Travails of a married man - Part 3

A fictional story by Prakash Subbarao (Prakash@3xus.com)

You’ve read parts I and II of this story, right? If you haven’t, you need to catch up, dude. It’ll be good for you. It will make it easy to understand this story. As David C. McCullough said: “History is a guide to navigation in perilous times. History is who we are and why we are the way we are”. Who is McCullough? The guy who made the statement, dude. That’s all you need to know at this stage.

To read Part I and II of the story, search for it on my blog:

(http://prakashsubbarao.blogspot.com).

Those who have read Part 1 & II and forgotten it, go back and re-read it. Do not pass GO, do not collect $200.

Those who remember it with clarity, uncomfortable or otherwise, read on………………..

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The cast so far:

Me

My wife: Sarita

My friend: Probir

His wife: Malini

His sister: Rani

The action is taking place circa 1986.

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There I am, one day, doing what I have to do at work. The time is 5 pm. For some strange reason I remember the time with great clarity. The phone rings. I pick up. I here someone whistling at the other end of the line. I am nonplussed. “Hello” I say. “Hi! This is Rani” a disembodied voice says at the other end of the line. “You asked me to whistle if I needed your help. I am whistling now. I desperately need your help”.

Memories start swirling in my brain. I remember the cool reception that I initially got from her. I remember the distant way she acted as “mum” at my daughter’s school at the time of admission when I needed a “wife” – she was distant with me but she charmed the principal and the staff! I remember the way we took off to have a drink when we were supposed to attend a wedding and how we blamed it on a punctured tyre. The memories come rushing back.

“What has happened, Rani” I ask, alarmed. There is a silence at the other end of the line. After some time I can hear the sounds of her sobbing. “When can you come to Bangalore?” she finally asks. “I am in deep trouble and cannot tell you over the phone. It’s a long story. I need help”.

“When would you like me to come?” I ask. “Will the weekend be OK”.

“No” she says. “That will be too late. Can you come tomorrow?”

Too late? Too late for what? I wonder…..

“OK” I tell her. “I’ll be there tomorrow”

I was on the early morning flight to Bangalore. In those days the first flight took off at 6 a.m. and one was in Bangalore by 7a.m. I was at the Taj Residency by 7.30 a.m. and called Rani by 8 a.m. “OK, so I am in Bangalore. Now tell me what the problem is”.

“Where are you staying?” she asked.

“Room 804 at the Taj Residency” I replied.

“I will be there in an hour” she said and hung up.

An hour later I heard a knock on the door. It was her.

She looked very harried and had dark circles under her eyes. She took out a packet of cigarettes and nervously lit one. Taking a deep drag, she looked at me with very pained eyes and said “I am in deep trouble”.

“What happened?” I asked her.

“Humph!” she snorted. “What happened? Nothing much happened! That fool of a father of mine suddenly remembered one day, some time ago that he has a friend in RAW. You know what RAW is, don’t you?” she asked.

“Yes, I know about it" I replied. “Go on”.

“My father phoned this friend, who is in Bombay, and told him on the phone about my problem. ‘Can you fix this problem for me? The IAS officer who married Rani must agree to a divorce. I will be eternally grateful if you can manage that” my father told him. “Yes, I can fix it” he said.

A few days later this person, Raj, was in Bangalore. He rang up and told my father that he would send a car over and to send me to meet him so that he could learn about the background directly from me. So I went. I thought that I was meeting a decent person, a friend of my father…………….”

She nervously took another long drag on the cigarette. The ash fell to the floor but neither of us noticed.

“He was staying at the West End. In a cottage. How can a guy who works for RAW afford such extravagance? Anyway, he was very nice and polite and heard me out and offered me dinner. After I had told him everything – I hid nothing back – he looked very thoughtful. “How badly do you want this divorce?” he asked me. “Very badly” I told him frankly. “Are you willing to do anything for it?” he asked. “Yes” I told him, without thinking. “Good” he said and smiled. He got up and came near me. He hugged me to him, holding me closely. He started fondling my breasts. “I can get you off. I can get you a divorce. I know how to twist the arm of your husband so that he will say ‘yes’ to the divorce on your terms. But I want you, my dear. Do I make myself clear?”

I was feeling wretched. I fought him and managed to get away. “Think about it” he said. “I can do what you want. I want a little something in return. It will be very easy. Trust me”.

“I have to think about it” I told him.

“Don’t take too long! I came to Bangalore only for you” he replied. “Meet me tomorrow, at 11 a.m. at my cottage” he said.

“When is that?” I asked.

“Today” she said. She looked at her watch. “In an hour from now”.

“OK” I told her briskly with a confidence that I didn’t feel. “Leave it to me. Go home and I will handle it. Don’t go to his cottage, whatever happens. OK?”

