‘Anirudh Ramachandran. Partner, Global Motorcycles.’
They were drinking after work; Anirudh’s that is. The one who was destined to succeed at failure had stepped up while the other, supposedly entitled to life’s brightest lights, was doing his best to postpone all form of association with Mrs. Ramachandran’s fish food fraternity. His current fandango with management studies was critical to this.
‘Aaah! Life!’ Vodka slopped out of Sri’s glass.
‘Ehn?’
‘Ani. Ani. Ani. What can I say? Here you are... this successful businessman and I’m just a Latin American cop.’
‘Ehn?’
‘I got the role in that film.’
‘What the fuck, yaar[55]? You’re doing all this management bullshit and now you’re an extra in a film. That too, it’s not even in Hindi. What are you doing in a German film? I really can’t understand why that Jehangir roped you in.’
Even Ani doesn’t think much of my efforts to change.
‘It’s in English, you dick. It’s just produced by a German company. And I’m not an extra. I have lines. They’re saving money. Instead of zipping all the way to Venezuela, they’re using an Indian cast.’
‘Still, Sri. Something isn’t right, man. Concentrate on one thing.’
‘It was just an audition, Ani. I got ze accent. I got ze role. It gives me something new to believe in. An actor’s bez tool eez belief. ‘Remember zat, gringo[56].’
‘I don’t know, Sri. Just be careful.’
Saturday: Olivia
The Dog Star cops it in Pune.
He had studied the five lines he had, thoroughly. And was keeping stuff real. Exactly like the Austrian director desired. This required him to lean against a modified Royal Enfield on the Bombay Pune Highway dressed up as a Venezuelan cop.
Behind him, a woman (the German actress) approached. But Alvarez the cop hadn’t seen her as yet. He was thinking of the young hooker he had arrested last night, essential to the Austrian director’s method of keeping things real.
The woman spoke. ‘Will you help, please? I want to go to Plaza Cortez in Caracas. Can you take me?
I can’t be taking you. I’m a dirty cop! How do you know about Plaza Cortez? I was supposed to bring it up. It’s the bloody love shack where the rape scene is.
Sri blinked.
Improvise! You’re a Venezuelan policeman.
‘Si, senora. Plaza Cortez eez good. Eez zat way.’ He pointed in the direction of Panvel.
She brushed a blonde lock aside. ‘I want you to take me there.’
Really, woman! You’re off the bloody script. I’m supposed to send you there and pop by later for the rape scene.
He blinked again.
‘Okay. If you aren’t going to take me, I’m going to go there and wait for you.’
Oh, Phurck! This isn’t rape. It’s a bloody date.
Bewildered but sticking to the accent, he said, ‘No wait for me. I eez got night duty.’
‘Cut!’
The German actress sank to her knees in laughter. She spluttered, ‘Sorry. I was warned of the May heat. The lines came out wrong.’
‘Is that what happened?’
Best be polite. It’s my first time on a film set.
‘You must have been wondering what the…’
‘In a manner of speaking.’
‘Let’s do it again. I’ll get it right this time.’
The cameras rolled again. A German lady approached Alvarez from behind. He spoke leeringly while pointing her in the right direction. He stared after as she walked towards her parked car. The scene ended with him indicating to his bike seat while watching her behind.
Lunch was announced.
‘You have an unusual voice.’
The voice came from behind him. Assuming it was directed at someone else, Sri ignored it.
‘I was only kidding. It’s an old acting trick. You don’t have to get so angry.’
A slender white finger tapped him on the shoulder.
Wow! It’s the German actress.
‘Oh! I didn’t realise you were talking to me. Why would I be angry?’
‘I’ve never worked with Indian actors before. I was told to watch for egos.’
Indian actors? Surely, she can’t be talking to me.
‘Is it true? Are Indian actors like that?’ She was talking to him.
His proposed reply was broadly based on not having a clue. Then it struck him.
I am acting in a film. Therefore, I am one of those actors.
‘This is my first film so my ego is underdeveloped. I guess, with time, I’ll have a well-exercised and muscular one. Think of me as the before part in an advertisement. Feel free to kick sand in my face.’
