Coming home from work to find her younger son listening to ‘Changes’, she thrust the offensive documents in his face.
‘Is this true, Sri?’
‘Call me Srini.’
The reinvention he’d gone on about at the table of uninhibited smoking and drinking had been on his mind.
‘What?’
‘I prefer Srini. Sri by day. Srini by night. With N and I, the first two letters in night.’
‘Stop babbling! I’m your mother. I know what to call you. Read this.’
Why is it every step I take towards change gets shot down like the first head over the wall? Screw this bloody reinvention.
‘This. You’ve spent the last year studying Business Management, haven’t you? Answer me!’
Sri scanned the Kotler-ish stuff. ‘Seems solid.’
‘I was given this by a girl who works for me.’
Girl? New talent?
‘My aunt would have never tolerated such audacity. Imagine telling me how to run my business. The business I’ve built from zero. With no help from anyone.’
The run of play was easy to divine. It was only a matter of seconds before these papers ceased to exist in the material world flung as they were into that wormhole to alternate realms—the gutter. If so, two questions would remain unanswered. Who is this damsel who leaps astride the winged dragon? Wasn’t there a name typed at the top right of the page?
He cursed himself for returning the document. Then reloaded.
‘Dad has Penthouse magazines in his cupboard.’
Anirudh had found the mags and shared the find with Sri. Much delight had followed but before the girls were reported missing they had been dropped back home, under Dad’s pants. After wiping them clean of fingerprints.
The goddess turned on her heels and stormed out of the room, forgetting the marketing plan.
Now there’s a name and a half. Got old world. Theresa Braganza. Almost matches the magnetism of Gopi mama.
‘Pornographic magazines! At your age? What is this house coming to?’
‘No prawnogratty. Just some naked girls.’ A tired reply came from the living room.
The gutter called to the Penthouse girls much as something else beckoned with crooked finger to Sri.
This damsel in distressing Dadar deserves a visit from the knight.
Considering she was Goan[47], Anirudh recommended a consultation with Maurice pronounced Morerayas.
Over the phone, Maurice was firm about Goans being very jovial people. ‘Be jolly, men[48]. Crack some jokes, men. Make her laugh.’
This advice did present difficulty vis-à-vis cracking jokes for the pleasure of a stranger employed by the winged dragon, but Sri was not to be daunted. After the departure of the goddess of trifling matters and before the shop closed, he would bring to bear on this Theresa Braganza the might of his jollity.
Friday: Theresa.
Doggy finds a new flavour in the masalas.
Madhavi Coastal Masalas normally shut at 8.30 pm. Its operational head, though, left for home at 6 pm.
Putting an hour between himself and the marinator of all lifeforms, Sri reached at 7 pm. On entry, he intentionally tripped over the threshold and staggered in.
Slapstick can be jolly.
‘Che, men[49]! Be careful.’
Che, men! Oh, old world.
And Sri was back in school. Sidney, the assistant football coach, was running around the field yelling Put trooo, men. Play aaard game, re[50]. Coursing through Sri was the desire to put trooo and play aaard game. With Theresa Braganza, men.
‘So sorry. Didn’t see the threshold.’
‘Tol’ ma’am before onny. People come in like dey’re going for a stroll and trip on dat.’
‘I see.’
‘What you want?’
‘I don’t know. I’m confused.’
‘What, re? You come into a shop to buy someting and den you’re confused onny?’
‘You have such a wide variety. Everything looks so delicious.’ He was dying to add—You too!
Maybe a little too jolly.
‘Chutney you want or masala? We have papads and pickles awsso.’
‘You’re making it tasty. But not easy.’ Hoping she’d notice his jocular potential.
‘You like lasoon chutney? Ours is too good. Even our fish curry masala. Very tasty. And very easy to make.’ Smiling, she stirred the air.
Dhillon, the shop boy, entered carrying a sack of carrots.
‘Sribaba[51]. What are you doing here?’
Pat came Sri’s reply. ‘Came to check on our new employee. Mom asked me to.’