She nodded numbly. “What will you do?” she suddenly asked. “He is very powerful. Very dangerous. He can harm you”.

“Don’t worry about that” I told her.

After a cup of coffee she left. I could see a renewed sense of hope in her.

I brooded for a while. On an impulse I picked up the phone and dialled the number of the Taj West End. “Cottage 616 please” I told the operator. “One moment Sir” she said. A second later a very deep voice said “Hello!”

“Raj?” I asked.

“Yeah” the voice boomed.

“Raj, you are under surveillance” I said.

He didn’t appear fazed. “By whom?” he asked.

I just hung up.

That evening, at about 6 p.m. I got a call from Rani. “I want to meet you” was all she said. “Let’s go and have a drink”.

“OK” I said. I remembered vividly the last time that we had had a drink. This time I hoped she wouldn’t cry.

She was late and I waited for her at a pre-arranged spot. Soon I saw her drawing up in an auto. She paid off the auto driver and turned to me. Her eyes were wide as saucers and she was smiling from ear to ear. “What did you tell him?” she demanded.

“Who?” I asked, pretending not to understand.

“”Raj, you idiot!” she said, playfully punching me in the stomach.

“Nothing why?” I said.

“Because he’s on the run. He checked out from West End and rushed to the airport. I think he caught the first possible flight out of Bangalore. To Coimbatore, I think he said. He promised my father that he would do everything to help me. As a good family friend would. And I think he will. You scared the shit out of him. What did you say?”

“I told him “Raj, you’re under surveillance.”

“That’s all?” she asked incredulously.

“That’s all, Rani” I said. “Such people have a lot to hide. There was nothing else that I could think about so I just impulsively called him”.

Her eyes were sparkling. She was laughing. The world seemed so far away………………..

A few days later Raj delivered on his promise. Her husband, the IAS officer, agreed to a divorce.

A few months later, she was free of the marriage.

Her cousin Prasad flew down from the US. They announced to the elders that they were getting married. It was a firm announcement. No ifs and buts about it. The elders were silent. The silence was taken as consent.

Rani and Prasad were married a little later. She soon left Bangalore for the States. Before she left she called me. “Let’s get together sometime” she said.

That was way back in the 1986.

We never met again.

It is fourteen years later that I am writing this narrative. Strangely I have a sixth sense that I will run into her someday. I visualize it happening at a marriage of a mutual friend.

She will have her daughter with her. Not a son. A daughter. And she will tell the daughter “Say Hi to my old friend Uncle Prakash”.

And our eyes will exchange a secret message and smile.

The heartwarming story of Karma Bhutia

Part 2

By Prakash Subbarao (Prakash@3xus.com)

The day for Karma to leave for Kalimpong had come. Though it was a momentous journey, the little boy felt numb at heart. He sorely missed his mother. “If she were alive, I wouldn’t have to go away” he reasoned. There was nothing to hold him back now in Sikkim. Nothing except his sweet sister. Whom he loved dearly. “I will come back for her later, when I am settled” he promised himself.

On the appointed day of his departure his father was nowhere to be seen. “Probably lying drunk in some ditch” the little boy thought to himself, contemptuously. His thoughts turned to his sister. “How will she manage?” he asked himself repeatedly.

Fifteen minutes before the departure of his bus, his sister started weeping copiously. “Karma, don’t go! Don’t leave me alone! Karma! I am frightened” his sister screamed repeatedly. The little boy hugged her and wept. “I will come back for you” he told her, stroking her hair, kissing her cheek. “Till then, don’t talk to father. Just do as you are told and he won’t hit you. I will come back for you as soon as I can and will take you away”. Soon it was time to leave. Karma bent and touched his teacher’s feet reverentially. “Bless me, Sir” he requested his teacher. “And please take care of my sister”. “Don’t worry, Karma. I will meet her everyday and she can come and have dinner at our house. I have spoken to my wife regarding this and it has been agreed. So go in peace, my son!”

The bus horn hooted several times, indicating that the time to leave had come. Karma’s eyes were filled with tears. Blindly he turned and waved his sister, his teacher and the few other townsfolk who had come to see him off.

Karma was travelling alone. This was a direct bus to Kalimpong and the school authorities would receive him at the other end. He had with him a small bag with only a very few of his personal possessions. He would get his uniform and anything else that he needed at the school.

Dr Graham's Homes in Kalimpong, West Bengal, are situated in the Himalayan foothills of north-east India. They were founded by The Rev John Anderson Graham, a Church of Scotland Missionary, on 24th September 1900 out of compassion and concern for the often neglected Anglo-Indian children of the Tea Gardens in the Darjeeling District. They were first known as the St Andrew’s Colonial Homes but after his death renamed Dr Graham’s Homes.