Her eyes turned green and blue in the sunlight. At the time of this twinkling, it had been nine months since the exorcism at Theresa’s. The ladder had been stood in a corner. Ignored. Not on account of an attitudinal change towards women. As if. The truth was his self-belief had taken a sound thrashing. The preceding two falls in love not doing much by way of leaving skin unbroken.
Super positioned panties, eyes alternating green and blue in the sunlight and... he didn’t fall in love.
Proud of this, he walked off towards the Royal Enfield. After checking whether it was needed for the upcoming scenes, he slipped a few notes to one of the assistant directors and took off for Pune. Things had looked up for Anirudh after going there.
Stopping at a roadside chai[57] stall, he lighted a Gold Flake.
Rare character had been shown by not falling in love with the German actress. She walked up and spoke to me! This hands-down victory for the Indian contingent means only one thing. I’m cool enough to resist a white actress. Me! That’s big! But… what if I drop myself in it the next time around? More testing? More white chicks? What about that ashram[58] in Pune? That’s a pretty international joint. If I can repeat this cool there…
A group of eunuchs dressed in loud sarees, clapped raucously and entered the stall. Possibly after making a few bucks terrorising a local wedding. As they clustered under a roadside umbrella, the kid serving them shouted out their order.
‘Chhey chai yeh chh... chh... chhatri ke neeche[59].’
The kid had hesitated and not called them chhakkon[60]. It was unthinkable that a kid at a roadside stall would hold back from using inappropriate language. Even more miraculous was his graceful flip from name-calling to table location. From film set to chai stall, self-control was the running motif.
That’s exactly how I’m going to deal with the ashram chicks!
Between zigzagging on the NH 4 and calling out names at passing cars, he chanted ‘self-control’ a hundred and eight times.
The receptionist at the welcome centre in the ashram had his back turned. A braided blonde in a crimson robe smiled at Sri as she waited for the man to finish arranging books on a metal rack.
She smiled at me. Me? Sorry, honey. I’m a man of restraint. Not one who falls here and there… in love.
‘Sri! Here, at the ashram? How lovely.’
It had been years since that morning in Colaba. The Venezuelan cop was amazed to see the brown sugar fiend was now the receptionist of an ashram.
‘Savio! What the fuck are you doing here?’
Savio smiled through his thick grey beard. ‘What the fuck is anyone doing here?’
Notwithstanding Savio’s broader philosophical insinuations, Sri knew what he was doing. He was tingling: a direct outcome of floating around in this sea of crimson-robed females.
From the glass-walled meditation hall where bhaktas[61] practised whirling, strains of soothing music could be heard. Tiny Buddha statues peeked from amongst the lilies in the pond. An epic battle, resisting international crimson, lay ahead.
‘I’ve quit the brown. Been clean for more than two years.’
Even Savio. Bloody hell! The whole world is getting in on the action.
‘Restraint, haan?’
‘The oppos
ite. Exposure. When you let what’s in see what’s out. That’s the key.’
‘Deeeyaaam deep. This kind of mindfuck normally drives one to the brown. In your case, it’s worked the other way.’
‘How’s that chick you met below my house? Still with her? Or…?’
‘Come on, man. I mean, come on. That was years ago. You know me. I’m a wolf, lupine when supine.’
By this time in the tale, the wolf and Grandpa had wound their way into the cafeteria. And whom did they see but Red Riding Hood. She smiled at Savio and continued placing pomegranates on the countertop.
In this fairy tale, once introductions were made, rich conversation would flow. Red Riding Hood would be entranced. Grandpa would beam approvingly. And the wolf?
He’d be the epitome of poise and self-control, leaving Red Riding Hood tugging fretfully at her pigtails. For all this to happen, however, introductions were crucial. None were made. Savio asked for two banana milkshakes, and the two friends were left to catch up, undisturbed. A spiteful situation considering what could have been.
Half an hour later, Savio watched Sri get back on top of the borrowed Enfield. ‘Okay, man. See you tonight. Don’t bring any booze, okay? I’ve got a couple of recovering addicts over, so—’
‘Oh hell, Savio! I can’t handle one of those soul connection nights.’
