was squalid and filthy, and infested with rats and roaches. All her neighbours were immigrants, mainly from Latino or East European counties. She couldn’t understand a word of what they spoke. But she could sense the animosity . She witnessed criminal acts every day. And Naseem – he was a different man now. Rabia sobbed as she recalled the first time he brought home the food – hog’s meat. Rabia had almost thrown up. But he insisted that she eat it. After mush resistance, she swallowed some. Then came the alcohol. Again she had to take a sip. Naseem also bought her short revealing dresses, which she loathed. She had been taught to cover her “aurat”, which for females meant covering almost the whole body. And here was her husband, whom she had to obey, asking her to walk around semi-naked.

That morning they had a big fight. Rabia had shouted at Naseem. “It is against Allah. I will not do it. We will go to Hell if we eat the filthy hog’s meat.” Naseem had slapped her. And cursed her family. “I can file a case against your father. I can bring him to his knees. He will lose everything. Your family will be on the streets, penniless and homeless,” he had threatened.

***

Rabia turned. Naseem lay on the bed next to her. He slept, snoring loudly, his mouth open. A thin stream of saliva dribbled out. It was a disgusting sight. As Rabia watched, she knew what she had to do. She had to face the devil. She had to do it.

***
Rabia paused. She held the kitchen knife tightly with both hands. And then, she closed her eyes tight, and stabbed Naseem repeatedly, slashing his face and neck as he awoke, screaming, and trying to fend off the blows. Rabia was astounded by her own strength. Soon he lay still. Rabia looked at the bloody mess. Then she looked at the knife in her hands. She felt a strange sense of peace. The knife slipped from her hands.

Looks closed, sounds closed, but is not closed ***

On Oct 19, Minister in the Prime Minister’s Department Datuk Seri Nazri Abd Aziz had said that action could not be taken further in the V.K. LINGAM video clip case due to insufficient evidence. The A-G had classified it as “no further action”.

On Oct 29, Nazri said the case is not entirely closed. “Even with investigation papers classified as ‘no further action’, the files can still be re-opened if there is new evidence,” he told reporters at the Parliament lobby.

The Visitor ****

Mithran eased the four wheel drive vehicle into the narrow earth road. The sign-board in Tamil said “கோவில்குளம்”. (Kovilkulam)

At the village chief’s house, Mithran presented the elderly Kasinathan Gounder with a basket of fruit. Over lunch Mithran spoke about his travels around the country. “I am experiencing the country. I hope to make a movie of my travels one day.” Mithran smiled wistfully.

Kasinathan Gounder laughed heartily. “உங்களுக்கு மனசு இருக்கு . செய்யற திறன் இருக்கு. என்ன வேணாலும் செய்யலாம் .” (You have the heart. You have the capacity. You can do anything). There was no malice in what he said.

“உங்க உத்தரவு வேணும் .” (I need your support) He explained what he intended to do. Gounder agreed. “நல்ல காரியம் தானே . நல்லா செய்யிங்க .” (It is a good thing. Go ahead).

***

In the evening Mithran walked around the village, snapping pictures of almost everything. The men sitting idly under the banyan tree. The giggling girls returning from school. The boys chasing a kite. The lame dog lying near the well.

He visited the temple, marveling at the well preserved sculptures. The priest, Venkittu followed him, giving a running commentary. Later he shared the simple dinner at Venkittu’s house. Venkittu was lonely, having lost his wife several years ago. She had been gored by a bull, and succumbed to the injuries after a week of agony. Venkittu invited Mithran to spend the night at his house. They spoke late into the night, before slipping into a deep sleep.

***

The next day, Mithran was up early. He proceeded to the temple with Venkittu. In the light of dawn, he collected the trash lying around the temple compound. He used a brush to scoop out the scum from the drains. He scrubbed the walls. The early morning devotees visiting the temple watched in surprise. Why is this stranger cleaning our temple? Soon a group of teenage boys came by. They stood and watched. Then one shyly joined Mithran. Soon, the whole group was sweeping and scrubbing with Mithran. They placed the collected garbage in small heaps, and burnt them. By the time the sun was high, the whole place was spic and span. Mithran gathered the boys and took them in his jeep to the small restaurant at the main road. They had lunch together, chattering away happily.

That afternoon, Mithran set out on his walks again. This time he had an entourage – his teenage friends. They ran alongside as Mithran walked, snapping away. Munisamy the goat-herd, squatting amongst his goats. Palanichami milking his buffalo. Rakayi the shy washerwoman beating the clothes against the rock at the riverbank. The group of naked boys frolicking in the river. Ponnan with his monkey. Karuppan, smiling and holding up his arrack glass. Gopal the postman, pushing his bicycle slowly down the road. Sometimes Mithran’s gang of teenage boys would pose with the people.

By evening, the group had shrunk to a handful. They had reached the outskirts of the village. Where the Kallars lived. Seeing Mookan sitting on his coir bed outside his hut, Mithran approached him. Mookan was taken aback when Mithran came and sat next to him. But soon they were chatting. As they spoke, several men , women and children from the neighboring huts came and stood around curiously.

“நாளைக்கு இரவு நம்ம எல்லோரும் ஒண்ணா விருந்து சாப்பிடறோம் . இது என்னுடைய அன்பளிப்பு . என்னக்கு அந்த வாய்ப்பு கொடுப்பீங்கள ?” Mithran asked the old man. (Tomorrow night, we shall have a dinner party. Will you accept this gesture from me?.)

The people looked at each other. They did not know what to say. Some were suspicious. Some just walked away. But Mookan sensed his sincerity. He nodded and smiled. Mithran clasped the old man’s hands.

***

The next day, Mithran was at Gounder’s place again. The elder had invited him for breakfast.

“அய்யா , இன்னிக்கு இரவு , நம்ம கள்ளர் சமுதாயத்தோட நான் விருந்து சாப்பிட இருக்கேன் .” (Ayya, tonight, I am having a dinner party for the Kallar community.)

Gounder looked at Mithran. His informants had already told him what Mithran had been doing. But hearing the earnestness in Mithran’s voice, he knew it was alright. He nodded.

***
A makeshift table had been set up. Mithran had ordered a variety of food from the village restaurant. Chapathi, poori, masala, briyani rice, chicken curry, mutton, and to wash it all down, ice moru. The crowd totaled nearly a hundred. There was a small ceremony. Mithran spoke to the people. In his simple style, he stressed the importance of maintaining hygiene. “சுகாதாரம் , ரொம்ப முக்கியம் . நாம எல்லாம் நல்லா இருக்கணம் . நம்ம பிள்ளைங்க நல்லா இருக்கணம் .” (Hygiene is very important. Then we can lead a good life for ourselves and our children). Then he spoke about education. The children are our future, he told the people. Send them to school. They will be somebody one day. They will lift you up to a life of happiness.

As he spoke, he saw a familiar figure in the background. Could it be ? Yes. Kasinathan Gounder. Mithran was overjoyed. “அய்யா வந்திருகாரு ,” (Ayya is here.) Everyone turned to look, and seeing Gounder, they stood up respectfully. Gounder held up his hands. Soon he was welcomed to the front by Mithran and the elders of the Kallars. Tears streamed from the eyes of some of the older members of the community.

