2 states the story of my marriage by chetan bhagat

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DX @ www.desibbrg.com

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DX @ www.desibbrg.com 2 StatesTHE STORY OF MY MARRIAGE

DX @ www.desibbrg.com Love marriages around the world are simple: Boy loves girl. Girl loves boy. They get married. In India, there are a few more steps: Boy loves Girl. Girl loves Boy. Girl's family has to love boy. Boy's family has to love girl. Girl's Family has to love Boy's Family. Boy's family has to love girl's family. Girl and Boy still love each other. They get married. Welcome to 2 States, a story about Krish and Ananya. They are from two different states of India, deeply in love and want to get married. Of course, their parents don’t agree. To convert their love story into a love marriage, the couple have a tough battle in front of them. For it is easy to fight and rebel, but it is much harder to convince. Will they make it? From the author of blockbusters Five Point Someone, One Night @ the Call Center and The 3 Mistakes of My Life, comes another witty tale about inter-community marriages in modern India.

DX @ www.desibbrg.com This may be the first time in the history of books, but here goes: Dedicated to my in-laws* *which does not mean I am henpecked, under her thumb or not man enough

DX @ www.desibbrg.com PROLOGUE “Why am I referred here? I don’t have a problem,” I said. She didn’t react. Just gestured that I remove my shoes and take the couch. She had an office like any other doctor’s, minus the smells and cold, dangerous instruments. She waited for me to talk more. I hesitated and spoke again. “I’m sure people come here with big, insurmountable problems. Girlfriends dump their boyfriends everyday. Hardly the reason to see a shrink, right? What am I, a psycho?” “No, I am the psycho. Psychotherapist to be precise. If you don’t mind, I prefer that to shrink,” she said. ”Sorry,” I said. “It’s OK,” she said and reclined on her chair. No more than thirty, she seemed young for a shrink, sorry, psychotherapist. Certificates from top US universities adorned the walls like tiger heads in a hunter’s home. Yes, another South Indian had conquered the world of academics. Dr. Neeta Iyer, Valedictorian, Vassar College. “I charge five hundred rupees per hour,” she said. “Stare at the walls or talk. I’m cool either way.” I had spent twelve minutes, or a hundred bucks, without getting anywhere. I wondered if she would accept a partial payment and let me leave. “Dr. Iyer…” “Neeta is fine,” she said. “OK, Neeta, I don’t think my problem warrants this. I don’t know why Dr. Ramachandran sent me here.” She picked my file from her desk. “Let’s see. This is Dr. Ram’s brief to me – patient has sleep deprivation, has cut off human contact for a week, refuses to eat, has Google-searched on best ways to commit suicide.” She paused and looked at me with raised eyebrows. “I Google for all sorts of stuff,” I mumbled, “don’t you?” “The report says the mere mention of her name, her neighbourhood or any association, like her favourite dish, brings out unpredictable emotions ranging from tears to rage to frustration.” “I had a break-up. What do you expect?” I was irritated. “Sure, with Ananya who stays in Mylapore. What’s her favourite dish? Curd rice?” I sat up straight. “Don’t,” I said weakly and felt a lump in my throat. I fought back tears. “Don’t,” I said again. “Don’t what?” Neeta egged me on, “Minor problem, isn’t it?” “Fuck minor. It’s killing me.” I stood agitatedly. “Do you South Indians even know what emotions are all about?” “I’ll ignore the racist comment. You can stand and talk, but if it is a long story, take the couch. I want it all,” she said. I broke into tears. “Why did this happen to me?” I sobbed.

DX @ www.desibbrg.com She passed me a tissue. “Where do I begin?” I said and sat gingerly on the couch. “Where all love stories begin. From when you met her the first time,” she said. She drew the curtains and switched on the air-conditioner. I began to talk and get my money’s worth.

DX @ www.desibbrg.com ACT 1: Ahmedabad

DX @ www.desibbrg.com 1 She stood two places ahead of me in the lunch line at the IIMA mess. I checked her out from the corner of my eye, wondering what the big fuss about this South Indian girl was. Her waist-length hair rippled as she tapped the steel plate with her fingers like a famished refugee. I noticed three black threads on the back of her fair neck. Someone had decided to accessorize in the most academically-oriented B-school in the country. 'Ananya Swaminathan---best girl in the fresher batch,' seniors has already anointed her on the dorm board. We had only twenty girls in a batch of two hundred. Good- looking ones were rare; girls don't get selected to IIM for their looks. They get in because they can solve mathematical problems faster than 99.99% of India's population and crack the CAT. Most IIM girls are above shallow things like make- up, fitting clothes, contact lenses, removal of facial hair, body odour and feminine charm. Girls like Ananya, if and when they arrive by freak chance, become instant pin-ups in out testosterone-charged, estrogen-starved campus. I imagined Ms Swaminathan had received more male attention in the last week than she had in her entire life. Thus, I assumed she'd be obnoxious and decided to ignore her. The students inched forward on auto-pilot. The bored kitchen staff couldn't care if they were serving prisoners or future CEOs. They tossed one ladle of yellow stuff after another into plates. Of course, Ms Best Girl needed the spotlight. 'That's not rasam. Whatever it is, it's definitely not rasam. And what's that, the dark yellow stuff?' 'Sambhar,' the mess worker growled. 'Eew, looks disgusting! How did you make it?' she asked. 'You want or not?' the mess worker said, more interested in wrapping up lunch than discussing recipes. While our lady decided, the two boys between us banged their plates on the counter. They took the food without editorials about it and left. I came up right behind her. I stole a sideways glance - definitely above average. Actually, well above average. In fact, outlier by IIMA standards. She had perfect features, with eyes, nose, lips and ears the right size and in the right places. That is all it takes to make people beautiful- normal body parts - yet why does nature mess is up so many times? Her tiny blue bindi matched her sky- blue and white slawar kameez. She looked like Sridevi's smarter cousin, if there is such a possibility. The mess worker dumped a yellow lump on my plate.

DX @ www.desibbrg.com 'Excuse me, I'm before him,' she said to the mess worker, pinning him down with her large, confident eyes. 'What you want?' the mess worker said in a heavy South Indian accent. 'You calling rasam not rasam. You make face when you see my sambhar. I feed hundred people. They no complain.' 'And that is why you don't improve. Maybe they should complain,' she said. The mess worker dropped the ladle in the sambhar vessel and threw up his hands. 'You want complain? Go to mess manager and complain....see what student coming to these days,' the mess worker turned to me seeking sympathy. I almost nodded. She looked at me. 'Can you eat this stuff?' she wanted to know. 'Try it.' I took a spoonful of sambhar. Warm and salty, not gourmet stuff, but edible in a no-choice kind of way. I could eat it for lunch; I had stayed in a hostel for four years. However, I saw her face, now prettier with a hint of pink. I compared her to the fifty-year old mess worker. He wore a lungi and had visible grey hair on his chest. When in doubt, the pretty girl is always right. 'It's disgusting,' I said. 'See,' she said with childlike glee. The mess worker glared at me. 'But I can develop a taste for it,' I added in a lame attempt to soothe him. The mess worker grunted and tossed a mound of rice on my plate. 'Pick something you like,' I said to her, avoiding eye contact. The whole campus had stared at her in the past few days. I had to appear different. 'Give me the rasgullas,' she pointed to the dessert. 'That is after you finish meal,' the mess worker said. 'Who are you? My Mother? I am finished. Give me two rasgullas,' she insisted. 'Only one per student,' he said as he placed a katori with one sweet on her plate. 'Oh, come on, there are no limits on this disgusting sambhar but only one of what is edible,' she said. The line grew behind us. The boys in line didn't mind. They had a chance to legitimately stare at the best-looking girl of the batch. 'Give mine to her,' I said and regretted it immediately. She'll never date you, it is a rasgulla down the drain, I scolded myself. 'I give to you,' the mess worker said virtuously as he placed the dessert on my

DX @ www.desibbrg.com plate. I passed my katori to her. She took the two rasgullas and moved out of the line. OK buddy, pretty girl goes her way, rasgulla-less loser goes another. Find a corner to sit, I said to myself. She turned to me. She didn't ask me to sit with her, but she looked like she wouldn't mind if I did. She pointed to a table with a little finger where we sat down opposite each other. The entire mess stared at us, wondering what I had done to merit sitting with her. I have made a huge sacrifice - my dessert - I wanted to tell them. 'I'm Krish,' I said, doodling in the sambhar with my spoon. 'I'm Ananya. Yuk isn't it?' she said as I grimaced at the food's taste. 'I'm used to hostel food,' I shrugged. 'I've had worse.' 'Hard to imagine worse,' she said. I coughed as I bit on a green chili. She had a water jug next to her. She lifted the jug, leaned forward and poured water for me. A collective sigh ran through the mess. We had become everyone's matinee show. She finished her two desserts in four bites. 'I'm still hungry. I didn't even have breakfast.' 'Hunger or tasteless food, hostel life is about whatever is easier to deal with,' I said. 'You want to go out? I'm sure the city has decent restaurants,' she said. 'Now?' We had a class in one hour. But Ms Best Girl had asked me out, even though for her own stomach. And as everyone knows, female classmates always come before class. 'Don't tell me you are dying to attend the lecture,'' she said and stood up, daring me. I spooned in some rice. She stamped her foot. 'Leave that disgusting stuff.' Four hundred eyes followed us as I walked out of the mess with Ms Ananya Swaminathan, rated the best girl by popular vote in IIMA. ‘Do you like chicken?’ The menu rested on her nose as she spoke. We had

DX @ www.desibbrg.com come to Topaz, a basic, soulless but air-conditioned restaurant half a kilometer from campus. Like all mid-range Indian restaurants, it played boring instrumental versions of old Hindi songs and served little marinated onions on the table. ‘I thought Ahmedabad was vegetarian,’ I said. ‘Please, I’d die here then.’ She turned to the waiter and ordered half a tandoori chicken with roomali rotis. ‘Do you have beer?’ she asked the waiter. The waiter shook his head in horror and left. ‘We are in Gujarat, there is prohibition here,’ I said. ‘Why?’ ‘Gandhiji’s birthplace,’ I said ‘But Gandhiji won us freedom,’ she said, playing with the little onions. ‘What’s the point of getting people free only to put restrictions on them?’ ‘Point,’ I said. ‘So, you are an expert on rasam and sambhar. Are you a South Indian?’ ‘Tamilian, please be precise. In fact, Tamil Brahmin, which is way different from Tamilians. Never forget that.’ She leaned back as the waiter served our meal. She tore a chicken leg with her teeth. ‘And how exactly are Tamil Brahmins different?’ ‘Well, for one thing, no meat and no drinking,’ she said as she gestured a cross with t he chicken leg. ‘Absolutely,’ I said. She laughed. ‘I didn’t say I am a practising Tam Brahm. But you should know that I am born into the purest of pure upper caste communities ever created. What about you, commoner?’ ‘I am a Punjabi, though I never lived in Punjab. I grew up in Delhi. And I have no idea about my caste, but we do eat chicken. And I can digest bad sambhar better than Tamil Brahmins,’ I said. ‘You are funny,’ she said, tapping my hand. I liked the tap. ‘So where did you stay in hostel before?’ she said. ‘Please don’t say IIT, you are doing pretty well so far.’ ‘What’s wrong with IIT?’ ‘Nothing, are you from there?’ She sipped water. ‘Yes, from IIT Delhi. Is that a problem?’ ‘No,’ she smiled, ‘not yet.’

DX @ www.desibbrg.com ‘Excuse me?’ I said. Her smugness had reached irritating levels. ‘Nothing,’ she said. We stayed quiet. ‘What’s the deal? Someone from IIT broke your heart?’ She laughed. ‘No, on the contrary. I seem to have broken some, for no fault of my own.’ ‘Care to explain?’ ‘Don’t tell anyone, but in the past one week that I’ve been here, I’ve had ten proposals. All from IITians.’ I mentally kicked myself. My guess was right; she was getting a lot of attention. I only wished it wasn’t from my own people. ‘Proposals for what?’ ‘The usual, to go out, be friends and stuff. Oh, and one guy from IIT Chennai proposed marriage!’ ‘Serious?’ ‘Yes, he said this past week has been momentous for him. He joined IIMA, and now he has found his wife in me. I may be wrong, but I think he had some jewellery on him.’ I smacked my forehead. No, my collegemates can’t be doing this, whatever the deprivation. ‘So, you understand my concern about you being from IIT,’ she said, picking up a chicken breast next. ‘Oh, so it is a natural reaction. If I am from IIT, I have to propose to you within ten minutes?’ ‘I didn’t say that.’ ‘You implied that.’ ‘I’m sorry.’ ‘It’s OK. I expected you to be like this. Let me guess- only child, rich parents?’ ‘Wrong, wrong. I have a younger brother. And my father works in Bank of Baroda in Chennai. Sorry, you expected me to be like what?’ ‘Some girls cannot handle attention. Two days of popularity and every guy in college should bow to you.’ ‘That’s not true. Didn’t I come out with you?’ She neatly transferred the bare bones of the chicken on to another plate.

DX @ www.desibbrg.com ‘Oh, that’s huge. Coming out with a commoner like me. How much is the bill? I’ll pay my share and leave.’ I stood up. ‘Hey,’ she said. ‘What?’ ‘I’m sorry. Please sit down.’ I had lost interest in the conversation anyway. If there is nothing as attractive as a pretty girl, there’s nothing as repulsive as a cocky chick. I sat back and focused on the food and the irritating instrumental music for the next ten minutes. I ignored the Brahmin who stereotyped my collegemates. ‘Are we OK now?’ she smiled hesitantly. ‘Why did you come out with me? To take your score to eleven?’ ‘You really want to know?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘I need some friends here. And you seemed like a safe-zone guy. Like the kind of guy who could just be friends with a girl, right?’ Absolutely not, I thought. Why would any guy want to be only friends with a girl? It’s like agreeing to be near a chocolate cake and never eat it. It’s like sitting in a racing car but not driving it. Only wimps do that. ‘I’m not so sure,’ I said. ‘You can handle it. I told you about the proposals because you can see how stupid they are.’ ‘They are not stupid. They are IITians. They just don’t know how to talk to women yet,’ I said. ‘Whatever. But you do. And I’d like to be friends with you. Just friends, OK?’ She extended her hand. I gave her a limp handshake. ‘Let’s share, sixty each,’ she said as the bill arrived. That’s right, ‘just friends’ share bills. I didn’t want to be just friends with her. And I didn’t want to be the eleventh martyr. I paid my share and came back to campus. I had no interest in meeting my just friend anytime again soon.

DX @ www.desibbrg.com 2 ‘You OK?’ I said going up to my just friend. She remained in her seat as her tears re-emerged. The last lecture had ended and the classroom was empty. I hadn’t spoken much to Ananya after our lunch last week. Pretty girls behave best when you ignore them. (Of course, they have to know you are ignoring them, for otherwise they may not even know you exist.) But today I had to talk to her. She had cried in the class. We had auditorium- style classrooms with semi-circular rows, so everyone could see everyone. Students sat in alphabetical order. Ananya, like all kids doomed with names starting with the letter A, sat in the first row on the left side. She sat between Ankur and Aditya, both IITians who had already proposed to her without considering the embarrassment of being rejected and then sitting next to the rejection for the whole year. I sat in the third row, between Kanyashree, who took notes like a diligent court transcripter, and five Mohits, who had come from different parts of India. But neither Ankur, nor Kanyashree, nor the five Mohits had noticed Ananya’s tears. Only I had caught her wiping her eye with a yellow dupatta that had little bells at its ends that tinkled whenever she moved. In the past week, I had limited my communication with Ananya to cursory greetings every morning and a casual wave at the end of the day. During classes we had to pay attention to the teachers we had marks for class participation- saying something that sounds intelligent. Most IITians never spoke while people from non-science backgrounds spoke non-stop. Twenty-three minutes into the microeconomics class, the professor drew an L- shaped utility curve on the blackboard. He admired his curve for ten seconds and then turned to the class. ‘How many economics graduates here?’ asked Prof Chatterjee, a two-decade IIMA veteran. Fifteen students out of the seventy students in section A raised their hands, Ananya included. Chatterjee turned to her. ‘You recognise the curve, Ms Swaminathan?’ He read her name from the nameplate in front. ‘The basic marginal utility curve, sir,’ Ananya said. ‘So, Ms Swaminathan, how would you represent that curve mathematically?’ Ananya stood up, her eyes explaining clearly that she had no clue. The remaining fourteen economics graduates lowered their hands. ‘Yes, Ms Swaminathan?’ Chatterjee said.

DX @ www.desibbrg.com Ananya clutched the trinkets on her dupatta so they didn’t make a noise as she spoke. ‘Sir, that curve shows different bundles of goods between which a consumer is indifferent. That is, at each point on the curve, the consumer has equal preference for one bundle over another.’ ‘That’s not my question. What is the mathematical formula?’ ‘I don’t know that. In any case, this is only a concept.’ ‘But do you know it?’ ‘No. but I can’t think of any real life situation where a mathematical formula like this would work,’ Ananya said. Prof raised his hand to interrupt her. ‘Shsh….’ He gave a sinister smile. ‘Notice, class, notice. This is the state of economics education in our country. Top graduates don’t know the basics. And then they ask – why is India economically backward?’ Prof emphatically dropped the chalk on his table to conclude his point. He had solved what had dumbfounded policymakers for decades. Ananya Swaminathan was the reason for India’s backwardness. Ananya hung her head in shame. A few IITians brightened up. Microeconomics was an elective course in IIT and those who had done it knew the formula. They were itching to show off. ‘Anyone knows?’ Prof asked and Ankur raised his hand. ‘Yes, tell us. Ms Swaminathan, you should talk to your neighbours more. And next time, don’t raise your hand if I ask for microeconomics graduates.’ Prof said. He went to the board to write lots of Greek symbols and calculus equations. The course started with cute little things like how many people choose between tea and biscuits. It had moved on to scary equations that would dominate exams. The class took mad notes. Kanyashree wrote so hard I could feel the seismic vibrations from her pen’s nib. I stole a glance at Ananya. As a smug Ankur saw his words inscribed on the board, Ananya’s left hand’s fingers scrunched up her yellow dupatta. She moved her left hand to her face even as she continued to write with her right. In subtle movements, she dabbed at her tears. Maybe Ms Best Girl had a heart, I thought. And maybe I should cut out my studied ignorance strategy and talk to her after class. ‘You OK?’ I said again. She nodded while continuing to wipe her tears. She fixed her gaze down. ‘I miss Topaz,’ I said to change the topic. ‘I’ve never been so humiliated,’ she said. ‘Nobody cares. All professors are assholes. That’s the universal truth,’ I

DX @ www.desibbrg.com offered. ‘At least where I come from.’ ‘You want to see my economics degree? I’ll show you my grades.’ ‘No,’ I said. ‘I came third in the entire Delhi University. These wannabe engineer profs have turned economics from perfectly fine liberal arts subject to this Greek symbol junkyard,’ she said as she pointed to the formulae on the board. I kept silent. ‘You are from IIT. You probably love these equations,’ she said and looked up at me. Despite her tears, she still looked pretty. I looked at the blackboard. Yes, I did have a fondness for algebra. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. Yet, this wasn’t the time. ‘No, I am not a big fan. Greek symbols do take the fun out of any subject.’ ‘Exactly, but these profs don’t think so. They will have these equations in the test next week. I am going to flunk. And he is going to turn me into this specimen of the educated but clueless Indian student. I bet I am the staff-room discussion right now.’ ‘They are all frustrated,’ I said. ‘we are half their age but will earn twice as them in two years. Wouldn’t you hate an eleven-year-old if he earned double?’ She smiled. ‘You need to hang that dupatta out to dry,’ I said. She smiled some more. We walked out of the class. We decided to skip lunch and have tea and omelette at the roadside Rambhai outside campus. ‘He is going to screw me in microeconomics. He’s probably circled my name and put a D in front of it already,’ she said, nestling the hot glass of tea in her dupatta folds for insulation. ‘Don’t freak out. Listen, you can study with me. I don’t like these equations, but I am good at them. That’s all we did at IIT for four years.’ She looked at me for a few seconds. ‘Hey, I have no interest in being number eleven. This is purely for study reasons.’

DX @ www.desibbrg.com She laughed. ‘Actually, the score is thirteen now.’ ‘IITians?’ ‘No, this time form NIT. They are catching up.’ ‘I know, we are losing our edge. Whatever, I don’t want to be number fourteen. I thought I could teach you….. She interrupted me, ‘I can’t learn economics from you. I am a university topper in economics. You are an engineer.’ ‘Then good luck,’ I said and stood up to pay. ‘I didn’t say that. I said you can’t teach me. But we can study together.’ I looked at her. She looked nice, and I couldn’t blame the thirteen guys for trying. ‘My room at eight? Ever been to the girl’s dorm?’ ‘There is a first time for everything,’ I said. ‘Cool, carry lots of books to make it clear what you are there for,’ Ananya advised.

DX @ www.desibbrg.com 3 I reached the girl’s dorm at 8 p.m. I carried the week’s case materials, the size of six telephone directories. I knocked at her door. ‘One second, I am changing,’ her muffled scream came from inside. After three hundred seconds, she opened the door. She wore a red and white tracksuit. ‘Sorry,’ she said as she tied up her hair in a bun. ‘Come in. We’d better start, there is so much to do.’ She gave me her study chair and sat on her bed. The rust-coloured bed-sheet matched the exposed brick walls. She had made a notice board out of chart paper and stuck family pictures all over. ‘See, that’s my family. That’s my dad. He is so cute,’ she said. I looked carefully. A middle-aged man with neatly combed hair rationed his grin. He wore a half-sleeve shirt with a dhoti in most of the pictures. He looked like the neighbor who stops you from playing loud music. No, nothing cute about him. I scanned the remaining pictures taken on festivals, weddings and birthdays. In one, Ananya’s whole family stood to attention at the beach. You could almost hear the national anthem. ‘That’s Marina Beach in Chennai. Do you know it is the second largest city beach in the world?’ I saw her brother, around fourteen years of age. The oiled hair, geeky face and spectacles made him look like an IITian embryo. His lack of interest in the world expression told me he would make it. ‘And that’s mom?’ I quizzed. Ananya nodded. Ananya’s brother and father still seemed mild compared to her mother. Even in pictures she had a glum expression that made you wonder what did you do wrong. She reminded me of the strictest teachers I ever had in school. I immediately felt guilty about being in her daughter’s room. My hands tingled as I almost expected her to jump out of the picture and slap me with a ruler. ‘Mom and I,’ Ananya said as she kneeled on the bed and sighed.

DX @ www.desibbrg.com ‘What?’ I looked at a wedding picture of her relatives. Given the dusky complexion, everyone’s teeth shone extra white. All old women wore as much gold as their bodies could carry and silk saris shiny as road reflectors. ‘Nothing, I wish I got along better with her,’ Ananya said. ‘Hey, you have pictures of your family?’ I shook my head. My family was too disorganized to ever pause and pose at the right moment. I don’t think we even had a camera. ‘Who is there in your family?’ She sifted through the case materials to take out the economics notes. ‘Mom, dad and me. That’s it,’ I said. ‘Tell me more. What do they do? Who are you close to?’ ‘We met to study,’ I pointed out and pated the microeconomics booklet. “Of course, we will. I only asked to make conversation. Don’t tell me if you don’t want to,’ she said and batted her eyelids. How can such scary looking parents create something so cute? ‘OK, I’ll answer. But after that, we study. No gossip for an hour,’ I warned. ‘Sure, I already have my book open,’ she said and sat on the bed cross-legged. ‘OK, my mother is a housewife. I am close to her, but not hugely close. That reminds me, I have to call her. I’ll go to the STD booth later.’ ‘And dad? I am super close to mine.’ ‘Let’s study,’ I said and opened the books. ‘You aren’t close to your father?’ ‘You want to flunk?’ ‘Shsh,’ she agreed and covered her lips with a finger. We studied for the next two hours in silence. She would look up sometimes and do pointless things like changing her pillow cover or re-adjusting her study lamp. I ignored all that. I had wasted enough of my initial years at IIT. Most likely due to a CAT computation error, I had another chance at IIMA. I wanted to make it count. ‘Wow, you can really concentrate,’ she said after an hour. ‘it’s ten. STD calls are cheap now.’

DX @ www.desibbrg.com ‘Oh yes, I better go,’ I said. ‘I’ll come with you. I’ll call home too,’ she said and skipped off the bed to wear her slippers. ‘Seri, seri, seri Amma…..Seri!’ she said, each seri increasing in pitch, volume and frustration. She had called home. Many students had lined up to make cheap calls at the STD booth, a five-minute walk from campus. Most carried their microeconomics notes. I helped Ananya with small change after her call. ‘Is he dating her?’ I overheard a student whisper to another. ‘I don’t think so, she treats him like a brother,’ his friend guffawed. I ignored the comment and went into the booth. ‘Every girl wants an IIT brother, big help in quant subjects,’ the first student said as several people around them laughed. I controlled my urge to snap back at them and dialed home. ‘Hello?’ my father’s voice came after four rings. I kept silent. The meter started to click. ‘Hello? Hello?’ my father continued to speak. I kept the phone down. The printer churned out the bill. ‘Missed connection, you have to pay,’ the shopkeeper said. I nodded and dialed again. This time my mother picked up. ‘Mom,’ I screamed. ‘I told you to be near the phone after ten.’ ‘I’m sorry. I was in the kitchen. He wanted to talk to you, so he picked up. Say hello to him first and then ask him for me.’

DX @ www.desibbrg.com ‘I’m not interested.’ ‘OK, leave that. How are you doing? How is the place?’ ‘It’s fine. But they make you cram even more than in the previous college.’ ‘How is the food?’ ‘Terrible. I am in a hostel. What do you expect?’ ‘I’m going to send some pickle.’ ‘The city has good restaurants.’ ‘They have chicken?’ she asked, her voice worried as if she had asked about basic amenities like power and water. ‘In a few places.’ ‘FMS was good enough. I don’t know why you had to leave Delhi.’ ‘Mom, I am not going to make my career choices based on the availability of chicken,’ I said and looked at the meter. I had spent eighteen bucks. “I’ll hang up now.’ ‘Tell me something more no. did you make any friends?’ ‘Not really, sort of….’ I looked at Ananya’s face outside the booth. She looked at me and smiled. ‘Who? What’s their name?’ ‘An…Anant.’ ‘Punjabi?’ ‘Mom!’ ‘I’m sorry. I just thought you could have a friend who likes the same food. Its OK. We are very modern. Don’t you know?’ ‘Yeah right. I’ll catch you later. I have a test tomorrow.’ ‘Oh, really? Pray before the exam, OK?’ ‘Sure, let me finish studying first.’ I hung up and paid twenty-five bucks.

DX @ www.desibbrg.com ‘Why did you hang up the first time? Your dad picked, right?’ Ananya asked as we walked back. I stopped in my tracks. ‘How do you know?’ ‘I guessed. I do it with mom when I’m angry with her. We don’t hang up; we just stay on the line and keep silent.’ ‘And pay?’ ‘Yes. Pretty expensive way to let each other know we are upset. Only sometimes though.’ ‘I never speak to my father,’ I said. ‘Why?’ Ananya looked at me. ‘Long story. Not for tonight. Or any night. I’d like to keep it to myself.’ ‘Sure,’ she said. We walked for a moment in silence before she spoke again. ‘So your parents have big expectations from you? Which job are you going to take? Finance? Marketing? IT?’ ‘Neither of those,’ I said. ‘Though i will take up a job for the money first.’ ‘So what do you want to be? Like really?’ She looked right into my eyes. I couldn’t lie. ‘I want to be a writer?’ I said. I expected her to flip out and laugh. But she didn’t. She nodded and continued to walk. ‘What kind of writer?’ she said. ‘Someone who tells stories that are fun but bring about change too. The pen’s mightier than the sword, one of the first proverbs we learnt, isn’t it?’ She nodded. ‘Sounds ridiculous?’ ‘No, not really,’ she said. ‘How about you? What do you want to be?’ She laughed. ‘Well, I don’t know. My mother already feels I’m too ambitious and independent. So I am trying not to think too far. As of now, I just want to do

DX @ www.desibbrg.com OK in my quiz and make my mother happy. Both are incredibly difficult though,’ she said. We reached her room and practised numerical for the next two hours. ‘I am so glad you are here. I’d never be able to crack these,’ she said after I solved a tricky one for her. ‘You are not using me, are you?’ ‘Excuse me?’ ‘Like you are friends with me because I am from IIT? So I can help you with the quant subjects.’ ‘Are you kidding me?’ she looked shocked. ‘I don’t want to be the IIT brother,’ I said. ‘What? Whatever that is, you are not. We are friends, right?’ She extended her hand. I looked into her eyes. No, those eyes couldn’t use anyone. ‘Good night,’ I said and shook her hand. ‘Hey Krish,’ she said as I turned to leave. ‘What?’ ‘The stuff you said, about being a writer who brings about change. It is really cool. I mean it,’ she said. I smiled. ‘Good night,’ she said and shut her door. A few sleepless girls wandered in the dorm with their notes. They gave me suspicious looks. ‘I only came to study,’ I said and walked out of the dorm fast. I don’t know why I felt the need to give an explanation.

DX @ www.desibbrg.com 4 She came out of the research assistant’s room with her microeconomics quiz results. She walked past the queued up students toward me. By this time, everyone on campus knew of her friendship, or as someone would say, siblingship, with me. She wore denim shorts and a pink T-shirt, drawing extra long glances from the boys from engineering colleges. ‘B-plus, people say it is a good grade,’ she said, holding up her answer sheet. ‘Your shorts are too short,’ I said. ‘Show me your grade,’ she said, snatching my paper. ‘A minus, wow, you cracked an A-minus!’ I didn’t react. We walked back towards our dorms. ‘You cannot score more than me in economics, I don’t believe this,’ she said. ‘You are a mechanical engineer. I am a university gold medalist in the subject.’ ‘Show the medal to Prof Chatterjee,’ I said in a serious tone. ‘Hey, you OK?’ I kept quiet. ‘Anyway, I owe you a treat. Your numerical saved me. Are you hungry?’ I nodded. People who live in hostels are always hungry. ‘Let’s go to Rambhai,’ she said. ‘You are not coming to Rambhai like this,’ I said. ‘Like what?’ ‘Like in these shorts,’ I said. ‘Excuse me. Is it a Delhi thing or a Punjabi thing? Controlling what women wear?’ ‘It is a common sense thing. It is outside campus. People stare,’ I said.

DX @ www.desibbrg.com ‘Enough people stare within campus. I’m fine, let’s go,’ she said and walked towards the campus gates. ‘I don’t need a treat. It’s fine,’ I said, turning in the opposite direction towards my dorm. ‘Are you serious? You are not coming?’ she called from behind. I shook my head. ‘Up to you.’ I ignored her and continued to walk. ‘Are you going to come for the study session tonight?’ I shrugged to signify ‘whatever’. ‘Any dress code for me?’ she said. ‘You are not my girlfriend. Wear whatever. What do I care?’ I said. We didn’t talk about the afternoon episode when I came to her room in the evening. She had changed into black track pants and an oversized full-sleeve black T-shirt. She was covered up enough to go for a walk in Afghanistan. I kind of missed her shorts, but I had brought it upon myself. I opened the marketing case that we had to prepare for the next day. ‘Nirdosh – nicotine-free-cigarettes,’ I read out the title. ‘Who the fuck wants that? I feel like a real smoke,’ she said. I gave her a dirty look. ‘What? Am I not allowed to use the F words? Or is it that I expressed a desire to smoke?’ ‘What are you trying to prove?’

DX @ www.desibbrg.com ‘Nothing. I want you to consider the possibility that women are intelligent human beings. And intelligent people don’t like to be told what to wear or do, especially when they are adults. Does that make any sense to you?’ ‘Don’t be over-smart,’ I said. ‘Don’t patronize me,’ she said. ‘There are other ways to attract attention than by wearing less clothes,’ I said. ‘I didn’t do it to attract attention. I wear shorts because I like to wear shorts.’ ‘Can we study?’ I opened the case again. We kept quiet for half an hour and immersed ourselves in our books. ‘I wasn’t trying to attract attention,’ she said again, looking up from her books. ‘It doesn’t matter to me,’ I said. ‘Are you jealous?’ ‘Are you kidding me?’ I slammed my book shut. ‘No, just checking. Let’s study.’ She turned back to her books, a smile on her face. I threw the pillow at her. She laughed and slammed it on my head. I realised this was the first contact sport I had played with her apart from shaking hands.

DX @ www.desibbrg.com 5 We studied together every day for the next month. Even though I pretended to be fine with the ‘just friends’ thing, it was killing me. Every time I looked up from my books, I saw her face. Every time I saw her, I wanted to grab her face and kiss her. The only way I could focus was by imagining that Prof Chatterjee was in our room. Even outside the study sessions, it wasn’t easy. Every time I saw a guy talk to her or laugh with her, a hot flush started from my stomach and reached my face. Sometimes, she would tell me how funny some guy in section A was or how cute some guy in section B was and I wanted to go with a machine gun and shoot the respective guys in sections A and B. ‘What? They should go full on with the advertising campaign, right?’ she referred to the marketing case. I had been staring at her lips, researching ways of kissing her. ‘Huh? Yes, I agree with you,’ I said. ‘Your mind is elsewhere. What are you thinking of right now?’ she snapped her fingers. ‘Nothing, sorry, I was thinking how…..how insightful you are in marketing.’ ‘Thank you,’ she smiled, believing me. ‘Yes, I like this subject. I think I will be good at a marketing job. So I will go with this recommendation tomorrow.’ We finished the case at midnight. I stood up to leave. ‘Tea?’ she said, suggesting we go to Rambhai. ‘No. I can’t fall asleep then,’ I said. ‘Maggi? I will make it in the pantry upstairs.’ ‘No, I’d better go,’ She came to the door with me. ‘You are so serious these days. What do you keep thinking about? Grades?’ ‘I can’t study with you any longer,’ I blurted out.