‘She’ll be there too.’
‘Who?’
‘Anandmayi.’
‘Who the fuck is that?’
Savio’s eyes gleamed wickedly. ‘The redhead in the cafeteria.’
‘What have I got to do with her?’
‘Nothing. She’s not your type.’
‘Then why did you mention her?
‘Freedom. Exposure.’
Sri shook his head and gunned the bike back to the film set at Panvel. Back to the afterglow of playing a Venezuelan cop in a German film. Back to the German actress!
After returning the bike, not knowing what else to do, he got into the bus for the supporting cast and crew. He stretched out and shut his eyes.
The main event will be back in Pune. The pomegranate chick is quite obviously a test dummy. The actress, on the other...
‘You’re awake, aren’t you?’
Why has that tingling started again?
‘Your eyelids were fluttering. You were making funny faces. Problem?’
The German actress... Control!
Slowly, very slowly, his eyes opened. There she was, threatening to smother all his restraint under a pillow of senseless love.
Dreamily, he said, ‘You? Here? I thought all the big shots travelled by car. This bus is for Venezuelan rocks, trees and cops.’
‘The car that’s supposed to take me to Pune refuses to start. Lucky me! I didn’t want to travel in a stuffy car. I had to beg them to let me come by bus. What’s the big deal?’
‘Guess the crew felt if they sent you off with the rest of us cleft palates, they wouldn’t score big with you.’
‘Really? I could be a nobody.’
Oooh, humility! The wicket is sticky and the bounce uneven.
If the bowling stuck to this line and length, the touching image of Sri, bat tucked under his arm, walking back to the pavilion was imminent.
Unless I play my natural game!
‘You’re not a nobody. You are Olivia Schrader. Take it from me. You don’t know the first thing about being a nobody. On the other hand, I’ve got years of practice.’
‘What?’
‘Nothing. You’re not a nobody.’
The bus started with a jerk. Olivia gripped the window frame.
Restraint!
Sri grabbed at his right hand with the left. He didn’t want it escaping to steady her.
Don’t want to be one of those touchy-feely guys.
Olivia’s eyes spent an extra second on him. Then she opened her vanity case and got on with removing some microscopic traces of make-up. That completed, she proceeded to put some back on.
Solah Shringar! The sixteen ways a woman dolls up. Shringar. Olivia. Sri. S.O.S. Things are getting rough. Restraint United is losing ground to the sixteen-member offence of Shringar Sporting.
‘Any plans in Pune? Do you have people there?’ Olivia dabbed around her upper lip.
‘An old friend has invited me to dinner. Some recovering addicts sitting around talking about life, love and the lost.’
There was a blinding flash.
This is a ladder of another kind. Friends only! We won’t be seeing that much-loved silken garment around here. That’s it. Shutters down.
The bus passed Talegaon.
Olivia’s freshly moistened lips asked, ‘Are you a recovering junkie too?’
‘Not me! I just go to listen. They all want to talk. Somebody has to listen, na?’
The smell of horses and other farm animals wafted in through the open window. A spot boy asked Olivia for an autograph. Sri sneaked a look at her handwriting.
Child-like! Ha! No intellectual can fall in love with such a low-lettered woman. Thank god, we’re just friends.
After a battle with the traffic, the bus pulled into the hotel. Studio hands fluttered about. All of them wanted to look busy without actually achieving anything. No one person lifting Olivia’s baggage appeared able to carry it, without conflict or commotion, into the hotel.
The Venezuelan cop stepped up like Raja Vikrama[62]. And the matter was righted with all the efficiency associated with law enforcement. Setting an example for all, Olivia’s blue suitcase was conveyed into the lobby.
‘Do you want to have a drink?’ He invited her with the same effortlessness shown while carrying her suitcase.
‘What? With you?’
She wasn’t smiling. She should have been. But she wasn’t! A sudden coolness slithered across his skin. In his stomach, stuff roiled. He had been so certain. They were friends!
‘It’s been lovely working with everyone today but really…’
A surge of warmth prickled his eyes. And the vetaal[63] of his past leapt onto his back.