Then they all dug into the food. The people from this part of the village had never seen so much rich food. But they ate with dignity. The Kallars were a proud people. Soon they had had their fill. Afterwards, everyone made sure the place was cleaned up.

“இன்னும் இருக்கு , போகாதீங்க ,” Mithran told them. “படம் காட்டபோறேன் .”
(There is more, don't go away. I am going to show a movie.)

There was a clamour of excitement. Everyone rushed forward, selecting vantage spots in front of the makeshift screen that had been set up at the end of the field.

Soon the screen came to life. A short clip from “Enga Veetu Pillai ” had the kids screaming in delirium. Next a few old movie songs. Followed by a short animated film promoting personal cleanliness. Then came the highlight. A montage of the pictures Mithran had taken round the village. They were squeals of excitement and groans of dismay and loud laughter, as the people featured were recognised and their names called out. And then, finally, it all came to an end.

The villagers streamed back to their huts, chattering away, tired but happy. A few hours of laughter and cheer, in their otherwise drab and miserable lives.

***

The next day, Mithran had packed up and was heading out of Kovilkulam. To his next destination.

Surprise ****

Maran was extremely depressed. His children were so busy with their careers and their own families that they seemed to have no time for Maran. But he didn’t mind that so much. What tore his heart was seeing the hurt in his wife’s eyes. Valli has struggled all her life for their children. She was tired and worn out. And she had gone completely blind.

It was Valli’s 55th birthday. Maran had made it as memorable as possible for her. They went to the Temple early in the morning. Then to the restaurant for her favourite breakfast – pongal and vadai. She glowed in happiness. But to her, nothing could make up for the missing children. None of her children had even bothered to call. She looked blankly with her unseeing eyes out of the car window as they drove back. Maran could not see it, but sensed the tears streaming out from her eyes.

He stopped the car outside their home and helped Valli inside, to her favourite armchair.

“Take your medicine dear,” Maran slipped the pills into her mouth, ignoring her outstretched palm. He quickly put the glass of water to her lips, washing the pills down quickly. Valli slumped back in the chair. He looked at her sad face for a moment. Next he slipped a pill into his mouth, downing it with a gulp of water. And then he sat back, closing his eyes.

Suddenly all the lights came on and Prem and Suresh with their wives and children all trooped in, shouting, "Surprise! Happy Birthday amma. Happy Birthday paati"

But Valli and Maran were already dead.

Praying Mats make their stand ***

An outstanding item in the news recently: prayer mats standing and praying ! In Pasir Mas, 35 prayer mats stood in prayer. One of the mats stood in as the imam, while the rest followed in prayer. All the prayer mats were found to be standing in several rows, 15 of them in the male section while the rest were found in the women’s section of the prayer hall of the surau.

Previously similar happenings were reported in Bukit Mertajam, where a prayer mat stood shaped like a woman performing prayers. Hundreds flocked to see the amazing sight, and a standing ovation was given.

There was much scepticism, but the faithful stood by the claims.

Pasir Mas religious enforcement assistant director Kamaruddin Zakaria took a different stand - that it was the work of someone who is out to cause an uproar among Muslims.

The mats have since been seized by the department to prevent them from becoming objects of khurafat (superstition).

“We did it to prevent the people from developing superstitious beliefs. Some of the visitors who turned up at the surau were becoming obsessed with the mats,” he said adding that anyone could have orchestrated the incident.

As it stands, it is not certain where the mats have been taken. Unconfirmed rumours stated that the mats are continuing their antics in the Religious Department Office, where there is standing room only. Officials were on standby, to watch for similar occurrences of religious fervour among other prayer mats.

The first encounter ****

Thandavarayan Mudaliar walked in his trademark erect posture, taking long purposeful strides. He never left his house without his umbrella. A vast black cloth contraption, with a solid thick wooden handle. He would hold it in the crook of his arm. It was Mudaliar’s habit that whenever he wanted to make a point, he would swing the umbrella from his armpit towards whoever he was speaking to, jabbing the air as he made his point.

Mudaliar was a tall man with a proud bearing. Bare-chested, he invariably wore a spotless white hand-spun veshti, with a thundu draped around his shoulders. His mouth was occupied all the time - constantly chewing the betel leaves. When he spoke he had to tilt his face upwards, to avoid spilling the contents of his mouth. And this further enhanced his air of authority. He carried a yellow cloth bag, slung over his shoulder. Occasionally he would dig into it. Often to replenish the betel leaves, or paaku. Or to get some small change if he needed some money.

Mudaliar was a respected elder at the village of Valliampatti, a tiny hamlet situated on the coast, not far from Thoothukudi.

Valliampatti was a fishing village. The fishermen lived on the coastal fringes of the village. The menfolk went out to sea in the kattumarams (small rafts), leaving before dawn, and returning in the late evening. The women cooked and cleaned, and mended the nets. Some went street to street in the village, selling the seafood produce as well as shells and other trinkets.

The other villagers were farmers, tilling the land themselves. They toiled on the land everyday, growing rice, grains and vegetables. The farmers would often barter their produce for the fish. The villagers were quite self-sufficient, and rarely needed to venture outside for their needs. But on occasion, some would visit the santhai (market) at Thoothukudi. To buy cloth, household utensils, rope or a new plow.

There were a few wealthy landowners in Valliampatti. Such as Thandavarayan Mudaliar. Although they were rich, and did not have to toil like the others, they too had a place in the society. They were accepted, and respected. And they in turn respected the fisherfolk and the farmers. It was a harmonious society.

It was close to noon. But Mudaliar still had his umbrella under his arm. His bare feet were calloused enough not to feel the scorching heat of the sand as he walked down the street. The street was deserted. Everyone was inside their huts. A hot wind blew from the sea.

“அய்யா.... அய்யா........ ஒரு பெரிய படகு வருதுய்யா. வாங்கய்யா ....,” (Ayya, there is a big boat coming. Please come and see.) Kaathan was delirious with excitement. Mudaliar followed him hurriedly. At the bend of the road, the sea became visible. Mudaliar looked out at the scene. He slowly took in what he saw. A group of the fisherfolk and a large number of women and children were gathered on the beach, looking at the strange apparition. Out at sea was a gigantic ship. Huge cloths were spread up to catch the wind. They had not seen anything of this sort before.

“அய்யா ... என்னையா பண்ணறது ... ?” (Ayya, what should we do?) Munian joined them. The unflappable Mudaliar was dumbfounded. His hands trembled a little as he held them up, trying to calm the people. The group watched in silence.

Soon the ship appeared to have come to a halt, a good distance from the shore. As they watched, several men appeared on the ship’s deck. They lowered what appeared to be a smaller boat into the water, and a few of them got into it, and began rowing. Seeing this, there was a nervous chattering among the fisherfolks. “யாரு இவங்க ? நம்ம ஊருக்கு இப்படி வராங்க . எதா இருந்தாலும் நம்ம தயாரா இருக்கோணம்.” (Who are these people ? Why are they coming to our village like this ? We should be prepared for the worst.) Many of them took up their knives and sickles. Some pushed their kattumarams into the water, ready to meet the intruders at sea. By this time the crowd had swelled to a few hundreds. Mudaliar spoke in his authoritative voice. “அவசரபடாதீங்க . யாரு என்னன்னு கேப்போம். அவங்க சில பேரு தான் இருக்காங்க. நாம நூத்து கணக்குல இருக்கோம் . பொறுமையா இருங்க ,” (Don't be hasty. Let us find out more. There are only a few of them. we are in the hundreds. Be patient) he advised. Although he felt quite apprehensive himself. Soon the boat was nearer the shore.