DX @ www.desibbrg.com ‘What?’ she said surprised. ‘We’ve figured out a rhythm for ourselves. We don’t need to study together anymore.’ ‘Yeah, but we like to study together, at least I do….What’s up? Did I do anything wrong?’ ‘It’s not you. It’s me,’ I said. ‘Don’t do an “it’s not you, it’s me” on me,’ Ananya screamed. Her loud voice woke up a girl in the next room who switched on her light. ‘We are not dating, OK? Stop behaving like we are having a break-up,’ I whispered. ‘And go to sleep. There’s a quiz tomorrow.’ I didn’t speak to her in the class the next day. She came up to me twice, once to return my pen that I had left in her room and another time during the mid-morning break to ask me if I wanted to go for tea. Once you start liking someone, their mere presence evokes a warm feeling in you. I fought the feeling before it took control of me. ‘I’d rather read up for the next class. You go have tea,’ I said. She didn’t insist as she left the room. She had worn a long maroon skirt and a light brown top. I wish she’d turn back and look at me. But she didn’t. she joined her dorm-mates and went out for tea. I dodged her for the next five days. I came late to class and left first so there was no time for greetings. ‘You are not talking to her?’ the Mohit right next to me asked while the other four craned their necks to listen. Even Kanyashree paused from her frantic note- taking and turned her profile ten-degrees towards me. ‘You seem quite concerned?’ I said and everyone promptly backed off.

DX @ www.desibbrg.com 6 Ananya knocked at my door at nine in the night. I had just sat down to study after dinner. Girls rarely visited boys’ dorms. She had come to my room only once before. It had excited my dorm-mates into an impromptu Frisbee match set to loud music in the dorm corridor. ‘She reminds me of Bhagyashree,’ one of the boys had screamed outside our room. Even I couldn’t resist a smile. He went on to play a song from Maine Pyar Kiya that urged a pigeon to play postman. ‘That’s it. We are never studying at your dorm again,’ she had fumed as she packed her books. She opened the door to eight boys playing Frisbee in the corridor. ‘For the record, I Hate Bhagyashree,’ she had said and stormed off. But here she was again. And the firmness in her step meant my dorm-mates didn’t act like Neanderthals and had disappeared into their rooms. I opened the door. She stood there, wearing the blue and white salwar kameez that she wore the first time I saw her. When you are in campus, you can figure out a pattern in people’s clothes. Her blue salwar kameez repeated itself every three weeks. She had brought two Frootis with her. ‘Can I come in? Can I distract the scholar for ten minutes from his studies?’ Unlike her room, there was no aesthetic appeal to mine. I had left the red bricks bare, and they looked like prison walls. My originally white bed-sheet had turned grey after being washed in acid in the IIT hostels. My desk only had books, unlike Ananya’s who always had cut flowers from campus lawns or arty incense holders or other objects that men never put on their shopping lists. ‘Wait,’ is aid. I turned around to do a quick scan. No, there was no underwear or smelly socks or porn magazines or old razor blades in sight. I held the door open. ‘Mugging away?’ she asked as she sat on the bed. ‘No choice.’ I pulled back my study chair.

DX @ www.desibbrg.com ‘Your grades will improve as you don’t study with me anymore.’ ‘It’s nothing like that,’ I said. ‘Then, what is the matter? What is this childish behavior? Like you don’t even acknowledge me in class.’ I looked away from her. ‘Eye contact please.’ I looked at her. I had missed her so much I wanted to lock my room and never let her go. ‘I can’t,’ I said. ‘Can’t what?’ ‘I can’t be just friends. I’m sure some guys can be friends with girls. I can’t. Not with you.’ ‘What?’ She sat up straight. ‘I know you are out of my league and I don’t deserve you and whatever so spare me all that and….’ ‘What are you talking about?’ she sounded confused. ‘Forget it. Thanks for the Frooti,’ I said. I took a long, gurgling sip to finish the drink. I slammed the tetrapack on the table like a retro Hindi film hero who takes the last sip of his VAT69. Yes, leave me alone as I drown my suffering in mango juice, I thought. ‘Hey.’ She touched my shoulder. ‘Don’t put your hand on my shoulder,’ I said as her touch sent tingles down the back of my neck. ‘OK, peace.’ She moved her hand away. ‘But this is sort of not fair. We had a deal.’ ‘Screw the deal,’ I said as I crumpled the Frooti carton and threw it in my dustbin. We exchanged glances, silent for a minute. ‘What do you want?’ she asked.

DX @ www.desibbrg.com ‘I want us to be a couple,’ I said. ‘And this is not a proposal. I am not Mr. Fourteen.’ She stared at me. I stared back, to show I was unfazed. ‘If this isn’t a proposal, what is it?’ ‘ You have come to my room. You asked me what I want. It’s different.’ ‘But you want us to be a couple.’ Her voice was still defiant. I nodded. ‘We used to practically be a couple, studying together, going to the STD booth together, having meals in the mess together.’ ‘All that stuff you can do with anyone,’ I said. ‘You aren’t making any sense,’ she said. ‘OK, I will explain it,’ I said and stood up. ‘I will explain it so it makes sense. To sit and study with you is an exercise in double self-control. First I have to force myself to pay attention to these boring cases. Second, I have to avoid looking at your face as much as possible because when I look at your face, all I want to do is kiss you. But we have this stupid just-friends deal and you are all cool about it and so that leaves me whipping my mind to study nicotine-free cigarettes and not think about your lips and the little mole that is there below the lower one.’ ‘You noticed that mole? It’s tiny.’ She touched it. ‘It may be tiny, but it at least has a fifty percent market share in terms of my mind-space. But hey, I am just a friend. I don’t get the mole. I only get the full stops.’ She laughed. ‘I am not being funny. You girls don’t know what it is like to be a guy.’ ‘Those lips talk a lot. Yours I mean,’ she said. I froze. Ms Swaminathan didn’t as she came close to me. In a second, her Frooti-laced lips were on mine. We kissed for three seconds. ‘And now, before I realize the stupidity of what I have done, I am out of here,’ she said and opened the door. I was too dumbstruck to move.

DX @ www.desibbrg.com Four boys from my dorm removed their ears from the door as Ananya pushed the door open. ‘We were just locating our Frisbee,’ one of the four boys said. ‘It won’t be in this room. This boy only likes to study,; she said and walked out of my dorm. I didn’t move an inch for five minutes. The remaining three minutes were spent realizing that the hottest girl in the campus had kissed me. I didn’t know what I’d done right. But I didn’t care. Maybe she had missed me too. Maybe it wasn’t such a big deal for her. Maybe I was just imagining this and this hadn’t really happened. Maybe I should stop dreaming like an idiot and run to her room. Maybe I shouldn’t, as I had no idea what to do when I meet her. Maybe I should let a night pass and talk to her in class tomorrow. ‘Don’t keep mentioning it,’ she said as the same lips that were on mine thirteen hours and twenty-two minutes ago sipped tea during class break. ‘Yes, sure, OK….’ I had already thanked her seven times. I changed the topic. ‘The normal distribution is totally overrated,’ I said, referring to the statistics class we had attended. ‘And don’t expect more,’ Ananya said. ‘More what?’ I said. She had brought the topic back now. ‘More meaning not anymore. Now, just back to what you said about the normal curve,’ she said. ‘Sorry, only one clarification. By more you mean no more kisses or no more than kissing?’ ‘Can you stop it? We are in the middle of a class.’ ‘But I am in the middle of a life crisis. Please tell me.’

DX @ www.desibbrg.com ‘Is that all you guys think about? We have to study all these normal curve problems tonight.’ I looked at her and smiled. ‘Any jokes about curves and I will kill you,’ she promised as the bell rang for class.

DX @ www.desibbrg.com 7 Needless to say, one thing led to another and within two weeks we had sex. You put a boy and girl in a room for a week and lots of boring books, and sparks are sure to fly. ‘This is my first time,’ she said after we did it and pointed to her mother’s picture on the wall. ‘And if she finds out, she will flip.’ ‘We should cover these pictures when we do it. They freak me out,’ I said, scanning her family members. She laughed. ‘Was this your first time?’ ‘I’d rather not talk about it,’ I said. ‘Did you have a girlfriend in IIT?’ She sat up to wear her top. I kept quiet. ‘Did you have sex with a guy?’ Ananya asked eyebrows up. ‘No,’ I screamed and sat up. ‘Are you stupid? You, of all people, are asking me if I am gay.’ ‘I heard they make you do all sorts of stuff in ragging.’ ‘No, it wasn’t that bad. I had a girlfriend.’ ‘Really?’ She blinked. ‘How come you never told me!’ ‘I don’t want to talk about it. It’s over. It ended when I left college, two years ago.’ ‘Why? Who was she? A student?’ ‘Prof’s daughter.’ ‘My, my, my! We have a stud here.’ Then, ‘Pretty? Prettier than me?’ I looked at Ananya. Why do women size each other up in looks so much? ‘Similar, though you are much smarter,’ I said. ‘Similar?’

DX @ www.desibbrg.com ‘OK, you are better looking,’ I said. The girl who asks the question is the better looking one, always. ‘Thank you,’ she said as she stepped off the bed to wear her track pants. ‘Why did it end?’ ‘I sort of had a deal with her father.’ ‘Father? What, he bought you out? Gave you a blank cheque like in films?’ she laughed. ‘No, he let me have my degree on time. Because of which I am here. But the implicit deal was, don’t push it. Don’t dream of being family. There was no future, so it died.’ My throat closed up as I thought about my previous girlfriend. Somehow, it never really gets over with an ex. You merely learn to push their thoughts aside. Unless someone prods your brain again to think of them. ‘Can we leave it now?’ ‘Where is she now? Campus?’ ‘No, father went to the US to a senior faculty post in MIT. She found a geeky guy of the same community. Engaged in six months, married in a year. Rest I don’t know. Now, even though we were naked a few moments ago, I do think I can make a case for invasion of privacy.’ ‘Well, it affects me. In case you are still involved with her.’ ‘I’m not. It took me a long time to get over her, but I am not involved anymore.’ ‘Did you love her?’ ‘Yes. And I feel sick I didn’t have the courage to fight her father. And no more talk about her please,’ I said. My ex-girlfriend and my father were off-limit topics. ‘One last question. Is she South Indian?’ ‘How do you know?’ ‘You mentioned IIT, MIT, geeky software programmer, it wasn’t that hard.’ I laughed. ‘My parents are pretty conservative too,’ she said, switching on her electric kettle. ‘We haven’t planned to get married yet.’

DX @ www.desibbrg.com She stared at me. I wondered if I had said the wrong thing. I was being factual. ‘You are right. We are just friends with benefits, right? Or what is it? Fuck buddies?’ She looked upset. It is amazing how the vulnerability in a relationship shifts from the guy to the girl after you’ve had sex. ‘Hey, we…..’ But she interrupted me. ‘Sorry, I am freaking out. Have tea.’ She passed me a cup. I twiddled with the handle for two minutes. Despite the sexual possibilities, we still had to study. ‘Should we open the HR case? It is about a strike in a hotel,’ I said as I opened my folder. She nodded without eye contact. I racked my brain hard on what I could say that could make her feel better. ‘I love you,’ I said. She carefully closed her case materials and looked up at me. ‘Mean it? She said, her eyes wet. ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘You are not just saying it so you can have sex with me again?’ ‘No. but are you saying that….’ ‘I am not saying anything. Is that all you think about?’ ‘We study together, eat together, go out together, sit in class looking at each other all day, the only time we are apart is when I have to go to sleep or when I have to use the toilet. So,’ I paused. ‘So what?’ ‘I love you damn it! Don’t you get it?’ I yelled. ‘That’s better. Now you sound convincing.’ She smiled. ‘And you?’ I asked. ‘I’m going to think about it.’ ‘Excuse me?’

DX @ www.desibbrg.com ‘Well, I could be only using you for sex,’ she said. ‘Excuse me?’ I said, this time louder. She laughed. I threw a pillow at her. ‘I told you. I have to think about it.’ Even though she never said ‘I love you’, Ms Swaminathan moved in with me. I had freaked out about the idea when she arrived at my room one day with a backpack for overnight clothes. I’d have much preferred her place, as I didn’t want her to be the only woman in the dorm with twenty testosterone-charged men. Still, it was kind of nice. She brought her electric kettle, sweet smile and magi- making abilities with her. While we used to study together earlier, now there was even more discipline. When a woman comes into your life, things organize themselves. We woke up in the morning, she half an hour earlier than me. She would rush to her dorm a hundred metres away and bathe there. I’d get ready and meet her at the mess for breakfast. ‘This is your assignment and this is my quant worksheet.’ She’d take out the stack of work from last night and divide it in the mess. We’d go to class together, and if Kanyashree was in a good mood, she’d switch places with Ananya for a day. Otherwise, we’d take our original seats and stare at each other through class. The five Mohits were quite amused at first, but later adjusted quite well and turned to check us out only when the lecture got boring. In fact, her moving in with me created a mini scandal. Like it always happens, I earned the tag of a stud. And she earned tags ranging from stupidly-in-love to slut. But it didn’t matter to her as maybe she was stupidly in love. Every day in class, she would pass me a note.

DX @ www.desibbrg.com ‘I miss you. Can’t wait to cuddle with you after class,’ it said, and it came to me via Ankur, Bipin, Bhupin, ten other students and Kanyashree. We lived with each other, yet she missed me in class from six rows away. ‘Stop sending such notes in class. People will open them,’ I warned. ‘You are no fun,’ she replied with several sad smiles. Bipin smiled as he passed the note. OK, so someone had entertainment in class. ‘You are a whisker away from being in the top ten. One more A in the statistics final exam and you are there,’ she said one night three months after she had moved in with me. ‘I can’t believe I’m studying so much. In IIT, all we’d do is chat all night.’ I switched off the lights. ‘We could chat all night,’ she said as we tucked under the quilt together. ‘About what? And why? We are with each other all the time. Why sacrifice sleep?’ ‘Still, we could talk. Future plans and stuff.’ The word ‘future’ and females is a dangerous combination. Still, in business school future could merely mean placement. ‘We’ve good grades. You’ll easily get HLL. It is the best marketing job, right? And I’ll go for WPM.’ ‘WPM?’ ‘Whoever pays more, so I can save as much money as fast as possible,’ I grinned. ‘You still serious about becoming a writer, right?’ She ran her fingers through my hair. ‘Yes but I’m still wondering what I’d write about,’ I yawned.

DX @ www.desibbrg.com ‘About anything. Like that girlfriend of yours.’ ‘Ananya, we had a pact. We will not talk about my ex-girlfriend again.’ ‘Sorry, sorry. You said you had a deal with the Prof for grades, so I thought maybe it will make an interesting story.’ ‘Good night, my strategist.’ I kissed her and lay down. ‘I love you,’ she said. ‘Mean it?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘How come you said it now?’ ‘I think about it a lot. I only articulated it now. Good night,’ she said. One-and –a-half years later ‘Tell me your thoughts. Don’t you like to talk after making love?’ Actually, I prefer to look at the fan above. Or drift into a nap. Why do women want to talk all the time? We were in my room. We were snugly wrapped up on a cloudy, winder afternoon. ‘I love to talk,’ I said carefully. ‘Do you have something in mind?’ ‘It’s one week to placement and I’m nervous,’ she said. ‘Don’t worry, every company has short-listed you. You will hit t he jackpot.’ ‘I’m not nervous about receiving a job offer. What after that?’ ‘After that? Finally, we will have money in the bank. No more scrimping while ordering in restaurants, no more front row seats in theatres, no more second- class train travel. College is fun, but sorry, I’ve had my share of slumming it. Imagine, you can shop every month!’

DX @ www.desibbrg.com ‘I don’t like shopping.’ ‘Fine, you can save the money. Or travel to exotic places.’ Her face turned more thoughtful. ‘You OK?’ I asked. ‘Do you realize we leave campus in four weeks?’ ‘Good riddance. No more mugging and grades, hopefully for life,’ I said. Her voice dropped an octave. ‘What about us?’ ‘About us what?’ I asked with an idiotic, confused expression exclusive to men when they have to get all meaningful with women. She sat up and wore her top. She stepped off the bed to wear the rest of her clothes. Despite the serious mood, I couldn’t help but notice how wonderful women looked when they change. ‘I’m going to my room. Enjoy your nap,’ she said. ‘Hey,’ I extended my arm and stopped her. ‘What’s up? I am talking, no?’ ‘But like a dork. We could be in different cities in four weeks. It will never be like this again.’ ‘What do you mean never?’ I said, my mouth open. ‘Wear your clothes first. I want to have a serious discussion.’ She kept quiet until I finished dressing. We sat across, cross-legged on the bed. ‘Here is the deal,’ I said, collecting my thoughts. ‘You are the career focused one, I am doing it for the money. So, I will try to get a job in the same city as you. But the issue is, we don’t know which city you will be in. So how can I do anything about it now?’ ‘And what will you do next week? We are all going to get placed around the same time. You can’t wait for me to get a job.’ ‘So let fate play out,’ I said. ‘And what about our future? Or sorry, I should ask, is there a future?’ ‘I can’t really talk about that now,’ I said.

DX @ www.desibbrg.com ‘Oh really, can you give me a time in the future when we can talk about the future?’ I kept quiet. ‘Forget it, I’m leaving,’ she said and made for the door. ‘I need time to think,’ I said. ‘Two years are not enough?’ I kept quiet. ‘You know it baffles me,’ Ananya said, ‘how you men need so much time to think about commitment, but how you need no time at all to decide when you have to sleep with the girl.’ ‘Ananya,’ I began only to hear the door slam shut. ‘You’ll be fine,’ she told me for the fifth time. We took a four-kilometre walk outside campus to reach Navrangpura. I wanted to be as far from the madness as possible. Day Zero, or the first day of placement, had ended and I hadn’t got a job. ‘I thought with my grades I will crack Day Zero,’ I said. ‘Who cares? There’re six more days left for placements,’ she said. We stopped at a roadside vendor for pao-bhaji. She ordered two plates with less butter. ‘You will be fine. See, marketing companies don’t even start until tomorrow. I have my big HLL interview. I’m not stressed.’ ‘You’ll get in. I can’t think of a single company who can say no to you,’ I said. She looked at me and smiled. ‘You do realize that not everyone is in love with me.’

DX @ www.desibbrg.com ‘You have good grades and a passion for marketing. You are so HLL, I can see it on your face.’ ‘You have two more banks tomorrow.’ ‘I want Citibank,’ I said. ‘I should have better answers than “I like the money”. I need to lie better in interviews.’ The waiter served us. She broke a piece of the pao and fed me. ‘But that’s the only reason why anyone would work in a bank, right?’ ‘Yes, but the interviewers like to believe they are doing something meaningful. Like they work for the Mother Teresa Foundation or something.’ ‘Well you should say this – I want Citibank as I want Indians to have access to world-class financial services. And use words like “enormous growths” and “strategic potential”,’ she said. ‘I have to say all that without throwing up?’ ‘And remember, the Citi never sleeps. So say you will work hard,’ she said. ‘I can’t lie that much,’ I said. She laughed as she wiped a bit of bhaji off the corner of my mouth. I thought how lucky I was to have her. She could be running HLL in a few years, but today her priority was to wipe bhaji off my stupid face. Guilt knotted within me. She deserved an answer about the future. Do it, loser, I told myself. Do it now. Even if it is a makeshift pao bhaji stall in Navrangpura. I gathered the courage to sopeak. ‘What? You want to say something?’ ‘Do you want more pao?’ I said. ‘You are third,’ a first-year student volunteer who assisted in placements told me. I sat on a stool with seven other candidates outside the interview room. We resembled patients at a dentist’s clinic, only more stressed.

DX @ www.desibbrg.com The HLL interviews were on in the room across me. Ananya had moved up all the rounds and now waited to be called one last time. I reflected on what had gone wrong on Day Zero. OK, I only wanted a job for the money, but I had hidden that when they spoke to me. Then why did I screw up with five banks yesterday? What if Citi also screws me? I thought. Sweat beads popped on my forehead. Was it destiny leading me to doom after all these degrees and grades? Is God not on my side? I wondered if I had given any reason to God not to be on my side. I saw the HLL room from a distance. Ananya stood outside, looking beautiful in a peacock blue sari. Maybe God will not let me decide my future unless I give her clarity on her future. ‘Krish Malhotra,’ the student volunteer called my name. I offered mental prayers and stood up. I checked my tie knot and shirt collars. Remember you need this job, I told myself. Banks pay double, I could quit a corporate career twice as fast to do whatever I wanted to. I breathed in deeply and exhaled. ‘Welcome, take you seat,’ a man in an impeccable black suit spoke from his chair. He was rich enough to wear a Rolex watch and obnoxious enough not to look at me while he addressed me. He rifled through a pile of resumes to find mine. ‘Good afternoon.’ I extended my hand. I flexed my forearm muscles as people say a tight handshake is a sign of confidence and world domination. ‘Rahul Ahuja, managing director, corporate finance,’ he said and shook hands with me. He pointed to his colleague on the right. ‘And this is Devesh Sharma, vice-president in HR.’ I looked at Devesh, a thirty-year-old executive with the timidity of a three-year- old. He came across as someone who could be kicked around despite being called vice-president. Anyway, I’d heard Citibank had four hundred vice- presidents to accommodate careers and egos of hundreds of new MBAs that joined every year. Of course, it took away the relevance of the title but at least it gave you a good introduction. Rahul signaled Devesh to start. ‘So Krish, I notice you have poor grades in your undergrad,’ Devesh spoke in a voice so effeminate, he’d be the obvious choice for female leads in college plays. ‘You are pretty observant,’ I said. ‘Excuse me?’ Devesh said, surprised.Cut the wisecracks, I told myself. ‘Nothing,’ I cleared my throat.

DX @ www.desibbrg.com ‘So, what happened?’ A girlfriend, fun-loving friends, alcohol, grass and crap profs happened, I wanted to say. But Ananya had told me the right answer. ‘Actually, Mr. Sharma,’ I said, emphasizing his name so he felt good, ‘when I entered IIT, I didn’t realize the rigours demanded by the system. And once you have a bad start, due to relative grading, it is quite hard to come back. I did get good grades in the last semester and my IIMA grades are good. So, as you can see, I’ve made up.’ There were twenty minutes of stupid questions like ‘will credit cards grow in India?’ or ‘can India improve its banking services?’ where you easily answer what they want to hear (yes, they will grow and, yes, India can improve heaps). Finally, they asked the big question, ‘Why Citibank?’I want Citibank because none of the other five banks worked out. I sucked in my breath along with my stupid thoughts. BS time, buddy, I thought, the ten seconds that will determine your career start now. ‘Mr Ahuja, the question is not why Citi. The real question is why would any ambitious young person want to go anywhere else? It is the biggest private bank in the world, it has a great reputation, it is committed to India, and there are opportunities in almost every area of the bank. It is not a bank, it is a growth machine.’ I paused to see if I had gone over the top. But Rahul listened with rapt attention and Devesh nodded. Yes, they were falling for it. ‘And, ultimately the biggest reason is, Rahul,’ I said, switching to the first name to show my closeness to him, ‘I really want to work with people I look up to. When I see you, I want to be you. And Citi gives me a shot at it.’ Rahul flushed with pride. ‘How…I mean, how do you know you want to be me?’ No matter how accomplished people get, they don’t stop fishing for compliments. ‘I saw you at the pre-placement talk. I’ve attended dozens of talks, but the way you presented showed more thought clarity than anyone else. I think it is a Citibank thing. You people have a different confidence. Right, Devesh?’ Devesh looked at me, perplexed. ‘Actually, we at human resources pick the best talent,’ he parroted, probably from a manual. ‘HR does nothing. I personally pick everyone for the job,’ Rahul said as the two jostled for my attention.

DX @ www.desibbrg.com ‘It shows,’ I said. Rahul pushed back his chair and stood up. ‘Listen Krish, I like you. So between us, let me be honest. We are mostly done with the recruitment and have only one place left. But we have internal criteria; we need seven-point grade in undergrad to take new recruits.’ Fuck. My past sins would not let go of me. Maybe that is why the five banks had rejected me. “and this missed semester….’ He tapped my undergrad grade sheete. ‘Research semester, sir’ I corrected. ‘I don’t know about that. Devesh?’ Devesh, like anyone who works in HR, had never taken a real decision in his life. ‘It’s a business call, sir,’ he said. ‘I head my business,’ Rahul said. ‘Yes, but you may want to talk to the country manager,’ Devesh said, scared to make a suggestion. ‘I’m senior to him. I came from New York. He’s just connected so he became country manager. You know that, right?’ ‘Sir, but grade-wise….’ Devesh paused and both of them looked at me. ‘Can you give us five minutes?’ Rahul asked. ‘Sure, I’ll wait outside,’ I obliged with an ingratiating grin. ‘Thanks, we’ll call you in again. So, don’t send the next candidate.’

DX @ www.desibbrg.com 8 I stepped out of the Citi interview room. I scanned the list of remaining companies on the notice board. Everyone else paid half of Citibank. I found an empty stool to sit on and closed my eyes to pray. God appeared in front of me. ‘Hello God,’ I said, ‘I’ve not said one true thing in that interview today. But I want the job, please.’ ‘They don’t want to hear the truth. So, that’s OK,’ God said. ‘But that’s not what you should be worried about.’ ‘Then what?’ ‘You have lived with a girl for two years.’ ‘I love her, God,’ I said. ‘Love is not enough. You know what you have to do.’ ‘I will, I just need time.’ ‘You are well past your time. In four minutes, I could let your last bank job slip away,’ God said. ‘No God, I want Citibank.’ ‘I want you to do the right thing first.’ ‘How?’ I opened my eyes. I looked at the HLL room. Ananya had gone inside the room. I closed my eyes again. ‘How?’ I repeated. ‘She is in an interview. I promise to do it after I get my Citibank job.’ ‘I don’t trust you. Anyway, upto you. You don’t listen to me, I don’t listen to you,’ God said. I opened my eyes. I had three minutes. Ananya would kill me if I went inside the room. But a voice inside told me that if I didn’t go to her, the Citi country manager or Rahul or Devesh could decide against me. Of course, my rational mind knew I was being completely moronic. Both the events were not connected. But there is only so much our rational mind knows. Maybe, events and karma are connected. I ran to the HLL room. ‘Excuse me,’ the volunteer on the door said, blocking me.

DX @ www.desibbrg.com ‘I need to go inside,’ I said, ‘urgent.’ ‘There’s an inter….’ I forced my way inside. HLL was conducting its final interviews in one of the classrooms. The company staff sat in the front row of the class while the candidate sat in the prof’s chair. Ananya faced a panel of five elderly people in the room. She was moving her hands in an animated manner as she spoke. ‘The rural market doesn’t need different products. They need affordability….’ She stopped mid-sentence upon noticing me. Her eyebrows elevated in shock and stayed there. ‘Yes?’ a sixtyish-year-old gentleman turned to me. Ananya’s face turned pink, then red. The colour coordination came from embarrassment and anger, respectively. ‘I need to talk to her,’ I said slowly, scanning everyone in the room. ‘Can’t it wait?’ the old gentleman asked. ‘She is having her final interview. All our senior management is here.’ ‘Actually, it can’t,’ I said. ‘Everything OK?’ another panelist said. ‘Yes, I only need a minute,’ I said and signalled to Ananya to come out. ‘What? Just tell me here,’ she said, throwing me a dirty look. I saw the panel’s confused expression. I went up to Ananya. ‘What?’ she whispered,’ Are you mad?’ I knelt down next to her, my mouth close to her ear. ‘Sorry, how is it going?’ I whispered. ‘Krish Malhotra, this better be important. What’s up?’ she whispered, loud enough for the panel to hear. ‘Ananya Swaminathan, I, Krish Malhotra, am deeply in love with you and want to be with you always. Apart from where we go to office, of course. Will you marry me?’

DX @ www.desibbrg.com Ananya’s mouth fell open. She alternated her glance between the panel and me. “Krish,’ she said. She tried hard but a tear slipped out of her carefully eye- lined eyes. ‘Everything OK?’ one panel member asked as he noticed Ananya’s restlessness. ‘It’s not bad news, I hope.’ Ananya shook her head as she took a sip from the glass of water in front of her. ‘No, it’s not bad news at all. It’s good.’ ‘Ananya,’ I whispered again. My knees hurt as they rubbed against the rough classroom floor. ‘What now?’ ‘Is that a yes? Will you be with me, always?’ I asked. She tightened her lips to hide a laugh. ‘Yes, you idiot. I will be with you. Just not right now. So, go!’

DX @ www.desibbrg.com 9 ‘Wow, this feels special,’ Ananya said. She opened her HLL offer letter for the third time at Rambhai’s. I had collected mine from Citibank the day before and, after confirming the salary, had dumped it in my cupboard. ‘It’s an invitation to be a slave, don’t get so excited,’ I said as I ordered a samosa sandwich. ‘Aw, don’t be morbid. They are thrilled about hiring me. HLL has a serious South India strategy.’ Rambhai’s minions served us tea. During placement time, tips peaked for them. ‘Do you go to school?’ Ananya asked the thirteen-year-old boy who served us. ‘Yes, Rambhai sends me,’ the boy said. ‘Good, because if he doesn’t, report him to the police,’ Ananya said and gave the boy a fifty rupee note. ‘They will post you in South India,’ is aid, ‘in one of those unpronounceable places without an STD code.’ ‘No, they won’t. And if they do, my husband will come and rescue me.’ She winked. ‘Ananya, you don’t get it. We have decided to get married. Our parents haven’t approved – yet,’ I reminded her. ‘C’mon, mine are a bit conservative. But we are their overachieving children, the ultimate middle-class fantasy kids. Why would they have an issue?’ ‘Because they are parents. From biscuits to brides, if there is anything their children really want, parents have a problem,’ I said. ‘Your parents will have a problem with me?’ Ananya pulled her hair back to tie it in a loose bun. She clenched a pin in the middle of her teeth.

DX @ www.desibbrg.com ‘They’d have a problem with anyone I choose. And you are South Indian, which doesn’t help at all. OK, it’s not as bad as marrying someone from another religion. But pretty close. ‘But I also aced my college. I have an MBA from IIMA and work for HLL. And sorry to brag, but I am kind of pretty.’ ‘Irrelevant. You are Tamilian. I am Punjabi.’ Ananya folded her offer letter and rearranged things in her bag. ‘What? Say something?’ ‘Can’t be part of this backward conversation,’ she said. ‘Please, discuss your woes with the Punjabi brethren.’ She stood up to leave. I tugged her down by her hand. ‘C’mon Ananya, aren’t your parents going to flip out when they find out you have a Punjabi boyfriend?’ ‘No, I don’t think so.’ ‘Have you told them?’ ‘No.’ ‘Why?’ ‘Waiting for the appropriate time. The convocation is in two weeks. They’ll be here, I will introduce you. Tell them what you have done in life, not where your ancestors were born. They can meet your parents. They are coming, right?’ ‘My mother, yes. Father, I don’t know.’ ‘What’s the deal?’ ‘Let’s not talk about it.’ ‘You won’t tell your future wife? Have you invited him?’ ‘No.’ She stood up, I followed suit. ‘Let’s go to the STD booth,’ she said. ‘Now?’ ‘This strong and silent warfare between you and your dad is becoming too much.’

DX @ www.desibbrg.com ‘It’s peak hour rates.’ ‘I don’t care.’ We walked to the STD booth near Vijay Char Rasta. I called home. ‘Hi, mom, it is me.’ ‘Krish, we should book tickets. I am coming, Shipra masi wants to come, Rajji mama and Kamla aunty, too.’ ‘Mom, is dad coming?’ ‘No,’ she said and fell silent. ‘It’s my convocation,’ I said. ‘He said he has work.’ ‘He’s retired. What work?’ the meter rode up twenty rupees. ‘You talk to him, he expects a personal invitation,’ my mother said. ‘I won’t. Doesn’t he want to come by himself?’ ‘No, why don’t you ask him to?’ She prepared to put me on hold. ‘Mom, no. I don’t want to call him if he doesn’t want to come.’ ‘Fine. Can masi and mama come?’ ‘Don’t get any relatives,’ I pleaded. ‘Why? They love you so much. They want to see you….’ ‘I want you to meet someone, mom.’ ‘Who?’ ‘You’ll find out,’ I said. I came out of the booth. Ananya and I walked back. Which father needs an invitation from his son to attend his convocation? Screw him, I said to myself. ‘You invited him?’ Ananya asked. ‘Dad’s not coming,’ I said. ‘Why?’

DX @ www.desibbrg.com ‘We have no relationship, Ananya. Don’t try to fix it ever. OK?’ ‘What happened though?’ ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’ ‘Standard answer.’ ‘Yours was a standard question.’ ‘You do care for him. You are upset.’ ‘I’m upset about paying peak hour rates. Now listen, I’ve fended off my aunts with great difficulty. It’s only my mom. You have a plan, right?’ She skipped ahead of me. ‘Let’s make it a great first meeting of the families. We should do something fun together.’ ‘Like shoot each other?’ ‘Shut up. It’ll be fine. They’d love it that my boyfriend is from IIT.’ ‘They won’t ask my grades, right?’ ‘They might. But who cares, you will be in Citibank. Listen, we organize an outing for them?’ ‘I am not so sure if our families would like to spend so much time together.’ ‘Of course, they would. You leave it to me. Your mom will love me more than you after this,’ she said as we reached the campus gates. I received my mother at the Ahmedabad railway station a day before the convocation. Ananya’s parents flew down, her father using his LTC that allowed him to fly once every four years. My mother arrived with two suitcases. One had her clothes and the other contained mithai boxes sourced from various shops in Delhi.

DX @ www.desibbrg.com ‘I’m in college for five more days. Why so many sweets?’ I asked in the auto back to campus. ‘We will eat them, no? And we might meet people. They will say her son is graduating and she has nothing to offer us. I almost brought packed meals. I don’t want to eat the Gujarati daal with sugar. Is it really sweet?’ ‘It’s not that sweet. Anyway, I want you to meet someone, mom,’ I said as the auto struggled to penetrate the narrow lanes near the railway station. ‘Who?’ ‘There’s this girl,’ I said. ‘You have a Girlfriend? Girlfriend?’ she asked as if I had contacted AIDS. ‘A good friend,’ I said to calm her down. ‘Good friend? What, you have bad friends also?’ ‘No, mom. We used to study together. We did a lot of projects together.’ ‘OK. Did she get a job?’ ‘Yes, in HLL. It’s a good job.’ ‘HLL?’ ‘The company that makes Surf. And Rin and Lifebuoy and Kissan Sauce.’ I named products, hoping that one of them would impress her. ‘Kissan Jams also?’ she asked after thinking for thirty seconds. ‘Yes. She is in marketing. It’s the most prestigious marketing job.’ ‘She will get free jams then?’ ‘I guess,’ I said, wondering how to bring the conversation back on track. ‘But that’s not the point.’ ‘Yes, it’s not. So, should we stop for lunch before we go to your college or do we eat in college? Bhaiya, any good restaurants here?’ she addressed the auto driver. ‘Mom, stop. I am talking about something important.’ But my mother said, ‘These auto drivers always know good places.’