Catching Theresa’s eye, Dhillon said, ‘He’s madam’s son, Sribaba.’ Resting the sack against his knee, he continued, ‘This is Theresa.'
The sack of carrots was then hefted into the dark interiors of the shop.
Theresa cocked an eyebrow at Sri. ‘Why the pretence then?’
Pretence?
‘I just said. Didn’t I?’
‘That’s tantamount to espionage.’
Tantamount? Espionage? From someone who was speaking onny simply, men. The pattern is definitely shifting. Reinventing itself.
‘Okay. I lied. My mother showed me your marketing plan. Quite honestly, I was intrigued. I came along—’
‘And I thought you were a Bandra boy who needed speaking to in his mother tongue.’
‘Me, a Bandra boy? Oh, thaaaat’s why you were all che, men.’
Then, not cowering in the presence of tantamount and espionage, he added, ‘So duplicitous!’
Like in a mirror, he could see himself in her. Was he not riding the winds of change?
Here’s someone who’s playing the split. She can be street. She can be posh. Be someone by day. Someone else by night. She is old world. She is the latest planet. Oooh, yaaas!
‘Any road, I was just doing my job. The minute you entered the shop I thought you were a Bandra boy. One thing led to another.’
Sri left, mentally.
One thing has led to another. But, she’s Mom’s employee. That can’t say much for her prospects. Ignore the ladder, yet again? No can do. I can’t treat it like a patch of infected mushrooms. But, maybe this is the reinvention I need. Something subtle, not flaming stupid, like a bloody name change. More internal, like a change of heart. Chuck the ladder! Respect women for who they are.
Having unearthed this many-faced goddess, in a masala store in Dadar, he went with his heart. He also did something he’d done only four times before. He fell in love.
There’s a full life ahead. All questions concerning the ladder will be addressed later. Judge’s decision final. No further correspondence will be entertained.
Hand on hip, Theresa asked, ‘I say... you’re looking really dazed. Do you realise you’re sitting in dried haldi[52]?’
I have fallen in love. Slapstick too.
Theresa smiled unsurely as he picked himself up. Coming from a sheltered background, she had never before seen a male emerge from a sack of dried turmeric.
The effort of laying out tablemats while sick with worry about the levels in the water bottles meant puffs of smoke drifted out of the goddess’s snout. Add to that, Sri wasn’t home yet!
The doorbell rang.
‘Why so late? Where have you been?’
‘I was at the shop. I met your new girl. She’s very bright.’
The hiss of escaping smoke paused ominously.
‘I don’t like you mixing with the staff. Do you hear me, Sri? Come to the shop when I’m there, not otherwise. Is that clear?’
He wanted to shout—Too late, I’m already in the ready-mix masala. Having no doubt of what would follow, he squirmed in his panties and praised the chicken pulao[53].
As for the first meeting, points were shared equally. Both parties spent some portion of the night awake.
Why would I want to put trooo and play aaard game with Theresa? Where’s the stepping up? She’s from Matharpacardy.
Things
just didn’t add up. Especially since he’d pulled the shutters down on Malaika for what could be called a similar lack of bounce.
Don’t need a psychiatrist, dude. Reinvention is tough at first. Anyway, how long am I going to stay the same? Am I man or machine? What about feelings? Okay, what exactly is this fucking ladder about? Are women just rungs? How about real love? I mean, the real stuff.
If the ladder had been more than a concept, it would have blinked, long and slow. A stunned reaction that Srinivas Ramachandran would, in times to come, become the gold standard.
In another bed in Matharpacardy, Theresa Braganza couldn’t sleep. To be perfectly fair, she had never met anyone quite like Sri. While being fair if one were to throw in honesty, she’d never had a boyfriend. And while being fair and honest, it would be unseemly not to get real. Ladder boy was a definite bump up. For her.
How did real love play out in the middle of all the masala?
‘We’ve hung out enough of times. We talk and all. I mean, she can be so many different kinds of people but that’s kind of... it.’
‘Ehn? No action?’ Anirudh came to the point.
