Conscience ***

Ben stared pensively out of the window at the overcast sky. He was lying in his comfortable bed. He looked around at the well furnished condominium. He had come a long way. His parents had been rubber tappers, who slaved all day long to make ends meet. They had struggled to give him an education. And Ben had done well. He too had done odd jobs part time to support the family. Through sheer hard work he had worked his way through school and university. And out in the cruel world, his grit and determination had pushed him into the top echelons of the corporate world. He was a somebody now. He had a nice bungalow in KL, and this condominium here in Manila, where he stayed whenever he visited on business, which was often. A few years ago, he had found his wife, Jude, a beautiful former model.

Ben sensed a movement beside him. She rolled over, stretched and yawned.
“I got to leave in a few minutes.” Ben looked at her.
“Ok, let me get you a coffee.” She started to get up.
“No, no. I had my coffee. You rest. I’ll get going now.”
“When will you be back ?” She always made him feel wanted. Ben enjoyed being with her. She was so considerate. And yet undemanding. He smiled at her, and patted her cheeks.

***

Jude was waiting for him as he came back from work. It was late, but she looked so fresh and pretty. Ben was mildly surprised that she had stayed up.
“Ben, come on, get into some comfortable clothes and join me.” She held out her hand. Ben looked at her. This was unusual.

As he sank into the soft sofa beside her, she moved over and leaned on him.
“What’s up? You are so cheerful and glowing!”
“Ben. I have some good news.” She paused. “Ben - you’re going to be a father.” She took his hand and put it on her belly.

The emotions washed over Ben in waves. “My God. That’s astounding. I'm lost for words. Thank you. I love you Jude.” They hugged each other in joy.

***
Ben lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. His conscience was shaken badly. He had been frolicking with Marie in Manila while his wife was here, carrying his child. He had to break off with Marie. He had to find a way. And he must come clean. He came to a conclusion. He would confess to Jude in the morning. He would beg her forgiveness.

***
Jude lay on her side. She could sense Ben still awake. She couldn’t bring herself to face him now. Somehow she had managed to break the news of the baby to him. But now, she trembled as she thought about it. Should she confront him now ? How would he react ? How will he take it ? A tear formed and rolled down her cheeks. Then, suddenly, she knew the answer. She had to do it. She would talk to him in the morning. She had to tell Ben. That the child was not his.

Dear Abby 2 ***

Dear Abby,

I have never written to you before, but I really need your advice. I have suspected for some time now that my wife has been cheating on me. The usual signs; phone rings but if I answer, the caller hangs up. My wife has been going out with 'the girls' a lot recently although when I ask their names she always says, just some friends from work, you don't know them. I try to stay awake and look out for her when she comes home, but I usually fall asleep. Anyway, I have never broached the subject with my wife. I think deep down I just did not want to know the truth, but last night she went out again and I decided to finally check on her.

Around midnight, I hid in the garage behind my golf clubs so I could get a good view of the whole street when she arrived home from a night out with 'the girls’.

It was at that moment, crouching behind my golf clubs, that I noticed a hairline crack where the grip meets the graphite shaft on my 3-wood. Is this something I can fix myself or should I take it back to the pro-shop where I bought it?

Jack

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


Jack,
You have great eyesight, great agility and good health. Hairline cracks are normal, going to pro shops is not recommended.

However, you could sell her car and get a new set.

Abby program.

Computer-generated letter requires no signature

(plagiarised)

Keb and Jan ***

Keb loved Jan. She was not his daughter. He did not have any daughters. But he felt an inexplicable bond with her. He wished her well. From his soul. He knew her strengths. He marvelled seeing Jan's talents and achievements. He was proud of her. He often felt he knew her strengths even better than she herself did. Jan was delicate and fragile. Keb felt deeply for Jan, especially when she went through her occasional stormy periods. But Jan was often distant and remote. She was fond of Keb and sometimes showed it. These were high points in Keb's otherwise drab life. And occasionally Jan would go through particularly rough patches. And when this happened, she would seek out Keb for comfort and solace. Keb could share her agony and despair and would offer soothing words in his clumsy way. And then - the storm would blow over. And Keb would be left alone once again - without his daughter. Keb's heart would rejoice that Jan was happy once again. He just wanted his daughter to be happy.