DX @ www.desibbrg.com ‘Stopping is extra, madam,’ the auto driver said, ignoring me along with every speed-breaker on the road. ‘What?’ my mother said as I continued to stare at her to get her attention. ‘Her name is Ananya. Her parents are also here. I want you to meet them and be nice to them.’ ‘I will meet whoever you want me to meet. And when am I not nice? We are nice people only.’ ‘Mom…..’ I said before she interrupted me. ‘Let’s take some Nice biscuits on the way. They are good with tea.’ ‘Mom,’ I screamed. ‘This is what I don’t want. I want you to meet them properly and not obsess about meals or snacks or tea or whatever. They should have a good impression.’ My mother gave me a dirty look. I didn’t respond. ‘Bhaiya, turn the auto. I am going back,’ my mother said. ‘One, I come all the way from Delhi to attend your convocation, get mithai from four different shops, and now I can’t make a good impression. It’s OK, if we can’t make a good impression then we won’t come.’ My mother kept mumbling to herself. She had officially entered her drama mode. The driver stopped the auto. ‘What? Why have you stopped?’ I asked, exasperated. ‘Madam is telling me to turn back.’ ‘Mom,’ I said as she continued to sulk. ‘So, you remember I am your mother? I thought you only cared about your friend’s parents?’ Anger filled my mother’s voice. I had to take emergency measures. ‘There is an excellent pao-bhaji place round the corner. Bhaiya, just take us to Law Garden.’ ‘I’m not hungry,’ my mother said. ‘Only for tasting,’ I said. I tapped the auto driver on his shoulder. The driver turned towards Law Garden.

DX @ www.desibbrg.com I ordered paneer pao-bhaji with extra butter and lassi on the side. Nothing soothes an upset Punjabi like dairy products. ‘Who is this girl?’ she asked after finishing the lassi. ‘Nobody important. She wanted to meet you after I told her how much trouble you took to bring me up because of dad,’ I lied. Maybe it was the extra butter or my words. My mother calmed down. ‘You told her everything?’ she asked. ‘No, only a little. Also, her parents may be a bit formal. That’s why I spoke about making a good impression. Otherwise, who wouldn’t love to meet you?’ ‘What do Gujaratis eat for dessert? Or do they put all the sugar in their food? My mother picked up the menu again.

DX @ www.desibbrg.com 10 The next morning, two hundred fresh MBA graduates and their insanely proud parents sat in the Louis Kahn Plaza lawns for the convocation. The cief guest, a third generation silver-spoon-at-birth industrialist, told students to work hard and come to the top. He also had the tough job of handling out degrees and posing for pictures with two hundred students. Today, we had to collect our post- graduate diploma in management, a ticket to a lifetime of overpaid jobs. Ananya wanted everything to be perfect. She had reached the venue half an hour earlier to secure six seats for her family and mine. My mother wore her best sari. I wore graduation robes rented for thirty bucks. ‘Mom, this is Ananya. Ananya, my mother,’ I said when we reached the premises. Ananya extended her arm to shake my mother’s hand. My mother looked shocked. While Ananya touching her feet would be too much, I felt Ananya should have stuck to a Namaste. Anything modern doesn’t go down well with parents. ‘Hello, aunty. I have heard so much about you,’ Ananya said. ‘Actually, since I have arrived I am only hearing about you.’ My mother smiled, making it difficult to spot the sarcasm. ‘Let’s sit down. Ananya, where is your family?’ I asked as we sat down. ‘My mother takes forever to put on her sari. I came first to get good seats.’ Ananya wore the same peacock blue sari that she wore to her HLL interview. She caught me staring and blew a kiss. Fortunately, my mother didn’t notice. I shook my head, beseeching Ananya to maintain decorum. Ananya’s parents arrived ten minutes later. Her father wore a crisp white shirt, like the one in detergent ads. Ananya’s mother walked behind in a glittery haze. Her magenta and gold Kanjeevaram sari could be noticed from any corner of the lawn. She looked as if she had fallen into a drum of golden paint. Behind her walked a fourteen-year-old boy with spectacles; a miniature version of MBA men who would get a degree this evening. ‘Hello mom,’ Ananya said and stood up, her voice her cheerful best.

DX @ www.desibbrg.com ‘Safety pin illa something something,’ her mother replied. Mother and daughter lapsed into Tamil. Ananya’s father took out his camera and started taking random pictures of everything around us – the lawns, the stage, the chairs, the mikes. Little brother didn’t have much to do but looked uncomfortable in his new button-down collar shirt. My mother heard them talk and her mouth fell open. I whispered, ‘Get up. Let us introduce ourselves.’ ‘They are Madrasi?’ my mother asked, shocked. ‘Shsh, Tamilian,’ I said. ‘Tamilian?’ my mother echoed even as Ananya continued the introductions. ‘Mom, this is Krish, and this is Krish’s mother.’ “Hello,’ Ananya’s mother said, looking just as stunned as my mother. ‘Isn’t this cool? Our families meeting for the first time,’ Ananya cooed even as everyone ignored her. ‘Krish’s father has not come?’ Ananya’s father asked. ‘He is not well,’ my mother said, her voice butter-soft. ‘He is a heart patient. Advised not to travel.’ My mother faked it so well, even I felt like sympathizing with her. Ananya’s parents gave understanding nods. They whispered to each other in Tamil as they took their places. ‘I better go, I’m one of the first ones.’ Ananya giggled and ran up to join the line of students. I sat sandwiched between my mother on one side and Ananya’s mother on the other. ‘You want to sit next to Ananya’s mother?’ I asked my mother. ‘Why? Who are these people?’ she frowned. ‘Don’t panic, mom. I said it because I have to join that line soon.’ ‘Then go. I have come to see you, not sit next to Madrasis. Now let me watch,’ she said.

DX @ www.desibbrg.com The chief guest started the diploma distribution. The audience broke into continuous applause for the initial students. Then they got tired and went back to fanning themselves with the convocation brochures. ‘Get to know them. We’ll probably go for lunch together,’ I said. ‘You go for lunch with them. I can eat alone,’ my mother said. ‘Mom….’ I said as the announcer read out Ananya’s name. Ananya walked on the stage, probably the only student whose picture was worth taking. I stood up and applauded. My mother gave me a dirty look. ‘Sit. Even her parents are not standing.’ Maybe they don’t love her like I do, I wanted to say but didn’t. I sat down. Ananya’s parents clapped gently, craning their necs to get a better view. Ananya’s mother looked at me with suspicion. I realized that I hadn’t yet spoken to her. Start a conversation, you idiot, I thought. ‘Your daughter is such a star. You must be so proud,’ I said. ‘We are used to it. She always did well in school,’ Ananya’s mother replied. I tried her father. ‘How long are you here for, uncle?’ Uncle looked up and down at me as if I had questioned him about his secret personal fantasies. ‘We leave day after. Why?’ he said. Some whys have no answer, apart from the fact that I was trying to make small talk. ‘Nothing, Ananya and I were wondering if you wanted to see the city. We can share a car,’ I said. Ananya’s mother sat between us and listened to every word. She spoke to her husband in Tamil. ‘Something something Gandhi Ashram something recommend something.’ ‘Gandhi Ashram is nice. My mother also wants to see it.’ I said. ‘What?’ my mother said from her seat. ‘Don’t you have to go on stage, Krish? Your turn is coming.’

DX @ www.desibbrg.com ‘Yes,’ I said and stood up. Gandhi Ashram would be a good start for the families. He stood for peace and national integration, maybe that could inspire us all. ‘Then go,’ my mother said. ‘Wait,’ I said and bent to touch her feet. ‘Thank god, you remembered. I thought you were going to touch Ananya’s mother’s feet,’ she said. My mother said it loud enough for Ananya’s mother to hear. They exchanged cold glances that could be set to the backdrop of AK-47 bullets being fired. Surely, it would take a Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi to make them get along. ‘Mom, control,’ I whispered to her as I turned to leave. ‘I am under control. These South Indians don’t know how to control their daughters. From Hema Malini to Sridevi, all of them trying to catch Punjabi men.’ My mother had spoken so loud that the entire row heard her. For a few moments, people’s attention shifted from the convocation ceremony to us. Ananya’s mother elbowed her husband. They stood up, pulled up Ananya’s scrawny brother between them and found some empty seats five rows away. ‘Mom, what are you doing?’ I struggled to balance the graduation cap on my head. ‘Kanyashree Banerjee,’ the announcer said over the mike and I realised I was horribly late. I had missed my last convocation as I had overslept. I didn’t want to miss it this time. ‘What have I said? It’s a fact,’ my mom said, talking to me but addressing everyone who had tuned into our conversation that beat the boring degree distribution hollow any day. ‘Krish….’ I heard my name and ran up. The five Mohits were waiting near the stage. I smiled at them as I climbed the steps to the stage. The chief guest gave me my diploma. My mother was standing and clapping. ‘I love you,’ she screamed. I smiled back at her. For the last ten years my father had told her that her son would get nowhere in life. I held up my diploma high and looked up to thank God.

DX @ www.desibbrg.com ‘Move, the next student has to come,’ the announcer said as I emotionally thanked the chief guest again and again. As I walked down the steps, I saw Ananya’s parents. They had not applauded or even reacted to my being on the stage. I came back towards my seat. Ananya stood at our row’s entrance, looking lost. ‘I stayed back to get some pictures with friends. Where are my parents?’ ‘Five rows behind,’ I said. ‘Why? What happened?’ ‘Nothing. They wanted a better view,’ I said. ‘I’ve booked the car. We are all going afterwards, right?’ ‘Go to your parents, Ananya,’ I said firmly as I saw my mother staring at me.

DX @ www.desibbrg.com 11 ‘We’ve already paid for the taxi,’ I said. ‘So, you can pretend to get along. See it as a budget exercise.’ My mother and I walked towards the taxi stand outside campus. She had no inclination to see where MR Gandhi lived. The Sabarmati Ashram, on the outskirts of the city, was a key tourist attraction. Ananya had got lunch packed in little packets from Topaz. According to her, it would be a Kodak moment to picnic somewhere by the Sabarmati river. Of course, she had no idea about her missed Kodak moment when my mother had made insightful comments about certain South Indian actresses. ‘We had booked a Qualis,’ I told the driver who stood next to an Indica. Ananya and her family were already at the taxi stand. Her mother looked like she had just finished a grumble session, maybe her natural expression. ‘The Qualis is on election duty. We only have this.’ The driver crushed tobacco in his palm. ‘How can we all fit in?’ I wondered. ‘We take double the passengers, squeeze in,’ the driver said. ‘Let’s take an auto,’ I said. ‘I’m not taking an auto,’ my mother said as she slid into the backseat. ‘You can sit in front and make madam sit in your lap,’ the driver pointed Ananya to me. Ananya’s mother gave the driver a glare strong enough to silence him for the rest of the day. ‘Mom, can you take an auto?’ Ananya requested her mother. ‘Why, we have also paid for this,’ she said. ‘Something something illa illa!’ ‘Seri, seri, Amma,’ Ananya said. We finally arrived at an arrangement. Ananya’s dad sat in front with Ananya in his lap. Ananya’s mother sat behind with her son in her lap. My mother had

DX @ www.desibbrg.com already taken a window seat behind the driver. I squished myself between the two ladies in the middle. The Sabarmati Ashram is eight kilometers away from campus. The twenty- minute drive felt like an hour due to the silence. Ananya tried to make conversation with her parents. They pretended not to hear her as they kept their heads out of the windows. My mother took out a packet of Nice biscuits and started eating them without offering them to anyone. She took one biscuit and put it in my mouth, to assert maternal rights on me. Of course, I couldn’t refuse. ‘Why is everyone so silent,’ Ananya said to me as we went to the ticket counter at the ashram. ‘My mother made a silly comment at the convocation,’ I said, hoping Ananya won’t seek details. ‘What did she say?’ Ananya asked as she fished for the required amount of money for six tickets. ‘It’s not important. But your parents left after that.’ ‘What exactly did she say?’ Ananya persisted. ‘Nothing, something about South Indian women being loose or something. No big deal.’ ‘What?’ Ananya looked at me, shocked. ‘I didn’t say it. She did. Silly comment, ignore it.’ ‘I don’t know what to say,’ Ananya said. ‘Nothing. Let’s get everyone talking again,’ I said as we walked to the main entrance. We came inside the ashram. Gandhi lived here from 1915 to 1930. The famous Salt March started form this ashram. Ananya appointed a guide, for no other

DX @ www.desibbrg.com reason than to keep everyone walking together. We passed the exhibits – various pictures, paintings, letters and articles of Gandhi. ‘And when Mr. Gandhi left in 1930 for the Dandi March, he vowed never to return to the ashram until India won its independence,’ the guide said in a practiced voice. ‘And he didn’t after that day.’ ‘Did he come back after India became free?’ Ananya’s mother wanted to know. ‘Alas,’ the guide sighed, ‘he couldn’t. He was shot dead within six months of independence.’ My mother, not to be left behind in asking of questions, turned to the guide. ‘Why is it called Dandi March? Because he carried a stick?’ The guide laughed. Like all his mannerisms, his laugh was dramatic, too. ‘How little we know about the greatest man in India. No madam, Dandi is the name of a place, five hundred kilometers away from here.’ The guide took us to an exhibit of the map and pointed to the coastal town. Ananya’s mother turned to her father and spoke in Tamil. ‘Something something illa knowledge Punjabi people something.’ ‘Seri, seri,’ Ananya’s father said in a cursory manner, engrossed in the map. Ananya’s mother continued. ‘Intellectually, culturally zero. Something something crass uneducated something.’ I don’t know if Ananya’s mother realised her use of the few English words, or maybe she planted them intentionally. She had made her comeback. My mother heard her and looked at me. The guide looked worried as his tip was in danger. ‘So, you see, Gandhiji strongly believed that all Indians are one. Anyway, let us now see Gandhiji’s personal belongings. This way, please.’ The guide said, breaking the Antarctic glances between the two mothers. We sat down for lunch under a tree in the ashram complex, looking like we were on death row. Everyone ate in silence as Ananya dropped the news. ‘We like each other.’ Everyone looked at each other in confusion. Most people did not like each other in this group. ‘Krish and I, we like each other,’ Ananya smiled. ‘I told you. I smelled something fishy……’ My mother tore her chapatti.

DX @ www.desibbrg.com ‘There’s nothing fishy. There’s nothing to be worried about. We just wanted to share our happiness. We are just two people in love,’ Ananya said as her mother interrupted her. ‘Shut up, Ananya!’ Ananya’s mother glared at her. I wondered if she would slap her. And I wondered if Ananya would offer her second cheek considering we were in Gandhi’s ashram. ‘This is what I meant when I said about South Indian girls. There are so many cases in Delhi only,’ my mother said, itching to slam Ananya’s mom again. ‘Mom, chill,’ I said. ‘What have I said? Did I say anything?’ my mother asked. ‘Get up,’ Ananya’s mother said to her husband. Like a TV responding to a remote, he stood. Ananya’s brother followed. ‘We will take an auto back,’ Ananya’s mother said. Ananya sat under the tree, perplexed. ‘Now you will stay with them?’ Ananya’s mother asked. ‘Mom, please!’ Ananya sounded close to tears. Ananya’s mother tugged at Ananya and pulled her away. The guide noticed them leave and looked puzzled. I paid him off and came back to my mother. She finished the last few spoons of Topaz’s paneer tikka masala under the tree. ‘They are gone,’ I said. ‘Good. There’ll be more space in the car,’ she said.

DX @ www.desibbrg.com ACT 2: Delhi

DX @ www.desibbrg.com 12 ‘What are you reading with such concentration?’ my mother asked as she chopped bhindi on the dining table. ‘It’s the Citibank new employee form. I have to fill fifty pages. They want to know everything, like where was your mother born.’ ‘On the way from Lahore to Delhi. Your grandmother delivered me in a makeshift tent near Punjabi Bagh.’ ‘I’ll write Delhi,’ I said. I had come home for the two-month break before joining Citibank. Even in April, Delhi temperature had already crossed forty degree centigrade. There wasn’t much to do, apart from calling Ananya once a day or waiting for her call. I sat with my mother as she prepared lunch. My father wasn’t home, nobody really sure or caring about where he was. ‘Is this the form where you fill your location preference?’ my mother asked. I looked at her hands, a little more wrinkled then before I left to join college. She cut the top and tail of a bhindi and slit it in the middle. ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘You chose Delhi, right?’ I kept quiet. ‘What?’ ‘Yes I will,’ I said. The phone rang. I rushed to pick it up. It was Sunday and cheaper STD rates meant Ananya would call at noon. ‘Hi, my honeybunch,’ Ananya said. ‘Obviously, your mother is not around,’ I said. I spoke in a low volume as my own mother kept her eyes on the bhindi but ears on me. ‘Of course not. She’s gone to buy stuff for Varsha Porupu puja tomorrow.’

DX @ www.desibbrg.com ‘ Varsha what?’ ‘ Varsha Porupu, Tamil new year. Don’t you guys know?’ ‘Uh, yes of course, Happy New Year,’ I said. ‘And have you sent in your Citibank form yet?’ ‘No, have to fill a few final items,’ I said. ‘You’ve given Chennai as your top location choice?’ ‘I will….wait.’ I picked up the phone and went as far from my mother as the curly landline wire allowed me. ‘My mother expects me to put Delhi,’ I whispered. ‘And what do you want? HLL has placed me in Chennai. I told you weeks ago. How are we going to make this work?’ ‘We will. But if I come to Chennai, she’ll know it is for you.’ ‘Fine, then tell her that.’ ‘How?’ ‘I don’t know. They didn’t give me a choice, else I would have come to Delhi. I miss you sweets, a lot. Please, baby, come soon.’ ‘I’m someone else’s baby too, quite literally. And she is watching me, so I better hang up.’ ‘Please say “I love you”.’ ‘I do.’ ‘No, say it nicely.’ ‘Ananya!’ ‘Just once. The three words together.’ I looked at my mother. She picked up the last bunch of bhindis and wiped them with a wet cloth. Her shiny knife, symbolic of her current position in my love story, gleamed in the afternoon light. ‘Movies I love. You should see them, too.’

DX @ www.desibbrg.com ‘Aww, that’s not fair,’ Ananya mock-cried at the other end. ‘Bye,’ I said. ‘OK, love you. Bye,’ she ended the call. I came back to the dining table. Out of guilt, I picked up a few bhindis and started wiping them with a cloth. ‘Madrasi girl?’ ‘Ananya,’ I said. ‘Stay away from her. They brainwash, these people.’ ‘Mom, I like her. In fact, I love her.’ ‘See, I told you. They trap you,’ my mother declared. ‘Nobody has trapped me, mom,’ I said as I thwacked a bhindi on the table. ‘She is a nice girl. She is smart, intelligent, good-looking. She has a good job. Why would she need to trap anyone?’ ‘They like North Indian men.’ ‘Why? What’s so special about North Indian men?’ ‘North Indians are fairer. The Tamilians have a complex.’ A complexion, complex?’ I chuckled. ‘Yes, huge,’ my mother said. ‘Mom, she went to IIMA, she is one of the smartest girls in India. What are you talking about? And not that it matters, but you have seen her. She is fairer than me.’ ‘The fair ones are the most dangerous. Sridevi and Hema Malini.’ ‘Mom, stop comparing Ananya to Sridevi and Hema Malini,’ I screamed and pushed the bhindi bowl on the table aside with my arm. The bowl pushed the knife, which in turn rammed against my mother’s fingers. She winced in pain as drops of blood flooded her right index fingers. ‘Mom, I am so sorry,’ I said. ‘I am so sorry.’ ‘It’s OK. Kill me. Kill me for this girl,’ she wailed.

DX @ www.desibbrg.com ‘Mom, I am not…..’ A drop of blood fell on my Citibank form. Now would be the time to betray your mother, you idiot, I thought. ‘I am going to write Delhi,’ I said. ‘What?’ ‘Nothing. Where are the band-aids? Don’t worry, I will cook the bhindi. Give me the masala.’ I bandaged my mother and had her recline on the sofa. I switched on the TV. I tried to find a channel with a soap opera that didn’t show children disrespecting their parents. I filled each bhindi with masala over the next hour. ‘Do you know how to switch on the gas?’ she screamed form the living room as I hunted for matches in the kitchen. ‘I do. Don’t worry.’ ‘I can show you Punjabi girls fair as milk,’ she said, her volume louder than the TV. I ignored her as I checked the cupboard for a vessel. ‘Should we give a matrimonial ad? Verma aunty downstairs gave it; she got fifty responses even though her son is from donation college. You will get five hundred,’ my mother said. ‘Let it be, mom,’ I said. I ignited the stove and kept the pan over it. I poured cooking oil and opened the drawers to find cumin seeds. It was kept in the same place as when I left home for college over seven years ago. ‘Actually, I have a girl in mind. You have seen Pammi aunty’s daughter?’ ‘No. and I don’t want to,’ I said. ‘Wait,’ my mother said as a new wave of energy was unleashed within her. I heard her open the Godrej cupboard in her bedroom. She brought a wedding album to the kitchen. ‘Lower the flame, you’ll burn it. And why haven’t you switched on the exhaust?’ she snatched the ladle from me and took control of the stove. She stirred the bhindi with vigour as she spoke again. ‘Open this album. See the girl dancing in the baraat next to the horse. She is wearing a pink lehnga.’ ‘Mom,’ I protested. ‘Listen to me also sometimes. Didn’t I meet Jayalalitha’s family on your request?’

DX @ www.desibbrg.com ‘What?’ ‘Nothing, see the picture.’ I opened the album. It was my second cousin Dinki’s wedding to Deepu. The first five pages of the album were filled with face shots of the boy and girl in various kaleidoscopic combinations and enclosed by heart-filled frames. I flipped through the album and came to the pictures with the horse. I saw a girl in pink lehnga, her face barely visible under a lot of hair. She was in the middle of a dance step with her hands held high and index fingers pointing up. ‘Isn’t she pretty?’ My mother switched on the other gas stove and put a tawa on it to make rotis. She took out a rolling pin and dough. ‘I can’t make out,’ I said. ‘You should meet her. And here, keep stirring the bhindi while I make the rotis,’ She handed me the ladle. ‘I don’t want to meet anyone.’ ‘Only once.’ ‘What’s so special about her?’ ‘They have six petrol pumps.’ ‘What?’ ‘Her father. He has six petrol pumps. And the best part is, they have only two daughters. So each son-in-law will get three, just imagine.’ ‘What?’ I said as I imagined myself sitting in a gas station. ‘Yes, they are very rich. Petrol pumps sell in cash. Lots of black money.’ ‘And what does the girl do? Is she educated?’ ‘She is doing something. These days you can do graduation by correspondence also.’ ‘Oh, so she is not even going to college?’ ‘College degrees you can get easily. They are quite rich.’

DX @ www.desibbrg.com ‘Mom, that’s not the point. I can’t believe you are going to marry me to a twelfth pass….oh, forget it. Put this album away. And are the rotis done? I am hungry.’ ‘We can get an educated Punjabi girl.’ ‘No, I don’t like any Punjabi girl.’ ‘Your mother is a Punjabi,’ my mother said in an upset tone. ‘That’s not the point, mom,’ I said and opened the fridge to take out curd. ‘I don’t want any other girl. I have a girlfriend.’ ‘You’ll marry that Madrasi girl?’ my mother asked, seriously shocked for the first time since she found out about Ananya. ‘I want to. In time, of course.’ My mother slapped a roti on the tawa and then slapped her forehead. ‘Let’s eat,’ I said, ignoring her demonstrations of disappointment. We placed the food on the living-room coffee table and sat down in front of the TV. The doorbell rang twice. ‘Oh no, it’s your father,’ my mother said. ‘Switch off the TV.’ ‘It’s OK,’ I said. My mother gave me a stern glance. I reluctantly shut the television. My mother opened the door. My father came inside and looked at me. I turned away and came back to the table. ‘Lunch?’ my mother asked. My father did not answer. He came to the dining table and examined the food. ‘You call this food?’ he said. I glared at him. ‘It took mom three hours to make it,’ I said. My mother took out a plate for him. ‘I don’t want to eat this,’ my father said. ‘Why don’t you say you’ve already eaten and come?’ I butted in again.

DX @ www.desibbrg.com My father stared at me and turned to my mother. ‘This is the result of your upbringing. All the degrees can go to the dustbin. You only have this at the end.’ This, and a job at Citibank that pays me three times at the start than what you ever earned in your life, I wanted to say but didn’t. I pulled the Citibank form close to me. My father went and touched the TV top. ‘It’s hot. Who watched TV?’ ‘I did. Any problem?’ I said. ‘I hope you leave home soon,’ my father said.I hope you leave this world soon, I responded mentally as I took my plate and left the room. I lay down in bed at night, waiting to fall asleep. My mind oscillated between wonderful thoughts of Ananya’s hair as they brushed against my face when we slept in campus and the argument with my father this afternoon. My mother came to my room and switched on the light. ‘I’ve fixed the meeting. We’ll go to Pammi aunty’s place day after tomorrow.’ ‘Mom, I don’t…..’ ‘Don’t worry, I’ve told them we are coming for tea. Let me show you off a little. You wait and see, they will ask me first.’ ‘I am not interested,’ I sat up on my bed. ‘Come for the snacks. They are very rich. Even for ordinary guests they give dry fruits.’ ‘Mom, why should I come, really?’ ‘Because it will make me happy. Is that reason enough?’ she said and I noticed her wrinkled hand with the bandage.

DX @ www.desibbrg.com ‘OK,’ I shrugged and slid back into bed. ‘Now let me sleep.’ ‘Excellent,’ she said and switched off the lights as she left the room. I allowed my mind to be trapped again by thoughts of my South Indian girl.

DX @ www.desibbrg.com 13 Pammi aunty lived in Pitampura, a hardcore Punjabi neighbourhood. Each lane in this area has more marble than the Taj Mahal. Every street smells of tomatoes cooking with paneer. We took an auto as my father never allowed us to take the car. My mother told the auto driver to stop a few houses away. We couldn’t tell Pammi aunty we hadn’t come by car. ‘He had a meeting, he dropped us outside and left,’ my mother said as Pammi aunty came to greet us at the door. ‘He should have come for a cold drink at least,’ Pammi aunty said and escorted us in. Pammi aunty’s weight roughly matched the decade she lived in, and that correlation had continued into the current nineties. Pammi aunty had been Ms Chandigarh thirty-seven years ago. A rich businessman snapped her soon after the title and gave her a life of extra luxury and extra calories. Now, she weighed more than the three finalists put together. We walked to five steps to get to their living room. Pammi aunty had difficulty climbing them. ‘My knees,’ she mumbled as she took the last step. ‘You are going for morning walk nowadays?’ my mother asked. ‘Where Kavita-ji, it is so hot. Plus, I have satsang in the morning. Sit,’ Pammi aunty said as she told her maid to get khus sharbat. We sank into a red velvet sofa with a two-feet deep sponge base. ‘Actually, even if you walk to satsang, it can be good exercise,’ my mother said. ‘Six cars, Kavita-ji. Drivers sitting useless. How to walk?’ Pammi aunty asked. She had demonstrated a fine Punjabi skill – of showing off her wealth as part of an innocent conversation. My mother turned to me to repeat her comment. ‘Six cars? Krish, you heard, they have six cars.’ I didn’t know how to respond. Maybe I was supposed to applaud. ‘Which ones?’ I said, only because they kept staring at me.

DX @ www.desibbrg.com ‘I don’t know. My husband knows. Just last week he bought a Honda.’ ‘How much for?’ my mother asked. It is almost courteous among Punjabis to encourage someone who is flaunting his wealth to brag some more. ‘Seven lakh, plus stereo changed for thirty thousand,’ Pammi aunty said. ‘Wow!’ my mother said. ‘He has also got a job with Citibank, four lakh a year.’ To a non-Punjabi, my mother’s comment would be considered a non-sequitur. To a Punjabi, it is perfect continuation. We are talking about lakh, after all. ‘Good. Your son has turned out bright,’ she said. I guess to be rich is to be bright, as she didn’t ask for my IQ. ‘Your blessings, Pammi-ji,’ my mother said. ‘No, no,’ Pammi aunty said as she gloated over her possible role in my bagging the job. We had smiled at each other for another minute when Pammi aunty spoke again. ‘Dry fruits?’ ‘No, no, Pammi-ji, what formalities you are getting into?’ my mother demurred. ‘Rani, get cashews and those Dubai dates,’ Pammi-ji screamed. My mother gave a mini nod in appreciation of the international nuts. ‘Where’s our Dolly?’ my mother inquired, claiming the heiress of three gas stations as hers without hesitation. ‘Here only, Dolly!’ Pammi aunty screamed hard to reach the upper floors of the hydrocarbon-funded mansion. The servants were summoned to call Dolly downstairs. ‘She takes forever to have a bath and get ready,’ Pammi aunty said in mock anger, as she took a fistful of cashews and forced them in my hands. ‘Don’t stop our daughter from looking beautiful, Pammi-ji,’ my mother said. Yes, Dolly was already ours. ‘Who knows ji about whose daughter she will become? We only have two girls, everything is theirs,’ Pammi said and spread her arms to show everything. Yes, the sofas, hideous marble coffee tables, curios, fans, air conditioners – everything belonged to the daughters and their future husbands. I have to say, for

DX @ www.desibbrg.com a second the thought of owning half this house made me wonder if my mother was right. But the next second the thought of losing Ananya came to me. No, I wouldn’t give up Ananya for all the cashews and cash in the world. If only Pammi aunty allowed me to live in this house with Ananya. Dolly came scurrying down the steps with her perfume reaching us three seconds before her. ‘Hello Aunti-ji,’ Dolly said and went on to give my mother a tight hug. ‘How beautiful our daughter has become!’ my mother exclaimed. Dolly and I greeted each other with slight nods. She wore a wine-red slawar kameez with vertical gold stripes sunning down it. She was abnormally white, and my mother was right; she did remind me of milk. She sucked in her stomach a little, though she wasn’t fat. Her ample bosom matched Pammi aunty’s and it made me wonder how these women would even wean their children off without suffocating them. ‘What are you doing these days, Dolly?’ my mother asked. ‘BA pass, aunty, correspondence.’ ‘You are also doing computer course, tell that,’ Pammi aunty said and turned to my mother, ‘I’ll get more snacks?’ Dolly tried to say something but was ignored as we had moved on to the interesting topic of food. ‘No, Pammi-ji. This is enough,’ my mother said, obviously daring her to serve us more. ‘What are you saying? You haven’t come at meal time, so I just arranged dome heavy snacks. Raju, get the snacks. And get both the red and green chutneys!’ she shrieked to her servant. Raju and another servant brought in a gigantic tray with samosas, jalebis, chole bhature, milk cake, kachoris and, of course, the red and green chutneys. Twenty thousand calories were plonked on the table. ‘You shouldn’t have!’ my mother said as she signalled the servant to pass the jalebis. ‘Nothing ji, just for tasting. You should have come for dinner.’

DX @ www.desibbrg.com I felt I would come across as a retard if I didn’t talk to Dolly now. ‘What computer course are you doing?’ ‘Microsoft Word, Power Point, Email, I don’t know, just started. Looks quite hi- fi.’ ‘Sure, it does sound like a challenging programme,’ I said, and instantly felt guilty for my sarcasm. ‘My friends are doing it, so I joined. If it is too difficult, I’ll stop. You know all these things, no?’ ‘Sort of,’ I said. My mother and Pammi aunty had stopped talking the moment Dolly and I began a conversation. Dolly and I became quiet as we noticed them staring at us. ‘It’s OK. Keep talking,’ my mother beamed and looked at Pammi-ji. Both of them gave each other a sly grin. They winked at each other and then folded their hands and looked up to thank God. Dolly looked at my mother and smiled. ‘Aunty-ji tea?’ she asked. ‘No ji, we don’t make our daughters work,’ my mother said. The work in this case being screaming at the servant. ‘Raju, get tea,’ Dolly exerted herself and earned affectionate glances from my mother. Why couldn’t my mother give Ananya one, just one, glance like that? ‘Son, tea?’ Pammi aunty offered me. I shook my head. ‘You young people have coffee, I know. Should we get coffee? Or wait, what is that new place at the District Centre, Dolly? Where they sell that expensive coffee? Barsaat?’ ‘Barista, mom.’ Dolly switched to a more anglicized accent when asked to describe something trendy. ‘Yes, that. Take his there in the Honda. See ji, we are quite modern actually,’ she said to my mother. ‘Modern is good ji. We are also not old-fashioned. Go Krish, enjoy,’ my mother said. Of course, hating Tamilians is not old-fashioned at all. I stood up to partly enjoy myself with Dolly, but mainly to get away from here and ride in the new Honda.

DX @ www.desibbrg.com ‘Come here, Dolly,’ Pammi-ji said and did the unthinkable. She slid a hand into her bosom ATM and pulled out a wad of notes. I wondered if Pammi aunty’s cleavage also contained credit cards. Dolly took the wad and put it in her golden handbag without counting it. She screamed at the servants to scream at the driver to scream at the security guard to open the gate so the Honda could be taken out. We reached the District Centre, a ghetto of salwar-kameez shops, beauty parlours and STD booths. Dolly insisted on going to her favourite clothes boutique. I watched her choose clothes for half an hour. I wondered if it would be appropriate to call Ananya form one of the STD booths. I dropped the idea and hung around the shop, watching Punjabi mothers and daughters buy salwar kameezes by the dozen. The daughters were all thin and the mothers were all fat. The boutique specialised in these extreme sizes. ‘Healthy figure range is there,’ one salesman said as he pointed a mother to the right direction. Dolly finished her shopping and paid for three new suits with her wad of notes. ‘You like these?’ she asked, opening her bag. ‘Nice,’ I said as we entered Barista. The air-conditioning and soothing music were a respite from the blazing forty-degree sun outside. ‘One cold coffee with ice-cream,’ Dolly said. ‘What do you want?’ I ordered the same and we sat on the couch, sitting as far apart as possible. We mutely stared at the music channel on the television in front of us. ‘I’ve never spoken to an IITian before,’ she said after some time. ‘You are not missing much,’ I said. She shifted in her seat. Her clothes bag fell down. She lifted it back up. ‘Sorry, I get nervous in front of hi-fi people,’ she said. ‘Don’t be,’ I said. ‘Enjoy your coffee.’ ‘You have a girlfriend, no? South Indian?’