The crowd strained to make out the people in the boat. They all had their palms shielding their eyes against the glare of the noon-day sun. As they looked, the fear among them grew. The men in the boat looked strange and foreboding.

Mudaliar watched as the boat drew closer. There were 4 men inside. They were pale skinned. Their hair was red or white. They wore cloth shields, covering almost the whole body, with patterns of lines and circles on the front. Their heads were almost fully covered by a wide head covering. All four held stout sticks, which they were pointing in the direction of the villagers. Mudaliar’s apprehension grew as he realised the men could be unfriendly. The sticks could be weapons. His only comfort was that there were so many villagers.

The boat beached, and the men leaped on to the shore, crouching with the sticks pointed at the crowd. One of them waved. The villagers drew back. There was pin-drop silence.

Mudaliar realised that he had to show his leadership. Putting on a brave face, he pushed his way to the front. He spoke to the men in his authoritative voice. “நீங்கல்லாம் யாரு ? எங்கேயிருந்து வந்திருக்கீங்க ? இந்த கிராமத்துக்கு ஏன் வந்திருக்கீங்க ? ”
(Who are you ? Where do you come from ? Why have you come to our village?)
He swung his umbrella, pointing to the newcomers as he moved towards them.

The alien men flattened themselves on the beach, pointing their sticks at Mudaliar. Mudaliar took this as a sign of obeisance, and emboldened, moved forward.

“Fire,” one of the men shouted.

A deafening explosion. Followed by several more. Fire shot out from the sticks that the men held. Mudaliar fell in a heap, letting out a blood curdling scream. Several others fell. The group of fishermen, sensing the attack rushed forward, slashing the four intruders and stabbing them. More explosions. This time originating from the ship. The whole beach seemed to be in flames. Many of the people lay on the sand, dead or mortally wounded. The screams were deafening. The women and children ran for cover. There was chaos. Huts were on fire. The erstwhile peaceful village of Valliampatti was engulfed in flames.

***
Captain Campbell surveyed the area. The whole village was scorched. No survivors. And he had lost 8 men. It had been a disaster.

“We set sail. Further to the north.”

The men boarded the boat, taking their dead with them. The dead of Valliampatti lay among the burnt out ruins of the village.

The remote ****

Rudran fingered the remote, surfing the channels. He settled on a movie. The scene had a few rough characters who had entered a sprawling mansion. As he watched idly, two of them walked toward him. They were pointing at him and gesticulating. Rudran sat up in shock. He pressed the remote repeatedly. But the men were already near him now. Next thing he knew, he was sitting on the wooden straight-backed chair. His legs and hands were bound, and tied to the chair. He was blindfolded and gagged as well. With some squirming and struggle, Rudran had managed to free his eyes, and loosen the gag. He looked around. He was in the middle of the desolate building. It looked like an unfinished house. The remote lay near his foot. He used his toe to press a button.

Rudran was startled by an unexpected barking sound. But he saw a hyena ! It ran toward him baring its nasty looking fangs. Rudran recoiled in terror. Just as the animal was about to pounce on him, it inexplicably cowered, turned and ran, disappearing down the staircase.

Rudran closed his eyes. Waves of relief washed over him. Just them, a crashing noise. Rudran strained to turn around to see the source of the sound. Absolute stillness.

The heat and still air was stifling. Soon Rudran fell into a fitful sleep.

“Wow. This is fantastic.”

“I’ve never seen anything like this.”

“Exotic.”

Rudran stared at the group crowding around him. There were at least a dozen of them. They were careful to maintain their distance. As if Rudran was a dangerous wild animal. They stared at him in curiosity. A few snapped photographs.

A shrill whistle sounded. “Alright. Let’s go.”

The group trouped out, following the man with the flag. Rudran was alone again. Just as he was closing his eyes, there were sound of approaching people. The trumpeting of an elephant startled him. Soon the group appeared. A caparisoned elephant, with two men on it, dressed in full regalia. The entourage consisted of well over a hundred people. They followed the elephant, chanting eerily. Deafening drums and blaring trumpets accompanied the group. The entire procession approached Rudran. As he started in horror, the elephant walked right up. And to Rudran’s astonishment, they passed right through him ! And they trooped into the TV screen. Soon the sound died out. It was deathly quiet again.

An hour passed uneventfully. Then the old man ambled up. He was almost doubled up, and walked at an amazingly slow pace. He appeared almost immobile at times. Eventually he was close to Rudran. The old man smiled a toothless smile. Then he picked up the object and placed it in Rudran's hand. Then abruptly, he turned around and marched, goose stepping out briskly. Rudran stared open mouthed, looking in the direction in which the old man had disappeared.

Rudran was slipping into a delirious sleep again, when he suddenly remembered the object the old man had thrust into his hand. He looked down. His eyes were misted and he had difficulty making out the object. Then he recognised it. It was the remote control. He pressed a random button. Rudran was startled to see a lady dressed like a waitress, approaching with a plate of food. She came close, removed the gag and proceeded to feed Rudran. She was almost done when it dawned on Rudran that she was his wife. She smiled at him.

The lady had disappeared. Rudran pressed another button. And the surroundings dissolved into blackness. Soon it brightened again. Rudran was sitting in the living room of his house. He was reading aloud from some notes. He was reading the news. Rudran stopped abruptly. He had the remote in his hands. Rudran stared at it for a long moment. Slowly he let it slip and fall silently onto the carpet. He closed his eyes in relief.

The End of the World ***

People are obsessed with the “End of the World”. One friend, who sends me daily doses of inspiring and other mushy stuff, recently joined the fray. He talked about the imminent end of the human race. Although it wasn’t clear whether he meant it, or was just pitching for the upcoming movie, he had quoted a lot of “facts”.

One key argument put forward is that the Mayans, who were known for their accurate astronomical calculations, had predicted that the end of the world would come in 2012. (actually this is a conjecture, based on the fact that the Mayan “long calendar” ends in 2012).

If that is not bad enough, we have scientists, talking about Sun storms, which have been acting up of late, and predicted to reach a deadly peak sometime in 2012. Other scientists have been doing their bit, to push us nearer to the brink. Some have been hard at work building the atom smasher, a 27 km tunnel designed to smash atoms together to find out what makes the universe tick. In the process, they are likely to create a few mini black holes, which despite their somewhat innocent sounding name, can reduce our world and some nearby planets to a super-dense blob the size of a coconut. Then we have the Bible toters. Of course, if we look close enough, the Bible can be used to justify anything at all.

I found that some people are taking all these quite seriously. In a website “Survive 2012”, this guy, Rob explains why. He says, as a human, he likes humans, and does not want them to be wiped out. He wants to help some to prepare, and survive.

Then there is Patrick Geryl. Patrick was on a diet of fruit and vegetables, believing this would make him live long. But he soon discovered the futility of this strategy. The end was near. I wonder if he reverted to enjoying meat and seafood for what he probably believes to be his remaining few years.