***

The man approached Keb in purposeful strides. "Look. You don't know me. But I know you very well. I have been observing you".

Keb was stunned. He looked at the man blankly. The man looked around furtively. Then he grabbed Keb's elbow and looked into his eyes. "I want you to stay away from Jan. You are disturbing her peace. I won't repeat this. Just go away".

Keb stood silently, looking at the receding image of the man. He felt a strange emptiness. Slowly his shoulders drooped. He looked down at the grey floor. It looked greyer than the last time he had seen it. He blinked, suddenly realising the glaze over his eyes.

The Ostrich Strategy **

Aiyer: This is the oligarchs' solution for American Education System: Bang for the Buck in Schools. It's not the perceived anti-American stance, or the accusation of being anti-Indian that's the problem; it is the deference to ideology that recasts all facts to support presupposed truths, that rankles. To paraphrase what you said before, the avoidance of fundas turns us into goondas (inasmuch as I know that the original references were different, some truths are apparently universal.

Karnam: You are absolutely right. I don't see why people here are so anti-USA, anti-India, anti-this, anti-that. Universal love, brother...that always works. USA is fantastic, India is fantastic. Dollar was good. Rupee sucked. Now both suck. Just ignore the complainers. If you from India (which you are), you got be able to turn-off the background noise, which is always there in various amplitudes and frequencies. Just listen to the music, nullify the cacophony. Yehi tho hai jidagi...(I know you complained when I wrote to you Hindi, but come on yaar, if one Injun cant talk to another in Hindustani, what the heck are we doing?)

Lakshman: Give the guy a break - he has just quoted others. Of course, you can give him grief for not expressing an opinion.

Aiyer: That would be like giving Goebbels a break because he was just quoting Hitler. If one purposefully cites quotes in support of an agenda, culpability is clear. As to legitimacy of giving grief for not expressing an opinion ... the opinion has been expressed and is clear, though unstated in this missive, past record of malignment of American way of life stands. It is not the malignment of America(ns) that is offensive (though one wonders as to the motivations), everyone has likes and dislikes and their private reasons for the same ... The misrepresentations being used as a tool to whitewash Indian issues is what gives offense. It is in the interest of India to transparently recognize deficiencies so they may be resolved. Demagogues posturing to minimize them is what piques.

Karnam: There is plenty wrong with the American public school system, (also plenty right in many districts), however "The oligarchy making decisions for public-school kids" and "the schools they impose their policies on" is grossly and outrageously false. As usual, more crap from Mr. Aiyer.... this is "class-warfare" propaganda of the worst kind, in that it is so blatantly presented on an outrageously false premise. The "oligarchy" cannot impose anything, nada, zilch, zero, on any public school system. Public school administration is locally managed and administered by locally elected school boards. Oligarch's may have opinions, right or wrong, but have absolutely no say, they don't even have a mechanism to try and have a say.

Lakshman: Why not solve before acknowledging publicly (kind of like not flaunting your dirty wear), then you wont be put on a huge guilt trip? Form a task force-brainstorm and acknowledge privately, then clean up, then acknowledge publicly, whats wrong with this ? I was asked in a public forum this question "Shouldn't corruption in India be cleaned up before we seek foreign investment" This was in 1990. My answer then as it is now, is that what if we are never able to clean up the endemic corruption in India, then should it become a pariah state, kind of become impoverished like some African states? I don't think so. The answer then and now, is to tactfully, get rid of corrupters, while still pretending everything is hunky-dory. Acknowledge all you want, but don't acknowledge your weakness to a stranger... Otherwise the truth may be hard to bear. what if everyone issues sanctions against India for being "corrupt", and everyone starves?

Aiyer: Then we all agree. The mantra is to bury our heads in the sand. Be happy. Everything will go away.

(distorted from real conversation)

Visa ***

Seeni Uncle. Everyone called him that. In fact, he was Sreenivasan, the manager of the office. But he was disarmingly friendly. He would never raise his voice. He would never dictate work to anyone. He never had to. Everyone in the office, the peon, the dozen or so girls who worked as clerks and the lady accountants did their best for him, without being told. Other than Seeni Uncle and the peon, Marimuthu, everyone else in the office were females. It was like a family. There was chatter and laughter in the office all the time. And often, Seeni would be in the midst of it. Although he had his own room, the door was always open. And as soon as he had finished off the urgent business, he would saunter out of the office. He would mingle among the staff.