DX @ www.desibbrg.com ‘What?’ I jumped off my seat. ‘Who told you?’ ‘Kittu told me,’ she said. Kittu was my first cousin and Shipra masi’s daughter. Kittu’s father was Pammi aunty’s cousin. In some sense, Dolly was my third or fourth cousin, though we weren’t related by blood. ‘Kittu? How did she know?’ ‘Shipra masi must have told her. And your mother must have told Shipra masi.’ ‘And now the whole clan knows,’ I guessed. ‘Sort of.’ ‘What else do you know about her?’ ‘Nothing,’ Dolly said as her eyes shifted around. ‘Tell me.’ ‘Oh, some stuff. That she is very aggressive and clever and has you totally under control. But South Indian girls are like that, no?’ ‘Do you know any South Indian girls?’ ‘No,’ Dolly said as she twirled her straw. ‘Sorry, I didn’t want to tell you. You guys serious or is it just time-pass?’ I tried to curb my anger. ‘What about you? You have a boyfriend?’ ‘No, no. Never,’ she swore. ‘Not even time-pass?’ She looked at me. I smiled to show friendliness. ‘Just one colony guy. Don’t tell my mom, please. Or your mother, or even Kittu.’ ‘I won.’ ‘He sent me a teddy bear on Valentine’s day.’ ‘Cute,’ I said. ‘Have you kissed anyone?’ she asked. ‘Like this South Indian girl.’

DX @ www.desibbrg.com I thought hard about how I should answer her question without saying the truth, that I loved with Ananya in one tiny hostel room for two years. ‘No,’ I said. ‘OK, because this guy is insisting I kiss him. But I don’t want to get pregnant.’ ‘How did you meet him?’ ‘It’s a very sweet story. He called a wrong number at my home one day. And we started talking. I’ve only met him once.’ ‘You are seeing someone who called a wrong number?’ ‘He’s not my boyfriend yet. But you know I have a didi in Ludhiana who married a guy who called her as a wrong number. They have two kids now.’ ‘Wow,’ I said. I wondered if I should gulp my coffee down so we could leave sooner. ‘Do you like me?’ Dolly asked. ‘What?’ ‘You know why we have been sent here, right? For match-making.’ ‘Dolly, I can’t marry anyone but Ananya.’ ‘Oh, that’s her name. Nice name.’ ‘Thanks, and she is nice, too. And I am involved. I am sorry my mother dragged me into this.’ ‘But you said you haven’t even kissed her.’ ‘I lied. We lived together for two years. But please don’t tell anyone this.’ ‘Lived together?’ Her eyebrows peaked. ‘Like together? You mean, you have done everything?’ ‘That’s not important. I only told you so you don’t feel bad about my lack of interest in you.’ ‘Two years? She didn’t get pregnant?’ ‘Dolly, stop. Thanks for the coffee.’ ‘I can make you forget her,’ Dolly said as she opened out her waist length hair.

DX @ www.desibbrg.com ‘What?’ ‘I know what guys want.’ ‘You don’t. And try to stay away from wrong numbers.’ We left Barista and drove back in her spacious Honda. I realised this Honda could be mine if only I didn’t believe in stupid things like love. ‘What should I tell my mother? Dolly asked. ‘Say you didn’t like me.’ ‘Why? She’ll ask.’ ‘It’s easy to slam an IITian down. Say I am a geek, boring, lecherous, whatever,’ I said. ‘She doesn’t understand all that,’ Dolly said. ‘OK, tell her Krish has no plans to continue in the bank. He’ll quit in a few years to be a writer.’ ‘Writer?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘You are too hi-fi for me,’ she said as we reached her house.

DX @ www.desibbrg.com 14 ‘I can’t believe you said no to Dolly,’ my mother said. ‘There has to be a reason, no?’ She had brought up the topic for the twentieth time three days later. My father didn’t come home until late so my mother had taken the risk and invited her sister home for lunch. Some Indian men cannot stand any happiness in their wives’ lives, which includes her meeting her siblings. ‘Pammi is buying one more house in the next lane. She told me it is for her daughter,’ Shipra masi said, rubbing salt into my mother’s wounds. My mother hung her head low. ‘You are making the same mistake again. You chose an army person for your own marriage. You said they are sacrificing people. We have seen how much. You have spent your whole life in misery and poverty.’ My mother nodded as she accepted her elder sister’s observation. Shipra masi had married rich. Her husband, a sanitary-fittings businessman, had struck gold building toilets. My mother had valued stupid things like virtue, education and nature of profession, and suffered. And according to Shipra masi, I planned to do the same. ‘How much will that Madrasin earn?’ Shipra masi inquired. ‘Dolly would have filled your house. When was the last time you bought anything new? Look, even your dining table shakes.’ Shipra masi banged on the dining table and its legs wobbled. I pressed the top with my palm to neutralize her jerks. ‘I say, meet Pammi once again and close it,’ Shipra masi suggested. ‘What are you thinking?’ she said after a minute. ‘Do you know Pammi bought the phone, the one you can walk around with everywhere?’ ‘Cordless….’ My mother said. ‘Not cordless, the new costing twenty thousand rupees. You can take it all over Delhi. Pass me the pickle,’ Shipra masi said. She ate up fast to catch up the lost time she spent on her monologue.

DX @ www.desibbrg.com Cell-phones had recently arrived in India. A minute’s talktime cost more than a litre of petrol. Needless to say, it was the newest Punjabi flaunt toy in Delhi. ‘And what is this writer thing? Dolly said you will leave the bank to be a writer one day.’ ‘What?’ my mother gasped. ‘In time, after I have saved some money,’ I said and picked up my plate to go to the kitchen. ‘This is what happens if you educate children too much,’ my masi said. ‘I have no idea of him becoming a writer. When did this start?’ my mother turned to me as I returned from the kitchen. ‘The South Indian girl must have told him. They love books,’ Shipra masi said. I banged my fist on the table. The legs wobbled. Maybe we did need to change it. ‘Nobody asked me to be a writer. Anyway, it is none of your business, Shipra masi.’ ‘Look at him, these black people have done their black magic,’ Shipra masi said. ‘Don’t be foolish, Kavita, tell Pammi he will remain in Citibank and make a lot of money. Get his price properly.’ I glared at everyone at the table, went to the living-room sofa and picked up the newspaper. The matrimonial page opened out. I threw it in disgust. ‘Let’s look at some educated girls. You want to see educated girls?’ my mother threw a pacifier at me. ‘I have an educated girl. I like her. She has a job, she is pretty, decent, hard- working and has a lot of integrity. What is your problem?’ ‘Son,’ Shipra masi said, her voice soft for reconciliation, ‘that is all fine. But how can we marry Madrasis? Tomorrow your cousins will want to marry a Gujarati.’ ‘Or Assamese?’ my mother added. ‘My god!’ Shipra masi said. ‘So what? Aren’t they all Indians? Can’t they be good human beings?’ I said.

DX @ www.desibbrg.com Shipra masi turned to my mother. ‘Your son is gone. I am sorry, but this boy belongs to Jayalalitha now.’ The bell rang twice. Panic spread in the house as my father had arrived earlier than usual. I never welcome my father home. However, I was happy as it meant Shipra masi would leave now. ‘Hello Jija-ji,’ Shipra masi said as my father entered the house. My father didn’t answer. He picked up the newspaper thrown on the floor and folded it. ‘I said hello Jija-ji,’ Shipra masi said and smiled. She didn’t give up easily. ‘I like your goodbye more than hello,’ my father replied. No one can beat him in the asshole stakes. ‘My sister has invited me,’ Shipra masi said. ‘Useless people invite useless people,’ my father said. Shipra masi turned to my mother. ‘I don’t come here to get insulted. Only you can bear him. The worst decision of your life,’ Shipra masi mumbled as she packed her handbag to leave. ‘I would appreciate it if you don’t interfere in our family matters,’ my father said and gave her a brown bag. It was mithai Shipra masi had brought for us. They exchanged glares. ‘Take it or I will throw it in the dustbin,’ my father said. I stood up to argue. My mother signalled me to back off. Shipra masi reached the main door. I came with her to shut it. I touched her feet, more out of ritual than respect. ‘Son, now don’t make foolish decisions like your mother. Marry a good Punjabi girl before they find out about your father. Dolly is good.’ My father’s ears are as sharp as his tongue. ‘What is going on? Who is Dolly?’ my father shouted. Shipra masi shut the door and left. Nobody answered. ‘Are you seeing girls?’ my father demanded of my mother. My mother kept quiet.

DX @ www.desibbrg.com ‘Did you see a girl?’ ‘Yes,’ I said. I was kind of glad I did, just to piss him off. ‘I will….’ He screamed at my mother, lifting his hand. ‘Don’t even fucking think about it!’ I came close to him. ‘In this house, I make the decisions,’ my father said. He picked up a crystal glass and smashed it on the floor. The violence intended at my mother had to come out somehow. ‘You sure seem mature enough to take them,’ I said and moved towards kitchen. ‘Don’t walk barefoot,’ my mother called out. She bent to pick up the splintered shards. Anger seethed within me. Not only at my father but also my mother; how could she let him get away with this and start cleaning up calmly? ‘I don’t know why I come to this house,’ my father said. ‘I was thinking the same thing,’ I said. ‘Bastard, mind it!’ he shouted at me like he did at his army jawans ten years ago. ‘Krish, go to the other room,’ my mother said. ‘He can’t be my son. Nobody talks to their father like this.’ ‘And no father behaves like this,’ I said. My mother pushed me towards the bedroom. My father looked around for new things to shout at or break. He couldn’t find much. He turned around and walked out. The loud sound of the door banging shut sent a sigh of relief through the whole house. My mother came to my room after cleaning up the glass in the living area. She came and sat next to me on the bed. I didn’t look at her. She held my chin and turned my face towards her.

DX @ www.desibbrg.com ‘You let him do this, so he does it. Why did you have to start cleaning up?’ I sulked. ‘Because he’ll break the other glasses, too. And then we will have no more glasses left for guests,’ my mother said. ‘Don’t worry. I can manage him.’ I looked at my mother, a tear rolled down her eye. I flt my eyes turn wet, too. ‘You have to leave him,’ I said after we composed ourselves. ‘It’s not that simple,’ she said. ‘I will earn now,’ I said. ‘I am fine. Ninety percent of the time he is not even here. He goes to his army mess, he visits his partners with whom he tries his harebrained business schemes.’ ‘What? Like that security agency?’ I scoffed. ‘Yes, but he picks up fights with customers at the first meeting. Doesn’t exactly make them feel safe,’ my mother said. I laughed. ‘I can handle him. It is you who gets angry and fights with him,’ my mother said. ‘He starts it. What was the need to insult Shipra masi?’ ‘He won’t change. Shipra is used to him. I worry how you will stay with him when you work in Delhi. Maybe you should take the company accommodation.’ ‘Or maybe I should not be in Delhi.’ ‘What are you saying?’ ‘I can’t stand him.’ ‘Where are you planning to go?’ ‘I don’t know, mom. I can only give a preference to Citibank. It’s no guarantee. Plus, you get posted out after two years.’ ‘You chose Delhi, no?’

DX @ www.desibbrg.com I didn’t answer. Somehow the thought of being in Delhi and seeing ditzy Punjabi girls by day and dad at night didn’t seem terribly exciting. ‘You come with me wherever I go,’ I said. ‘Where? I can’t leave Delhi. All my relatives are here. You will be in office all day. What will I do in a new city?’ ;I want to go to Chennai,’ I said. ‘Oh God!’ my mother’s mellow mood shifted gears to overdrive. She got up from the bed. ‘I find this harder to deal with than your father. Are you mad?’ ‘No, I like Ananya. I want to give our relationship a shot.’ ‘You’ll become a Madrasi?’ ‘I am not becoming. I’m only going there to live. And Citibank transfers you in two years.’ ‘I should meet an astrologer. I don’t know what phase you are going through.’ ‘There is no phase. I love someone.’ ‘Love is nothing, son,’ my mother patted my cheek and left the room. I didn’t submit the Citibank form until the last date. I kept taking my pen to the ‘location preference’ question. It had asked for three choices in order. I couldn’t fill it. ‘You’ve sent your form?’ Ananya asked on the phone. ‘I will. Almost ready,’ I said ‘Are you crazy? It is the last day. You put Chennai, right?’ ‘Yeah,’ I said and hung up. I gave one final glance at the form. I looked at God above and asked him to decide my love-life. I filled up the form:

DX @ www.desibbrg.comLocation Preference: 1. Chennai or Delhi (equal preference) 2. – 3. – I sealed the form and dropped it off at the bank branch. In my bed I opened Ananya’s letter from last week. I read it every night before going to bed. Hello my Punjabi hunk, Miss me? I do. I miss our cuddles, I miss our walks in campus, I miss studying together and then going for midnight chai, I miss running to my dorm every morning to brush my teeth, I miss eating pao-bhaji on the char rasta with you, I miss playing footsie in the library, I miss the glances we stole in the class, I miss my bad grades and the tears afterwards that you wiped, I miss how you used to watch me put eye-liner, I miss…..oh, you get the drift, I miss you like hell. Meanwhile, I am fine in Chennai. My mother is at her neurotic best, my father is quiet as usual and my brother always has a book that says Physics, Chemistry or Maths on the cover. In other words, things are normal. I mentioned you again to my mother. She called a priest home who gave me a pendant to make me forger you. Wow, I never thought they’d react to you like this. Well, it is going to take more than a pendant to forget you, but for good measure I tossed it into the Bay of Bengal on Marina Beach. I haven’t mentioned you since, because I know you will come to Chennai and charm them yourself – just as you charmed me. Bye, my Love, Ananya. PS: Oh did I mention, I miss the sex too. I read the letter ten times. I read the last sentence a hundred times. I wanted to be with her right that moment. I realised I could have written ‘Chennai’ in the form but I had played roulette with my love-life due to some vague sense of responsibility and guilt towards home. I wondered if Citi would need more people in Delhi as this is where all the money is. After all, a Punjabi is far more likely to

DX @ www.desibbrg.com want foreign bank accounts than a Tamilian. And I am a Punjabi, so they would give me Delhi. Something yelped inside me. I read the letter again and again until I fell asleep. One week later, I received a call at home. Mother picked it up and said it was from a guy who sounded like a girl. ‘Hello?’ I said. ‘Hi Krish, it’s Devesh from Citi HR.’ ‘Oh, hi Devesh. How are you?’ ‘Good, I just wanted to give you your joining date and location.’ My heart started to beat fast. ‘Yes,’ I said, excited and nervous. ‘So you start on June 1.’ ‘OK.’ ‘And we are placing you in Chennai.’ Imaginary fireworks exploded all over the Delhi sky. I felt real love for Devesh, the HR department and Citibank for the first time in my life.

DX @ www.desibbrg.com Act 3: Chennai

DX @ www.desibbrg.com 15 My flight landed in Chennai at 7 p.m. we had a six-hour delay in Delhi because a psycho called the airport and said the plane had a bomb. My bag took another hour to arrive on the conveyor belt. As I waited, I looked at the people around me. The first thing I noticed, excuse my shallowness was that almost ninety percent of the people were dark complexioned. Of these ninety percent, eighty percent had dabbed talcum that gave them a grey skin tone. I understood why Fair & Lovely was invented. I couldn’t understand why people wanted to be fair so bad. Most women at the conveyor belt looked like Ananya’s mother; I couldn’t tell one from the other. They all wore tones of gold, but somehow it looked more understated than Pammi aunty’s necklaces that had precious stones and pearls hanging from them like shapeless dry fruits. I came out of the airport. I had to find an auto to go to my chummery. I fumbled through my pockets to find the slip of paper with my new address. I couldn’t find them in my jeans and almost panicked. I didn’t know any place in Chennai except T. Nagar. And I knew t. Nagar as I took Brilliant Tutorials once upon a time. Somehow, I didn’t think they’d shelter one of their lakh of students from eight years ago. I opened my wallet and found my address. I heaved a sigh of relief. I came to the auto stand. Four drivers argued with each other over the next passenger. ‘Enga?’ one driver pushed back three drivers and asked me. ‘Enga hotel?’ ‘No hotel,’ I said and took out my wallet. I opened it and the drivers saw the ten hundred-rupee notes my mother had given me before leaving Delhi. He smacked his lips. I pulled out the slip with the address. ‘English illa,’ he said. I looked around. No one proficient in English seemed visible. I read the address. ‘Nung-ba-ka-ma-ma?’ I said. ‘Nungambakkam?’ the driver laughed as if it was the easiest word to say in the world.

DX @ www.desibbrg.com ‘Yeah,’ I said and remembered a landmark Devesh had told me. ‘Near Loyola College. You know Loyola College.’ ‘Seri, seri,’ the driver said. My stay with Ananya had told me that ‘Seri’ meant an amiable Tamilian. I loaded the luggage. ‘Meter?’ He laughed again as if I had made a bawdy joke. ‘What?’ I tapped the meter. ‘Meter illa,’ the driver said loudly, his personality taking on a more aggressive form as he left the airport. ‘How much?’ I asked. ‘Edhuvum,’ he said. ‘I don’t understand. Stop, how much?’ He didn’t stop or answer. I tapped his shoulder. He looked back. I played dumb charade with him, acting out ‘How much money, dude?’ He continued to drive. After ten seconds he raised his right palm and stretched out his five fingers wide. ‘Five what?’ He flashed his fingers again. ‘Fifty?’ He nodded. ‘OK,’ I said. He understood this word. ‘Vokay,’ he said and extended his hand for a handshake. I shook his hand. He laughed and zoomed off into the Chennai sunset. I saw the city. It had the usual Indian elements like autos, packed public buses, hassled traffic cops and tiny shops that sold groceries, fruits, utensils, clothes or novelty items. However, it did feel different. First, the sign in every shop was in Tamil. The Tamil font resembles those optical illusion puzzles that give you a headache if you stare at them long enough. Tamil women, all of them, wear flowers in their hair. Tamil men don’t believe in pants and wear lungis even in shopping districts. The city is filled with film posters. The heroes’ pictures make

DX @ www.desibbrg.com you feel even your uncles can be movie stars. The heroes are fat, balding, have thick moustaches and the heroine next to them is a ravishing beauty. Maybe my mother had a point in saying that Tamil women have a thing for North Indian men. ‘Hey, that’s IIT?’ the auto driver said a word which would have led to trouble if he had spoken it in Delhi. I looked at the campus wall that lasted for over a kilometre. The driver recited the names of neighbourhoods as we passed them – Adyat, Saidapet, Mambalam and other unpronounceable names so long they wouldn’t fit on an entire row of Scrabble. I felt bad for residents of these areas as they’d waste so much of their time filling the address columns in forms. We passed a giant, fifty-feet-tall poster as we entered Nungambakkam. The driver stopped the auto. He craned his neck out of the auto and folded his hands. ‘What?’ I gestured. ‘Thalaivar,’ he said, pointing to the poster. I looked out. The poster was for a movie called Padayappa. I saw the actors and recognised only one. ‘Rajnikant?’ The auto driver broke into a huge grin. I had recognised at least on landmark in the city. He drove into the leafy lanes of Nungambakkam till we reached Loyola College. I asked a few local residents for Chinappa Towers and they pointed us to the right building. I stepped out of the auto and gave the driver a hundred-rupee note. I wondered if I should give him a ten-rupee tip for his friendliness. ‘Anju,’ the driver said and opened his palm again. I remained puzzled and realised it when he gestured three times. ‘You want five hundred? Are you mad?’ ‘Illa mad,’ the driver said, blocking the auto to prevent me from taking out the luggage. I looked at the desolate street. It was only nine but felt like two in the morning in the quiet lane. Two autos passed us by. My driver stopped them. One of the autos had two drivers, both sitting in front. The four of them spoke to each other in Tamil, their voices turning louder.

DX @ www.desibbrg.com “Five hundred,’ one driver who spoke a bit of English turned to me. “No five hundred. Fifty,’ I said. ‘Ai,’ another driver screamed. The four of them surrounded me like baddies form a low-budget Kollywood film. “What? Just give me my luggage and let me go,’ I said. ‘Illa luggage. Payment…make…you,’ the Shakespeare among them spoke to me. They started moving around me slowly. I wondered why on earth didn’t I choose to work in an air-conditioned office in Delhi when I had the chance. ‘Let’s go to the police station,’ I said, mustering up my Punjabi blood to be defiant. ‘Illa police,’ screamed my driver, who had shaken hands with me just twenty minutes ago. ‘This Chennai…here police is my police…this no North India…illa police, ennoda poola combuda,’ the English-speaking driver said. Their white teeth glistened in the night. Any impressions of Tamil men being timid (influenced by Ananya’s father) evaporated as I felt a driver tap my back. ‘Fuck,’ I said as I noticed one of the drivers take out something from his pocket. Luckily, it wasn’t a knife but a pack of matches and cigarettes. He lit one in style, influenced by too many Tamil movies. I looked down the street, for anybody, anyone who would get me out of this mess. One man came out of the next building. I saw him and couldn’t believe it. He had a turban – a Sardar-ji in Chennai was akin to spotting a polar bear in Delhi. He had come out to place a cover on his car. Tingles of relief ran down my spine. Krishna had come to save Draupadi. ‘Uncle!’ I shouted as loudly as I could. Uncle looked at me. He saw me surrounded by the autos and understood the situation. He came towards us. The drivers turned, ready to take him on as well. ‘Enna?’ the uncle said.

DX @ www.desibbrg.com The drivers gave their version of the story to him. Uncle spoke to them in fluent Tamil. It is fascinating to see a Sardar-ji speak in Tamil. Like Sun TV’s merger with Alpha TV. ‘Where are you coming from?’ he said. ‘Airport.’ ‘Airport cannot be five hundred rupees. Hundred maximum,’ he said. The four drivers started speaking simultaneously with lots of ‘illas’. However, they had softened a little due to uncle’s Tamil. After five minutes, we settled for a hundred bucks and disgusted glances from the drivers. My driver took out my luggage and dumped it on the street as he sped off. ‘Thanks, uncle,’ I said. ‘You’ve lived in Chennai long?’ ‘Too long. Please don’t stay as long as me,’ Uncle said as he helped me with my luggage to the lift. ‘Punjabi?’ I nodded. ‘Come home if you need a drink or chicken. Be careful, your building is vegetarian. No alcohol also.’ ‘Really?’ ‘Yes, people here are like that. For them, anything fun comes with guilt,’ he said as the lift doors shut. I rang the chummery doorbell. It was ten o’clock. A sleepy guy opened the door. The apartment was completely dark. ‘Hi,’ I said. Krish from Delhi. I am in consumer finance.’ ‘Huh?’ the guy said. ‘Oh, you are that guy. The only North Indian trainee in Citibank Chennai. Come in, you are so late.’ ‘Flight delay,’ I said as I came into the room. He switched on the drawing-room light. ‘I am Ramanujan, from IIMB,’ he said. I looked at him. Even just out of the bed, his hair was oily and combed. He looked like someone who would do well at a bank. With my harried look after the scuffle with the auto drivers, I looked like someone who couldn’t even open a bank account.

DX @ www.desibbrg.com ‘That’s Sendil’s room, and that’s Appalingam’s.’ He pointed me to my room. ‘Anything to eat in the house?’ I said. ‘I don’t know,’ he said and opened the fridge. ‘there is some curd rice.’ He took out the bowl. It didn’t look like a dish. It looked like rice had accidently fallen into the curd. ‘Anything else? Any restaurant open nearby?’ He shook his head as he picked up two envelopes and passed them to me. ‘Here, some letters for you. The servant said a girl had come to see you.’ I looked at the letter. One was the welcome letter from Citibank. The second envelope had Ananya’s handwriting on it. I looked at the curd rice again and tried to imagine it as something yummy but I couldn’t gather the courage to eat it. I came to my room and lay down on the bed. Ramanujan shut the lights in the rest of the house and went back to sleep. ‘Should we wake you up?’ he had asked before going to his room. ‘What time is office?’ ‘Nine, but trainees are expected to be there by eight. We target seven-thirty. We wake up at five.’ I thought about my last two months in Delhi, when waking up at nine was an early start. ‘Is there even daylight at five?’ ‘Almost. We’ll wake you up. Good night.’ I closed my door and opened Ananya’s letter. Hey Chennai boy, I came to see you, but you hadn’t arrived in the afternoon as you told me. Anyways, I can’t wait any longer as mom thinks I am with friends at the Radha Silks Shop. I have to be back. Anyway there is a bit of drama at home but I don’t want to get into that now. Don’t worry, we shall meet soon. Your office is in Anna Salai, not far from mine. However, HLL is making me travel a lot all over the state. I have to sell tomato ketchup. Hard, considering it has no tamarind or coconut in it!

DX @ www.desibbrg.comI’ll leave now. Guess what, I am wearing jasmine flowers in my hair today! It helps to have a traditional look in the interiors. I broke a few petals and have included them in this letter. Hope they remind you of me. Love and kisses, Ananya. I opened the folds of the letter. Jasmine petals fell into my lap. They felt soft and smelt wonderful. It was the only thing about this day that made me happy. It reminded me why I was here.

DX @ www.desibbrg.com 16 It is bad news when you hate your job in the first hour of the first day of office. It isn’t like Citibank did anything to piss me off. In fact, they tried their best to make me feel at home. I already had an assigned cubicle and computer. My first stint involved working in a group that served ‘priority banking’ clients, a politically correct term to address ‘stinking rich’ customers. There is little a customer needed to do to become priority except wave bundles of cash at us. Priority customers received special service, which included sofas for waiting areas instead of chairs, free tea while the bank representative discussed new ways to nibble…oops sorry, invest clients’ money. And the biggest touted perk was you would get direct access to your Customer Service Managers. These were supposed to be financial wizards from the top MBA schools who would take your financial strategy to a whole new level. Yes, that would be me. Of course, we never mentioned that your customer service manager could hate his job, do it only for the money and would have come to the city only because his girlfriend was here. I had to supervise eight bank representatives. The bank representatives were younger, typically graduates or MBAs from non-blue-blooded institutions. And I, being from an IIM and therefore injected with a sense of entitlement for life, would obviously be above them. I didn’t speak Tamil or know anything about banking, but I had to pretend I knew what I was doing. At least to my boss Balakrishnan or Bala. ‘Welcome to the family,’ he said as we shook hands. I wondered if he was related to Ananya. ‘Family?’ ‘The Citibank family. And of course, the Priority Banking family. You are so lucky. New MBAs would die to get a chance to start straight in this group.’ I smiled. ‘Are you excited, young man?’ Bala asked in a high-pitched voice. ‘Super-excited,’ I said, wondering if they’d let me leave early as it was my first day. He took me to the priority banking area. Eight reps, four guys and four girls read research reports and tips from various departments on what they could see

DX @ www.desibbrg.com today. I met everyone though I forgot their similar sounding South Indian names the minute ii heard them. ‘Customers start coming in at ten, two hours from now,’ Bala said. ‘And that is when the battle begins. We believe trainees learn best by facing action. Ready for war?’ I looked at him. I could tell he was a Citibank lifer. At forty, he had probably spent twenty years already in the bank. ‘Ready? Any questions, champ?’ Bala asked again. ‘Yeah, what exactly am I supposed to do?’ Bala threw me the first of his many disappointed looks at me. He asked a rep for the daily research reports. ‘Two things you need to do, actually three,’ Bala said as he took me to my desk. ‘One, read these reports everyday and see if you can recommend any investments to the clients. Like look at this.’ He pulled out a report from the equities group. It recommended shares of Internet companies as their values had dropped by half. ‘But isn’t the dot com bubble bursting?’ I asked. ‘These companies would never make money.’ Bala looked at me like I had spoken to him in pure Punjabi. ‘See, our research has given a buy here. This is Citibank’s official research,’ Bala spoke like he was quoting from the Bible. Official research was probably written by hung-over MBA three years out of business school. ‘Fine, what else?’ ‘The second important job is to develop a relationship. Tamilians love educated people. You, being from IIT and IIM, must develop a relationship with them.’ I nodded. I was the endangered species in the priority-banking zoo that customers could come throw bananas at. ‘Now, it is going to be hard for you as you are…’ Bala paused as if he came to a swear word in the conversation. ‘Punjabi?’ ‘Yes, but can you befriend Tamilians?’

DX @ www.desibbrg.com ‘I am trying to. I have to,’ I said, wondering where I could call Ananya apart from her home number. If only these damn cell-phone prices would drop fast. ‘Good. And the last thing is,’ Bala moved forward to whisper, ‘these reps are quite lazy. Keep an eye on them. Anyone not doing their job, tell me.’ He winked at me and stood up to leave. ‘And come to office early.’ ‘I came at seven-thirty. Isn’t the official time nine?’ ‘Yes, but when I was your level, I came at seven. If you want to be like me, wake up, soldier,’ Bala said and laughed at his own joke. The Tamil sense of humour, if there is any, is really an acquired taste. I didn’t want to be like him. I didn’t even want to be here. I took a deep breath after he left and meditated on my salary package. You are doing it for the money, I told myself. Four lakh a year, that is thirty-three thousand a month, I chanted the mantra in my head. My father had worked in the army for thirty years and still never earned half as much. I had to push bubble stocks and the cash would be mine. Life isn’t so bad, I said to myself. ‘Sir, can I go to the toilet?’ one female rep came to me. ‘What?’ She looked at me, waiting for permission. ‘What’s your name?’ ‘Sri.’ ‘Where are you from?’ ‘Coimbatore,’ she said, adjusting her oversized spectacles with cockroach- coloured borders. Fashion is not a Chennai hallmark. ‘You went to college?’ ‘Yes sir. Coimbatore University, distinction, sir.’ ‘Good. Then why are you asking me for permission?’ ‘Just like that, sir.’ She said. ‘No one needs to ask me permission for going to the toilet,’ I said. ‘Thank you, sir.’

DX @ www.desibbrg.com I read reports for the next two hours. Each one had financial models done my overenthusiastic MBAs who were more keen to solve equations than to question what they were doing. One table compared value of Internet companies with the number of visitors to the site. The recommended company had the lowest value to eyeball ratio, a trendy term invented by the analyst. Hence, BUY! screamed the report. Of course, the analyst never questioned that none of the site visitors ever paid any money to the Internet company. ‘It is trading cheap on every multiple conceivable!’ the report said, complete with the exclamation mark. ‘Sir, my customer is here. Can I bring them to you?’ Sri requested well after her return from the toilet. ‘Sure,’ I said. ‘Sir, this is Ms Sreenivas,’ Sri said. A fifty-year-old lady with gold bangles thicker than handcuffs came to my cubicle. We moved to the sofa area, to give a more personal, living room feel as we robbed the customer. ‘You are from IIT?’ she peered at me. ‘Yes,’ I said even as I readied my pitch about which loss-making company to buy. ‘Even my grandson is preparing for it,’ she said. She had dark hair, with oil that made it shine more. ‘You don’t look old enough to have a grandson preparing for IIT,’ I said. Ms Sreenivas smiled. Sri smiled back at her. Yes, we had laid the mousetrap and the cheese. Walk in, baby. ‘Oh no, I am an old lady. He is only in class six though.’ ‘How much is madam’s balance?’ I asked. ‘One crore and twenty lakh, sir,’ Sri supplied. I imagined the number in my head; I’d need to work in this job for thirty years to get there. It almost felt right to part her from her money. ‘Madam, have you invested in any stocks? Internet stocks are cheap these days,’ I said. Ms Sreenivas gave me a worried look. ‘Stocks? Never. And my son works in an Internet company abroad. He said they might close down.’

DX @ www.desibbrg.com ‘That’s USA, madam. This is India, we have one billion population, or two billion eyeballs. Imagine the potential of the Internet. And we have a mutual fund, so you don’t have to invest in any one company.’ We cajoled Ms Sreenivas for five minutes. I threw in a lot of MBA terms like strategic advantage, bottom-line vs. top line, top down vs. bottom up and it made me sound very intelligent. Ms Sreenivas and Sri nodded at whatever I said. Ultimately, Ms Sreenivas agreed to nibble at toxic waste. ‘Let’s start with ten lakh,’ I said to close the case. ‘Five. Please, five,’ Ms Sreenivas pleaded with us on how to use her own money. I settled at five and Sri was ecstatic, I had become their favourite customer service manager. Bala took me out for lunch at Sangeetha’s, a dosa restaurant. ‘What dosas do you have?’ I asked the waiter. ‘We have eighty-five kinds,’ the waiter pointed to the board. Every stuffing imaginable to man was available in dosa form. ‘Try the spinach dosa. And the sweet banana dosa,’ Bala said as he smiled at me like the father I never had. ‘So, how does it feel, to get your first investment? Heart pumping?’ My heart didn’t pump. It only ached. I’d been in Chennai for fifteen hours and had not spoken to Ananya yet. I wanted to buy a cell-phone as soon as possible. Wait, I’d need two. ‘I see myself in you. You are like me,’ Bala said as he dunked his first piece of dosa in sambhar. I had no clue how he reached that conclusion. I had Ananya’s home landline number. But, she didn’t reach home until seven. She had a sales field job so no fixed office number as well. I remembered how we’d finish lunch in campus and snuggle up for our afternoon nap. It is official, life after college sucks. ‘Isn’t this fun?’ Bala said. ‘I get a rush every time I come to the bank. And it is twenty years. Wow, I still remember the day my boss first took me out for lunch. Hey, what are you thinking? Stop work thoughts now. It is lunch-time. ‘Of course,’ I said and collected myself. ‘How far is HLL office from here?’

DX @ www.desibbrg.com ‘Why? You have a potential client?’ Bala asked as if the only reason people existed was to become priority banking customers. ‘Possibly,’ I said. One good thing about banking is that you don’t feel bad about lying at all. ‘It is in Nungambakkam. Apex Plaza,’ he said. The waiter reloaded our sambhar and delivered the banana dosa. The latter tasted like a pancake, and I have to say, wasn’t bad at all. ‘Oh, that’s where I am staying, right?’ ‘Yes, the Citi chummery. My first home too,’ he leaned forward and patted my back. I suppose I had a good boss. I should have felt happy but didn’t. I wondered if I should call HLL first or straight land up there. I came back to my desk in the afternoon. I met some customers, but most of them didn’t have time to stay long. Ms Sreenivas had given me a lucky break, but it wasn’t that easy to woo conservative Tamilians, after all. ‘Fixed deposit. I like fixed deposit,’ one customer told me when I asked him for his investment preferences. At three in the afternoon, I had a call. ‘It is for you, sir,’ Sri said as she transferred the line to my extension. ‘Hi, I’d like to open a priority account, with my hot-shot sexy banker.’ ‘Ananya?’ I said, my voice bursting with happiness, ‘Where are you? When are we meeting? Should I come to HLL? I am sorry my flight…’ ‘Easy, easy. I am in Kancheepuram.’ ‘Where’s that?’ ‘Three hours from Chennai. I’ll head back soon. Why don’t you come home for dinner?’ ‘Home? Your home? With your mom and dad?’ ‘Yes, why not? You have to know them anyway. Mom’s a little low these days, but that is OK.’ ‘Why is she low? Because of us?’