Meanwhile, Patrick is busy forming a survival group. Although he has an email ID, he strictly instructs us to only email him in case of importance!
”There is really no time for discussions or answering all pro and contra comments...” he says.

Well, in the context of things as they stand, we don’t know why creation happened in the first place. So what if it is wiped out ? Unless its going to create some bottlenecks at the pearly gates. And congestion at Heaven. And Hell too I guess.

But then, if the process is going to be long drawn out, or painful and full of suffering, or if its going to leave a small group grappling with the mess in its aftermath: now that’s worrying. Especially if I am going to be one of the survivors clearing up.

The Gadget ***

The oversized plasma TV images were stunning vivid. But for Sundi, the boredom was overpowering. He got up. Something urged him to sit down again. But after a few moments the calling became too much to resist. He got up and walked out, slamming the door shut.

Soon he was at the store. He browsed the magazines for a while. Then he moved on to the hardware section. The call seemed to be coming from there. He walked down the aisle, viewing the power drills.

No. Not here. Now he was at the electrical section.

Suddenly the buzz in Sundi’s mind. Yes. He was unmistakably close. He looked at the gadget. It looked like an oversized electrical adaptor. Sundi picked it up. He inspected it, turning it over and over. He read the instructions.

“This product is man built for toughness and is long life proof. While using, the thumb is light to push the button and then can better illuminate LED. Do not extinguish from supply...” and so on.

Sundi didn’t have a clue what the gadget was for. But he was sure this was it. He looked around casually, as he handled the object. He expertly scanned for the cameras. There were none in sight. He walked on to the next aisle, neatly slipping the gadget into his baggy pant pockets as he did so.

He sauntered over to the check-out counter, carrying the packet of potato chips and the chocolate bar.

“RM 8.40 sir.”

Sundi paid and walked outside. Once at the car park, he tossed the chips and chocolate into the trash bin. Gingerly he took the electrical gadget out from his pocket. His heart beat furiously. Sundi smiled as he stroked the gadget lovingly.

Soon he was home. He unwrapped the gadget and placed it on his headboard shelf. He looked proudly at his collection. Sundi felt a sense of peace engulfing him.

Vetri ***

The teenage Vetri was a joyful boy. He had a small group of friends always about him. They played together. They roamed the streets on their bicycles, climbed trees. Sometimes they would stand by the roadside and watch the world go by. There was no dearth of laughter. Life was good indeed. The sheer joy of life kept them going.

Soon Vetri went on to University. He lost touch with his childhood friends. In University, he made new friends. Laughter was everpresent. They played and studied together. And often after the exams, they would go for a movie. Once in a while they would drink themselves silly, and talk garbage through the night. Vetri had the best times of his life in University. He learnt a lot. From his friends.

Graduation , and everyone went their own way. Vetri worked for a private design firm. He made friends there too. They shared their lunchtime. There were jokes too. But the relationships were not too strong. Work kept them together rather than anything else.

As the years rolled by, Vetri became a successful consultant. He married the beautiful Anusha. Vetri was so enamoured with Anusha that he practically worshipped her. He would call her the minute he reached the office. And call her again and again. Just to hear her voice. Sometimes he would go home for lunch, just to see his Anusha. His life revolved around her.

After work, and on weekends, Vetri spent every minute with his wife. His wife was his life.

Soon, the children came along. Vina and Vino the adorable twin girls, followed two years later by Karthi. Vetri was overwhelmed by God’s generosity. First Anusha, and then these bundles of sheer joy ! Vetri and Anusha doted on the children. And the kids reciprocated with so much joy. It was heaven on earth.

There were times when Vetri came in contact with his old University mates. But it was not the same. The good old days were gone for good. The conversations stopped short after the first 5 minutes. Their lives had diverged too much. There was nothing to talk about. Vetri knew he had outgrown his friends. His place was with Anusha and their children.

***

Vetri had just retired. The sense of desolate emptiness was overpowerring. He sat in front of the TV. All the programs looked the same. The newspapers carried the same stories. All the books were dull and boring. And his family ? The children were young career chasers now, never to be seen around the house. Anusha had her circle of friends at the club, where she spent most of her time. In fact she seemed to be spending even more time there nowadays. Avoiding grumpy old Vetri perhaps ?

Vetri was more alone than he had ever been in his life.

Six months into his retirement, Vetri had a massive cardiac arrest. And died.

Freedom from choice ****

Govind headed for the backlane, a short walk from his house. Venkatachalam’s thosai shop. The shop was the back portion of a Chinese coffee shop, best accessed from a backlane, next to Ah Lee’s mechanic shop. The choice was: thosai or idly. Of course there was coconut chutney, sambar and onion chutney. Divine. And best eaten on one of the long tables, sitting on the wooden benches in the shop. He could afford one thosai and one idli for the 15 cents he had. No choice. “தண்ணி வேணாம் ?” (Don't you want a drink?) Mr Venkatachalam enquired. But he already knew the answer. Govind shook his head. Mr Venkatachalam smiled, placing a glass of water near him.
***
Govind did well in school. He was shunted into the science stream. As he finished school, his father decided that he should do Engineering. So Govind did engineering. Govind’s uncle wanted him to work for him. So he did. And his aunt had a girl in mind, who would make a perfect wife for Govind. Govind married her. His wife wanted two children. So they did. Govind enjoyed this blissful freedom from choice.
***
Gowri sat with her parents, looking at their scribbled notes – trying to decide which college she should go to, and which course she should take up. The research into the pros and cons, and the decision making had taken up many months. Gowri’s life had always been about choosing choosing and choosing. From what to eat for breakfast, to what clothes to wear to which movie to go to. When Gowri’s parents wanted to remodel their house, nearly a year was spent on studying available options. And then, Gowris’ marriage. It was an arranged marriage. Arranged after combing through nearly a thousand prospective boys, based on criterias, priority qualities and shortlistings. Finally it was decided. Govind.
***
At first it looked like a clash of ideologies. Freedom of choice vs Freedom from Choice. Initially Govind was appalled that Gowri would spend more time and effort in deciding things rather that just getting on with it. Then he made a choice. To let her do the choosing. It was a harmonious and complementing arrangement.
***
Govind entered the cavernous dining room of the hotel. “Pasta”, “Chinese”, “Mexican”, “Continental”, “French”. The signs indicated the sections of the dining hall catering for food from all parts of the world. Each section had at least several dozen dishes. The dessert area occupied a huge area of floor. Ice cream flavours totaled nearly two dozen. With more than a hundred choices of toppings.

Govind stood for a while, alone, weak and overwhelmed. He looked around, half expecting to see Gowri. He longed for the simple choices at Venkatachalam’s shop.

Victorination ***

The blase victorinations had commenced the day before, and by noon, macriegious venominals could be seen pirrhoutted in the sky. Spattered egrarian beggerment doffed the landfall. Crowds of pinaculars had flooded the streets since early evening, with goisterous baiety preverberating all over.

Kinnian soldiers marched in dunison as quinwerential loops gilded the siderations. Xalu watched in egrerity. The scene bactracked him to eternity. He felt a peer volute in his throat. Why only now? After such a long plethora of dementia? Surely there is a fissure?