‘We’ve kissed, Ani, but it’s like she doesn’t know what to do. If I’m lucky our lips meet at first go. Don’t laugh, you bastard.’
‘You’re sure her name is Theresa, right? Not Helen?’
‘Here I’m feeling like a demon lying in the arms of a nun and you’re cracking Helen Keller jokes.’
‘It’s been more than a couple of months. Make a move. Let your hands do the talking.’
‘That’s what I’m scared of. She might scream. She doesn’t know anything. Fuck, Ani. What have I got myself into?’
‘I remember you screaming from the hilltops about good old worldly charm. Where’s all that gone to?’
‘Fucked if I know.’
‘What’s Morerayas saying?’
‘He’s an idiot. You made me take advice from a guy who can’t pronounce his own name.’
Anirudh’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t say anything.
‘Anything I ask him, his answer is be jolly, men.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘That’s his only advice. Be jolly, men.’
‘What does he think you’re doing? Riding a sled?’
‘Fucked if I know. What do I do, Ani?’
‘Fucked if I know.’
This gloomy state of affairs persisted over the next five weeks because Sri was unable to come to terms with Theresa’s idea of making-out as it was indistinguishable from colliding passionately.
Seriously, could she be going blind?
The ‘Grace Under Pressure’ poster had faded and now lay folded inside the white plastic bag, not that he needed its help. He was onny a short skip away. This bump-and-be-happy-with-what-you-find was too much.
She was petrified of her father, meaning although Sri had dropped her home several times, he’d never been asked inside. 101, Ganga Sagar, too was a no-fly zone. Found fraternising with shop girls, Sri would be dealt with along the same lines as a garlic pod.
Given both their curfews, in terms of time and finances, the only options were the parks of Dadar and Matunga.
How’s she going to learn what to do with Genghis Khan’s Mongol hordes jogging behind us?
This relationship was going nowhere unless of course it was to be viewed as a track and field event. Staying jolly in these circumstances was getting increasingly difficult.
The phone rang. And rang. And rang. Sri, on this particular morning, was in no mood to pick it up.
Dad yelled, ‘Pick up that bloody phone! I’m in the toilet.’
Hitching up his panties, Sri said, ‘Hello.’
‘Hello. Is that Srinivas?’
‘Yes. It is I. Sri.’
‘Hello, Srinivas. This is Theresa.’
She’s never called me at home. What’s happening here?
‘Hello. Can you hear me?’
The number of hellos suggests nervousness.
Trying to put her at ease, he said, ‘Hi, Theresa. Do you know this is the first time you’ve ever called me?’
‘Hello. Listen. I’m calling from the shop and your mom might come in any second. So... Hello? My parents are going out for the night. Do you want to come over?’
Sri responded with a wolf-like Helloooo.
‘What? Coming? Hello. Say. Fast.’
‘What if I slip my leash?’
‘Meaning?’
‘Is it not obvious?’
‘Listen. Hello. Don’t play games. I don’t want her catching me using the phone.’
‘Catch you after work. I’ll meet you at Volga Dairy.’
Slowly, the phone came to rest in its cradle.
Is this what the wait has been for? Is this to be the night?
The cab journey from Dadar to Matharpacardy passed smoothly barring Sri’s instructions to the cabbie to use a whip. The driver found it funny initially but after several repetitions lost his sense of humour.
Sri couldn’t sit still, so he rolled the window up and down. Theresa knotted her fingers. The cab driver pulled his collar forward and blew inside to keep cool.
The apartment was small. It was a one bedroom, kitchen and living room affair. Theresa switched on Simon and Garfunkel. And as Mrs. Robinson was informed of how much Jesus loved her, back in Matharpacardy, Sri found himself equally blessed. Theresa had pulled out her father’s palm fenny[54].
Oooh yaaas! Nothing beats old worldly charm.
At a speed unseen in the old world, six fennys disappeared from sight.
Booze and sex! Unbridled enthusiasm had been the verdict, last time. Today, it’s booze and sex in the old world. This is going to be bloody insane!
Theresa’s behavior only supported this optimism. She was whispering, ‘Oooyaah... Oooyaah... Oooyaah.’