In a rented cottage in Kalimpong six children were taken into care, and were looked after by a British housemother and a teacher. Dr Graham aimed to give each child health, education, training and self-respect based on the Christian principle of love and security.

In the years that followed, the Homes dominated his life and that of his wife, Katherine.

The children of the Tea Gardens were augmented by children of mixed parentage of the Army, Railways, Civil Service and Industry. The first Cottages were built on a barren hillside about a mile from Kalimpong and as the numbers of children increased so too did the cottages. All the cottages were donated by benefactors, as one was declared open; foundations of the next were laid.

Dr Graham's Homes has long since been established as a haven for thousands of children most in need and has remained true to its heritage to provide the highest standards of education within a context of established pastoral care, in preparation for the challenges of adult life. Committees in Calcutta, UK, Canada, Australia, New Zealand, Switzerland and, most recently, Japan, endeavour to give financial aid to support the Homes to enable Dr Graham's vision to continue into the next millennium. It is a tribute to the work of Dr Graham that the Homes today remain an educational pillar of strength in the Kalimpong district and beyond, bearing a name honoured still in our generation and hopefully in generations to come.

However, the little was aware of none of this as he stared unseeing and unmindful of the spectacular scenery unfolding in front of him. Although the awe-inspiring beauty of the Himalayan peaks lay in front of him, in his mind’s eye he saw his mother sitting at their old house, in front of a fire, darning his clothes; he saw her walking to the kitchen and he felt her mussing his hair. Suddenly he saw his mother extremely clearly. She was standing right in front of him. Her eyes were very soft, very gentle. She cupped his face with her palms and said to him “Karma, listen! I had to go away but I am now back and will live in your heart. I will take care of you all your life. Don’t worry. Whenever you are sad I will come and comfort you. Be brave, my little son!”

The little boy nodded, grateful for her presence. He suddenly felt at peace with himself. It was then that the excitement of going to a lovely school in a strange land hit him. His heart started thudding and he just couldn’t wait to be in Kalimpong.

He dozed fitfully that night. The next day, as day broke, they reached Kalimpong.

Though it was very early, and the sun was just rising, low on the horizon, several teachers stood at the bus stand with a placard reading:

DR. GRAHAM’S HOMES

Karma’s heart started thumping wildly. He instinctively knew that a new chapter in his life had begun.

He walked up to the nearest teacher and said solemnly to her “Ma’am, my name is Karma Bhutia. I have admission to your school”.

The teacher looked down at the little boy, standing all alone, defenceless. He looked strangely vulnerable. Impulsively she bent down and hugged him tight to her. “Welcome to Kalimpong, Karma” she said.

The warmth of her hug pleased Karma. He felt happy. He was soon at the school. He hadn’t realised it but he was ravenously hungry. On a large table in the dining hall he saw piles of food. He had never seen so much food in his life! Running to the table he soon heaped his plate high with eggs and toast and bacon and ate the first satisfying meal in years.

…………………………to be continued…………

TRYST WITH RHETT BUTLER: Part 2

By Prakash Subbarao (Prakash@3xus.com)

It’s a very strange feeling entering a hotel room with an unknown man. But curiosity had gotten the better of me. I was just dying to know why he was following me, how we was tracking me and how he knew of my fondness for Solan No. 1. Strangely some sixth sense told me that he was a good ‘un and meant no harm.

We entered the room and we settled down in the ante room. There was ice in the fridge. I took out two glasses and looked at him but he shook his head to indicate that he wouldn’t have anything. I opened my suitcase and took out a bottle of Chivas Regal.

“Would you prefer to drink your favourite drink” he asked me in his strangely accentless voice. “Yes, I would” I said with heavy sarcasm. “I would just love that”. I put a lot of emphasis on the “love”. He said nothing. When I lifted the bottle to pour the whisky into the glass I noticed with shock that I was now holding a “Solan No. 1” bottle. I shot a glance at him. His face was expressionless.

“How the devil did you manage to do that?” I blurted out, involuntarily.

“Oh, there’s nothing to it. I will teach you how to do it in a few days” was his breezy reply.

I poured a hefty slug of whisky into a tumbler that I found nearby and took a healthy sip. Ah! The whisky felt great going down. I looked at the refrigerator.

“Are you looking for ice?” he asked and magically an ice bucket appeared in front of me. It was filled with the most perfectly looking spheres of pure, transparent ice. Each sphere was half the size of a golf ball. I had never seen anything like it before. It was so clear that I could see right through it without any distortion!

“Soda?” he asked. “Yes thanks”. I said. A bottle of chilled soda instantly stood before me.