Xalu came hirsutely back to the present, woefully unpretentious. Finally umbraginations had come along. Verifying his own sort was iterative. Can it be true? Or was it just another imporrissive dream? Xalu was unsure. But he decided to take the plumage.

Xalu steepled off the terg, just as the gargantuan obsecrity rolled up.

Peace, at last.

Everyone counted the obsequos serenity in predisposable denominations. An aberation never to be reduplicated in quintessential juriscrudence.

Bengaluru ****

Gopi waited in the BMW, speaking on his cellphone. "I have a late evening appointment. I have to be at the airport at 9. Ok, ok. Bye"

He was waiting for little Lavu to come out of school. Soon the school bell sounded, and little kids could be seen all over, racing to their respective cars. Lavu ran up shortly, carrying her Barbie school bag and Hannah Montana water bottle.

"Look, I got 2 stars today," she gushed. "And there will be a school trip next week. We are going to Kishkinta. See my diary."

As Lavu continued to relate all that happened at school that day, Gopi manoeuvred the car through the madness of Bengaluru traffic, smiling at her and grunting occasionally. Soon they were at the posh villa at Bagehalli. Gopi dropped off Lavu, handing her over to Chandamma, the maid.

"Make sure Lavu eats her cereal before you send her for the piano class," he reminded Chandamma. Then he left the 5 crore rupee villa , heading for the Whitefield Business Park, and the Corporate Offices of Raqqis India, the multi-billion rupee enterprise where both Gopi and his wife worked.

***

It was quite late. Jaishri waited in the tiny living room of their one-room flat. Dinner was chapathi and dhall, which Jaishri had brought back. She waited for her husband. He had called earlier and said he would be late.

As she waited, Jaishri was thoughtful. Life was tough, the cost of everything had shot through the roof. But at least they had jobs. Jaishri was a cook at Raqqis.

Just then the BMW drove up, and her husband Gopi alighted.

The Thief ***

Yugan stood in the middle of the living room, shell shocked and speechless. His wife Ginny was hysterical. Her new I-phone was gone. As were the new laptops and the camera Yugan had just bought. Their only valuable possessions in the world – gone.

***

The security CCTV recording was crystal clear. The thief looked relaxed and non-chalant, carrying away his new acquisitions. His face was extremely recognisable as he defiantly looked up at the camera.

***

The Police Inspector looked around Yugan’s house and made a list of the stolen items. He viewed the CCTV and took away the original recording. “Should be able to get him,” the Inspector left.

***

“What the heck la you, Douglas, you went and curi from these poor young kids? Can’t you choose some rich fat cat ah ?” Inspector Talib was on the phone.

Douglas giggled on the other end of the line. “Too easy to resist la boss. By the way, boss, I got some info for you la boss. This 14th, woman named Shereen. Coming on evening flight from Mexico City. Big consignment.”
Talib was all ears. This could be the big one.

Yugan & Ginny’s problem was already forgotten.

Indians protest “theft” by Malaysia ***

NEW DELHI, Feb 30 – Indians are outraged at Malaysia’s depiction of the Bharathanatyam dance in a tourism advertisement as a Malaysian heritage. Malaysia has been showing Indian dances and other items as part of its culture under its “Malaysia, Truly Asia” theme.
The president of the Delhi United National Cultural Enterprise (DUNCE), Prof Dr Baldev Singh said that Bharathanatyam was clearly an Indian heritage. “How can Malaysia claim it ? We are outraged.” He screamed.

Dr Thiruvalluvar, head of the Heritage Organisation of Dravidians (HOOD) said this was not an isolated incident. He claimed that thousands of Indian words have been stolen and incorporated into the Malaysian language, some thinly disguised by slight spelling changes. He wanted an immediate end to this wholesale thievery.

The Prime Minister of India expressed surprise that Malaysia had behaved this way. “We always believed that our relationship was based on trust. We never expected this from the Malaysians. We will henceforth be more vigilant.” He refused to confirm reports that India was reviewing major highway projects awarded to Malaysian companies, as well as imports of palm oil. "The Indian High Commissioner in Kuala Lumpur has been recalled for consultations," he said.

Indians have been rioting on the streets of Indian cities, and calling for action against Malaysia.
Indian cities are among top destinations for Malaysians. Travellers are opting not to take risks with their safety as threats against Malaysians in the republic have escalated over the past few weeks.“There have been more than 50 per cent cancellations as of today. People pay for holidays to unwind and enjoy themselves, not to worry about their safety,” said an industry operator. He said besides the influenza A (H1N1) pandemic, the current situation had added to the losses the tourism industry was suffering. Meanwhile, the Foreign Ministry and the Malaysian embassy in India will continue to monitor the situation closely and issue regular reports. An operations room has been set up to receive reports of any related incidents from members of the public, especially Malaysian citizens currently in India. The anti-Malaysia movement in India did not only take their anger to the streets but also through the Internet.

On the social networking site Facebook, for example, the Anti-Malaysia groups are a hit among Indians , whose members are mostly youngsters.The Anti-Malaysia group has 1,315,000,000 members.The movement has been accusing Malaysia of "stealing" Indian culture and heritage for many years. "Even the word 'curi' which means to steal has been stolen from Hindi," said Josef Stalin, a protester.

Members have also posted criticisms and derogatory comments on the site while over 2,000 members participated in a discussion to voice their dissatisfaction at Malaysia.There are also hundreds of photos and videos mocking the country.

In Chennai three youths self-immolated themselves in protest, claiming that the Bharathanatyam belonged to the Tamils. Meanwhile the Dravida Munnetra Kazhagam led by Tamil Nadu Chief Minister Kalaignar Karunanithi announced that members will go on an indefinite fast to protest against Malaysia. "We will not give up our culture. உடல் மண்ணுக்கு உயிர் தமிழுக்கு ", he proclaimed.

Meanwhile in London, the British Commonwealth office revealed that many English words too have been stolen and surreptitiously incorporated into the Malaysian Language. Lord Mc Guinness, the Chief Commissioner, demanded that Malaysia pay royalty on these words. Where the spellings are altered, a discount could be considered, he offered.

நினைத்தாலே புளிக்கும் ***

The starting scene has Shiva on a phony looking plane. Shiva is needled by the bloke sitting next to him, who in typical Indian fashion, persists in knowing every little detail about what Shiva is up to. Just when you think Shiva would grab the chap by his throat and throttle him, the scene shifts to a flashback.

Shiva is reminiscing about his college days. “College days – they were the best days of my life,” he muses. And why so? We see soon enough. He and his pals jeer and heckle another student who comes to college by moped (a type of motorised bicycle), and then beat up a guy who is pursuing a girl, because Shiva thinks he shouldn’t be doing so. They mix cheap whisky into Pepsi and feed it to a girl student, causing all round cheer for all except the girl in question. Then they make insolent fun of their lecturer, who is trying his best to teach them chemistry. Aren’t college days great ?

Shiva and his group are incensed because a hostel mate got a stomach upset, after eating the hostel food. They leave the class in a group, and head for the canteen. Once there, they empty a bag of live cockroaches onto the lunch of the College Principal, Warden and assorted lecturers. Whereupon the Principal promptly acknowledges their legitimate grouse, and orders changes to the Hostel management.

In between there is much singing and dancing. One song openly calls on Allah to do whatever the students want Him to do. If the right people see this scene, there could be a ban on the song, or even the movie, which wouldn’t be an entirely bad thing.