DX @ www.desibbrg.com ‘No, she finds other reasons to be miserable. Luckily, this time it has nothing to do with me.’ ‘Ananya, let’s go out, OK?’ ‘I can’t today. My aunt is visiting from Canada. Come at eight.’ She gave me her address. I noted it down after making her spell it thrice. ‘See you in five hours,’ she said and hung up. I stared at the watch, hoping it would move faster. The reps left at six, and as Citi’s great culture goes, MBAs never left until eight. I killed time reading reports on the Indian economy. Smart people had written them, and they made GDP forecasts for the next ten years with confidence that his the basic fact – how can you really tell, dude? At seven-thirty I stood up to leave. Bala came towards me. “Leaving?’ he asked, puzzled as if I had planned to take a half day. ‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘Not much to do.’ ‘One tip, never leave before your boss,’ he said and winked at me. He laughed, and I didn’t find it funny at all. I want to see what a Tamil joke book looks like. ‘What time do you leave?’ I said, tired. ‘Soon, actually let me call it a day. Kusum will be waiting. You want to come home for dinner?’ ‘No, thanks,’ I said. He gave me the second disappointed look. ‘I have to go somewhere, distant relatives,’ I said. ‘Oh,’ he said, his voice still a little sad.I am sorry dude, I am not handing you the remote of my life because you are my boss, I thought.

DX @ www.desibbrg.com 17 ‘Swaminathan’, the name plate of Ananya’s small standalone house proclaimed in arched letters. I pressed the doorbell even as a buzzing grinder drowned the ring. ‘Yes?’ Ananya’s father opened the door with a puzzled expression. I bet he recognised me but feigned ignorance to rattle me. He wore a half-sleeve white vest with a front pocket and a checked blue and white lungi. ‘Krish, sir, Ananya’s friend,’ I said. For no particular reason, fear makes me address people as sir. I had brought a gift pack of biscuits, as my Punjabi sensibilities had taught me to never go to someone’s house without at least as many calories as you would consume there. ‘Oh, come in,’ he said after I reintroduced myself. I stepped inside and handed him the gift pack. ‘Shoes!’ he said in a stern voice when I had expected ‘thanks’. ‘What?’ I said. He pointed at the shoe rack outside the house. I removed my shoes and checked my socks for smells and holes. I decided to take them off too, I went inside. ‘Don’t step on the rangoli,’ he warned. I looked down. My right foot rested on a rice flour flower pattern. ‘Sorry, I am really sorry, sir,’ I said and bent down to repair the pattern. ‘It’s OK. It can’t be fixed now,’ he said and ushered me into the living room. The long rectangular room looked like what would be left if a Punjabi drawing was robbed. The sofas were simple, with cushions thinner than Indian Railways sleepers had and from the opposite of the decadent red velvet sofas Pammi aunty. The walls had a pale green distemper finish. There were pictures of various South Indian gods all around the room. The dining area had floor seating. At one corner, there was a daybed with a tambura (which looks like a sitar) kept on it. An old man sat there. I wondered if Ananya’s parents were cool enough to arrange live music for dinner. ‘Sit,’ Ananya’s father said, pointing at the sofa.

DX @ www.desibbrg.com We sat opposite each other as I faced Ananya’s dad for the first time in my life. I strained my brain hard for a suitable topic. ‘Nice place,’ I said. ‘What is nice? No water in this area,’ uncle said as he picked up a newspaper. I hung my head, as if to apologise for the water problem in Mylapore. Ucle opened the newspaper, which blocked his face from mine. I didn’t know if it was intentional. I kept quiet and turned to the man with the tambura. I smiled, but he didn’t react. The house had an eerie silence. A Punjabi house is never this silent even when people sleep at night. I bent forward to see if uncle was reading the paper or avoiding me. He had opened the editorial page of The Hindu. He read an opinion piece about AIADMK asking the government to do an enquiry on the defense minister who had sacked the naval chief. It was heavy-duty stuff. No one in my family, correction, no one in my extended clan ever read editorial pages of newspapers, let alone articles about AIADMK. Uncle caught me peeking over him and grunted, ‘What?’ ‘Nothing,’ I said. I didn’t know why I felt so guilty. Uncle continued to read for five minutes. I had an opportunity to speak again when he turned the page. ‘No one is at home, sir?’ ‘Where will they go?’ ‘I can’t see anyone.’ ‘Cooking. Can’t you hear the grinder?’ he said. I didn’t know if Ananya’s father was naturally like this or extra grumpy today. Maybe he is pissed about me being here, I thought. ‘You want water?’ he said. ‘No sir,’ I said. ‘Why? Why you don’t want water?’ I didn’t have an answer except that I felt scared and weird in this house. ‘OK, give me water,’ I said. ‘Radha,’ uncle screamed. ‘Tanni!’ ‘Is that Ananya’s grandfather,’ I said, pointing to the old man.

DX @ www.desibbrg.com ‘No,’ he said. I realised Ananya’s father answered exactly what was asked. ‘Who is he?’ I asked slowly. ‘It’s Radha’s Carnatic music teacher who came to see her. But she is busy in the kitchen making dinner for you. Now what to do?’ I nodded. Ananya’s mother came in the living room. She held a tray with a glass of water and a plate of savouries. The spiral-shaped, brown-coloured snacks resembled fossilised snakes. ‘Hello, aunty,’ I stood up. ‘Hello, Krish,’ she said. ‘I am sorry I came at the wrong time,’ I said, looking at the teacher. ‘It’s OK. Ananya invited you. And she has a habit of not consulting me,’ Ananya’s mother said. ‘Aunty, we can all go out,’ I said. ‘It’s OK. Food is almost ready,’ she said and turned to her husband. ‘Give me half an hour with Guruji.’ She went up to Guruji and touched his feet. The Guruji blessed her. Ananya’s mother picked up the tambura and they left the room. ‘So, Citibank placed you in Chennai?’ uncle said, initiating conversation with me for the first time. ‘Yes, sir’ I said. Ananya had told him the bank transferred me. ‘Why do they send North Indians here?’ ‘I don’t know, sir.’ ‘Useless buggers,’ he mumbled and buried himself in his newspaper again. I cleared my throat and finally gathered the courage to ask. ‘Where’s Ananya?’ Uncle looked up in shock as if I had asked him where he kept his porn collection. ‘She had gone for a bath. She will come after evening prayers.’

DX @ www.desibbrg.com I nodded. Ananya never did any evening prayers in Ahmedabad. I heard noises from the other room. They sounded like long wails, as if someone was being slowly strangled. I looked puzzled and uncle looked at me. ‘Carnatic music,’ uncle said. ‘You know?’ I shook my head. ‘Then what do you know?’ he asked and sank into The Hindu waiting for me to respond. I had an urge to run out of the house. What the fuck am I doing here in this psycho home? I heard footsteps outside. ‘Sorry,’ Ananya said, coming in. I turned to look at her. I was seeing her after two months. She wore a cream- coloured cotton sari with a thin gold border. She seemed prettier than I last saw her. I wanted to grab her and plant the biggest kiss on her lips ever. Of course, things had to be different with Mr Hindu-addict Grumpyswami in front of me. ‘Hi Ananya, good to see you,’ I greeted her like a colleague at work. I kept my hands close to my body. ‘What? Give me a hug,’ she said and uncle finally lost interest in The Hindu. ‘Sit here, Ananya,’ he said and carefully folded the newspaper like he would read it again every day for the rest of his life. ‘Hi dad,’ Ananya said and kissed her father on the cheek. I felt jealous. ‘Oh, mom is singing,’ she said, upon hearing her mother shriek again. ‘Yes, finally,’ Ananya’s father said. ‘Can you tell the raga?’ Ananya closed her eyes to listen. She looked beautiful but I had to look away as uncle eyed every move of mine. ‘It’s malhar, definitely malhar,’ she said. Uncle nodded his head in appreciation. ‘How many ragas are there?’ I asked, trying to fit in. ‘A thousand, yeah dad?’ Ananya said. ‘At least. You don’t listen to Carnatic music?’ uncle said to me.

DX @ www.desibbrg.com ‘Not much, but it is kind of nice,’ I said. Of course, saying I have no fucking clue what you are talking about didn’t seem quite right. ‘Mom won two championships at the Tamil Sangam in Kolkata when dad was posted there,’ Ananya said, her voice proud. ‘But she has stopped singing since we came to Chennai,’ uncle said and threw up his hands. ‘Why?’ I said. ‘Various reasons,’ Ananya said and gestured at me to change the topic. ‘Your aunt is here?’ I asked. ‘Yes, Shobha athai is in the kitchen. She is dad’s elder sister.’ I prayed Shobha aunty didn’t have a personality like her brother’s. Silence fell in the room. I picked up a snack to eat it. Every crunch would be clearly in the room. I had to keep the conversation going. I had read a book on making friends a while ago. It said take an interest in people’s work and keep bringing their name into the conversation. ‘So, you have worked all over India, Mr Swaminathan?’ I said. ‘A few places, until I became stuck here,’ he said. ‘Stuck? I thought you like Chennai, your hometown,’ I said. Uncle gave me a dirty look. I wondered if I had said something inappropriate. ‘I’ll get Shobha. Let’s eat dinner soon,’ uncle said and left the room. I wanted to ask Ananya about her father, but I wanted to grab her first. ‘Don’t,’ Ananya said as she sensed my intentions. ‘What?’ ‘Don’t move. Keep a three-feet distance,’ she said. ‘Are you mad? There is no one here.’ ‘Not here? My mother is singing in the next room for God’s sake.’ ‘That’s singing?’

DX @ www.desibbrg.com ‘Shut up,’ she giggled. ‘And I’d suggest you learn a bit of Carnatic music. No, stop, don’t get off the sofa.’ She gave me a flying kiss and I subsided back into the sofa. ‘Dad is having a bad month at the bank,’ Ananya whispered. ‘He got passed over for promotion. He deserved to head Bank of Baroda for his district but dirty politics happened. And he hates politics.’ I didn’t mention the interest with which he read the AIADMK article. ‘Where is your brother?’ ‘He slept already. He wakes up early to study.’ We heard footsteps. ‘Be careful with Shobha aunty. Speak minimum,’ she said. ‘Why?’ I said as Ananya’s mother came to the living room again. She and her guru walked towards the main door. Aunty had a disappointed expression. ‘Illa practice?’ the guru mumbled as Ananya’s mother spoke to him in Tamil. The guru shook his head and left. ‘What?’ Ananya asked her. ‘Nothing. Where is your appa and athai? Let’s eat,’ Ananya’s mother said in a serious tone. Ananya’s father and aunt came to the living room. They carried more dishes than their arms were designed for. I stood up to help. ‘Hello aunty, can I take something!’ ‘Wash your hands,’ uncle told me and pointed me to the kitchen. We sat on the floor for dinner. Ananya’s father passed me a banana leaf. I wondered if I had to eat it or wipe my hands with it. ‘Place it down, it is the plate,’ Ananya whispered. ‘Radha,’ Shobha aunty said in a stern voice as she pointed to her banana leaf. It had specks of dirt on one side. ‘Oh, sorry, sorry,’ Radha aunty said and replaced it. It wasn’t different from Shipra masi finding faults with my mother. Psycho relatives are constant across cultures.

DX @ www.desibbrg.com I followed Ananya as she loaded her plate with rice, sambhar, funny-looking vegetables and two kinds of brown powders. ‘What’s this?’ I asked. ‘Gunpowder, try it,’ she said. I tasted it. It felt like sawdust mixed with chillies. ‘Yummy, no?’ I nodded at Ananya. Everyone first kept neat little lumps of dishes on their banana leaf. Soon they mixed it into a slurry heap. ‘Mix more,’ Ananya said as I tried to copy my in-laws-to-be. ‘You are Ananya’s classmate?’ Shobha aunty spoke for the first time. ‘Yes, at IIM,’ I said. ‘IIT student?’ I nodded. Ananya had told me that my IIT tag was the only silver lining in my otherwise outcast status in their family. ‘Sushila’s cousin is also from IIT. Radha, I told you, no? Harish lives in San Francisco.’ ‘Which batch?’ I asked. ‘IIT Madras, not your college,’ Shobha aunty said, pissed off at being interrupted. I kept quiet and looked at the various vegetables, trying to recognize them. I said hello to beans and cabbage. ‘Harish’s parents want to get him married. You have Ananya’s nakshtram?’ Shobha aunty said. ‘No, not yet,’ Ananya’s mother said. ‘What, swami? Your wife is not interested in finding a good son-in-law?’ I couldn’t believe they were discussing all this in my presence. ‘Can you pass the rice?’ I said, hoping to steer the conversation elsewhere.

DX @ www.desibbrg.com ‘Radha, you must listen to Shobha. She knows best,’ Ananya’s father said. Indian men slam their wives for their sisters with zero hesitation. Ananya’s mother nodded as Shobha aunty started to discourse in Tamil. Ananya’s dad and mother also responded in Tamil. It was irritating to watch a regional language movie in front of me. After five minutes I spoke again. ‘Excuse me?’ ‘What?’ Ananya’s father said. ‘Can you speak in English? I can’t follow the conversation,’ I said. Ananya looked at me, shocked. Back off, her eyes said. ‘Then learn Tamil,’ Ananya’s father said. ‘Yes sir,’ I said meekly. ‘Anyway, this doesn’t concern you,’ he added. I nodded. I heard various technology companies’ the boys’ names. I felt like upturning my banana leaf on Shobha aunty’s face. I left soon after dinner. Ananya came outside to help me get an auto. Ananya held my arm as we came on the desolate street. ‘I am not talking to you,’ I said and extracted my hand from her. ‘What?’ she said. We passed by a bungalow with coconut trees in the garden. ‘They are planning your marriage. What the hell is nakshtram?’ I said. ‘It’s the astrological chart. They are fantasizing. I am not getting married to anyone else but you.’ She held up my hand and kissed it. I extracted it again. I hailed an auto. Ananya would have to negotiate with him in Tamil else I’d have to pay double. ‘How am I going to win them over? It is impossible to get through. Sitting with your father is like being called to the principal’s office.’ Ananya laughed. ‘It’s not funny.’

DX @ www.desibbrg.com ‘It is a little. What about my mom?’ ‘I used to be scared of her pictures in campus. Forget her in real life! Her looks alone kill me.’ ‘Her pictures scared you?’ ‘Yes, that is why I never wanted to make love in your room. I’d notice your mother’s pictures and chills ran down my spine. I’d imagine her saying, What are you doing with my daughter?’ Ananya laughed again. ‘If we weren’t in Mylapore, I’d have kissed you. You are so cute,’ she said. ‘Cut it out, Ananya, what is our plan? Will you speak to your mother?’ ‘Mom’s stressed out. Her Carnatic teacher refused to teach her.’ ‘Why?’ ‘I’ll tell you later.’ ‘Can we meet tomorrow? Outside, please,’ I said. ‘Meet me at Marina beach at six,’ she said. ‘I can’t do six. My extra-caring boss Bala leaves at eight.’ ‘I didn’t say evening.’ ‘Six in the morning?’ I gulped. Ananya had already turned to the auto driver. ‘Nungambakkam, twenty rupees, extra illai, OK?’ she told him.

DX @ www.desibbrg.com 18 The beautiful sunrise at Marina Beach compensated for the 5 a.m. wake up call. Hundreds of people took a morning walk along the seashore which ran down miles. ‘Do you know this is the biggest city beach in Asia?’ Ananya asked as she met me at the police headquarters building. ‘You’ve told me,’ I said. ‘Why are you in formals?’ ‘I go straight to work. Trainees are expected to be there at seven-thirty,’ I said, removing my shoes and folding my pants up to walk along the beach. ‘To do what?’ ‘To suck up to the boss, who if you do a good job will promote you to the next level of sucking up. Welcome to corporate life,’ I said. ‘I am not facing it yet. I have to sell a thousand bottles of ketchup every week. I am so behind my targets.’ ‘You’d better ketch-up fast,’ I said. ‘Funny,’ she said and punched me. Ananya saw a man with a bicycle. He carried a basket full of idlis. ‘Breakfast?’ she offered. ‘Don’t they have toast?’ ‘Don’t grumble,’ she said. We took four idlis and sat on a bench facing the water. She spoke about her mother. ‘Guruji didn’t accept mom. He felt she isn’t dedicated enough.’ ‘But isn’t she really good?’ I asked, not that I could tell from the shrill cries I heard last night. ‘She isn’t good enough by Chennai standards. Dad used to be posted in towns outside Tamil Nadu. Mom became a star in the Tamilian community there. Here, she is just OK. Chennai’s Carnatic music scene is at a different level.’ I nodded as if I understood.

DX @ www.desibbrg.com ‘My parents came to Chennai with great enthusiasm. But now dad lost his promotion. Pesky relatives visit us all the time. Amidst all this, their daughter wants to impose a non-Brahmin, non-Tamil, Punjabi boy on them. Of course, they will freak out. We have to be patient. I love them, too, Krish,’ she said and paused for breath. A gentle breeze blew on our faces. She laid her head on my left shoulder. I stroked her hair. The sun emerged out of the Bay of Bengal, a soft red at first, turning into a warmer orange. I put my arm around Ananya. In my tie and formal pants, I looked like a salesman with no place to take his girlfriend to make out. ‘there is only one way you can get regular access to my home,’ Ananya said after staring at the horizon for a minute. ‘What?’ ‘IIT tuitions for my brother. They’d accept anything for that,’ she said. I let go of her and sat up straight. ‘Are you crazy? I prepared for the IIT exam eight years ago. I can’t teach him.’ ‘I’m sure you can revise some notes and help him. My parents have to get comfortable with you. Only then can I ask them to seriously consider you.’ I dipped my idli into coconut chutney and ate it. I missed my mother’s hot paranthas at breakfast. ‘Do you love me?’ She wiped a bit of chutney from my lips. I kissed her. I was kissing her after two months. I didn’t release her for a minute. I’d revise IIT chemistry for this chemistry any day.‘Ai!’ a hoarse voice screamed behind us. I turned around. A pot-bellied Tamilian cop, looking more villain than police, walked fast towards us. ‘What is this?’ he said and slammed his stick on the bench. Both of us sprang up. Ananya hid behind me. ‘Oh fuck,’ she said. ‘Get rid of him.’ The cop screamed at me in Tamil. Helpless, I asked Ananya to translate. ‘He wants to take us to the police station. He is saying we have some nerve doing all this outside police headquarters.’ ‘Why do they have police headquarters opposite a beach?’ I asked.

DX @ www.desibbrg.com ‘Shut up and pay him off,’ she whispered. I took out my wallet and took out twenty bucks. ‘Illa Illa…’ the cop continued to shout and grabbed my arms. I took out a fifty. He looked at me and Ananya. ‘Warning,’ the cop said as he took the note. Ananya laughed after the cop left us. ‘It’s not funny,’ I said as I wore my shoes again and straightened my pants. ‘Can we meet at my chummery, please?’ ‘In a while. I travel out of Chennai everyday and come back late,’ she said. ‘Weekend?’ ‘I’ll try,’ she said. ‘You will feed me chicken? I’m dying to have non-veg. and get beer, too.’ ‘OK,’ I promised. My building had vegetarian-only rules, but surely they wouldn’t notice if I brought something readymade from outside. We sat in our respective autos. She spoke to me from her side window. ‘And I’ll speak to my parents about the tuitions. Twice a week at five?’ ‘Five in the morning?’ Why is everyone so eager to wake up in this town! ‘That’s when everyone goes for tuitions,’ she said and sped off. I had to wait for two miserable weeks in Chennai until Ananya finally decided to visit my chummery for lunch one Saturday. One weekend Ananya’s mother fell ill and Ananya had to cook for the family, courtesy a guilt trip from her mother. The food did not come out right, as Ananya’s culinary experience is limited to making Maggi in my room and making papads with a clothes iron (yes, it works). This led to another guilt trip from Shobha aunty to Ananya’s mother who blamed her for not bringing up her daughter right. The guilt trip percolated down to Ananya, who had to take Shobha aunty jewellery and sari shopping the next weekend. Meanwhile, I had visited Brilliant Tutorials and bought IIT exam guides. I couldn’t believe how tough the course materials were. The only reason I managed

DX @ www.desibbrg.com to study them in the past was because that distracted me from my parents’ fights. I revised chemistry to prepare for my first class. I also went to my Sardar-ji neighbor to find out the best way to procure chicken and beers. “Who is coming? Punjabi friends?’ he asked. ‘Work people,’ I said, to stop him from inviting himself. ‘Be careful when you take it up in the lift,’ he said. As he told me, I went to the Delhi Dhabha in Nungambakkam, less than a kilometre from my house. I triple-packed the tandoori chicken so no smell came out. I went to the government-approved liquor shop, where they had trouble establishing my age. ‘Are you over twenty-five?’ ‘No, but will be soon,’ I said. ‘Then we can’t give you,’ the shopkeeper said. ‘Even if I pay ten bucks extra a bottle?’ It is amazing how money relaxes rules around the country. The shopkeeper packed the three bottles in brown paper, and I further placed them in a plastic bag, so one couldn’t make out the shape. ‘What’s in it?’ the liftman asked me as the bottles touched the ground noisily when I placed the packet on the floor. ‘Lemon squash,’ I said. ‘You should have coconut water instead,’ the liftman said. I nodded and reached my apartment. Ramanujan saw me place the bottles in the fridge. “what’s that?’ He wore a lungi and nothing on top apart from a white thread around his shoulders. ‘Beer,’ I said. ‘Dude, you can’t get alcohol in this building,’ he said. ‘My girlfriend is visiting me. She likes it,’ I said. ‘You have a girlfriend?’ Ramanujan repeated like I had ten wives. None of my flatmates had a girlfriend. They were all qualified, well-paid Tamil Citibankers who planned to be auctioned off soon by their parents.

DX @ www.desibbrg.com ‘Yes, from college,’ I said. My other roommates came to the living room. None of them wore shirts. I shut the fridge to avoid further conversation on the beverages. ‘She is visiting Chennai? Sendil said. ‘Will she stay here? She can’t stay here,’ Appalingam said. ‘She lives in Chennai,’ I said. The boys looked at each other as to who would ask the bell-the-cat question. ‘Tamilian?’ Ramanujan asked. ‘Yes,’ I said, ‘Tamil Brahmin.’ I added the last two words to let them absorb the shock at once. ‘Wow!’ all of them said in unison. ‘She drinks beer?’ Ramanujan said. ‘Yes,’ I said and upturned the chicken into a bowl. ‘And chicken? What kind of Brahmin is this?’ Sendil said. ‘And dude, don’t get non-veg in this house.’ ‘It’s my house, too,’ I said. ‘But rules are rules,’ he said. People in this city loved rules, or rather loved to follow rules. Except if you are a cop or a liquor shop attendant or an auto driver. ‘Let it be, Sendil,’ Ramanujan said. ‘Thanks,’ I said and placed the chicken in the fridge. ‘And guys, please wear shirts when she is here.’ Ananya came to my place at two o’clock. I greeted her politely in the living room. My flatmates exchanged shy glances with each other as she greeted them. Sendil spoke to her in Tamil. Tamilians love to irritate non-Tamil speakers by speaking only in Tamil in front of them. This is the only silent rebellion in their otherwise repressed, docile personality. When she finally entered my bedroom, I grabbed her from behind. ‘Can w eat first? I haven’t had chicken for a month.’

DX @ www.desibbrg.com ‘I haven’t had sex for four months,’ I said, but she went out and opened the fridge. ‘You have beer too. Superb!’ she praised and she pulled out a bottle. She offered it to my flatmates; they declined. We moved the food and beer to my bedroom. I didn’t want my friends outside to witness sin as we finished a full chicken and two beers. ‘And now for dessert,’ I said and came close to her. ‘If I burp, don’t stop loving me,’ she said as her lips came close to mine. I burped. She slapped me. We kissed and kissed and kissed some more. Our lovemaking was more intense, not only because we did it after a long time, but also because we were doing it in this stuck-up city for the first time. ‘Mr Citibanker, there is no train to catch. Slower, gentler next-time,’ Ananya said as we lay back. I sighed as I entered a semi-trance state. Ramanujan played Tamil music outside the room. ‘What, say something? Men just want sex,’ she said and kicked my leg. ‘Yeah, that’s why I’ve agreed to teach your brother at five in the morning. You want to see my chemistry notes?’ I sat up, wore my clothes and pulled out tutorials from the drawer. ‘I read these for four hours last night,’ I said. ‘So sweet,’ she said and came forward to kiss my cheek. ‘Don’t worry. My parents will soon see how wonderful you are. And then they will love you like I do.’ ‘They’ll sleep with me?’ I lay down next to her. She elbowed me in my stomach. ‘That hurt,’ I said. ‘Good.’ She looked into my eyes. Her gaze turned soft. ‘I know the tuitions are hard. My parents are weird people. You’ll not give up, right?’ ‘I won’t give up.’ I stroked her hair. ‘This is so amazing, this intimacy. Isn’t it even better than the sex?’ ‘I’m not so sure,’ I said and reached a hand to increase the fan speed.

DX @ www.desibbrg.com ‘We never talk. At home, my mom and dad, they hardly talk. We’ll talk about the news, the food, the weather. But we never talk about our feelings. I only do that with you,’ she said. I kept quiet. She sat up to wear her clothes. She picked up the pillows from the floor and placed them back on the bed. I pulled her arm and made her sit down with me again. ‘How come you don’t ask me to run away with you?’ she asked. ‘You want me to? What if I did ask you to elope?’ ‘I wouldn’t know what to do. I don’t want to hurt them. I already have by choosing a Punjabi mate, but I think we can win them over, I want them to smile on our wedding day. That’s how I imagined my marriage since I was a child. What about you?’ I thought for a minute. ‘I don’t want to elope,’ I said. ‘Why?’ ‘It’s too easy. And that doesn’t serve the greater purpose.’ Ananya stepped off the bed and brought back the leftovers. She took the crumbs of chicken and ate them as we talked. ‘Greater purpose?’ ‘Yes, these stupid biases and discrimination are the reason our country is so screwed up. It’s Tamil first, Indian later. Punjabi first, Indian later. It has to end.’ Ananya looked at me. ‘Go on,’ she coaxed mischievously. I continued, ‘National anthem, national currency, national teams – we won’t marry our children outside our state. How can this intolerance be good for our country?’ Ananya smiled. ‘Is it the chicken, is it the beer or is it the sex? What has charged you up so much? Flatter me and say it is the sex. C’mon say it,’ she said. ‘I’m serious Ananya. This bullshit must end.’ ‘And how are we making it end?’ ‘Imagine our kids.’ ‘I have, several times. I want them to have my face. Only your eyes,’ she said.

DX @ www.desibbrg.com ‘Not that, think about this – they won’t be Tamil or Punjabi. They will be Indian. They will be above all this nonsense. If all young people marry outside their community, it is good for the country. That is the greater purpose.’ ‘Oh, so the reason you sleep with me is for the sake of your country,’ she said. ‘Well, in some ways, yes.’ I smiled sheepishly. She took a pillow and launched an attack on my head. And then, for the sake of my country, we made love again. ‘Open up, Krish,’ Ramanujan’s worried voice and loud bangs on the door woke me from my nap.

DX @ www.desibbrg.com 19 Ananya was sleeping next to me and my head hurt from the beer. Ramanujan continued to slam the door. ‘What?’ I opened the door. ‘I’ve been knocking for five minutes,’ Ramanujan said. ‘Come out, the landlord is here.’ ‘Landlord?’ ‘Yes, be nice to him. It’s the last chummery in Nungambakkam. I don’t want to be kicked out.’ ‘What happened?’ I asked. ‘Come out first.’ I shut the door and wore the rest of my clothes. ‘Ananya,’ I said. ‘Baby, I’m sleepy,’ she said, trying to pull me back into bed. ‘My landlord is here,’ I said. She didn’t respond even though I shook her maniacally. ‘Your appa is outside,’ I said. She sprang up on the bed. ‘What?’ ‘Come out. My landlord is here,’ I said. I went to the living room. My flatmates sat on the dining table. Mr Punnu, our sixty-year old landlord, gravely occupied the largest chair. His face had a permanently tragic expression. I sat next to him. No one spoke. ‘Hi guys,’ Ananya came out after five minutes. ‘You want tea? I’ll make some.’ She started to walk towards the kitchen. ‘Ananya, I will see you later,’ I said.

DX @ www.desibbrg.com Ananya looked at me, shocked. She tuned into the mood on the dining table. ‘I’ll leave now.’ She picked up her bag. Mr Punnu stood up after Ananya left the house. He sniffed hard. He peeped into my room. ‘Chicken?’ he frowned. I didn’t respond. Beer bottles lay on the bedside table. ‘Ladies?’ he said. ‘She works in HLL,’ I said, having no clue why I had to mention her corporate status. ‘Chicken, beer, lady friends – what is going on here?’ he said. Fun, I wanted to say but didn’t. Those three things are what men live for anyway. Everyone kept quiet. I wondered who had sneaked. My flatmates were no friend material, but somehow I didn’t expect them to be suck schmucks. Maybe the watchman did it. ‘I didn’t expect this from you boys,’ Punnu said in a heavy Tamil accent. ‘It’s my fault. I brought the chicken and beer for my girlfriend,’ I said. ‘Girlfriend?’ Punnu said as if I spoke in pure Sanskrit. ‘She is my batch-mate. A nice girl,’ I said. Mr Punnu didn’t seem impressed. ‘She’s Tamil Brahmin,’ I said. ‘And you?’ ‘Punjabi,’ I said and my head hung low a little by default. ‘How is she a nice girl if she is roaming around with you?’ Mr Punnu asked. He had a valid point. I decided to change the topic. ‘Mr Punnu, this is not a boarding school. We are all professionals and what we do in our own home…’ Mr Punnu banged his fist on the table. ‘This is my home,’ he pointed out. ‘Yes, but you have leased it to us. Technically, we have a right to not let you into the property.’

DX @ www.desibbrg.com Mr Punnu looked aghast. Ramanujan had to save the situation. ‘He doesn’t know, Mr Punnu. He is new here. We should have told him it is a veg building and no alcohol.’ ‘Not even a drop,’ Mr Punnu said. “I have not touched it all my life.’ Mr Punnu looked like he had touched neither wine nor a woman all his life, but badly needed to. ‘Apologise,’ Ramanujan told me. I glanced around. Tamils gathered around me like the LTTE. I had no choice. ‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘No ladies from now on.’ Mr Punnu wagged a finger. ‘And beer and chicken?’ I said. “That wasn’t allowed from before anyway,’ Sendil said. Everyone around me nodded as they felt the warm fuzzy feeling of having set rules on how to live their life. I wondered where I’d take Ananya the next time.

DX @ www.desibbrg.com 20 ‘I am good at chemistry. I need help in physics,’ Manjunath, nerd-embryo and Ananya’s younger brother, spoke with eh energy of a rooster. His eyebrows went up and down as he spoke, in sync with the three rows of ash on his forehead. I had come for my first class. Ananya had left for Madurai the night before for a weeklong sales trip. My head hurt from waking up early. Ananya’s mother had sent coffee to Manju’s room. It didn’t help. Neither did the fact that I had only read up chemistry. “let’s revise it anyways,’ I said and opened my sheets. ‘Hydrocarbons?’ he said as he saw my notes. ‘I’ve done this thee times.’ I offered him a problem and he solved it in two minutes. I tried a harder one, and he did it in the same time. A tape played in the next room. It sounded like a chorus of women marching towards the army. ‘M.S. Subbulaxmi,’ Manju said, noticing my worried expression. ‘Devotional music.’ I nodded as I flipped through the chemistry books to find a problem challenging enough for the little Einstein. ‘Every Tamilian house plays it in the morning.’ I wondered if Ananya would play it in our house after we got married. My mother would have serious trauma with that sound. The chants became stronger with every passing minute. ‘What is IIT like?’ he asked. I told him about my former college, filtering out all the spicy bits that occurred in my life. ‘I want to do aeronautics,’ Manju said. At his age, I didn’t even know that word. He took out his physics textbook after an hour. He gave me a problem and I asked for time to solve it. He nodded and read the next chapter. The tutor was being tutored.

DX @ www.desibbrg.com I passed the rest of the hour learning physics from Manju. I stood up to leave. I reached the living room where Ananya’s dad was making slow love to The Hindu. Ananya had instructed me to spend as much time with her father as possible. I waited for ten minutes until he finished his article. ‘Yes?’ ‘Nothing,’ I said. ‘I finished the class.’ ‘Good,’ he said and flipped another page. ‘How’s the bank, uncle?’ He glanced up from the newspaper, surprised. ‘Which bank?’ ‘Your bank.’ I cleared my throat. ‘How is your job?’ ‘What?’ he said, stumped by the stupidity of the question. ‘What is there in job? Job is same.’ ‘Yes, sure,’ I said. I stood for another five minutes, not sure of what I should do. I couldn’t compete with The Hindu, and a fresh one came every day. ‘I’ll leave now, uncle,’ I said. ‘OK,’ he said. I had reached the door when he called out, ‘Breakfast?’ ‘I’ll have it in the office.’ ‘Where is your office?’ ‘Anna Salai,’ I said. ‘That’s on my way. I leave at eight-thirty. I can drop you,’ he said. I realised eight-thirty would mean I’d reach an hour later than my boss. It didn’t work for me. But the lift also meant I could be in this house for another two hours and be in the car alone with my father-in-law-in-courtship. ‘That’s perfect. I have to reach at the same time,’ I said. ‘Good,’ he said and went back to hhis paper again.