I normally don’t take soda with my Solan No.1. I had said ‘yes’ just so that I could examine the bottles of soda that appeared to see what the label said.

The bottle standing in front of me was of the clearest glass that I had ever seen. It looked so fresh! Like a glass sculpted from the purest of ice from the Alps. Significantly, there was no label. Just 300 ml of bubbling, sparkling, soda in that crystal clear glass bottle.

“Allow me” said Rhett, with a smile, and poured the soda into the glass.

So here I was, in a strange hotel room in Singapore with a strange dude doing all kinds of strange things and yet the mind was calm. Collected. I knew that this stranger meant me no harm.

“I am going to tell you a story that you may find hard to believe” Rhett said. “But I assure you, it’s all true”.

I can smell a good story coming instinctively. “To hell with it!” I told myself and let my guard down. “Go ahead!” I said, smiling.

“As you may have gathered, I am not an inhabitant of earth” he said. “We – the inhabitants of where I come from - are amazed at how you perceive ‘aliens’ as a hostile lot. You show them as invariably inferior to yourselves. You invariably happen to capture these so called aliens in your science fiction movies and TV programs such as the X Files and subject them to all kind of scientific experiments. In reality, aliens surround you in vast numbers and are not at all what you think they look like”.

I thought it best to say nothing at this stage, so I just nodded. A very neutral nod, understand. It was not meant to indicate any support. But at the same time it was not designed to reveal any incredulity.

“We have been monitoring your earth for the past 200 million years” he continued. “We visit it every ten years to check on how things are going and file the data in our knowledgebase. There are several such “earths” like yours spread all over. We monitor all of them in the hope of learning something new. However, we consider ourselves the most intelligent and civilized of all the civilizations that have so far emerged in space”.

“Really!” I interjected. “And how many civilizations are there?” I couldn’t hide the note of sarcasm in my voice.

“Oh! Over ten thousand space civilizations” he replied. “And several hundred are in the near vicinity of earth. But we are amazed that you guys have not detected them”.

Shit! This was unnerving.

“Do you know that several thousands of them have been beaming signals in the hope of finding other life forms and being found themselves?”

“No” I said.

“Yes” he went on pensively. “The problem is that every civilization has its own unique thought-process-wavelength and this seems to act as a beta-blocker. It gives each civilization a narrow window to peer into, the width of the window being of course, determined by the particular bandwidth of that particular wavelength of that particular civilization”.

“Hey, slow down” I protested. “I just lost you”.

“OK. Let me put it like this. You guys have this big bang theory of evolution. You have this Darwinian fantasy that man first crawled ashore from the sea, then developed four legs, then slowly tried to stand up and then finally did. One branch of the apes then went on to become man and the rest, as they say, is history”.

“You mean all this didn’t happen?” I said, gaping.

“Of course not!” was his prompt reply.

“Tell me more” I commended him, now deeply interested.

“The biggest mistake you guys made was coming out of the sea” he said. “In the sea you were comfortable. In the sea you were at peace. In the sea you defied gravity. In the sea you were almost weightless. In the sea you were streamlined. ‘Aerodynamic’ you call it. In the sea you were practically invulnerable. You guys came out of the sea on to land and that’s where your problems began. Your biggest mistake was coming out on to land”.

“Hmmmmmmmmm” I said. This was intriguing.

“In the sea you lead a simple life; there’s no dog-eat-dog there. There are no “cold wars” at sea. There are no territorial divides; there is no problem transferring information when underwater - either electrically or by sound, the sea is a better conducting medium than air. One can send an ultra-low wavelength sound signal out several hundred kilometers with practically no fuss. Yes………………your biggest mistake was coming out of the sea onto land. Then you needed to ‘mutate’, to ‘evolve’. You needed ‘lungs’. All the rules changed. That was your biggest problem”.

“Is this guy crazy or insane” I asked myself.

“Oh, I’m perfectly sane!” he immediately replied. He had read my thoughts.

“One thing that never struck your dumb race was that the sea provides all the nourishment automatically. You guys have now “conquered” space but you know practically nothing about the sea! Giant 90 metre long whales live on tiny krill! Where do the krill come from? You don’t know! Nutrients come from deep in the sea. Where and how large are these reserves? You do not know.

He had a point.

I was feeling tired. The journey had sapped my strength. The time zone made it that much more difficult. If it was ten p.m. in India it was not 12.30 a.m. I longed to get into bed.

“ I will leave you now. I can see that you are tired. Let’s talk tomorrow” he said.

I just nodded, grateful that he had read my mind.

In the blink of an eye he was gone.

And so were the soda and the ice.

And the bottle of Solan No.1.

In its place was a bottle of Chivas Regal.

Unopened.

But I knew by the buzz in my innards that I had had several drinks.

……………………..to be continued…………………