Then one day, Shiva decides the College needs a Students’ Union. He instigates a “strike”, ignoring the pleas of the Principal and management, and leads the students in violent clashes with the police. Finally the College management gives in and approves the Union.

Then come Union Elections. Naturally Shiva is a Candidate. And the villain, Vasu, instead of standing against Shiva, cleverly manoeuvres Shiva’s girlfriend , Meera to do so. And she does. This leaves Shiva fuming. Many things happen, and finally Shiva and Meera both have to leave the college.

***

It was Sakthi's dream that these classmates should have a reunion ten years from graduation. But Sakthi dies under mysterious circumstances. His parents decide to fulfill their departed son's dream and bring his classmates together for a reunion.

It is during this event that Shiva is found, almost dead, strangled by a guitar wire (is that possible?) Naturally everyone suspects the villain, Vasu. But turns out it was actually a Muslim girl, Shali who did it. This girl was making up the background crowd throughout the movie, and most viewers would have thought that she was there to represent the minority Indian Muslim community. But there is more to it. Apparently she was in love with Sakthi (which no one suspected). One day during the election fracas, Shiva muzzles Sakthi to death with a chloroform soaked cloth, not realising who it was. Shali saw this but kept quiet for 10 years. After he had killed Sakthi, Shiva realised his mistake. But he too kept quiet for the next 10 years.

The coming together of the classmates is an occasion for the participants to regurgitate the past and go nostalgic. Everything turns out fine for Shiva, who finally marries Meera. The rest watch and cheer.

Waste of 2 ½ hours and RM 11.

Projambat ****

Dato’ Bakri Senan was pleased with himself. He rubbed his hands in glee. The mother of all mega projects. And he was piggy-backing on the PM’s 1-Malaysia concept. Brilliant.

***
The team was dressed super smart. Dato’ Bakri, his uncle Abu Seman and their partner Dato’ Tan Ah Chai were the only Malaysians. The rest were whites, a couple of Chinese, and the three African financiers. A formidable team. Dato’ Bakri looked at them, all seated in the waiting area of the Minister’s office. Malaysia Boleh. 1- Malaysia. He smiled at Abu Seman proudly.

***

The tall white guy had a commanding voice. The minister listened attentively. The officers sat around, disinterested. A few were waiting for cues from the Minister on how they should react. They were waiting for any tell-tale signs.

“Our concept is in consonance with the One-Malaysia idea. As Malaysia embarks on a period of unprecedented economic growth, social progress and cultural development, key infrastructure projects will play an important role in the success of the region. From superhighways and bridges to express rail links and development regions the most dynamic projects will connect people and regions.Our bridge is designed to be the world’s longest link at 680.93 km. It will be entirely privately funded. The East West Bridge (Projek Jambatan Barat Timur - Projambat) will connect peninsular Malaysia and Sarawak across the South China Sea. An ambitious project that will fuel the growth of Malaysia and Southeast Asia and have a lasting global impact, the crossing will provide increased political security and ignite social change across the region.The creation of a crossing between the Malaysian peninsula and East Malaysia will dramatically change .............. " he went on.

The Minister was in a reverie. If only he could pull this off, he was secure for a few generations. Some of the officers were also eyeing the minister, hoping he would make some positive noises. They could see immense possibilities and opportunities.

***
The African financier was speaking now. His English was highly accented, and barely decipherable.

“This ah privately funded initiative (PFI) and de project will fuel the growth of Mahlaysiah without playcing annecessary burden on gahvmint. De total cost is estimated at RM 520 billion, and will be fully financed by ahs. De money will be raised through Zimbabweh Dollar Bonds, raised in the International Mahket. Ah course we will require Mahlaysian Gahvmint Guarantees and Securites.”
A lot of mental calculations were going on in several peoples’ heads, once the figure of RM 520 billion was mentioned.
The Minister was looking at the map showing the bridge alignment.
"Could we make it touch that Island midway ? Maybe we could make it a little crooked.”

There were loud guffaws of laughter. The ice was broken. Many heaved sighs of relief.

***

The press was eagerly waiting.

“We have just seen a proposal for a link Bridge between East and West Malaysia. It is a physical realisation of 1- Malaysia, which our beloved Prime Minster has asked us to work towards. It is fully financed by Zimbabwe , and the proponents have assured us it is a safe, viable and profitable project and expected to bring immense benefits – economic, social, political and many other ways. The Government fully supports the project, and our officers will work with the proponents to iron out the details. No questions.”

Dato’ Bakri showed the thumbs up sign, and nodded at Abu Seman and Dato’ Tan.

The Plan ***

Ramamurthy: Can we ever redeem ourself in the eyes of the people ? They are beginning to accrue doubts about our very integrity.

Senapathy: Well Rama, as a political party we should be representing them, but we have played into the hands of the communist opportunists. We are seen as their lackeys. In the eyes of the people, we are only concerned about our own interests. We are fat cats.

Ramamurthy: But many stayed on course.

Senapathy: In the hope that we might change. Remember, in 1969 they had once abandoned us in a big way. In 2000 the majority decided that enough was enough, and repeated their disdainful disgusted dismissal a la 1969. Yet we never noticed.

Ramamurthy: Are you saying the writing was on the wall, yet we did not notice the winds of change?

Senapathy: What else?

Ramamurthy: But why ? What caused this?

Senapathy: The corruption. It infuriated the community. That to a large extent led to the peoples’ growing disenchantment with the party that had got them their glorious independence. But over and above that, the singular most humiliating factor that convinced them has been our servile silent sycophantic relationship with the communists. I cringe in shame, when I think of it.

Ramamurthy: Sena, we had won the latest by-election?

Senapathy: Yes. We got ourselves overly ecstatic with that fluke victory. And by going in with that arrogance, we shot ourself in the foot.

Ramamurthy: I don’t think it’s that bad, our rivals have been concocting all sorts of imagined threats looming with the communists within reach of power.

Senapathy: I hate to agree with them, but in this case they are right. Their view is fully vindicated. The commies have been confusing the people with their sleight of hand, their exploitative braggadocio and dare. “Resist, hold fast, never give way”, and we have been at the forefront with them, echoing these foolish admonishments. When we knew very well we were pushing ourselves into a corner.

Ramamurthy: The Communists always seem to be championing the downtrodden.

Senapathy sneered: Yeah Yeah. The poor. They shaft the poor at every chance. That’s what they do. And by getting us into their camp, they have finally twisted the knife of insult by one further turn.

Ramamurthy: What you say are not yet facts. We cannot make 180-degree about-turns, that would be suicidal.

Senapathy grudgingly agreed to that possibility.

Ramamurthy: Listen, we are going out there and will stand firmly behind our comrades. Let\s play by ear. We will hive them off at the suitable time. Which I want you guys to start planning for, beginning now. Remember, we have to come out smelling good, and not as if we were taken for a ride all along.

Senapathy: At least you are seeing the light. Don’t worry I will given them the royal shaft. They won’t know what hit them. And don’t feel any pangs. We are putting the people right up there.

Goddess of the Essence of the Star ***

The local papers have been giving wide coverage for the story of Kartika Sari Dewi Shukarno who has been sentenced to be whipped for drinking beer. Her news has gone international too.