DX @ www.desibbrg.com We sat for breakfast at seven-thirty. Ananya’s father went to the temple room to pray, and came back with the customary three grey stripes on his forehead. I wondered if I should go pray too, but wasn’t sure how I’d explain the three stripes in office along with my lateness. We had idlis for breakfast, and Ananya’s mother put fifty of them in front of us. We ate quietly. Ananya had told me they never spoke much anyway. The best way to fit in was to never talk. ‘More chutney?’ Ananya’s mother’s question (and my shaking my head) was the only insightful conversation we had during the meal. Uncle reversed his Fiat from the garage. He peeked out to look at me several times. I wasn’t sure if he wanted to avoid me or make a direct hit. ‘Sit,’ uncle said. I went around the car to sit next to him. Sitting with my girlfriend’s father in a car brought traumatic memories. I took deep breaths. This is not the same situation, play cool, I said to myself several times. Uncle drove at a speed of ten an hour, and I wondered what reason I’d give my boss for not coming to office two hours ago. Autos, scooters and even some manual-powered vehicles like rickshaws came close to overtaking us. I wanted to talk but couldn’t think of any trouble-free topic. I opened my office bag with the dubious ‘Citi never sleeps’ logo and took out my research reports to read. Dot com stocks had lost 25% last week. The analysts who had predicted that these stocks would triple every hour now claimed the market had gone into self-correct mode. Self-correct – it sounded so intelligent and clever it sort of took out the pain away from people who had lost their life savings. It also made you sound dumb if you’d ask why didn’t the market self-correct earlier? Or the more basic, what the fuck do you mean by self-correct anyway? I had two clients who had lost ten lakh each coming to visit me today. With my IIMA degree I had to come up with a sleight of hand to make the losses disappear. the car came to a halt near a red light. ‘You wrote those reports?’ uncle asked. I shook my head. ‘It’s the research group,’ I said. ‘Then what you do at the bank?’ he was more rhetorical. ‘Customer service,’ I said, not sure how anything I did was service. Asking people to give you their money and scraping away at it wasn’t service.

DX @ www.desibbrg.com ‘Do you know how to write those reports?’ he said. The cars behind us began to honk. The Fiat didn’t start instantly. Uncle made two attempts in vain. ‘Illa service quality,’ he cursed at his car as he pulled the choke. I kept the reports inside as I became ready to push the car. Fortunately, the car started at th e third attempt. ‘I can write them, why?’ I said, answering his earlier question. ‘Nothing. Stupid joint venture my bank has done. Now they want us to submit a business plan. And that GM has asked me.’ ‘I can help,’ I screamed like a boy scout. ‘Raascal,’ he said. ‘Huh?’ ‘That GM Verma. In my thirty years at the bank I haven’t done any report. Now I have to make a pinpoint presentation as well.’ ‘Powerpoint presentation?’ I asked. ‘Yes, that one. Intentionally rascal gave me something I don’t understand,’ uncle said. ‘I can help,’ I said. Maybe I had found a way to bond with uncle. ‘No need,’ uncle said, his voice serious. He realised he had opened up more than he should have. ‘You get off here,’ uncle said and drove to a road corner. ‘Citibank is hardly hundred metres.’ I stepped out of the car. I said thanks three times and waved him goodbye. He didn’t respond. He put his hand on the gear-shift. ‘Don’t meet Ananya too much. We are simple people, we don’t say much. But don’t spoil her name in our community,’ he said. ‘Uncle, but…’ ‘I know you are classmates and you are helping Manju. We can be grateful, we can fed you, but we can’t let Ananya marry you.’

DX @ www.desibbrg.com I stood at the traffic intersection. Autos blared their horns at each other as if in angry conversation. It was hardly the place to convince someone about the most important decision of your life. ‘Uncle, but …’ I said again. Uncle folded his hands to before pressing the accelerator. The car started to move. Fuck, how do I respond to folded hands? I thought. Uncle drove past me. Like a defeated insurance salesman, I lifted my bag and walked towards the bank.

DX @ www.desibbrg.com 21 ‘Welcome sir, welcome to State Bank of India,’ Bala said. His tone couldn’t hide his anger, thereby ruining the sarcasm of his lines. He sat on my desk, waiting for the exact joyous moment when he could squash me. ‘I’m really sorry, my auto met with an accident,’ I lied. “Your chummery servant said you left at five,’ he said. ‘You called my chummery? It’s only nine. Isn’t that the official time anyway?’ ‘No, this is Citibank. Not a public sector bank,’ he said. ‘So, people who work here cannot have life,’ I mumbled. ‘What?’ ‘Nothing. Ms Sreenivas is coming at ten today,’ I said. ‘And you haven’t prepared for it. Have you read the reports?’ ‘Yes, I have. But the tricky part is she is down ten lakh. And that is because she believed these reports. So no matter how well I read these reports, she won’t trust them. Can I sit on my chair?’ I asked. Bala stared at me, shocked by my defiance. I took my seat. ‘You told me to push these stocks,’ I said, ‘and now our clients are down. Ms Sreenivas is an old lady. She will panic. I want you to be prepared.’ ‘Prepared for what?’ ‘That she, and some other clients too, could move funds elsewhere.’ ‘How? How can they? This is Citibank,’ Bala said. ‘Because even as the Citi never sleeps, we make our customers weep.’

DX @ www.desibbrg.com Ms Sreenivas’ panic mode was entertaining enough to attract bankers from other groups to come to our area. First, she spoke to me in Tamil for two minutes. When she realised I didn’t know the language, she switched to English. ‘You, you said this will double. It’s down seventy percent-aa,’ Ms Sreenivas said. ‘Actually madam, the market went into self-correction mode,’ I said. I now understood the purpose of complex research terms. They deflect uncomfortable questions that have no answer. ‘But, I’ve lost ten lakh!’ she screamed. ‘Madam, stock market goes up and down. We do have some other products that are less risky,’ I said, capitalizing on her misery to sell more. ‘Forget it. I am done with Citibank. I told you to do a fixed deposit. You didn’t. Now I move my account to Vysya Bank.’ My sales rep brought several snacks and cold drinks for her. Ms Sreenivas didn’t budge. ‘Madam, but Citibank is a much better name than Vysya,’ I said. ‘Give me the account closing documents,’ Ms Sreenivas said. We had no choice. First hour in office, strike one. The TV in the reception showed the CNBC channel. Internet stocks had lost another five percent that day. In the next two weeks, our most trusting customers, hence the most gullible ones to whom we had peddled companies that did nothing more than make a website, lost a total of two crore. My own customers’ losses were limited to the two ladies, as I could never sell those companies well anyway. Bala, however, with his empire of smart people who rip off rich people, had to answer country headquarters in Mumbai. ‘I have seven complaints,’ the country head of the customer service group said in a conference call. ‘Sir, it is just an overreaction to the volatility,’ Bala said. ‘Don’t quote from the research report. I’ve read it,’ the country head said. The call ended. Bala’s face had turned pale. The bosses had decided to visit the Chennai branch. I first thought I imagined it, but it was true; Bala shivered a little at the news. Mumbai said we shouldn’t have marketed Internet stocks to

DX @ www.desibbrg.com individual investors, let alone housewives, in the first place. Of course, they never complained when the commission kept coming in. but now five customers had closed their accounts and one customer had sent a letter all the way to the CEO of Citibank in New York. At my weekly sales meeting, I told my sales reps not to sell Chennai customers anything apart from fixed deposits, gold and saris. ‘Sir, we don’t sell saris,’ one of my reps clarified. ‘Sorry, I was trying to be funny. We don’t sell gold either, right?’ ‘We do. Gold-linked deposit, sir,’ she said. Yes, I didn’t even know my group’s products. Actually, I didn’t even know why I was doing this job. I nodded and smiled. In customer service, you need to smile more than a toothpaste model. ‘Is it true that Ms Sreenivas lost ten lakh?’ another of my lady customers walked into the bank. She chuckled, and sat close to the sales rep to get the full lowdown. Too bad we couldn’t give her the details due to confidentiality reasons. We couldn’t offer returns, but at least we could have given gossip. Maybe that would lure customers. ‘Krish, come here,’ Bala came to me like a petrified puppy at seven in the evening. I had packed my ‘Citi never sleeps’ bag to go back home and sleep. We had our bosses coming in two days. I had spent the last two nights making presentations for them. It was the crappiest, most thankless job in Tamil Nadu. No matter how wonderful I made my slides, the numbers were so bad, we’d be screamed at anyway. Last night I had reached home at three and then woke up again at five to reach brother-in –law dearest. I didn’t want Bala, I wanted a pillow. ‘Bala, I …’ I stopped mid-sentence as he had already turned towards his cabin, expecting me to follow him. I went into Bala’s office. He shut the door softly as possible. He drew the blinds and put the phone off the hook. Either he wants to fire me or molest me, I though.

DX @ www.desibbrg.com ‘How is it going?’ he whispered, quite unnecessarily as people had already left for the day. ‘Fine. I sent you the presentation. You approved, right?’ I said. He had given me an OK in the afternoon. The last thing I wanted was another night out. ‘Yeah, that’s fine. Listen buddy, I need a favour from you.’ Bala had never called me buddy. The room smelt coconutty and fishy. The coconut came from Bala’s hair, the fish from his unspoken intention. ‘What favour?’ I asked without smiling. ‘See Krish, this job, my career, it is everything to me. I have given my life to this bank.’ I nodded. Come to the point, buddy, I thought. ‘And you, as you will admit, aren’t into it as much as me. Don’t take it the wrong way.’ He was hundred percent right. But when someone tells you to not take it the wrong way, you have to take it the wrong way. Besides, I had spent the last three nights working hard with only ATM guards for company. I deserved better. ‘That is hundred percent false,’ I said. ‘I’m dying from work. I do whatever you want me to do. I sold that crap Internet …’ ‘Easy, easy,’ Bala shushed me. ‘There is nobody here. We are not planning a James Bond mission that we have to whisper,’ I said. Corporate types love to pretend their life is exciting. The whispers, fist- pumping and animated had gestures are all designed to lift our job description from what it really is - that of an overpaid clerk. ‘I’m not doubting your hard work. But see, in corporate life, we have to look after each other.’ ‘What? How?’ If he didn’t come to the point in two seconds, I would slap him. In my imagination, I already had. ‘I am your boss, so I can look after you anyway. But today you have a chance to look after me.’

DX @ www.desibbrg.com I kept quiet. ‘The country manager is coming. They will ask how the Internet stocks sales to housewives came about. I have to take the heat anyway. But if you could …’ ‘Could what?’ I prompted, just to make the scumbag say it. He didn’t. ‘You want me to take the blame?’ I hazarded a guess. He gave a brief nod. ‘Wow. That’s unbelievable, Bala. I’m a trainee. Why will they believe me anyway?’ ‘You are from IIMA. It is conceivable you had a big say from early on.’ ‘And if I say it, my career is fucked.’ ‘No, you are a trainee. I have to recommend your promotion. Consider that done anyway. But if I am held responsible, I don’t get a promotion, ever.’ ‘You are responsible,’ I stared into his eyes. ‘Please Krish,’ Bala said. The boss-subordinate relationship had changed. Bala begged me for help. I realised the power I could hold over him if I gave in. I could come to office like sane people. I could leave early. I could snooze at my desk. OK, so maybe my career at the Citi overpaid clerks’ club would get affected. So what? I could have said yes then, but I wanted him to grovel some more. I kept quiet. ‘The country manager as it is doesn’t like me. He is North Indian. He will forgive you but not me,’ Bala said. I wondered if he would cry. I could have enjoyed the show longer but I also wanted to go home and rest. ‘I’ll see what I can do,’ I stood up. ‘Is that a yes?’ Bala said, his eyes expectant. ‘Good night, sir,’ I said, emphasizing the last word.

DX @ www.desibbrg.com 22 My father never calls me. I have no idea why he did that night. I have no idea why he did that night. I wanted to sleep before the misery of tuition and office began all over again. But at eleven that night, Ramanujan knocked on the door. ‘What?’ I called out. Since the day Ananya visited, I hardly spoke to my flatmates. ‘There’s a call for you.’ ‘Who is it?’ Even Ananya never called me this late. ‘Your father. Can you ask him not to call at this hour?’ Ramanujan yawned. I froze at the mention of my father. I prayed my mother was OK. Why would he call me? ‘Hello?’ ‘Am I speaking to my son?’ I found his addressing me as his son strange. We had never had a one-to-one conversation for the last three years. ‘It’s Krish,’ I said. ‘That’s my son only, no?’ ‘If you say so,’ I said. Silence followed as two STD pulses passed. ‘I’m listening,’ he said. ‘To what?’ ‘To whatever my son has to say to me.’ ‘There isn’t anything left to say. Why have you called so late?’ I said in an angry voice. ‘You sent your mother your first salary cheque?’ ‘Yes,’ I said after a pause. ‘Congratulations,’ he said.

DX @ www.desibbrg.com ‘Is mom OK? I hope you are not calling me for some guilt trip of yours. Because if mom is not OK …’ I said, separating my words with pauses. ‘Your mother is fine. She is proud of you,’ he said. ‘Anything else?’ ‘How’s life?’ ‘It’s none of your business,’ I said. ‘Is this the way to speak to your father?’ he shouted. ‘I don’t speak to you,’ I said, ‘in case you didn’t notice.’ ‘And I am trying to increase communication,’ he said, his voice still loud. I could have hung up the phone right then, but I didn’t want him to take his anger out on my mother. I kept quiet as he ranted about how I had let him down as a son. He didn’t say anything he hadn’t in the last twenty years. I also knew that once the monologue started, it would take a while to stop. I put the phone on the table and opened the fridge. I took out an apple and a bottle of water. I went to the kitchen, cut the apple into little pieces and came back. I had two bites and drank a glass of water. Squawks came from the phone receiver. After finishing the apple, I picked up the phone. ‘You have no qualities I can be proud of. These degrees mean nothing. Just because you send you mother money, you think you can boss around. I think a person like you …’ he was saying when I put the phone down again. I picked it up again after I finished the apple. ‘I said, are you listening?’ His voice was trembling. ‘I am,’ I said. ‘Now it is late. Your bill must also be quiet high. May I go to sleep?’ ‘You have no respect.’ ‘You said that already. Now, can we sleep? Good night,’ I said. ‘Good night,’ he said and hung up. No matter how mad they are, army people still believe in courtesies. I am sure Indian and Pakistani officers wish each other before they blow each other’s brains off.

DX @ www.desibbrg.com I came back to bed. I didn’t want my father’s chapter in my life again. No father is better than a bad father. Plus right now I had to deal with another father, who had folded his hands to keep me away from a daughter I so badly wanted to be with. And I have Bala and loser flatmates and psycho landlord and horrible sambhar smells everywhere in this city. A dozen random thoughts spilled out in my brain right before going to bed. These thoughts swarm around like clumsy fishes, and my poor little brain begged – guys, I need some rest. Do you mind? But the thoughts didn’t go away. Each fish had an attention deficit disorder. The Bala thought showed visions of me jabbing him with something sharp. The Ananya’s dad thought made me think about a dozen post-facto one liners I could have said when uncle folded his hands – But I love her, sir; But you should get to know me, uncle; You realise we can run away, you Hindu- reading loser. Some people are lucky. They lie down, close their eyes and like those like those imported dolls your Dubai relatives give you, go off to sleep. I have to shut fifty channels in my brain, one click at a time. One hour later, I had shut the final thought of how I’d admit I taught housewives to play with radioactive stocks.

DX @ www.desibbrg.com 23 ‘Ready?’ Bala jollied me with coffee in the morning. Yes, Mr Balakrishnan, branch head of customer services, brought me coffee in a mug. Too bad he didn’t carry it in a tray. ‘Doesn’t take much preparation to present yourself as stupid,’ I said and took the coffee. I noticed the mug had become wet at the bottom. Bala picked up a tissue from my desk for me. I could get used to this, I thought. We met in the conference room two hours later. Bala loaded up the presentation. True to character, he had removed my name from the title slide. Like all banking presentations in every department of every bank in India, it started with the 1991 liberalisation and how it presents tremendous opportunity for India. ‘As you can see, the IT space has seen tremendous volatility in the last three months,’ Bala said, pointing to a graph that only went down. Our country head, Anil Mathur, had come on the first flight to Chennai. His day had started bad as he couldn’t get a business class seat last minute and had to rub shoulders with the common people. His grumpy expression continued to worsen during the presentation. Anil was forty years old and seen as a young turk on his way up. Citi thrived on and loved the start system. People introduced him as ‘This is Anil, MD. He is a star performer.’ Again, there is nothing starry to do in a bank anyway. It is another thing Citi invented to reduce the dullness of our job. However, when Anil entered the room, some Chennai bankers’ eyes lit up, much like the auto driver who saw Rajni’s poster. ‘And that in short, has led to the circumstances we are in today,’ Bala said as he ended his hour-long speech. I couldn’t believe he tagged his talk this short. Anil didn’t respond. He looked around the room. Chennai trainees avoid eye contact anyway, especially when it comes to authority. He looked at Bala and Bala looked at me. I nodded; I’d be the suicide mission today. Anil’s cell-phone rang. He took it out of his pocket. His secretary had called from Mumbai.

DX @ www.desibbrg.com ‘What do you mean wait-listed for business class? I am not coming back like I did this morning sitting cramped with these Madrasis.’ Apart from me and Anil, everyone in the room was offended. However, since Anil is the boss, everybody smiled like it was a cute romantic joke. Anil stood up with his phone. ‘And why do I have a Honda City to pick me up? Tell them, I am eligible for BMW if they don’t have Mercedes … yes, of course, I am.’ He said and hung up the phone. He let out a huge sigh and rubbed his face. It is a tough life when you have to fight for basic rights every day. ‘OK, focus, focus,’ he said to himself and everyone in the room straightened their backs. ‘Sir, as I was saying …’ Bala started again. Anil had a flight back in four hours. I guess Bala hoped if he kept presenting, time would run out for Anil to ask tough questions. “Bala, you have said a lot,’ Anil said. ‘All I care about is why have you lost seven big customers in a month. In every other market we have grown.’ All of us studied the floor. ‘Two crore? How can retail customers lose two crore? They come to save their money in the bank, not lose it,’ Anil said. Such truisms had led him to become the star in the jargon-filled bank. ‘So, whose big idea was it to sell these ladies net stocks?’ Anil asked. ‘Sir,’ Bala said and looked at me. Everyone turned to me. I had become guilty by collective gaze. ‘You are?’ Anil asked. “Krish, sir,’ I said. ‘You are from Chennai?’ Anil said, puzzled at my accent that didn’t match the rest of the table. ‘No, I’m from Delhi.’ ‘Punjabi?’ I nodded.

DX @ www.desibbrg.com Anil didn’t answer. He just laughed. The sadistic laugh of seeing a fish out of water gasp for life. ‘What happened? HR screwed up?’ Anil said. His phone rang again. The secretary confirmed business class and a BMW pickup at the airport. Anil asked her to make sure it is a 5-series at least. ‘Remember the Tata Tea deal we did with BankAm? I came back with that idiot MD from BankAm and the car company sends me a Toyota and a 5-series for him. Can you imagine what I went through?’ Anil emphasized again. The secretary confirmed she wouldn’t make him slum it in a car that cost less than an apartment. Calmness spread in the room as Anil’s mood improved. ‘Where was i?’ Anil said and looked at me. He laughed again. ‘Which college are you from?’ ‘IIMA,’ I said. ‘Salute, sir,’ Anil said and mock-saluted me.I didn’t brag about my college, you asshole, I wanted to say. He got the name out of me. ‘I went to IIMC. I was on the waitlist for IIMA but they never called me. I guess I am not as smart as you,’ Anil said. I had no clue how to answer that question. Another trainee in the room was from IIMC and he introduced himself. They hi-fived before Anil turned to me again. ‘But who cares, I became the country manager and many of your IIMA seniors didn’t,’ Anil said and winked at me.Obviously you still care, you obnoxious, insecure prick, I said to myself even as I smiled. What would life be without mental dialogue. ‘So, you had the idea of selling Internet stocks to housewives?’ Anil asked after he touched down from his gloat-flight. ‘And Bala, you didn’t stop him.’ ‘Sir, I always try to encourage young talent. Plus, IIMA, I thought he’d know,’ Bala said, picking on Anil’s resentment against my bluest of the blue-blooded institute. ‘IIMA, yeah right,’ Anil said. ‘You have cost the bank more business than you can ever make back in five years.’

DX @ www.desibbrg.com I wondered if I should cancel my deal with Bala. Even the personalized coffee didn’t seem worth it. ‘What about monitoring? Bala, you didn’t monitor when the losses started?’ ‘I was getting more business, sir,’ Bala said. We had a lunch-break. I didn’t join the group. One, I had to prepare for IIT trigonometry for the class tomorrow with brother-in-law. Two, I didn’t need any more slamming. And three, the food was South Indian special, which I had begun to hate by now and I was sure Anil would too. Post-lunch, Anil wrapped up the meeting. ‘I want good customer numbers. Either bring those customers back or win new ones, I don’t care. And please have better food next time.’ ‘We will, sir, we are working super hard,’ Bala said. The other trainees nodded. Apart from the IIMC guy, they hadn’t spoken a word during the meeting. ‘I can tell you this Internet debacle will lead to layoffs across the bank. And if we see Chennai at the bottom, literally and figuratively, there will be layoffs.’ Anil said and horror showed on all faces at his last words. ‘And you, HR error,’ Anil said and tapped my shoulder. ‘You need to buck up big time.’ The BMW came to the branch to take Anil and our anxieties away. Bala came to my desk after we had come back to our seats. ‘Thanks, buddy. I owe you,’ he said. ‘Big time, buddy, big time,’ I said.

DX @ www.desibbrg.com 24 I figured it must be a special occasion when I heard excessive frying sounds from Ananya’s kitchen. I had completed two months of tuitions and Manju had become smarter than the kids in the Complan and Bournvita ads. I could bet one month of my after-tax, PF and HRA alary that Manju would crack IIT, medical or any draconian entrance exam known to man. Most of it was his own work, and my waking up at five had little to do with it. ‘What’s going on,’ I said and sneezed twice. The pungent smell of burnt chillies flared my nostrils. ‘Special cooking for special guests,’ Manju said, while continuing to solve his physics numerical. ‘Who?’ ‘Harish, from the bay area,’ Manju said. ‘Harish who?’ Another fryer went on the stove. This time smells of mustard, curry leaves and onions reached us. If this was one of those prize-winning Indian novels, I’d spend two pages on how wonderful those smells were. However, the only reaction I had was a coughing fit and teary eyes. ‘You are rhumba sensitive,’ Manju said and looked up at me in disgust. He stood up and went to the door. ‘Switch on the exhaust fan, amma,’ he screamed and shut the door. Ananya’s mother continued to tackle the contents of the fryer. ‘OK, you go for bath. They will come anytime,’ Ananya’s mother said and went to max volume, ‘Ananya! Are you ready?’ ‘Who is Harish?’ I asked again as Manju refused to look up from his problem. ‘The nakshatram matched no, so they are here. Ok, so g is 9.8 metres per second squared and the root of …’ Manju drifted off to the world he knew best, leaving me alone to deal with my world, where a boy was coming to meet my girlfriend to make her his wife. I yanked Manju’s notebook from him.

DX @ www.desibbrg.com ‘Aiyo, what?’ Manju looked at me shocked. ‘What’s the deal with Harish. Tell me now or I’ll tell your mother you watch porn,’ I said. Manju looked stunned. ‘I don’t watch porn,’ he said in a scared voice. ‘Don’t lie to me,’ I said. Every boy watches porn. ‘Only once I s …saw a blue film, at my friend’s house, by mistake,’ he stuttered. ‘How can you watch it by mistake?’ ‘It belonged to my friend’s dad. Please don’t tell amma.’ His face, even his spectacles looked terrified. I closed the books. ‘Tell me all about Harish. How did this happen?’ Manju told me about Harish, the poster boy of the perfect Tamilian groom. Radha aunty had pitched Harish for the last two years. He fit every criteria applied by Indian parents to make him a worthwhile match for Ananya. He was Tamilian, a Brahmin and an Iyer (and those are three separate things, and non-compliance in any can get you disqualified). He had studied in IIT Chennai and had scored a GPA of 9.45 (yes, it was advertised to the Swamis)’ He went on to do an MS with full scholarship and now worked in Cisco Systems, an upcoming Silicon Valley company. He never drank or ate meat or smoked (or had fun, by extension) and had a good knowledge of Carnatic music and Bharatnatyam. He had a full half-inch-thick moustache, his own house in the San Francisco suburbs, a white Honda Accord and stock options that, apart from the last three months, had doubled every twelve minutes. He even had a telescope he used to see galaxies on the weekend (I told you he had no fun). Manju was more excited at the prospect of seeing the telescope and thought it reason enough for his sister to marry that guy. ‘He said you can actually see the colours on the rings of Saturn,’ Manju said, excited. ‘You spoke to him?’ ‘He called. Couple of times,’ Manju said. ‘Ananya spoke to him?’

DX @ www.desibbrg.com ‘No. he used to call when she wasn’t at home. Anyway, until the nakshatram matches, the boy and the girl are not allowed to talk.’ ‘Nakshatram what?’ I asked. The list of Tamilian hoops one needs to jump before getting married seemed infinite. ‘Horoscope. It is a must. If they don’t match, boy and girl’s side don’t talk. But they have matched for akka and him.’ I thought about my own family. The only nakshatram we think about is the division of petrol pumps when we have to see the girl. ‘You are a science whiz kid who wants to see Saturn rings. And you accept that people whose horoscopes don’t match shouldn’t talk?’ I said. ‘That’s how it is in our culture,’ Manju said, his hands itching to get to his workbook. I gave him back his notes. ‘And he is coming now?’ I said. ‘Yes, for breakfast. And please, don’t snatch my notebook again.’ ‘I am sorry,’ I said and stood up. I wanted to have a showdown with Ananya about this. Surely, she’d have known a bit more about his visit. But for now, I wanted to get out. ‘Bye, Manju,’ I said as I turned to leave. ‘Krish bhaiya, can I ask you one thing?’ he said. ‘What?’ I said. ‘Can something bad happen if you watch blue films?’ I stared at him. ‘I won’t, I promise, I just wanted to know,’ he said. ‘If you just watch them?’ ‘Just watching …and,’ he said and hesitated, ‘and if you do something else afterwards.’ ‘Why don’t you ask your appa?’ ‘Aiyo, what are you saying?’

DX @ www.desibbrg.com ‘You could become blind,’ I said with a serious face. ‘Really? He said, ‘how is that possible?’ ‘Be careful,’ I winked at him and left. ‘’Welcome, welcome,’ greetings had started at the entrance even before I could leave the house. A crowd had gathered at the main door – Ananya’s dad and mom, Shobha athai, three other Kanjeevaram-clad aunties and two random uncles in safari suits became the welcome party. They received Harish like an astronaut who had returned from the first Indian lunar mission. The only time grown-ups get excited about young people is when young people are getting married and the old people control the proceedings. I had come to Ananya’s house several times, and I had received a welcome no better than the guy who came to collect the cable bill. But Harish had it all. Aunties looked at him like he was a cuddly two-year-old, only he was fifty times the size and had a moustache that could scare any cuddly two- year-old. He wore sunglasses, quite unnecessary at seven in the morning, apart from showing off his sense of misplaced style. He had come with his parents, a snug Tamilian family who walked into the room with their overachiever in shades. Fortunately, he removed them when he sat on the sofa. Ananya’s father noticed me with a confused expression. ‘Uncle, I was leaving,’ I said. ‘Sorry. I came for Manju’s tuitions.’ ‘Had breakfast?’ he asked. ‘No,’ I said. ‘Then sit,’ he said. The firmness in his voice made me obey instantly. I wanted to wriggle out of it, but a part of me wanted to see the drama unfold. Uncle’s attention shifted to the new guests. Maybe he had made me stay intentionally. I perched in a corner chair like a domestic servant who is sometimes allowed to watch TV. The taxi driver came in to ask for his bill and Harish’s dad stepped outside to settle it. They couldn’t agree on the price and their argument began to heat up.

DX @ www.desibbrg.com Harish’s dad bargained for the last five rupees even as Harish’s mother casually mentioned another of their son’s achievement. ‘MIT calling him, requesting him to do Ph.D. at their college.’ All the ladies in the room had a mini orgasm. Marble flooring is to a Punjabi what a foreign degree is to a Tamilian. ‘But his Cisco boss said, nothing doing. You cannot leave me.’ Harish’s mother said. Harish kept a constant smile during the conversation. Manju came into the room and called me. ‘What?’ I asked, dreading another physics problem. I went into his room. Ananya sat on his bed, wearing a stunning peacock blue sari – the same colour she wore the day I had proposed to her. ‘Go, your groom is waiting,’ I said. ‘Manju, leave the room,’ she said. Manju had already sat down to study again. ‘Aiyo, where should I go?’ ‘Go and meet the guests. Or help Amma in the kitchen,’ Ananya said in a no- nonsense way. Manju went to the living room with the physics guide. I turned away from Ananya. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘Who the fuck invented the word sorry? How can there be just one word to answer for anything one does. Tomorrow you could marry Mr Sunglasses outside, and then say sorry. What am I supposed to say?’ ‘Don’t overreact. I am doing it to fob off Shobha aunty. I still have the final say. I’ll say no.’ ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ ‘Because this is not important. You saw the petrol pump girl, didn’t you?’ ‘But I told you later. And it wasn’t a formal thing. My mother went to visit Pammi aunty.’

DX @ www.desibbrg.com ‘And neither is this formal. My parents said Harish is only coming for a casual visit.’ Oh, so people match horoscopes casually?’ ‘It is the first step. And Shobha aunty did it. Krish, listen …’ ‘Ananya!’ a Tamil-accented scream filled the room. ‘I love you,’ she said, ‘and I have to go now.’ She brushed past me to the door. ‘Why are you wearing this stunning sari?’ I placed my hand on the bolt to stop her. ‘Because my mother chose it for me. Now, can I go or do you want appa to come here?’ ‘Let’s elope,’ I said. ‘Let’s not give up,’ she stood up on her toes to kiss me. The taste of strawberry lip-gloss lingered on m lips. I came outside after five minutes. The hubbub over Harish had settled down a little. The men opened their newspapers. The women gave each other formal smiles like ballet dancers. The groom took out his latest Motorola Startac mobile phone, checking messages. Ananya’s mother served her standard fossilised snake snacks. No one spoke to each other. In a Punjabi home, if a similar silence occurred, you could assume that something terrible has happened – like someone has died or there is a property dispute or someone forgot to put butter in the black daal. But this is Ananya’s home protocol. You meet in an excited manner, you serve bland snacks and you open the newspaper or exchange dead looks. My re-entry made everyone notice me. Ananya’s mother seemed surprised. Ananya sat next to her and faced Harish’s parents. I occupied my corner chair. ‘Manju’s tutor,’ Ananya’s mother said. Everyone looked at me, the tutor who came to teach in a corporate suit. ‘He is Ananya akka’s classmate,’ Manju said, restoring some status to me. ‘You also went to IIMA? I have many colleagues who are your seniors,’ Harish said. ‘Really? That’s nice,’ I said. I wanted to shove the spiral snacks up his moustache-covered nose, but I kept a diplomatic smile.

DX @ www.desibbrg.com Ananya’s father spoke to Harish’s father in Tamil. ‘Something something Citibank Chennai posted something. Something something Punjabi fellow.’ Everyone nodded and felt relieved after my credentials of being a Punjabi made me a safe outsider. ‘Talk, Ananya,’ Ananya’s mother whispered to her. ‘How long are you here for?’ Ananya asked as her bangles jingled. She really didn’t have to wear the bangles. ‘Two weeks. Then I have to go for our annual conference to Bali,’ he said. ‘Bali?’ one of Ananya’s aunts said. ‘Bali is an island in Indonesia, an archipelago. It is eight hours flying time from here via Singapore,’ Harish’s mother said. Everyone nodded as they absorbed the little nugget of knowledge before breakfast. Ananya’s family loved knowledge, irrespective of whether they ever used it. We moved to the dining table, or rather the dining floor. Ananya’s mother had already kept the banana leaves. I found them a little greener than usual, perhaps my jealousy reflected in them. Aunties loaded up Harish’s leaf. ‘This is too much,’ Harish said, pointing to the six idlis on his leaf. ‘Does anyone want one?’ He picked up an idli and placed it in Ananya’s leaf. ‘Wow!’ all the aunties screamed in unison. ‘See, how much care he is taking of her already. You are so lucky, Ananya,’ an aunt said as I almost tore a piece of banana leaf and ate it. I saw the bowl of sambhar in the middle. I wondered if I should pick it up and upturn it on Harish’s head. She can take her own idlis, idiot, why don’t you go drown in Bali, I thought. Harish thought it really funny to shift everything he was served to Ananya. He transferred parts of upma, pongal, chutney and banana chips from his leaf to hers. Really Harish, did anybody teach you not to stretch a bad joke too far? And all you aunts, can you please stop sniggering so as to no encourage this moron?

DX @ www.desibbrg.com ‘We must decide the date keeping in mind the US holiday calendar,’ Shobha aunty said and I felt she was moving way, way too fast. ‘Easy, aunty, easy,’ Ananya said.Thanks, Ananya madam, that is so nice of you to finally impart some sense to these people. ‘You OK?’ Manju offered an idli to me. I had spent two months with him. He could sense the turmoil in me. ‘I’m good,’ I said. The breakfast continued. And then Ananya’s mother did something that paled all the idli-passing and date-setting comments. She began to cry. ‘Amma?’ Ananya said as she stood up and came to her mother. Amma shook her head. Manju looked at her but didn’t stop eating. The uncles pretended nothing had happened. ‘What, Radha?’ Suruchi aunty said as she put a hand on Amma’s shoulder. ‘Nothing, I am so happy. I am crying for that,’ she said in such an emotional voice even I got a lump in my throat. All the other aunts had moist eyes. Harish’s mother hugged Ananya’s mother. I looked at Ananya. She rolled her eyes. ‘How quickly our children grow up,’ one aunt said, ignoring the small fact that with the children, she’d grown into an old woman, too. I’m going to get you all, I will, I swore to myself as I went to wash my hands.