Taking advantage of this positive mindset, he slipped out of his pants and asked if he could borrow the tape playing. She persisted with oooyaahing. He took that as a yes. By now, he was swaying in drunken rhythm to her husky whispering.
She’s casting a spell.
It was only when he got closer to unhook her bra that he realised he’d heard wrong. Yet again.
All this oooyaah business was, in reality, something else altogether. She was chanting Hallelujah, over and over.
This threw Sri even further than Anirudh’s flight into the garbage dump. What was up to a moment ago a pleasure palace had suddenly become a midnight mass.
All erotic intent skipped along.
Inexplicably, he saw a guy dressed in a black suit addressing an audience. The dude had a snake in hand. From time to time, the guy gave the reptile a few dirty looks. He also kept calling it the bad guy. Then, raw fury took over. He set about thumping its head against the mic.
What’s the deal with the snake? Why is it looking at me? How pissed am I? Okay. The serpent features heavily in this production. I get that. The serpent is the villain of this piece. I get that, too. But snakes in Matharpacardy?
‘Oh, Phurck!’
The serpent had been located. And caught! With this discovery began the titanic battle to tame the demonic beast lurking about his lower abdomen. Sri was convinced he wanted it attached to his body whereas Theresa believed that yanking it out of the ground would lead to eternal deliverance.
Sex and booze in the old world had become an all-out, no-holds-barred exorcism. Her eyes were closed in religious zeal while his were freely watering. As she twisted and turned, he thought he could hear—Get thee behind me.
Bloody hell! This is a scene from The Exorcist.
His brain desperately wanted to tell her what they were writhing over was not venomous but his mouth was too busy contorting itself in agony.
Eyes closed, she asked, ‘Adam? Tell me, Adam. Is this …Is this a sin?’
Through clenched teeth, he replied, ‘Theresa. This is I, Sri. Not Adam. And it’ll be a serious sin if you pull it off.’
‘I’m your Eve. I’m y
ours and you’re mine.’
‘Thanks. But let go for a bit. It’s killing me.’
‘What? Don’t you like it? Isn’t this what you wanted?’
‘Please, Theresa. Can you get me some ice? I beg you.’
After a methodical round of first aid and a few mumbled apologies, Sri limped his way into the night. From the door, a red-faced Theresa watched after.
The taxi journey from Matharpacardy to Opera House passed smoothly barring Sri’s repeated instructions to the cabbie to drive slowly.
In as much as fallout, both sides scored equal points. The possible loss of what he most definitely wanted to retain was enough for Sri. For Theresa, her seeming inexperience in reptilian welfare presented an equally strong case against.
Silence prevailed. Curious, Sri slyly landed up at Madhavi Coastal Masalas a few days later only to be told by a deeply affected Dhillon that Theresa had stopped coming to work.
Hallelujah. I can concentrate fully on escaping employment on the ship of fools. Mom’s started asking again.
It was only after the pain in Lower Egypt had subsided that both Simon and Garfunkel were neatly dropped into the white plastic bag. The soundtrack of exorcism joined the other days of the weak and the entire masala was shoved back on top of the cupboards.
The scars ran deep, though.
In the days to follow, his faith in things old worldly suffered just as much as his ability to be jolly. At almost twenty-three, he should have been high up. Instead, he was running backwards.
Why did I break up with Mohina? After her, stuff has just got shot in the head. Could it be I’m not as bright as I think I am? With her around, I didn’t have to use my brain. She knew things. I was safe with her.
Such reflections you may notice have a needless historical slant. They concern Wednesday when it’s almost Saturday.
6. valkyrie and vikramaditya
For the other guy in the achaar at 101, Ganga Sagar, life was way smoother. His planets had lined themselves up pretty perkily. The garage where Anirudh had been slaving all these years finally decided to reward him.
The old man who ran the joint informed Ani he was to report to work the following month as managing partner of the motorcycle dealership. In the grease and sweat of his palms, a deck of visiting cards appeared as if by magic.
A Ladder of Panties Page 9