Apparently Kartika Sari Dewi in Indonesian means the “goddess of the essence of the star”. She has been playing her cards right. Although she is actually a lowly hospital staff, she told the papers she was a part time model (in order not to jeopardise her job, she says. And we believe her).

The judge has passed judgment. But the authorities are wringing their hands.
“How to do it?”
“She is not in jail.”
“We’ll do it after the fasting month.”
They seem to be vacillating and procrastinating .

In the meantime Kartika was quite decided. “I want to be whipped.”

In Malaysia only the prison department and no one else may cane a prisoner. As Kartika wasn’t sentenced to jail, she is not a prisoner, thus she needn't go to prison. Therefore how is the authority going to cane her?
Some said: “Kartika should go to the Syariah High Court and file an appeal..”
But Kartika wouldn’t. She wanted to be caned.
Then somebody warned that the whipping, if carried out will be ultra vires and open the authorities to a legal suit. He advised: “Kartika can sue. This is because her detention, and subsequently the whipping, is illegal.”

Now we are also told that this caning will be using a miniature cane, and more of a symbolic tap than painful lashing.

So on the balance of it, Kartika is well advised to insist on being caned. And once it is over, she has two roads to the bank.

She could sue and make some money.

Or, and this is the lucrative one: she could become a world celebrity. The part time model could become a real Star. Book and movie deals would be on the horizon. For Kartika, that is turning out to be a lucky beer......

Drugs ***

“Kamini is so lucky. She has landed Giri as her husband. Giri’s family is loaded. Its a family business, and Giri is involved in it too. Did you know they go to Hawaii for weekend vacations ?”
“Yeah, so lucky. And I heard Giri’s uncle takes his private jet to Auckland for Golf every Saturday.”
“What business are they in ?”
“Drugs. They manufacture and distribute. Its so lucrative.”

Baskaran listened, shocked. These ladies were talking of a drug dealer and actually envying him! Baskaran decided to confront Giri. He had found out where Giri lived. He moved away quickly, heading for Giri’s house.

The two ladies continued their conversation.
“They own Cavendish Pharmaceuticals. They are big into generic drugs, and cater mainly for the export market.”

The Newcomer ****

Jasleen happened to glance up, and the small signboard caught her eye. A Sai Baba Centre ! Jasleen was a student in this strange big city, and being away from her family for the first time, she had been feeling an emptiness recently. Maybe Sai Baba can help her. She had heard about Sai Baba from her aunt, a devout follower.

***

As Jasleen walked into the Sai Centre, it was still quite empty. Just a few people making preparations for the bhajans. Jasleen stood hesitantly near the door, taking in the details. The altar was beautiful, a large photograph of Sai Baba, hands raised in blessing. Jasleen felt an indescribable sense of homecoming. Then she saw the other pictures. Several of Hindu God forms, which Jasleen always found difficult to tell one from the other. To her, they all had similar poses, with numerous hands and some animal or other. Then she saw the pictures of Jesus, Kuan Imm and Guru Nanak. She was taken aback by the unlikely images. Just like the Hindu God forms, Jesus and Guru Nanak too had bright red dots on their foreheads. A kumkum pottu, in the style of Hindus. And there were jasmine garlands around the pictures.

“Hello, welcome.” the middle aged Uncle was greeting Jasleen.
“Hi.”
Uncle Visu went on with some small talk, and showed her where she could sit. As they spoke, a lady appeared, and she too smiled at Jasleen. Soon other devotees started trickling in. Most did a double take on seeing Jasleen. She was obviously a newcomer. But the overwhelming first impression she had was that these people are disorientingly friendly. Very few were aloof. Smiles were everywhere.

Soon the bhajans started. What a blissful experience. Jasleen was in ecstasy. In an hour, the bhajans were over. A man went up and read Sai Baba’s message : “ Go within. Don’t focus on the external things.” Jasleen could not figure out what that meant. The man also mentioned the Nine Codes of Conduct. Jasleen made a mental note to look it up later. Then the man went on for about 15 minutes, making announcements and talking.

***

Jasleen had been coming for a few weeks to the Centre. She had a few friends now. But the rest of the devotees did not go beyond just smiling at her. Nowadays she lingered for a while after the bhajans, chatting with her new-found friends. She could see the discrete groups of men, women, and youths chatting and laughing among themselves. Sometimes they glanced her way. As she got to know more of the devotees, she started sensing the undercurrents. Below the surface of smiles and friendliness was bitter clique rivalry.

***

A year had passed. Jasleen had taken up a Centre position by then. And this had really opened up the Pandora's box. The Centre politics became glaringly apparent. She found that she had to drag herself to the Centre every week. There was so much ill-feeling, and talking behind backs. The Sai Centre was no longer the oasis of bliss it had been when she first came. She was badly disillusioned.

***

One day she spoke to Uncle Visu. “Uncle, I feel so discouraged,. I don’t know if it is because I am emotional or immature or inexperienced......” she went on and on... pouring out her heart. Uncle Visu listened patiently until she had finished. Then he smiled and patted her on her shoulder.
“Jasleen, we must remember that Swami works in peculiar ways. Through all manner of people and situations. The Centre is not made up of perfect people. These are ordinary folks. All at their own levels of spiritual development. This is a miniature world. Take them for what they are. It is your attitude, how you take things, how you benefit and move up the spiritual path: that’s what matters at the end of the day....”

***

In spite of Uncle Visu’s advice, Jasleen stayed away from the Centre for several weeks. Then she had the Dream.

Swami had come in Jasleen’s dream. He had spoken in Uncle Visu’s voice, while Jasleen was reading a page that said "Face the devil". The scene started with a dramatic instruction from Swami: “Get back to your senses la! You can do it!" ...and the next moment he was walking out of the room...then He popped his head through the door again and said, “I missed you”...and walked away.

Jasleen woke up the next morning, the dream vivid in her mind. The following Thursday, Jasleen was waiting to go back to the Centre. She knew that doing work for Him actually meant doing work for herself. She knew what going within meant.

Kg Buah Pala – bullshit all the way! ***

The cows and bulls once grazed this land,
making it, with their daily droppings, fertile.
Much later came the others in a band,
with their heady slogans and ready guile.

In hordes and swarms the new false prophets came,
misleading the hapless residents by their game.
Turning their innocent hope to pure greed,
with utter bullshit on race and creed

Now the people run from pillar to post,
in their desperation even turning to those-
the very ones who started the whole mess,
aiming to make many many millions, no less.

Freedom ***

Elvin had another new toy today– an Apple I Phone. Vivek was speechless. Elvin’s parents were rich - filthy rich. And they lavished their all on Elvin. He had everything ! And flaunted everything he had.

Vivek sighed. He had spoken to his dad that morning about a phone. Vivek had expected it, and it came. A long litany of the merits of thrift, followed by the oft repeated story of the spartan life his father had led as a child. “Be contented with what you have,” he was told. Vivek resigned himself to his fate. He knew he would never have a phone. Unless he did something about it.

***

Vivek looked at the bound and gagged child. She was sobbing incessantly. He locked the tiny storeroom and headed for the pay-phone. Vivek covered the mouthpiece with a tissue paper as he spoke. He used a gruff low voice. “Listen carefully. We have your child. I want ten thousand. Get it.”

