even though it was evening, he started to sweat within minutes of emerging from the air-conditioned office. as sweat trickled down his neck, he shifted his laptop from right to left hand, rubbed his neck against the shirt collar and looked around. rush hour meant that he wouldn’t get an auto easily, let alone one that would charge him a reasonable price. finally, a three-wheeled yellow-and-black contraption stopped, and he got in, not bothering to negotiate the fare.
as the auto driver tried to weave his way through mere inches afforded between a lorry and car, he sat back, letting his shoulders slouch. the deal had come through – he had been told of his promotion before leaving the office (the ceremonies would come later). in an unexpected twist, he would also be assigned to the research wing – something he had long desired. at 40-plus, success had come a bit later than for some others, but it tasted sweet.
he had called his wife – she was away for a week – and they had made plans to celebrate “with your favourite dishes and ice cream”. then, he had called his sister and told her he was coming over for dinner. he hadn’t mentioned the promotion – a surprise was, after all, much better.
the traffic cleared, and the auto began to zoom ahead, swerving sharply to avoid a motorcyclist.
he knocked on the door and waited. akka (*older sister in tamil) needed a full 5 minutes or more to reach the door – age and arthritis had robbed her knees of their versatility. when she opened the door, he smiled.
as he put his shoes away, she said, “i have some dosa batter ready…you must be so tired…shall i make you some coffee as well?” the same questions, every time. akka‘s expressions of love were rarely different.
he nodded his assent, and went to the toilet. a newly unwrapped bar of soap was placed next to the wash-basin. the same green soap he had been using since he was a boy, just like the chequered cotton towel that was hung on the peg. the mirror with little embedded floral motifs had some brown spots at the edges, and a hairline crack along the center.
he splashed some water on his face, and paused, allowing the little drops to dribble down his chin before reaching for the towel. as he straightened up, he caught sight of his reflection in the mirror. the memory of an evening stirred within – one when he had splashed water on his face, over and over, to lessen the redness of his eyes and wash away the tear streaks on his cheeks.
****
she picked up the flat pan and wiped it with a towel before putting it on the lit stove. her brother would be at the table soon. it had been about two weeks since his last visit. with her son living in the USA and her husband no more, her brother and sister-in-law were her closest kin. it mattered when they didn’t see each other for more than a couple of days.
she poured two ladle-fulls of dosa batter on the pan, then used the ladle’s curved underside to tease the batter into a neat circle. as the edges of the dosa sizzled from the added drops of oil, she peeped out into the dining room – the table was empty. time enough to make coffee. she adjusted the edge of her sari over her shoulder and began to heat some milk.
he walked into the kitchen – a departure from his habit of sitting at the table and clearing his throat to announce that he was ready to eat. she turned around in surprise.
“the project went well akka. i am going to be promoted! and guess what – i am moving into the research division!” as tears stung her eyelids, she touched his cheek lightly, then picked up the sugar tin to tip a spoonful into his mouth – a customary way of celebrating good news. his eyes were moist too, and probably to hide it, he muttered something and went to sit at the table. she walked up to the door of the kitchen and said, “ask the watchman to get some sweets from the corner shop – this is such good news.”
he pulled out some notes from his wallet and passed it to the watchman with the said instructions. as he walked back, his mind wandered again to the memory that had awakened a few minutes earlier.
he was returning home from college, with the letters of recommendation. his teachers were glad to help, adding that if anyone deserved it, it was him. apart from being one of the top students in the batch, he had a love for research which had been noticed by the chancellor. he was asked to apply for a prestigious MSc program and accompanying scholarship. if things went well, he would do his PhD or join a big pharmaceutical company as a research associate.
it would have been an ideal career, but the scholarship afforded a minimal stipend. also, starting out in research would mean a meagre salary for the first 5 years or so. maybe his sister could help support the family for a couple of years. he could take up additional jobs, and marry later…years down the road, it would all be worth it…
he told her about it that night, after posting his application. he had expected her lack of enthusiasm, but her frown was too deeply etched. “what if it doesn’t come through?” she had asked quietly. “what will you do?” he was annoyed at the question. “if it doesn’t come, then i will apply for a job. but until the 15th – by when the letter should arrive – don’t ask such stupid questions.” he had snapped.
he had tried to read a book, but his anger did not subside – worse, it morphed into anxiety. what if her words were a premonition?
****
he had gone home an hour back, after an early dinner and a conversation via Skype with her son.
she sat on the edge of her bed and picked up the clock to perform the nightly routine of setting the alarm. it was 17 October – a coincidence. she remembered the same day, many years back.
the postman had left after handing over a bulky envelope. it was addressed to her brother, and bore the university’s seal. she knew he wouldn’t like it, but she opened the letter and read it. he had been awarded the scholarship.
she knew she should feel happy and proud, but she felt something very different – a sense of fear. this would mean more years of working in an office she didn’t like. it might mean that she would have to put off marrying, as no one wanted a wife who spent her salary on a sibling. since their parents’ death three years back, she had been carrying the weight of the family. she wanted him to stop depending on her.
the questions simmered…if he didn’t earn any money, how would they afford her wedding? and for how much longer would they continue this hand-to-mouth existence?
she looked down at the letter. in a moment she would regret for years to come, she burnt it by the flame of the gas stove and flushed the ashes down the kitchen sink. while he waited anxiously every evening for the postman and turned away disappointed, she kept her face rigid. once, she tried telling him that things always worked for the best, but stopped when she saw the empty look in his eyes.
one evening, he spent a long time in the toilet. then he came out and told her that the time for the announcement of the scholarship had passed. if he hadn’t received the letter, he had not been selected. he would look for a job. she knew he had been crying.
that night, she’d cried herself to sleep. and many nights thereafter – every time he enviously looked at the university building; when he vented about “paper-pushing” at work; when his mouth set in a hard line on hearing about others who had pursued their goals.
he had turned to her at the door, and said, “things did work out after all.” she had smiled.
tonight, she would sleep well.
Like this:
Be the first to like this post.
after a really long time, we have a movie that does what movies started out to do – tell a story, and tell it well. The Artist is not about a brain-draining complex story, or a racy plot involving guns, ferrarri chases and high-octane sex, and – really sorry to disappoint – definitely not about anjelina jolie’s tweet-worthy right leg. its a simple story about two actors, their changing fortunes, and about their relationship through this time.
silent films, the story is set around George Valentin, the handsome hero of silent films, and Peppy Miller, a beautiful young actress who starts off by auditioning for a role in Valentin’s film, but later outshines him when she becomes an icon in the emerging trend of talkies. the story follows Valentin’s painful journey as he faces the slow demise of support for his beloved silent films, which also results in his fall from fortune and grace. on a parallel note, Peppy Miller rules the cinema and becomes the poster girl for talkies. tracking the progress of their lives and the twists and turns of their relationship forms the backbone of the plot.from beginning to end, the story is rather simple – even predictable. but what kept me glued to my seat was
to help when she bought up all his former assets from the auction. you love the little dog for staying with Valentin all the way, and admire the butler for trying so hard to stay with his master. and you wait and wonder – will Valentin and Peppy come together? and you walk away with a spring in your step when the screen falls on a happy ending – in the best way possible. and only when you walk away do you realise that a story doesn’t have to be said – just felt.
one is a book, the other a song.