DX @ www.desibbrg.com 25 ‘Why don’t you tell them! This gradual strategy is obviously not working,’ I said as I opened the menu. We had come to Amethyst, a charming teahouse set in an old colonial bungalow. It is one of the few redeeming aspects of the city. Set in a one-acre plot, the bungalow is on two levels. Outside the bungalow there are grand verandahs with cane furniture and potted plants with large leaves. Waiters bring eclectic drinks like jamun iced tea and mint and ginger coolers along with expensive dishes with feta cheese in them. It is a favourite haunt of stylish Chennai ladies and couples so madly in love, they feel a hundred bucks for jamun mixed with soda was OK. ‘I’ll have the jamun iced and chicken sandwich, and some scones and cream, please.’ Ananya said. ‘And some water, please,’ I said to the waiter. ‘Still or sparkling, sir?’ the waiter said. ‘Whatever you had a bath with this morning,’ Krish said. ‘Sir?’ the waiter said, taken aback, ‘tap water, sir.’ ‘Same, get me that,’ I said. ‘I have told them, of course. They don’t agree,’ Ananya said, as we reverted to our topic. ‘Is Mr Harish history?’ ‘Finally, though it will take two years to make Shobha athai OK again. She is like – tell me one thing wrong with Harish.’ ‘He can’t get a woman on his own,’ I said. ‘Shut up, Krish,’ Ananya laughed. ‘You know how I finally closed it?’ ‘Did you tell him about me?’ ‘Sort of.’ ‘Sort of?’ I said, my voice loud. ‘I am not Mr Sort Of. I am The Guy.’

DX @ www.desibbrg.com ‘Yeah, but I can’t tell him exactly. How would he feel? My boyfriend sat with me when he came to see me.’ ‘Imagine how I felt. Anyway, what did you tell him?’ ‘He asked me, rather hinted, about my virginity.’ ‘He did not! I will kill that bastard,’ I said, my face red. Ananya laughed. ‘Jealousy is rather enjoyable emotion to watch,’ she observed. ‘Funny.’ ‘He just said … wait let me remember. Yes, he said, are you still pure or something,’ she giggled. ‘What a loser. What is he looking for – ghee?’ I asked. Ananya laughed uncontrollably. She held her stomach as she spoke. ‘Wait, you’ll die if I told you my response.’ ‘And that is?’ ‘I told him – Harish, if there is an entrance exam for virginity, you can be sure I won’t top it,’ Ananya said. ‘You did not! And then?’ ‘And then the Cisco guy hung up the phone. No more Harish, finite. Radha aunty said now Harish also doesn’t like me. Yipee!’ The waiter brought us our drinks. The contents looked like water after you’ve dipped several paintbrushes in it. The jamun tea tasted different, though different doesn’t translate into nice. Amethyst is about ambience, not nourishment. ‘Ananya, we need to bring this to closure. I’m not getting traction with your parents. Manju maybe, but others barely acknowledge me.’ ‘You will. In fact, that’s why I called you here today. You have a chance to score with dad.’ ‘I can’t. I told you he folded his hands at me.’ ‘He is dying doing his presentation. No one in Bank of Baroda has ever made a business plan. He doesn’t know computers. It is crazy.’

DX @ www.desibbrg.com ‘I offered help. He said no.’ ‘He won’t say no now. I could help him but I am travelling most of the time. And if you help him, it may work.’ ‘ May, the key word is may. Can be replaced just as easily with may not,’ I said. ‘Try,’ Ananya said and placed her hands on mine. It was probably the only restaurant in Chennai she would try such a stunt. Here, it looked sort of OK. ‘First your brother, then your father. If nothing else, I’ll be your family tutor,’ I said as I sipped the last few drops of my tea. ‘And my lover,’ Ananya winked. ‘Thanks. And what about your mother? How can I make her cry in happiness like the purity-seeking Harish?’ Ananya threw up her hands. ‘Don’t ask me about mom,’ she said. ‘One, she gives me a guilt trip about Harish everyday. And two, Chennai has put her in her place about her Carnatic music abilities. She has stopped singing altogether. And that makes her even more miserable, which creates her own self-guilt trip, which is then transferred to me and the cycle continues. Even I can’t help her with this. Work on dad for now.’ I nodded as Ananya paused to catch her breath. ‘Thanks for bearing this,’ she said and fed me a scone dipped in cream. I licked cream off her fingers. Little things like these kept me going. ‘Easy, this is a public place,’ she said. She pulled her hand back as the waiter arrived with the bill. I paid and left him a tip bigger than my daily lunch budget. ‘Hey, you want to go dancing?’ she asked. ‘Dancing? You have an eight o’clock curfew. How can we go dancing?’ ‘Because in Chennai we go dancing in the afternoon. Let’s go, Sheraton has a nice DJ.’ ‘At three in the afternoon?’ ‘Yes, everybody goes. They banned nightclubs, so we have afternoon clubs.’

DX @ www.desibbrg.com We took an auto to the Sheraton. I am not kidding, a hundred youngsters in party clothes waited outside in the sunny courtyard. The disco opened in ten minutes. Everyone went inside and the lights were switched off. The bar started business. The DJ put on the latest Rajni Tamil track. The crowd went crazy as everyone apart from me registered the song. Ananya moved her body to the music. She danced extremely well, as did most others trained in Bharatnatyam while growing up. ‘Naan onnai kadalikaren,’ she said ‘I love you’ in Tamil. I took her in my arms. I looked around at the youngsters, doing what they loved despite everyone from their parents to the government banning them from doing so. Yes, if there can be afternoon discos, Punjabis can marry Tamilians. Rules, after all, are only made so you can work around them. ‘Uncle, Ananya told me you are having trouble with your business plan.’ Uncle braked his car in shock. We never spoke in the Fiat. We had a ritual. I read my reports, he cursed the traffic and the city roads. In twenty minutes, we reached the traffic signal near the Citibank where he dropped me. I thanked him, he nodded, all without eye contact. Today, one week after my Amethyst date, I had made my move. Ananya had gone to Thanjavur on work for five days, and her mother joined her on the trip to see the temples. Ananya had told me it would be the perfect time to offer help. Her father wouldn’t suspect I wanted to come home for Ananya. Plus, more important, he could actually take help from me I looked around at the youngsters, doing what they loved despite everyone from their parents to the government banning them from doing so. Yes, if there can be afternoon discos, Punjabis can marry Tamilians. Rules, after all, are only made so you can work around them.

DX @ www.desibbrg.com ‘Uncle, Ananya told me you are having trouble with your business plan.’ Uncle braked his car in shock. We never spoke in the Fiat. We had a ritual. I read my reports, he cursed the traffic and the city roads. In twenty minutes, we reached the traffic signal near the Citibank where he dropped me. I thanked him, he nodded, all without eye contact. Today, one week after my Amethyst date, I had made my move. Ananya had gone to Thanjavur on work for five days, and her mother joined her on the trip to see the temples. Ananya had told me it would be the perfect time to offer help. Her father wouldn’t suspect I wanted to come home for Ananya. Plus, more important, he could actually take help from me and keep face as his wife and daughter won’t be there to witness. ‘Why is she telling you all this?’ His hands clenched on the steering wheel. ‘Actually, I had helped my boss make a business plan,’ I lied. ‘Really?’ His expression softened and he looked at me. ‘MNC banks make presentations all the time,’ I said. Uncle released the brake as the car moved again. ‘Do you want me to sit down with you?’ I offered as we reached closer to the Citibank signal. ‘You take tuitions for Manju already. Why are you helping us so much?’ I thought hard for an answer. ‘I don’t have anyone in Chennai. No old friends, no family,’ I said. His eyebrows went up at the last word. ‘Of course, you are also not family,’ I said and his face relaxed again. ‘But it is nice to go to a home.’ I had reached my signal. I opened the door slowly, to allow him time to respond. ‘If you have time, come in the evening. I will show you what I have done.’ ‘Oh, OK, I will come tonight,’ I said as uncle drove off. The Fiat left behind a fresh waft of carbon monoxide.

DX @ www.desibbrg.com 26 ‘I think it is a great idea,’ Bala said. We sat in our priority banking group team meeting. Mumbai had proposed a ‘raise spirits’ dinner event for our private clients across India. Despite the economic slowdown, they had approved, they had approved a budget for all major centres. Chennai needed it most, given the adventure banking we had subjected our clients to. ‘So, we need to brainstorm on which event will work best for Chennai customers,’ Bala said. ‘An art exhibition,’ one executive said. ‘Again, we are selling something,’ another executive said. ‘The focus should be on fun.’ ‘A fashion show,’ said the earlier executive. ‘Too bold for our market,’ came the counter response. The discussion continued for ten minutes. All ideas form movie-night to inventing a Kollywood celebrity to calling a chef to prepare an exotic cuisine were discussed. However, for some reason, none of the ideas clicked. I felt quite useless having nothing to say. But I didn’t know what would work for Chennai customers apart from giving them their money back. ‘Krish, what do you think?’ Bala asked, breaking my daydream of walking hand-in-hand with Ananya in a peacock blue sari. ‘Huh?’ I said, and realised everyone had turned to me. ‘Would you like to contribute?’ Bala said. Even though he had cut me slack, on occasion the repressed boss in him came out. ‘Music, how about music? Say a musical night?’ I suggested. Excited murmurs ran across the room. Finally, we had an idea without any strong negative objection. However, within music there were a dozen ideas. ‘Kutcheri, let’s do a kutcheri,’ said one. ‘What’s that?’ I said, turning to Saraswati.

DX @ www.desibbrg.com Saraswati was a conservative Tamilian agent who spoke only once a year and never waxed her arms. (I admit the latter point is irrelevant but it is hard not to notice these things.) ‘Kutcheri is a Carnatic music concert,’ Saraswati made her point and drifted back to being part of the wall. ‘Hey, I thought we wanted the evening to be fun,’ I said. ‘Carnatic music can be fun,’ said Ravi, another supervisor. Yes, as much fun as wailing babies in a crowded train, I wanted to say but didn’t. Political correctness is a necessity in Chennai, especially when everyone hates you for being an outsider anyway. I turned to Bala. ‘We want to raise spirits. Isn’t Carnatic music too serious? Why not have an evening of popular music. Good popular music.’ ‘A.R. Rahman, can we get A.R. Rahman?’ said one person. ‘Or Ilaiyaraja,’ said another. Bala shook his head and waved his arms to say ‘no’. ‘We can’t do such big names. The budget is not that high. And these people attract the press. Last thing you want is some customer telling the press about their losses and us wasting money on such concerts. Mumbai will kill me.’ After two hours of further deliberation that took us to lunch break, we made a few decisions about the event. The concert would be held in Fisherman’s Cove, an upmarket resort on the city outskirts. We’d have three to five singers of reasonable fame, provided we kept to the budget of two lakh. ‘All set then,’ Bala said as we ended the meeting at six in the evening. I realised I had to leave. After all, I had a big date with the big daddy tonight.

DX @ www.desibbrg.com 27 ‘So, this is almost done?’ I clicked through the slides. Uncle had given me a CD of his work. I had uploaded it on my laptop. The unformatted slides had paragraphs of text, no bullet points and font sizes ranging from eight to seventy-two. ‘Yes, I spent three weeks on it,’ he said. We sat at a work-table in the living room. Manju studied inside. No one else was at home. Ananya’s father and I hunched close together to see the laptop screen. ‘These have no figures, no charts, no specific points even …’ I said, trying to be less critical but truthful as well. ‘Figures are here,’ uncle said as he opened his briefcase. ‘I still have to learn that feature in PowerPoint.’ He took out three thick files with dirty brown covers and two hundred sheets each inside. ‘What’s this?’ ‘Our last year business data,’ he said. ‘You can’t put it all,’ I said. ‘When is this due?’ ‘That rascal Verma wants it in a week,’ uncle said. The rate at which Ananya’s dad was going, he couldn’t deliver it in a year. ‘One week? This is only past performance data. Don’t you have to make a plan for next year?’ ‘I was going to do that, soon.’ He swallowed hard. I kept my left elbow on the table and my palm on my forehead. I flipped through the slides in reverse to reach the front. ‘What?’ he said. ‘Anything wrong in what I’ve done?’ I turned to him and gave a slight smile. ‘No, a few finishing touches left,’ I said. ‘So, how do we do it?’

DX @ www.desibbrg.com ‘Let’s start by you telling me what exactly you do at the bank. And then take me through these files.’ I shut the laptop. For the next three hours I understood what a deputy district manager does at a public sector bank. Actually, there is a lot of work, contrary to my belief that government bank staff did nothing. However, a lot of the work is about reporting, approvals and maintaining certain records. It is more beauraucracy and less business. I yawned as he finished explaining how the staff-recruiting process works in his Egmore district. I looked at the wall clock. It was nine-thirty. ‘Sorry, I didn’t even ask you for dinner,’ Mr Swaminathan said. ‘It’s OK, keep going. I’ll wash my face,’ I said and pulled back my chair. I came back from the bathroom and uncle had brought two steel plates and a bowl of lemon rice. He put the bowl in the microwave to heat the food. ‘Sorry, I can’t give you proper dinner tonight. I told the maid to make something simple,’ he said. “It’s fine,’ I said as I took the plates off him. I went to the kitchen. I picked up the curd and water. I saw the spoons but decided not to take them. ‘Manju?’ I asked as I returned to the table. ‘He ate already. He wakes up at four so he has to sleep now,’ uncle said. We ate in silence. For the first time in their house, I felt welcome. Sure, they’d give me breakfast and a lift to work three days a week. However, today was different. Uncle refilled my plate when I finished and poured water for me. We continued to work after dinner until he couldn’t keep his eyes open. ‘It’s eleven-thirty, I’d better go,’ I said. I shut down my laptop and stacked all the papers together. ‘Yes,’ uncle said as he looked at his watch. ‘I didn’t realise this would be so much work.’ I came to the door and outlined the agenda. ‘Here’s the plan,’ I said. ‘Tomorrow we make a structure, so we at least have a title for all fifty slides that need to be there. The next day we will put the text. Day after we will start on the figures and charts.’ We came out of the house.

DX @ www.desibbrg.com ‘It’s late. I will drop you?’ uncle said. ‘No, there are autos on the main road. Good night uncle, tell Manju I will see him day after.’ ‘Thank you, Krish,’ uncle said as he waved me goodbye. ‘Anytime,’ I said.

DX @ www.desibbrg.com 28 I spent the next three evenings in the company of Mr Swaminathan. The Bank of Baroda Egmore district business plan had become the focus of my life. I brought some of uncle’s work to my own office and worked on it in the afternoon. ‘What are you working on?’ Bala said as we met near the common office printer where I had come to collect a printout of uncle’s presentation. ‘Personal research,’ I said as I clenched he sheets in my hand and ran back to my desk. It is uncanny, but I could tell Ananya’s call from the phone ring. ‘Hi hottie. How is it going?’ ‘Did you know Bank of Baroda had no ATMs four years ago, but now there are over a dozen ATMs in Egmore alone,’ I said as I opened the twelfth slide of the presentation. ‘What?’ she said. ‘And in two years, there will be thirty,’ I said. ‘What are you talking about?’ ‘I am working on your dad’s presentation, in my office,’ I said and swiveled my chair to turn away from the monitor. ‘That’s why you are such a sweetie,’ she said. ‘I am stealing a talented MBA’s time paid for by Citibank. I could go to jail for this,’ I said. ‘How exciting! My lover goes to jail for me,’ she chuckled. ‘Manju told me you are there every evening until late. And today you took Manju’s morning tuitions, too. Take care of yourself.’ ‘I’m fine. I rest in the office. And the presentation should be done tonight.’ ‘Cool. How’s the bonding with appa?’

DX @ www.desibbrg.com ‘Well, it is pretty business-like. But let’s just say, I saw him smile. I bit a whole chilli at dinner and ran to the kitchen. When I returned he smiled for three whole seconds and I created it.’ ‘With my dada, that’s huge,’ Ananya said. ‘He didn’t smile in any of his wedding pictures.’ ‘Well, he had to marry your mom,’ I said. ‘Shut up,’ Ananya said. The peon came to me to say Bala had tried my extension and couldn’t reach. I told Ananya to hold ‘Well, he had to marry your mom,’ I said. ‘Shut up,’ Ananya said. The peon came to me to say Bala had tried my extension and couldn’t reach. I told Ananya to hold. ‘Tell him I am with a prospective new client. Inviting them to the concert,’ I said. The peon nodded and left. ‘Concert?’ Ananya said. ‘It is a private client event. At Fisherman’s Cove,’ I said. ‘Fisherman’s Cove is nice. Can I come?’ she said. ‘Only if you have ten lakh to spare,’ I said. ‘Sure, my husband will send the cash,’ Ananya said. ‘Yeah, right after I execute my bank robbery. OK, now should I humour you or make sure your father doesn’t get laughed at in five days?’ I said. ‘Daddy first,’ she said. ‘I am back in three days.’ ‘How is Thanjavur?’ ‘Temples, Tamilians and a temperamental mother. Care?’ she said. ‘Maybe next time. What’s causing the temperamentalness?’ ‘Me, me and only me,’ Ananya said and laughed, ‘as is always the case.’ ‘Really? What’s your crime now?’

DX @ www.desibbrg.com ‘I don’t have time for her. Which is true, as I’m all over the district in meetings the entire day. Of course, she also feels saying no to Harish is like declining the Nobel Prize. And so, that’s the dinner appetizer. Main course is a lecture on how I’ve abused my privilege of being allowed to study further. Dessert is usually tears. I have to go to Pondicherry next week. No way I am taking her.’ ‘You have to go?’ ‘Just a day trip.’ ‘Hey, isn’t Fisherman’s Cove on the way to Pondicherry?’ I asked. ‘Yes, why?’ ‘Good, I should take the initiative and check out the venue. I’ll come with you that day,’ I said. Anything to get out of office. ‘Oh, cool,’ she said. The peon came again. ‘Yes,’ I turned to the peon after asking Ananya to hold. ‘Sir is asking which client?’ peon said. I looked around. Outside the office window there were several hoardings. I saw one for fireworks. ‘Standard Fireworks, Sivakasi. OK?’ I said. The peon nodded. ‘Bye sweetie, am I disturbing you?’ ‘Yeah, but what is life without being disturbed by the right people,’ I said. ‘Thank you. Love you,’ Ananya said. ‘I love you, too’ I said and hung up the phone. The peon stood in front of me, his eyes big after the last line. ‘Why are you still here?’ I said. ‘Sorry, sir,’ the peon said and left.

DX @ www.desibbrg.com I left my office early to finish the presentation at uncle’s house. We had come to the end with only final formatting left. I passed a CD store in Mylapore. Some music would be nice while I completed the presentation, I thought, I went in. ‘What you want, sir?’ the shopkeeper said. I scanned the shelves filled with Tamil CDs in psychedelic covers resembling crime novels. ‘What non-Tamil CDs do you have?’ I asked. He shook his head in disappointment. ‘Non-Tamil you go to Nungambakkam, sir.’ But the shop attendant looked through his collection to find something. ‘OK here,’ he said as he took out three CDs. The first CD was non-stop Hindi remixed hits. It had girls with cleavage on the cover. I had to reject it. The second was a romantic love-songs collection that had a heart-shaped cover. The third CD was nursery rhymes in English. ‘Give me the love songs,’ I said. The shopkeeper made the bill as I scanned a section on Carnatic music. ‘Any good Carnatic music CDs?’ I said. ‘Good meaning what, sir?’ he said as he wrapped my red-coloured CD. I looked at the Carnatic covers. Most of them had middle-aged Tamilian men and women on them. ‘Do you have any greatest hits collection in Carnatic?’ I said. The shopkeeper looked puzzled. I threw up my hands in despair. ‘I have no clue. I want to get started,’ I said. ‘North Indian?’ he said. I nodded. ‘Then why you want to learn Carnatic music?’ I didn’t answer. The shopkeeper gave me two CDs. One had a woman holding a tambura on the cover. The other had the picture of an old man. The entire text was in Tamil. I flipped it around. ‘T.R. Subramanium nice,’ said an elderly lady who had just walked into the shop and noticed my CDs.

DX @ www.desibbrg.com ‘Yeah, my all-time favourite,’ I said as I kept the CDs in my bag and walked out of the shop. I reached Ananya’s place at 6.30. Uncle already sat at the table. He wore reading glasses and made corrections on a printout of the presentation. He had kept hot vadas on the table with red, green and white coloured chutneys. ‘Take one. It is a famous shop near my office. I brought them for you,’ uncle said. I looked at him as I picked up a vada. We made eye contact for the first time ever since I had known him. I noticed that if you ignored the wrinkly face and the reading glasses, he had the same eyes as Ananya. ‘So today, no matter how late it gets, we finish this,’ I said as I opened the file. Uncle nodded. He pulled his chair close to mine to see the screen. ‘OK, so let’s go through each slide. I will format as we go along,’ I said. I went through the first five slides in an hour. ‘Uncle, do you mind if I put some music on? This formatting is quite tedious,’ I said. I opened the CD player in my laptop. ‘Play it on the stereo,’ uncle said and pointed to the hi-fi system kept in the living room display cabinet. I too out the CDs from my office bag. Uncle walked up with me to connect the system. He fiddled with the wires as I noticed a one-litre unopened bottle of Chivas Regal whisky kept next to the stereo system. I took my chances and asked him. ‘You like whisky?’ ‘No, just a little peg sometimes when I have a cold. Harish gave me this big bottle. It will last me years,’ he said. I kept quiet. ‘You know Harish? The boy who came to see Ananya.’

DX @ www.desibbrg.com I nodded. ‘Really good boy,’ he said. Uncle switched the stereo on. I gave him the heart shaped CD in my bag. Uncle turned it around in his hands a few times. ‘That’s all the Mylapore shop had,’ I said in a sheepish voice. ‘What are the others?’ I showed him the other two CDs. ‘T.R. Subramanium and M. S. Sheela? Who did you get this for?’ ‘For myself.’ ‘You understand Carnatic music?’ ‘No, but I want to learn. I’ve heard it is the purest form of music,’ I said. Uncle shook his head. I wondered if my reason had not come across as real. He put the CDs back in my bag. ‘Sometimes, I wish I had never encouraged Radha in Carnatic music. It has only given her pain.’ I nodded, not sure of how I should respond. Uncle was talking personal for the first time. It is amazing how much closeness two men with a laptop in a closed room can achieve in five days. We sat back at the table as I worked on the sixth slide. Mandy Moore’s romantic track filled the room.I wanna be with you If only for the night The lyrics were a little odd for a work date between a fifty-year-old Tamilian and a twenty-four-year-old Punjabi boy, but better than the silence. I enjoyed putting the textboxes, tables, charts and lists in their right place and making each slide look slick. Uncle read each point and checked the figures. The song continued.To be one who is in your arms Who holds you tight

DX @ www.desibbrg.com The CD played itself over three times before I reached the halfway mark. We paused for dinner at ten. Uncle went to the kitchen and came back with tomato rice in two plates. ‘You must be bored of South Indian food?’ he said. ‘No, I am used to it now. Feels like home food,’ I said. ‘Good,’ he said. He went to the display cabinet. I had made it to the category of ‘good’ though still not ‘really good’ like Harish, I thought. ‘The presentation is under control now. You want a drink?’ uncle said. ‘Sure,’ I said. Uncle took out two glasses from the crockery rack in the display cabinet. He told me to get a spoon and ice form the kitchen. He opened the bottle. ‘Five spoons for me is enough,’ he said as he made his drink. ‘How about you?’ ‘We don’t use spoon to measure alcohol,’ I said. I was a little agitated. One week of working my ass off and still Harish was the ‘really good’ boy. Fuck you, Harish, I am going to have your Chivas Regal. I poured the golden coloured liquid four fingers thick. ‘What are you doing?’ he exclaimed. ‘Making myself a real drink. Cheers,’ I said and lifted my glass. ‘Actually, Radha stops me from having more,’ uncle said and took the bottle from me. He tilted it and made his drink level with mine. ‘Cheers,’ he said, ‘and thank you. You IITians are very smart. What a presentation you have made.’ ‘You are welcome,’ I said. We finished our dinner and first drink by ten-thirty. I brought the whisky bottle next to the laptop. I poured a second drink for myself and offered it to uncle. He didn’t decline. The song changed to Last Christmas.

DX @ www.desibbrg.com Uncle went to the stereo and increased the volume. ‘I gave you my heart,’ uncle sang in sync with the song and snapped his finger. He came back and sat down. I had witnessed an amazing sight. A Tamil Brahmin had set himself free probably for the first time. If I didn’t have the presentation to make, I’d have loved to observe him more. All I remember is that in the next two hours we reached the last slide and the one-third mark on the whisky bottle. ‘And thank you,’ I said as I read the last slide. Here we go, it is done.’ I saved the file. ‘Save it twice,’ uncle said. I saved it again and checked the time. It was 1 a.m. In three hours, Manju would wake up. ‘All ready to present it?’ I asked. ‘Present? Me? No, no, Verma will present this. My job was to complete this and it’s done.’ ‘Uncle,’ I said my voice firmed by the whisky, ‘you have to present. What’s the point of slaving over this for weeks if you don’t get to present.’ ‘I have never operated that projector,’ uncle said. ‘There’s nothing to it. You IT will set it up. And you press the forward button to move to the next slide.’ ‘I don’t know.’ He turned quiet. I closed my laptop and shook my head. ‘This is unbelievable. The presentation is in such good shape. Your country manager will be there. And all you want to do is sit in a corner. Verma will take all the credit.’ ‘Really?’ he said. ‘That’s what all bosses do, without exception,’ I said. ‘Bloody North Indian fellow,’ uncle said. I stood up to leave. ‘Sleepy?’ he asked.

DX @ www.desibbrg.com ‘Not as much as you. You sleep at ten, right?’ I said. ‘This has woken me up,’ uncle said, pointing me to his drink. ‘Want another one?’ ‘Uncle, I have to find an auto. It’s late.’ ‘Why don’t you just stay here?’ he said. ‘Excuse me?’ I said. ‘Yes. I’ll give you a set of nightclothes. Mine should fit you,’ he said. I had past-life trauma of wearing my girlfriend’s father’s clothes. This can’t be a good idea, I thought. Before I could respond, uncle had poured us another round of drinks. “Change the music if you want,’ he said. I rifled through Ananya’s tapes in the drawer. I found a Pink Floyd album and couldn’t resist. The alcohol demanded Floyd. The long, trippy opening note of Shine On You Crazy Diamond played in the room. Uncle tapped a foot gently to the slow beats. I wondered if he would be able to handle so much alcohol. I longed to smoke. No, don’t think about smoking, my mind advised. Don’t think about being with Ananya. Think about the worst-case emergency plan. What if uncle threw up or fainted? How do you call an ambulance in Chennai? How would you explain it to Ananya’s mother? However, uncle seemed to be having a good time. He sat on the sofa, and put his legs on the table. ‘One thing Verma told me I will never forget,’ he said. I nodded. Verma said, ‘Swaminathan, do you know why they make you deputy GM and sent me to become GM?” ‘Why?’ I said, too drunk to show restraint. ‘He said it was because South Indians are top class number two officers, but horrible in number one positions.’ Uncle shook his head as he took a big sip. Even in his drunkenness, I could see his pain. I didn’t know what to say. ‘Do you agree?’ he asked.

DX @ www.desibbrg.com ‘Oh, I don’t know. My boss is South Indian,’ I said. ‘Yes, but you have just started. Maybe he is right. We hate the limelight. I know I should present this, but I don’t want to.’ ‘Why?’ ‘Because knowledge is not for showing off. If I do good work, people should notice me. I cannot go sell myself like that shameless Verma.’ I nodded, more to tell him I listened than in agreement. There is no better source of wisdom than two drunk men. ‘Right?’ ‘Depends.’ I said. ‘On what?’ ‘Did you feel bad when they didn’t make you GM?’ I said. Uncle looked at me for a few seconds. He leaned forward from the sofa to come near me. ‘Let me tell you one thing. What is your name?’ he said. Obviously, I was not anywhere close to getting close to him. ‘Krish,’ I said. ‘Of course, sorry, this whisky … Anyway, Krish, I had offers. Ten years back I had offers from multinational banks. But I stayed loyal to my bank. And I was patient to get my turn to be GM. Now, I have five years to retire and they send this rascal North Indian.’ ‘You did feel bad,’ I said. ‘I still feel horrible. I haven’t even told this to my wife. I am drinking too much,’ he said. ‘It’s OK. The point is, if you feel horrible then you need to do what it takes to get to be number one. And….’ I stopped myself. ‘What? Say it,’ he said. ‘And if you don’t have marketing skills, then better admit that than take a moral high ground about knowledge. You’ve done good work, let the world know. What the hell is cheap or shameless about that?’ Uncle didn’t respond.

DX @ www.desibbrg.com ‘I’m sorry,’ I said, composing myself. ‘No, you are right. I am useless,’ he said, his voice quivering. I became worried he’d cry. ‘I didn’t say that. We made this, right?’ I pointed to my laptop. ‘You think I should present? Will I be able to?’ he asked. ‘You will kick ass,’ I said. ‘What?’ ‘Sorry, I said you need ice?’ He shook his head. ‘You’ll be fine. Tell Verma you will present this. Don’t give him a copy.’ ‘I’ll fight with him?’ ‘Yes, if you call it that,’ I said. ‘And make sure from now on, people know about the work you do. Look at Bala, my boss. He copies the country manager on everything. Bala briefed the country manager about the food menu for this stupid local concert we are having next month. You definitely have to get noticed, you don’t have to work. That’s how corporates work, everyone knows it.’ Uncle nodded and fell deep in thought. I checked the time: 2 a.m. I couldn’t control a yawn. ‘OK, we should go to bed,’ uncle said and stood up. ‘Wait.’ He came back with a lungi and a vest. ‘Here, will this do?’ You got to be kidding me, I wanted to say, but said, ‘Perfect.’ Uncle showed me the guestroom. I sat down on the bed with the nightclothes in my lap. ‘What do you want to be? MD at Citibank?’ uncle asked me as he reached the door to leave my room. ‘A writer,’ I said. ‘Excuse me,’ he said and his tired body became alert again. ‘MD, country manager, I don’t care, It’s not me,’ I said.

DX @ www.desibbrg.com “Will you leave the bank?’ ‘Not immediately. I’ll save for a couple of years first.’ ‘And after that? What about your parents? Are they OK with this?’ ‘We’ll see. You should sleep, uncle. You have a presentation to make tomorrow,’ I said. Uncle switched off t he main light and left. I went to the bathroom and struggled with my lungi. Finally, I used a belt to tie it around my waist and lay down in bed. My back was resting after eighteen hours; I let out a sigh of relief. Uncle knocked on my door. He came inside and switched on the light again. I sat up on the bed in one jerk. ‘What?’ ‘Water,’ uncle said as he left a bottle next to my bed. ‘Drink up, or you will have a headache in the office tomorrow.’ ‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘You OK with that lungi? You need help?’ ‘No, I am fine,’ I said and clutched my belt and modesty close to myself. ‘Good night,’ uncle said as he switched off the light again. ‘Good night, sir,’ I said and cursed myself for the next ten minutes for calling him sir.

DX @ www.desibbrg.com 29 ‘Three lakh!’ Bala flipped during the concert steering committee meeting. Yes, one of the great value additions from Bala is to make everything sound important. He created the CSC, or the Concert Steering Committee. It sounded so important, I could almost put it in my resume. But right now, we had a problem. Everyone kept silent as the person in charge of the singers gave her report. ‘You want three celebrity singers, sir,’ said Madhavi, a fat agent with spectacles who looked like a cross between a school prefect and an ICU nurse. ‘But how can they get paid so much?’ Bala said. Somehow, Bala felt only he deserved a job that paid far in excess of the work involved. ‘They come with a band, sir, and back-up singers,’ Madhavi said. Everyone in the room nodded. Bala shook his head. ‘Why do we need back-up singers? The main ones will crash or something?’ Nobody laughed. ‘Back-up means chorus, sir,’ Madhavi said. Bala remained unimpressed. ‘Chorus are those people who say aa aa aa in love songs, sir,’ said Renuka, another agent. ‘I know what chorus is,’ Bala said as he banged his fist on the table. ‘But this is too much.’ ‘We can cut the food,’ said one agent. He got more dirty looks than an eve- teaser in a bus. He retracted his suggestion. ‘Why don’t we get some lesser known singers?’ I asked. ‘But this is a Citibank event. If we get B-grade singers and tomorrow HSBC does an event with A-grade singers, we are screwed,’ Bala said. ‘Sir, the venue….’ One agent who had never spoken in a meeting in his entire career was shot down in mid-sentence.

DX @ www.desibbrg.com ‘Has to be five-star,’ Bala said. ‘Who is the top singer of the three?’ I said. ‘Hariharan,’ said one agent. ‘No, it is S.P. Balasubramanium,’ said another. War broke out between the normally peaceful Tamilians. When it came to music, they could kill. ‘No match, Hari is no match for SP,’ Madhavi shouted emotionally. ‘Suchitra? You forgot Suchitra?’ another agent said. Bala stood up. Like all corporate meetings worldwide, even this one had ended without a conclusion. ‘All I am saying is, we can’t afford to pay this much. The venue, food and advertising are already costing four lakh,’ Bala said. ‘Advertising?’ I asked. ‘We are giving a half-page ad in The Hindu,’ Bala said. The agents closed their files to leave. ‘Isn’t it an invitation-only event?’ I said. ‘Exactly, the ad will say so. Only our customers will have the invites. However, the ad will ensure their friends and relatives feel jealous.’ ‘That’s the Citi advantage,’ I said. ‘Exactly.’ Bala patted my back. ‘So, dad’s happy, huh?’ I quizzed Ananya inside the auto. ‘You bet. Dad only talks about the presentation at dinner every day. And now he’s in Delhi, to make the same presentation in head office. Can you believe it?’ Ananya said. ‘Wow!’ I said as we reached our destination.

DX @ www.desibbrg.com We had come to Ratna Stores in T. Nagar to buy steel plates for my chummery. I needed four, this place had four million of them. Seriously, every wall, roof, corner, shelf and rack over two floors was covered with shiny steel utensils. If direct sunlight fell in the store, you could burn like an ant under a magnifying glass. I wondered how the store kept track of its inventory. ‘How do you ever choose?’ I said to Ananya as we neared the plates section. Ananya demonstrated the desired width with her hands to one of the attendants. ‘Seriously, thanks for helping dad. I think he likes you now,’ she said. ‘Not as much as he likes Harish. I drank his whisky though.’ ‘What?’ Ananya said. I told Ananya about our drinks session. ‘You wore his what to bed?’ she said, shocked at the end of my story. ‘Lungi,’ I said as I paid at the cashier’s counter. ‘What’s so surprising? It is quite comfortable.’ Ananya raised her eyebrows. ‘I did it for you.’ I looked into her eyes. She moved forward and even though one could see our reflection in five hundred frying pans around us, she kissed me. All the Tamilian housewives in the store turned to us in shock. ‘Ananya,’ a lady’s voice came from behind us. Ananya turned around. ‘Fuck, Chitra aunty,’ Ananya said, lifting a large steel tray to hide her face. It was too late as the woman had started to come towards us. ‘Chitra who?’ I said. ‘Chitra aunty lives in my lane. She sings Carnatic music, with my mother,’ Ananya said from behind the tray. ‘I bought Carnatic music CDs, too,’ I said. ‘What?’ she said.