He went back to the storeroom. As he unlocked and pushed the door open, she saw him. The blindfold had come off. The child’s eyes widened in recognition. Vivek rushed over and tied the dirty cloth around her eyes again, wrapping it in a bundle around her face. He sat back. The girl looked like a mummy. But Vivek realised it was no good. She had seen him. She knew who it was. Vivek was in a daze. His thoughts raced. What to do now ? He looked at her again. Suddenly he realised she was slumped over. And very still. No! He rushed over and pulled the cloth away. He pulled the gag off. But it was too late. She had suffocated. The little girl was dead. Vivek sat down, his head in his hands. “God. Somehow help me.” Vivek screamed. And he sat up. He looked around, groggy for a while. He was in his bedroom. Could it be ? Yes. It had been a dream. More a nightmare actually. But what a relief ! He lay awake for a long time before he fell asleep again.


***

Elvin was flaunting the I-Phone again. A group of boys were hungrily pawing the sleek thing. But Vivek somehow felt a strange distaste. He looked for a while, and then moved away.

The H1N1 solution ****

Arunasalam was worried. The H1N1 problem seemed to be getting out of hand. His managers had got an earful at that morning’s management meeting. “I want you to research it and get me the answer. Yesterday.” Arunasalam had screamed. Now he sat, looking out of his office window, out at the city. He could imagine the deadly virus wreaking havoc among the people down there. It was a tragedy like never before. And his company, United Health had to do something about it.

***

Devendran sat at his desk, poring over volumes of literature. He had been doing this for hours, and had developed a splitting headache from reading the fine text. Suddenly he saw it. The words jumped at him. He shook his head, and looked up. For a moment he thought his eyes were playing tricks. Then he looked again. Yes. It was there. He had done it! The H1N1 problem was solved. “I found it,” Devendran shouted.

***

Arunasalam was smiling again. Devendran had found the solution. “Great job, Dev. I thought United will sink with this H1N1. But now we have a way. Issue a circular immediately to all our clients.”

***

UNITED HEALTHCARE ASSURANCE

To all HMOs,

Coverage for Influenza A - H1N1

Greetings from United.

I would like to refer to the numerous medical insurance claims relating directly or indirectly to Influenza A – H1N1. I am pleased to draw your attention to Volume XIV, Chapter 24, Clause 5.4.5.2, sub clause (s), bullet 8 of our agreement.

It is clearly stated in the abovementioned clause that United Healthcare’s coverage does not include for any hospitalization, surgery or charges caused directly or indirectly, wholly or partly for Communicable disease requiring quarantine by law. In this case, Influenza A – H1N1 has been declared by the Government of Malaysia as a communicable disease requiring quarantine by law, vide Circular KKM12/23/09(Jld3) dated 30th Feb 2009.

Thank you.
UNITED HEALTHCARE ASSURANCE

“We strive to meet your needs”

A.R.M.R.Arunasalam
GROUP CEO

***

As Arunasalam was about to sign the circular, he looked again. Inexplicably, the “y” in the tag line was almost invisible.

Conversion and Confusion ***

Came across an interesting, although confusing article in the STAR recently: http://thestar.com.my/news/story.asp?file=/2009/8/18/focus/4540535&sec=focus
It was by one Dr Wan Azhar of IKIM (Institut Kefahaman Islam Malaysia). It was entitled “Religious conversion, children and confusion”.

He said:
The long existing misunderstanding over the religious status of minors resurfaced when an ill-informed Cabinet minister announced that the religion of minors from non-Muslim parents, upon the conversion of any of the parents to Islam, remains in the religion under which the marriage was solemnised. Such a statement contradicts the Federal Constitution and some religious positions. It worsens the confusion among the people and draws criticisms from both Muslims and non-Muslims.

Then he quoted several Islamic scholars and authorities. In effect he said:
In Islam, if a child was born from Muslim parents, jurists unanimously agreed that he or she is a Muslim. Similarly, if the child was born from a Muslim father and a non-Muslim mother, he or she is a Muslim. The principle applied by jurists here is in terms of religion, the child follows the best religion of his parent. Since Islam is deemed the best religion, the child follows the religion of his or her Muslim parent, either father or mother.

He went on:
What is the status of a child’s religion if both parents renounce Islam and become apostates? Jurists from all legal schools maintain that the child remains a Muslim.
If only one parent embrace Islam, their underage child becomes Muslim too. Between the two parents, the position of the one who embraces Islam is ‘stronger’ compared to the non-converting spouse. Therefore, a child follows the religion of the ‘stronger’ party.

After all this, he says, inexplicably:
When a marriage breaks down due to conversion to Islam, the best solution must be sought from the religion under which the marriage was solemnised or the law under which the marriage was registered. All disputes pertaining to property, custody of minors and other ancillary rights must be resolved under that religious or legal system.

Mitran ****

Ashok held Seema’s hand. He tried not to be emotional in front of his wife. But Seema was inconsolable. “Why? Why? Why?” she kept whispering. Ashok had no answer. “Its so unfair!” Seema sobbed.

Their expectations of a beautiful baby to complement their idyllic life had been rudely disrupted. Nothing had prepared them for this. The baby was retarded.

After the initial shock, they were in denial. It could not be true. Such a beautiful thing had to be perfect. But it WAS true. Their beautiful child was mentally deficient. The anger lasted a while, followed by depression and a deep despair. And then Baby Mitran looked at them. Seema melted.

***

Mitran was an angelic child. He smiled at everyone. His eyes were dark and deep, and his look was piercing. He seldom cried. But laughed often. It was easy to forget his deficiency. Seema enjoyed looking at him. She used to shed silent tears. But now, she realised that this was a precious gift from God. She would hover over his crib, and listen to Mitran’s gurgles. And whenever she was there, Baby Mitran would gurgle even more and make all kinds of noises.

But Ashok never looked at Mitran. He just could not accept him.

***
Mitran, now six years old, was making shapeless crayon markings on the paper. He looked up, his eyes as piercing as ever. "Dhadhy,"
Ashok was going through rough patch. He had taken a pay cut. His job was at risk. He answered with a nod, not really in the mood to bother.

"Me painting," Mitran persisted.

"I see that. What is it?"

"Ghappiness." Mitran smiled at Ashok.

Ashok was startled.

"Dhadhy, why you sad? "

Mitran’s perceptiveness surprised Ashok. "I took a pay cut," explained Ashok. “I may lose my job.” The next moment, he thought, my God, why was he saying this to a little child?

"Oh," Mitran looked concerned, "then this bad day."

"Yes." Ashok looked at his son.

***

Seema was sitting on the chair near Mitran’s cot, her hand on the child’s head. She looked forlorn. She had no more tears. She had lost her son. Mitran had died peacefully. Ashok felt a strange sense of sadness, tinged with relief. He quickly went over and hugged Seema.

***

Seema handed Ashok a smeared envelope, with DHADHY printed in bold, childish letters. Inside was a drawing in bright crayon hues -- a yellow patch in the corner, a sea of blue , and brown doodles. Underneath was carefully printed: HAPINESS FOR DHADHY.

Tears welled up in Ashok’s eyes, and a heart that had almost forgotten to love opened wide. He sobbed uncontrollably.