Seeni not only knew every single staff by name, but he knew about their families, their aspirations, their current trials and tribulations- in short – he knew them as if they were his kin. As he spoke to each one, his care and empathy endeared them to him. They loved Seeni Uncle.

Seeni Uncle had one peculiar trait. No matter what subject he started off with, the conversation would soon steer towards one topic. Seeni’s wife Visa. He would paint a beautiful picture of her. The woman of his life. The woman who made him what he was. The woman who made his life worth living. A model wife. Everyone would listen in rapt attention. They marvelled at this divine love they could sense, between Seeni Uncle and his wife Visa. And they would wish one day to meet this extraordinary woman. But none of them had met her.

Soon Seeni Uncle would fall silent, as though immersed in sweet thoughts of his wife.

***

The office staff were leaving. It was after six in the evening. Seeni was always the last to leave. “Must finish my work. And then rush to my lovely Visa!” he would tell them, with a beatific smile.

***

“Late again? I suppose you were gallivanting with the loose girls in your office? When will you ever change ? You are 60! Almost as old as their grandfathers. And yet you flirt with them. Its all my fate.” Visalakshi started as soon as she saw him enter the front door.

“It runs in your family, I suppose. After all, didn’t your sister run off with that salesman ? And your brother? He married that low caste woman. Hmph. கர்மம் … கர்மம் .. என்னோட தலைவிதி … இப்பிடி ஒரு குடும்பத்துல வந்து மாட்டிண்டேன் . (What a shame. Its my fate that I ended up marrying into such a family)”

“வாங்கோ , வந்து தின்னுங்கோ (Come, come and eat).” She threw the plate of rice on the table, scattering some of the cold rice.

Sreenivasan sat down silently, and began eating the rice. He could hear Visalakshi grumbling loudly in the kitchen. He closed his eyes and chewed laboriously. Soon there was silence. He longed to be back in his office. With memories of his beloved Visa.

The Day Ranjan Stole the Cummerbund **

The scene was surreal. The old man sat hunched. One could see the flesh sagging on his face. The clothes were over sized, and inside, he was probably just a skeleton. He stared fixedly at a point in the medium distance. Beside him, the stunning beauty. She was too beautiful for words. Flowing raven black hair, billowing lightly in the wind. A few strands would occasionally blow over her face, and she would delicately push them back with a delicate finger. He upturned nose was small but had a magnetic appeal far in excess of the rest of her face. He full lips, light pink in colour, and the majestic high cheekbones, accentuating her wheat complexioned face. She sat close to the old man, hugging him close. Every once in a while she would touch his face, or hair. Always with loving care.

The old man mumbled something. The girl strained to catch what he was saying. “What pa?”

“The cummerbund. I must have it.” The old man spoke in a steady and loud voice.

The girl looked at him helplessly. “But I don’t even know what that is. Much less where to get it. Why don’t I get you candy floss? Ha? That’s your favourite right pa? Come on, let go get candy floss..” she coaxed.

“The cummerbund. I must have it.” The old man repeated adamantly.

***

Ranjan recalled the store selling quaint gifts on Stonehenge Street. Surely they would have a cummerbund. He looked at his watch. Almost 9 pm. They would be closing anytime. He quickened his pace. It was cold. He put his hands into his pockets. And that was when he realised he had only small change. He took out all the coins. The grand total was £ 1.28. Surely a cummerbund wouldn’t cost more than that ?

***

Ranjan looked at the label. £ 25.99. HE rubbed it and looked again. But the figure was the same. £ 25.99. He was in the only shop in town selling cummerbunds. And he was holding the only cummerbund in the shop. And the label said £ 25.99. And he had just £ 1.28 in his pockets. Ranjan looked around. The coast was clear. He furtively stuffed the cummerbund into his coat pocket. Then hunched, he casually strolled out of the shop.

As he left the front door, a thick set man stepped forward. He flashed an ID Card.
“Just a mom’nt guv. Have you forgotten to pay for anything? May I ask you to step this way? And empty your pockets?”

Ranjan thought of the old man. And the beautiful girl. He looked crestfallen as the man caught him firmly by the elbow.