DX @ www.desibbrg.com ‘Never mind, hello aunty,’ I said as Chitra aunty came next to us. ‘Krish,’ Ananya said. ‘Colleague.’ ‘Really, what kind of colleague?’ Chitra aunty asked bossily. ‘I have to go,’ I said and lifted my plates. ‘We need these before dinner.’ Ananya called me late at night, after I had eaten in the new steel plates. ‘All OK?’ I said. ‘Sort of,’ Ananya said. ‘She is going to tell my mother. They have this rivalry anyway. Guruji accepted her but not my mother.’ ‘And then?’ ‘Nothing, I’ll tell my mother she is exaggerating. Am I mad enough to smooch someone in Ratna Stores?’ she said. ‘You are,’ I laughed. ‘Yes, but only you know that.’ ‘I don’t want to ruin what I’ve built with your dad,’ I said. ‘It’s mom you have to worry about now. Manju and Dad are OK.’ ‘How?’ ‘I don’t know. I told her you are coming over for dinner tomorrow.’ ‘Why?’ ‘The stated reason is to thank you for helping dad. We can tell her about our visit to Ratna Stores before Chitra aunty. Of course, we’ll skip a few bits.’ ‘You shouldn’t have kissed me there. Why did you do it?’ ‘Because I couldn’t help it, you are irresistible sometimes,’ Ananya said. My heart stopped for a second at Ananya’s response. Alright Mrs Swaminathan, if your daughter can’t resist me, there is no way you can either.

DX @ www.desibbrg.com 30 ‘Excellent presentation, that is what the board told Dad in Delhi. Now they’ve asked all zonal offices to make similar ones,’ Ananya said in an excited voice. We sat on the floor for dinner. Ananya’s mom kept quiet as she stirred a bowl of rasam. She offered it to me without a word. ‘You OK, mom?’ Ananya said. ‘Did you go to Ratna Stores with him?’ Ananya’s mother said, pointing to me. ‘Oh shit, Chitra aunty had to tell you the next morning,’ Ananya said, her hand busy mixing the rice and daal. ‘Akka, don’t use bad words at the dinner table,’ Manju said. ‘Manju, you eat. I am talking to mom here,’ Ananya said. ‘He’s right. We don’t talk like that in this house. We don’t do the things you do either,’ Ananya’s mother said as she vented some of the anger on the rice in her leaf. She mashed and smashed it with all the vegetables extra hard. ‘What have I done, mom? Krish wanted steel plates. How would he know where to go? I took him to Ratna Stores.’ ‘And you do cheap things in the store?’ Ananya’s mother said. ‘What cheap things, mom?’ Manju said. ‘Manju, can you leave the room? Go read you physics book,’ Ananya bade. ‘But I’ve already revised physics today,’ Manju said. ‘Then study maths or chemistry, for God’s sake. Go.’ Ananya’s stern glance did the trick. Manju picked up his banana leaf and took it to his room. ‘Something something cheap something….’ Ananya’s mother said as Ananya interrupted her. ‘Mom, Krish doesn’t understand Tamil. Please, speak in English,’ Ananya said. Ananya’s mother gathered herself and spoke again. ‘Why are you sending your brother away, when you are ready to be cheap in public?’

DX @ www.desibbrg.com ‘I didn’t do anything cheap.’ ‘Chitra is lying?’ ‘I gave him a little kiss.’ ‘Kissing!’ Ananya’s mother said as if Ananya had mentioned us snorting drugs. ‘Mom, stop hyperventilating. He is my boyfriend. You understand?’ ‘You are my daughter, do you understand? You are spoiling our name in the community, do you understand? I brought you up, educated you, made sacrifices for you, do you understand?’ I don’t know if mother and daughter understood anything, but I understood it was time for me to go. I stood up. ‘Where are you going?’ Ananya demanded of me. ‘To wash my hands,’ I said, showing her my curd-filled hands as proof. ‘Even my hands are messy. Stay with me,’ Ananya ordered. ‘You don’t know what I have to bear because of you,’ Ananya’s mother said. In one movement she stood up, gathered her leaf and composure and left the room. Ananya let out a huge sigh. ‘I liked the rasam, nice and tangy,’ I said. ‘You said you owe me big time,’ I said. I sat in Bala’s office. He kept both his elbows on the desk and ran all ten fingers through his oily hair. ‘But how can i?’ Bala said. ‘You said you are over budget. I have a singer for you, free.’ I played with the paperweight in his office. Alone with him, I behaved his equal. ‘Who?’ he said.

DX @ www.desibbrg.com ‘Radha Swaminathan, upcoming singer.’ ‘Really? Never heard of her,’ Bala said. ‘She is still in the underground scene. She has trained in Carnatic music.’ ‘But this is a popular concert. We’ll have dancers to complement the singers.’ ‘Bala, popular music is cakewalk for Carnatic singers. You know that.’ ‘Is she good? Have you heard her sing?’ ‘Sort of.’ ‘Sort of?’ ‘Yes, I have. It’ll be fine. Plus you have Hariharan and S.P., can’t go too wrong.’ Bala stood up and walked towards his window. ‘Is she hot?’ Bala said, ‘Like good-looking?’ ‘She is my girlfriend’s mother. I find the daughter pretty.’ ‘What?’ ‘I have to do this Bala. I am hitting all-time low with her. If I don’t do something drastic, I can kiss my girl goodbye forever. They’ve got a Cisco guy lined up, pure as fresh coconut oil.’ ‘Your girlfriend is Tamilian?’ Yes, Brahmin, so you can deal with it for once.’ ‘Iyenger or….’ ‘Iyer, does it matter?’ ‘No,’ Bala said and came back to his seat. ‘Now I know why you came to Chennai.’ ‘Apart from the fact that I was dying to work with a financial wizard like you,’ I said. ‘What?’ ‘Nothing, now, are you doing it?’ ‘What?’

DX @ www.desibbrg.com ‘Finalising the singers, Hariharan, S.P. and the new talent Radha.’ ‘What will the agents say? We have a committee.’ ‘Everyone in the committee works for you. They are your drones.’ ‘But still,’ Bala said, in deep thought. ‘You decide,’ I sighed. ‘I have work. I haven’t cleaned up my mailbox in ages. I still have those emails of yours asking me to push those Internet stocks, I should delete them, right?’ Bala stared at me as I turned to leave. ‘Look, it is not personal,’ I said, ‘but this is about my future kids.’

DX @ www.desibbrg.com 31 ‘Aunty, may I come in?’ I said. Ananya’s mother looked at me through the mesh door with sleepy eyes. She wore a nightie; I had disturbed her afternoon nap. I had told my agents I would be out for a late lunch. Before coming to their house, I stopped at Grand Sweets and packed two kilos of Mysore pak. Aunty opened the door. I came inside. She went inside to change her clothes. I flipped through The Hindu util she returned. ‘Uncle’s back?’ I asked. ‘He came last night.’ She yawned. ‘But he is in office now.’ ‘Sorry to wake you up,’ I said and passed her the box of sweets. ‘What’s this?’ ‘I wanted to apologise for the dinner that night.’ Aunty kept quiet and looked at the coffee table. ‘I am sorry about the Ratna Stores incident. I assure you, nothing cheap happened,’ I said. ‘Chitra is a loudmouth,’ she responded. ‘She would have told the whole of Mylapore by now.’ ‘I can understand. We have people like that in Punjabis as well. People who love to interfere in other people’s lives.’ Aunty ignored me. She went inside to keep the sweets in the fridge. She came back with a glass of water and their family dish of hard, brittle spirals that didn’t taste of anything. I took one. My tooth hurt as I tried to bite it. I took the spiral out of my mouth and faked I had taken a bite by pretending to chew. We had an awkward minute of silence. ‘Aunty, I wnted to show you this,’ I said and opened my bag. I took out the Carnatic music CDs and gave them to her.

DX @ www.desibbrg.com ‘T.S. Subramanium? Whose is it? ‘Mine.’ ‘What?’ ‘I’m trying to develop a taste. I’m learning , but it’s hard. There’s the swara, the raga, the shruti.’ ‘You know about shruti?’ ‘Only the basics. I am not an expert like you.’ She returned my CDs and gave a wry smile. ‘In Chennai I am a nobody. Even Chitra is better than me. Though people say she knows the corporator of Chennai, who asked Guruji to take her on. The corporator is in charge of the kutcheri venues, so Guruji had to oblige her. Can you imagine how shallow she is?’ ‘There have ot be other gurus,’ I said. ‘I was ready for an advanced one. Anyway, I am sorry I overreacted that day.’ ‘No, no, you don’t haave to spologise. I came ot apologise. And for a little request.’ ‘Request? What are you requesting me? You young people do whatever you want, anyway.’ ‘Nothis isn’t about Ananya and me. This is about our Citibank concert.’ Over the next half an hour I explained the upcoming event. I told her about the Fisherman’s Cove venue, the who’s who of Chennai that we expected to be present, the popular music concert for two hours divided between three singers, and that I wanted her to be one of them. ‘Me?’ she echoed, shocked. ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I’ve never sung popular music,’ she said. ‘You have a trained voice. Switch on MTV and see the latest chartbusters. Three Kollywood, three Bollywood. You are done.’ ‘Why me?’ she asked, still bewildered.

DX @ www.desibbrg.com ‘Actually, we are desperate. We need three singers and we found only two. My boss gave me the job of finding the third singer. So, my appraisal depends on you.’ ‘Who are the other two singers?’ ‘They are a bit known. So, the third one has to be fresh to balance things out.’ ‘Who?’ ‘hariharan and S.P. Balasubramanium,’ I said. Aunty’s mouth fell open. She stood up and left the room. I followed her into the kitchen. ‘Aunty, it is no big deal. It isn’t a public concert.’ Aunty answerd by placinga frying pan on the stove and poring oil in it. Once the oil heated uo, she tossed in mustard seeds and curry leaves. A pungent smell filled the kitchen. I coughed twice. ‘See, this is what I do all day. I cook, I don’t perform. I am an amateur. I can’t even sit in front of Hariharan and S.P., let alone share the same stage.’ ‘It’s fun night, not a competition. They sing after you.’ She tossed chopped onions in the pan. My eyes burned along with my throat. “aunty, have you ever performed on stage before?’ ‘No. OK, yes, a couple of times in the Tamil Sangam events where Ananya’s father was posted. But his, five-star hotel, high-society, Hariharan….You’ve got Hariharan, why do you need me?’ ‘Only professionals will make it too commercial. We want to give our clients a family feel. A casual vibe will be nice,’ I said. Aunty shook her head. I continued to convince her until she had prepared the evening dinner of tomato rasam, lemon rice and fried bhindi. I had followed the recipe and could now make rasam from scratch. However, I still didn’t have her on board. ‘Why are you doing this? I accepted you apology, didn’t i?’ ‘that’s not why I am doing it.’ ‘Then why?’ She covered the dishes with plates. ‘I am doing this because I think you are a good singer.’

DX @ www.desibbrg.com ‘How do you know that?’ ‘Because Ananya told me. She also said you’ve trained all your life. And I believe her.’ She looked at me. ‘Don’t tell me the idea doesn’t excite you. Not even a little?’ I said as we came back to the living room. ‘of course, it is a huge honour, but I can’t.’ ‘Don’t say you can’t. C’mon, we will keep it a surprise. We won’t tell uncle. We won’t even tell Ananya if you want. We sat down on the sofa. I noticed the whisky bottle, the level was the same as I had left it. ‘OK, here is the deal. You give a tentative yes now. You prepare the songs when Ananya and uncle are not at home. If on the day of the concert, you want to back out, let me know the night before and I will manage. If not, give it a shot. Deal?’ ‘I will chicken out at the end,’ she promised. ‘I’ll take the chance. Please,’ I said. She took ten seconds, but she gave a brief nod at the end. I sprang up the sofa in excitement. ‘Cool, your practice starts now,’ I said and picked up the remote and put on MTV. ‘What are these songs?’ she said as the screen showed two hundred South Indian dancers dancing on the Great Wall of China. ‘I’ll let you figure it out. And now, I better go to work,’ I said, ‘The Citi never sleeps, but the Citi shouldn’t bunk office, too.’ I fist-pumped as I left Ananya’s house.

DX @ www.desibbrg.com 32 People close to you have the power to disturb you the most. I should have torn my father’s letter. I ended up reading it thrice. Son, I am omitting the ‘Dear’ as I am not sure I can address you as that anymore. I knew you are on the wrong path the day you lost respect for your father. I am sure you remember that day. You have broken all contact with me since. I have learnt you are involved with a girl in Chennai. I don’t know the details. I can only deduce so much from your mother’s conversations with her useless relatives. We should choose the girl for you, not you. For you are on the path to becoming a man of low character. Such are the values given to you by your mother and her siblings that you may not even know how disgraceful your actions are. That you chose to hide your actions from me only reinforces that at some level you are ashamed of them as well. Unfortunately, Your father I changed my sleeping position for the tenth time. I wanted to sleep, but felt more alert than anytime in office. Forget it, he only wants to provoke you, I said to myself again. Go to sleep, now! – I scolded myself. The funny thing about sleep is you can’t instruct it to happen. Your mind knows the facts and repeats them to you – it is late, only five hours when you have to wake up again, you need rest. Your mind also has a million options on what it can think about; stars in the clear moonless sky, the beautiful flowers at the Nungambakkam flower shop, the smell of incense in Ananya’s house, your best birthday party. There are positive thoughts somewhere in people’s heads all the time. But somehow, even one negative thought will crowd them out. Maybe it is an evolutionary mechanism so we can focus on the problem at hand rather than rejoice in all things wonderful. But it makes life a bitch, as good memories have to make space for the next pain

DX @ www.desibbrg.com in the neck item. And what does one gain by losing sleep? I hope our genes mutate ASAP so we can evolve out of this. Memories of that day my father referred to kept coming back. What drama is he going to do when I tell him about my marriage plans? I thought. Go to sleep, idiot, only four hours to wake up, my mind scolded me. My brain refused to relax. I sprang out of the bed at two and called home. ‘Hello?’ my mother said in a sleepy voice. ‘Sorry, it is me.’ ‘Krish? Everything OK?’ she sounded panicked. ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘What happened?’ ‘Dad sent me a letter. I’m quite disturbed.’ ‘Oh, really? What did it say?’ ‘Not important. He knows about Ananya.’ ‘Your friend, no? yes, so what?’ ‘Mom, she is not just a friend. I want to marry her.’ ‘Oh Krish, don’t start this so late at night. A girlfriend is fine, do whatever you want in Chennai. But why are you forcing her on us?’ ‘I am not imposing. I am telling you about my choice of life partner,’ I said, my voice loud. ‘Stop screaming.’ ‘I’m sorry.’ ‘If you have the guts, shout at your father.’ ‘I don’t speak to him at all. You know I don’t care.’ ‘Then why is that letter bothering you?’ I kept silent. ‘Hello?’ my mother said after five seconds.

DX @ www.desibbrg.com ‘I’m here,’ I said, my voice soft. ‘Are you OK?’ I held back my tears as I spoke. ‘I’m lonely, mom. I don’t need this form dad.’ ‘Tear the letter and throw it.’ ‘I am battling Ananya’s parents here anyway. This is such a strange city, I am welcome nowhere. And now you think I am imposing on you,’ I said and couldn’t control myself. I held the phone tight and cried. ‘Stop Krish, don’t,’ my mother said. I composed myself and used my left leg to open the fridge. I took out a bottle of water and drank it. ‘What do I do?’ I said after I regained composure. ‘Come back. Why don’t you apply for a transfer back to Delhi?’ ‘I only came here six months ago.’ ‘Say you have family issues. Tell them I am sick.’ ‘Mom, please.’ ‘Leave your job if you have to. We’ll find another one. There is a Canara Bank right across our house.’ ‘Mom, I’m in Citibank. It is an MNC.’ ‘Fine, we will look for a multinational. Swear on me you will ask for a transfer. Don’t be trapped in the city with horrible black people.’ ‘Mom, they are not all bad.’ ‘I don’t care. Apply for a transfer or I will send a letter to your boss. I will say I am an old woman and you have to consider my plea on humanitarian grounds.’ ‘Mom, swear on me you will never do anything like that,’ I said and smiled at her choice of words inspired by Indian government offices. ‘Then you do it.’ ‘I will, mom. I have to finish a few things first. I am almost there,’ I said and regained my composure. ‘OK, you fine now?’ she said.

DX @ www.desibbrg.com ‘Yes, I am good.’ ‘Good. And don’t take any nonsense from these Madrasis, give it back to them. They get scared fast.’ ‘OK, mom.’ ‘And don’t get serious about that girl.’ Already too late for that, mom, I thought. ‘Good night, mom,’ I said. ‘I love you. Good night,’ she said and hung up. I came back to my bed and tossed the letter in the bin. I felt light after speaking to my mother and drifted off to sleep in five minutes. What would the world be without mothers?

DX @ www.desibbrg.com 33 ‘Bike?’ Ananya beamed when I went to pick her up on a black Yamaha RX 100. ‘Bala’s,’ I said. Ananya sat pillion in a maroon salwar kameez, using her white dupatta to cover her head and face. She looked like a member of Veerappan’s gang. Pondicherry is a hundred and forty kilometres away from Chennai, down the East Coast Road, or ECR, running along the Bay of Bengal. Fisherman’s Cove falls on the way, twenty kilometres outside Chennai city. We left Ananya’s office at Anna Salai. She sat behind me and held the sidebars tight. By the time we left the city at Lattice Bridge Road, she switched from gripping the sidebars to my shoulders. We took the Old Mahabalipuram Road, which led us to ECR. ‘This is beautiful,’ I said as the sea became visible. ‘I told you.’ Ananya planted a kiss on the back of my neck. We halted at Fisherman’s Cove where I met the catering manager briefly. Everything seemed under control for the Citibank event. We left the resort and came on the ECR again. An hour of driving later, we passed Mahabalipuram. It had stunning rock-cut temples next to the sea. ‘Wow, these are amazing temples,’ I said as the wind swept back my hair. The ECR ended an hour after Mahabalipuram. The roads became narrower. We passed several little towns with long names and sprawling paddy fields. At a few places, I had to stop to make way for bullock carts, village school kids and goatherds. We reached Pondicherry around noon, and my first reaction was disappointment. ‘This is it?’ I asked as I reached the main chowk in the town. It was like any other small town in India, dusty and noisy with Cola ad signs painted on uneven walls. ‘The nice part is inside, the French quarter and the Aurobindo Ashram,’ Ananya said as I negotiated a sharp bend in the road along with fifty other two- wheelers and four trucks.

DX @ www.desibbrg.com The only French I saw was an underwear billboard with the brand Frenchie. ‘Drop me here,’ Ananya said as we passed Cuddalore road, where HLL has one of its factories. I had three hours to kill in this Malgudi town as Ananya had an extended lunch meeting. We had agreed to meet at the L’Orient hotel at four for coffee. I drove out of the factory compound and followed the signs to the Aurobindo Ashram on Rue de la Marine. The Ashram building resembled a quiet hostel by the sea. I came to the reception. More foreigners than Indian thronged the ashram lobby. A forty-year old Western woman in a sari and beaded necklace sat at the counter. ‘What are you looking for?’ she asked me. Maybe, because I was in an ashram, or because the way she said it, I suspected deeper meaning in her question. I looked at her. She had blue eyes with wrinkles around them. ‘I’ve come for the first time,’ I confessed. She gave me Ashram brochure. Another person came and bought meal tickets. ‘Can I get lunch here?’ I asked. ‘Yes, at the Ashram Dining Hall,’ she said and showed me the coupon booklet. I bought one for myself. ‘Come, I’m going there,’ she said, walking out with me from the reception. We walked along a lane adjacent to the ashram. The dining hall was half a kilometre away. She told me her name was Diana and that she came from Finland. A former lawyer, she now found more satisfaction as a volunteer at the ashram than helping Nokia secure patents. ‘Are you a seeker or here as a tourist?’ She handed me my coupon. ‘Seeker?’ ‘Yes, if you wish to seek your path. Or if you seek answers to a specific problem.’ ‘Frankly, I came with a friend who had some work here. I wanted a day away from office.’ Diana laughed. We reached the dining hall and picked our stainless steel plates. We entered the eating area where everyone sat on the floor. Lunch was simple – organic brown rice, yellow daal and a carrot and peas subzi.

DX @ www.desibbrg.com ‘OK, so I seek an answer. How do I get it?’ ‘Well the answers are within us. People stay in the ashram for a few weeks to introspect, they attend satsang and ask questions of one of the gurus. How much time do you have?’ ‘I need to meet my girlfriend for coffee in two hours. Then head back to Chennai.’ Diana smiled and shook her head. ‘That’s a pretty stiff deadline to sort out life’s unresolved answers.’ ‘Maybe I shouldn’t even try then,’ I said. ‘Wait, see the gentleman there,’ she said and pointed to a seventy-year-old man in white robes who sat two rows ahead of us. ‘He is a guru. Maybe I can introduce to him.’ ‘No, no, please don’t,’ I said. ‘Why not? If he is busy, he will say no.’ ‘Pranam Guruji,’ Diana said and touched his feet. I followed suit and he blessed us. ‘Guruji, this is my friend. His name is,’ Diana said and paused. ‘Krish.’ ‘Yes, he has only two hours. But he wanted to seek answers to some problems,’ Diana said. ‘What do you have to do in two hours?’ Guruji asked, his voice calm. ‘He has to meet his girlfriend,’ Diana said, excitedly stressing on the last word. ‘And surely, the girlfriend is more important than the problem,’ Guruji smiled. ‘Actually, she is the problem,’ I said. Diana threw me a puzzled look. ‘Not her. But her family,’ I said. ‘It’s OK. I know it is very little time.’ ‘Send him to my house in fifteen minutes,’ Guruji said and left.

DX @ www.desibbrg.com 34 I hovered at the open door of Guruji’s house before walking in. ‘Come in, Krish,’ Guruji said. He sat on a day-bed in his living room. I had thought I’d be roaming around French cafés in Pondicherry. I had no idea I’d end up in a guru’s house. The tiny house had sparse wooden furniture. ‘You may find it strange to be here. But I’d like to think we were destined to meet,’ Guruji said. ‘Do you read minds?’ I wanted to know. ‘I read people. Your nervousness is obvious. Sit,’ he said and stroked his white beard. I sat cross-legged on the floor, facing him. ‘What is bothering you?’ ‘My girlfriend is Tamilian, I am Punjabi. Our families are against our marriage. I am doing whatever I can, but it is stressful.’ ‘Hmmm,’ Guruji said. ‘Close your eyes and speak whatever comes to mind.’ ‘I love her,’ I said, ‘and we make each other happy. But if our happiness makes so many people unhappy, is it the right thing to do?’ I rambled for some more time; Guruji didn’t make any sound. Since my eyes were closed, I had no idea if he was even around anymore. ‘She is my future,’ I concluded. ‘Is that all?’ ‘You are there?’ I countered. ‘Are you sure this is the only problem that is bothering you?’ ‘What do you mean?’ ‘There is a lot of … pain in you, unresolved issues. Before you build a future, you must fix the past.’ ‘What are you talking about?’ I opened my eyes. Guruji’s eyes were shut.

DX @ www.desibbrg.com ‘Close your eyes,’ Guruji said. ‘I have,’ I said and shut them again. ‘What keeps you awake at night?’ I kept quiet. ‘Do you take a long time to go to sleep?’ he probed. ‘Yes,’ I said. “What kept you awake lately?’ ‘Various things. There is work, which I am not exactly exited about. There’s uncertainty about Ananya. There’s my father.’ ‘What about your father?’ ‘It’s complicated,’ I said. ‘And a heavy load, isn’t it?’ I sighed deeply. ‘Let it go,’ Guruji said. ‘I can’t. I don’t want to. I haven’t even talked about it.’ ‘I’m listening,’ Guruji said. He bent forward and placed his palm on my head. I felt a new lightness. I felt transported to another world. It was as if my soul had disowned my body. ‘Guruji, don’t make me do it,’ I begged, not wishing to revisit the pain that awaited me. ‘Go on, I’m listening.’ Guruji said.

DX @ www.desibbrg.com 35 Three years ago My father came home at midnight. I had waited for hours. I didn’t have time, I had to talk to him tonight. He refused dinner with a wave of his hand and sat on the living room sofa to take off his shoes. ‘Dad?’ I said, my voice low, I wore shorts and a white T-shirt. The T-shirt had a tiny hole at the shoulder. ‘What?’ he turned to me. “Is this what you wear at home?’ ‘These are my nightclothes,’ I said. ‘You don’t have proper nightclothes?’ I changed the topic. ‘Dad, I want to talk about something.’ ‘What?’ ‘I like a girl.’ ‘Obviously, you have time to waste,’ he said. ‘It’s not like that. She is a nice girl. An IIT professor’s daughter.’ ‘Oh, so now we know what you did at IIT.’ ‘I’ve graduated. I have a job. I’m preparing for MBA. What’s the problem?’ ‘I don’t have a problem. You wanted to talk,’ he said, not looking at me. ‘The girl’s father is taking her abroad. They’ll get her engaged to someone else.’ ‘Oh, so her father doesn’t approve of it.’ ‘No.’ ‘Why?’ I looked at the floor. ‘We had some issues with him, me and my friends.’ ‘What issues? Disciplinary issues?’

DX @ www.desibbrg.com‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Shocking. The son of an army officer has disciplinary issues. All the reputation I have built, you’ll destroy it.’ ‘Those issues are history now.’ ‘Then why does he have a problem? Does your mother know about this?’ ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Why hasn’t she told me? Kavita!’ my father screamed. My mother came to the room, woken from a deep sleep. ‘What happened?’ ‘Why was I not informed about this girl earlier?’ my father screamed. ‘He told me only a few weeks ago,’ my mother said. ‘And you hid it from me, bitch,’ my father said. ‘Don’t talk to mom like that,’ I said in reflex. I would have said more, but I need him today. My mother broke into tears. This wasn’t going well at all. ‘Dad, please. I want your cooperation. If you meet her father, he may reconsider.’ ‘Why should I meet anyone?’ he said. ‘Because I love her. And I don’t want her to go away.’ ‘You are distracted, not in love.’ ‘Leave it, Krish, he won’t listen. See how he talks to me. You don’t know how I lived when you were in hostel.’ My father lunged menacingly towards my mother. He raised a hand to hit her. I pulled my mother behind me. ‘Don’t,’ I said. ‘Who do you think you are?’ he slapped me hard on my right cheek. I sat down on the dining room chair. ‘Leave us and go. Why do you even come back?’ My mother folded her hands at him. ‘Don’t beg, mom,’ I said, fighting a lump in my throat. My father had made fun of me earlier for crying. To him, only weak men cried.

DX @ www.desibbrg.com“Look at his voice, like a girl’s,’ my father mocked. He gave me a disgusted glance and went to the bathroom to change. ‘Go to sleep, son,’ my mother said. ‘He is sending her away next week,’ I said. ‘What girl have you involved yourself with? You are so young,’ my mother said. ‘I am not marrying her tomorrow.’ ‘Is she Punjabi?’ my mother asked. ‘No,’ I said. ‘What?’ she said, shocked as if I’d suggested she wasn’t human. ‘Will you meet her father, once?’ My father came out of the bathroom. He had heard my last sentence, ‘Don’t you dare go anywhere, Kavita,’ my father said, his eyes wild. I stared back at him. ‘Go to your room,’ my father said. I came back to my bed. I heard noises in my parent’s room. I couldn’t sleep. I woke up and came towards their room. I’d heard enough arguments of my parents throughout my life to care, but I placed my ear at the door, anyway. “He is growing up,’ my mother said. ‘With all the wrong values. What does he know about this girl? He is my son, he is from IIT, see what deal I get for him at the right time.’ There it was, for all my father’s principles, I was his trophy to be sold in the market to the highest bidder. ‘You are responsible for bringing him up like this,’ my father screamed at my mother. I heard the sound of a glass being smashed against the wall. ‘What have I done? I didn’t even know about this girl….’ Slap … slap … my father interrupted my mother. I banged the door open as I heard a few more slaps. I saw my mother’s hand covering her face. A piece of glass had cut her forearm. My father turned to me. “Don’t you have any manners? Can’t you knock?’

DX @ www.desibbrg.com‘You don’t teach me manners,’ I said. ‘Go away,’ he said. I shook my head. I saw the tears on my mother’s face. My face burned with rage. She had lived with this for twenty-five years. I did know why – to bring me up; I didn’t know how she did it. My father lifted his hand to hit me. Automatically, I grabbed his wrist tight. ‘Oh, now you are going to raise your hand against your own father,’ he said. I twisted his arm. ‘Leave him, he won’t change,’ my mother panted. I shook my head at her, my eyes staring right into his. I slapped his face once, twice, then I rolled my hand into a fist and punched his face. My father went into a state of shock, he couldn’t fight back. He didn’t expect this; all my childhood I’d merely suffered his dominance. Today, it wasn’t just about the broken glass. It wasn’t only that the girl I loved would be gone. It was a reaction to two decades of abuse. Or that’s how I defended it to myself. For how else do you justify hitting your own father? At that moment I couldn’t stop. I punched his head until he collapsed on the floor. I couldn’t remember the last time I reveled in violence like this. I was a studious child who stayed with his books all his life. Today, I was lucky there wasn’t a gun at home. This insanity passed after five minutes. My father didn’t make eye contact with me. He sat on the floor, and massaged the arm I had twisted. He stared at my mother, with a ‘see, I told you’ expression. My mother sat on the bed, fighting back her emotions. We looked at each other. We were a family, but pretty screwed up as they come. I took a broom and swept the broken glass into a newspaper sheet. I looked at my father and vowed never to speak to him again. I picked up the newspaper with the glass pieces and left the room.

DX @ www.desibbrg.com 36 ‘That’s it, Guruji,’ I said, tears now dry on my face. ‘I’ve never shared so much with anyone.’ The sound of the sea could be heard, the waves asymmetrical to my tumultuous thoughts. ‘Open your eyes,’ Guruji said. I lifted my eyelids slowly. ‘Come, we will go to the balcony behind,’ Guruji said. I followed him to a terrace in the rear of the house. The sea breeze felt cool even in the hot sun. I sat on one of the two stools kept outside. He went inside and came back with two glasses and a book. ‘It’s coconut water. And this is the Gita. You’ve heard about the Gita?’ ‘Yes,’ I said, ‘sort of.’ I took a sip of the coconut water. ‘What have you heard?’ ‘Like it is the ultimate book. It has all of life’s wisdom. You have to work and not worry about the reward. Right?’ ‘Have you read it?’ ‘Parts of it. It’s nice, but a little….’ ‘Boring?’ ‘Actually, no, not boring. Hard to follow and apply everything.’ ‘I’ll give you just one word to apply in your life.’ ‘What?’ ‘Forgiveness.’ ‘Meaning? You want me to forgive my father? I can’t.’ ‘Why not?’

DX @ www.desibbrg.com ‘Because what he did was so wrong. He has ruined my mother’s life. He has never loved me.’ ‘I am not saying he did the right thing. I am asking you to forgive him.’ ‘Why?’ ‘For you. Forgiving doesn’t make the person who hurt you feel better, it makes you feel better.’ I pondered over his words. ‘Close your eyes again,’ Guruji said. ‘Imagine you have bags on your head. They are bags of anger, pain and loss. How do they feel?’ ‘Heavy,’ I sighed. ‘Remove them from your head one by one,’ Guruji said. ‘Imagine you are wearing a thick cloak that is wearing you down. Pardon the hurt others have caused you. What they did is past. What is bothering you today are your current feelings that come from this load. Let it go.’ Strange as Guruji’s metaphors were, I felt compelled to obey the imagery in my mind. My head felt lighter. ‘And surrender to God,’ he went on. ‘You don’t control anything or anyone.’ ‘I don’t understand,’ I said. ‘Do you control your life? Your life depends on so many internal organs functioning right. You have no control on them. If your lungs don’t cooperate, if your kidneys fail, if your heart stops, it is all over. You’ll drop dead now. God has chosen to give you the gift of life, surrender to him.’ He kept me in meditation for the next few minutes. ‘And now, you are free to go,’ Guruji smiled. I opened my eyes. The sharp afternoon sun shone on Guruji’s face. He went inside and brought a small cup with grey ask. He dipped his index finger in the ash and marked my forehead. ‘Thank you’ I said as he blessed me with his hand on my head. ‘You are welcome,’ he said. ‘Anything else I can help you with?’ ‘Yes, which way is Hotel L’Orient?’

DX @ www.desibbrg.com ‘Oh that,’ Guruji laughed, ‘It is on Rue Romain Rolland. One kilometre from here.’ I reached L’Orient at four. Ananya was waiting at the entrance. The hotel is a renovated heritage building and was originally the Education Department Office when the French had colonised Pondicherry. Now a ten-room boutique property, it had a small restaurant in the indoor open patio. We ordered coffee and a slice of ginger cake with custard sauce. ‘Isn’t this place lovely?’ Ananya breathed in deeply. I nodded, still deep in though. ‘So, tell me, what did you do? And what’s with the tilak on your forehead?’ ‘I hit my father.’ ‘What?’ ‘A long time ago. Remember, how I would always avoid talking about my father in campus?’ ‘Yes, and I never pushed after that,’ she said. ‘But what are you saying?’ I repeated the story of that night. She looked at me, awestruck ‘Oh dear, I didn’t know your parents were like this.’ ‘I nvever told you. It’s fine.’ ‘Are you OK?’ she said and moved her hand forward to hold me. ‘Yes, I am fine. And I met a Guruji, who gave me good advice.’ ‘What? Who Guruji, what advice?’ Ananya said. ‘I don’t know the Guruji. It doesn’t matter. Sometimes in your life you just meet someone or hear something that nudges you on the right path. And that becomes the best advice. It could just be a bit of common sense said in a way that resonates with something in you. It’s nothing new, but because it connects with you it holds meaning for you.’