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.