He was walking along the railway tracks to Opera House. Yashika smiled as she drove by. Tears threatened the brave Raja.
‘… I’m sorry. I don’t join people for a drink. I prefer…’ She shrugged her shoulders.
The dream sequence screeched to a close. It was like being slapped awake. Shock and disorientation: everything a man of control sets out to achieve.
I’m just a two-paisa foot soldier in this film. What right do I have asking the queen out?
Sri spluttered, ‘Right. It was a great experience. I mean, acting with you. Learnt a lot.’
A tear gatecrashed the Indo-German joint venture.
Turning towards the glass lobby door, he ran his sleeve across his face.
‘Learnt a lot? I don’t think...’ said Olivia with a hint of a smile.
‘Please. Let it be. I’m sorry.’
‘Sorry? Why apologise when attention to detail should do?’ The smile came through.
‘I didn’t mean to offend you, ma’am. I’ll leave right away.’
‘Ma’am?’ A laughing tinkle broke out of that smile.
A lovely sound if things were going as planned but in light of present developments, he could do nothing more charismatic than plunging through the lobby glass onto the street outside.
‘How old do you think I am?’
‘I don... don’t know.’
‘Okay. Bye then. Unless you want to join me for a drink.’
Before a second tear completely sank the enterprise, his sleeve swung once again to the rescue. Then he froze. The movement of the armed forces was stayed.
This bloody self-control’s jammed everything inside. I’m not seeing straight. Blue suitcases are erupting everywhere.
‘But I thought you said you don’t drink with…’
‘I know what I said. You rewind it in your head. At your own pace.’ Seeing Sri look just as lost as Hansel and Gretel, she added, ‘I was being girly difficult. If yo
u’d let me finish an earlier statement, you would have noticed a subtlety. I don’t join people. I prefer them joining me.’
Girly difficult. Bloody hell! She’s come in with heavy artillery.
Sri blinked.
‘Ambiguity is so much fun. It’s like a growth hormone. Helps males become men.
I am at the lotus feet of a master.
With that, Valkyrie and Vikrama entered the bar. Two rounds later, the Venezuelan cop smoothly slipped in the get-together at Savio’s. Hesitatingly, the actress from Dusseldorf agreed to come along.
Girly difficult? Game on!
Leaving the bar, Sri pocketed a coaster. Players love trophies from memorable games.
On the way, Sri couldn’t help but think how much the business with the wall had affected these Germans.
In the bar and over here in the rickshaw, Olivia’s placed her bag on the seat. Between us.
Savio opened the door.
‘That’s Anandmayi, Xerxes with two Xs, and Anal with three Xs.’
Anal shifted deeper into his sofa. It was no consolation his name was pronounced annul because, in reality, no one said it that way. And Valkyrie and Vikramaditya strolled into storyland.
How Annabeth became Anandmayi, the joyful one, had Olivia agog. Other tales featured a bed set on fire, the late-night pawning of family ornaments, pharmaceutical innovations and a slew of con jobs.
Later, Savio surfed a few channels and settled on a cricket game.
‘India’s fucked!’ Anal spoke softly, his eyes on the screen.
‘Indian batsmen can’t play pace and movement.’
What fabric of dreams is this German actress made of ? She knows cricket? How can one resist this?
At about here, with Sri pondering over Olivia’s irresistibility, Xerxes decided to smoke. Hardly earth-shattering, but it was. Xerxes had no arms. Just stumps.
Years ago, after being refused money for scoring brown sugar, Xerxes had punched his mother. A short while later, imploding with brown sugar and shame, he laid his arms on the tracks between Bandra and Khar. The Borivali slow had been quick enough.
Using his stumps, a ciggy was placed between his toes, its filter to him. He shook some matchsticks out onto the sofa. Lowering his mouth, he selected one. His stumps returned to the matchbox. He rubbed the side of the box against the matchstick in his mouth till it burst into flame. Immediately, he stretched to the ciggy between his toes. A tiny glow appeared at the cigarette tip. He spat out the matchstick, plucked the fag from between his toes and sucked at it.
A Ladder of Panties Page 10
