Sri stared. ‘Fuck! It’s brilliant how you light a ciggy.’
A smiling Xerxes replied, ‘I’m still hands-on, dude. If I want, I can even scratch my balls.’
To which the cricket-savvy Olivia added, ‘That’s a first. Always thought the ball went to the stumps. Not the other way around.’
And Sri caved in, his breathing ragged with laughter. He did what he had done only five times before: he fell in love.
He got up. He rose in love.
Savio joined him in the kitchen.
‘She’s not for you.’
‘Point noted. You’ve said that before. I’m not interested in Anandmayi or whatever her bloody name is.’
‘I’m talking about Olivia. They’re the same.’
‘You’re blind, Savio! Olivia is so different from the pomegranate chick. They’re worlds apart.’
Savio smiled cryptically, furthering the intrigue. ‘Exposure not restraint.’
‘Ehn?’
‘Sense. Feel. Experience,’ intoned the receptionist as he left the room.
‘Ehn?’ repeated Sri, convinced Savio had been better off on the brown.
The challenge all through dinner was to reestablish contact with his loved one. Oddly, all he got was Anandmayi from across the table.
Why the worried eyes? Strange bloody woman!
The newly risen Sri took matters into his hands. ‘There are brilliant paintings in the other room, Olivia. Savio’s uncle was one of India’s most famous artists. Want to see them?’
Savio’s uncle had been a recluse. His time in self-exile had been almost wholly devoted to creating abstract elephants. These, to Sri’s mind, held the key.
Elephants are faithful. And these are up on the walls. She’s got a thing for walls. It’s the perfect setting. Surreal! She’s sure to see what I’m trying to say. She’s an actress. Brainy too. Home and dry!
Even if Sri’s plan, if indeed it could be called that, hinged entirely on the German actress’s ability to connect the dots between surrealistic elephants, bedroom walls and Sri, he knew his offer was good enough to separate her from Anandmayi. He’d have her to himself in the other room. From there…
Win-bloody-win!
Not that the recipient of his risen emotion needed such inducements.
When Olivia got up from the table, it was with Anandmayi’s hand in hers.
Oh, Phurck! This obsession with self-control has fucking tied my brain in knots. That’s why Savio... That’s why she kept putting her bag...
The living room had turned deathly silent. To think Olivia’s blatancy had caused this reaction gladdened Sri’s heart. He wished upon her the punishment of a ten thousand such silences.
As if bursting from his own anguished soul, an agitated voice punctured the silence. It was the TV. It was then that he saw.
All eyes were not on Olivia or the pomegranate chick or him. They were on the screen. An Indian batsman was walking off dejectedly. The distressed voice continued. A single word stood out in the rant. Stumped. His eyes turned to Olivia, the other chick and their locked hands. Stumped!
In a split second of cosmic coincidence, two young and upcoming talents had been declared out.
Olivia and the pomegranate chick entered the bedroom. They were cooing to each other in some strange language. Sri couldn’t understand a bleeding word. Not that this affected them.
By virtue of a pre-emptive strike by the German forces, he’d been sent packing.
The panties have upped their game. Way higher. And the ladder? It’s kicked me off before even getting a leg up. This is fucking revenge.
Savio slipped into the bedroom along with a laughing Xerxes. Near the door stood the reclusive Anal. The three kings had made their journey behind the fallen star.
Savio leaned forward. ‘Keep your eyes open. Restraint doesn’t always work.’
I need you, Mohina. Where the hell are you? If you’d been around, none of this would have happened. You would have seen through stuff. But… why would she advise me on my scoring options? I’m really losing it. Sliding. Slipping. Love was everything but now dignity is all. Leave! Before the handmaidens walk out into the moonlight, together.
What he wanted to say was—Okay, Olivia. Looks like you’ve got your hands full, so I’ll just skip onwards.
In reality, he said, ‘Good night, everyone. I need to catch all the sleep I can. You know how it is being a cop.’
When Savio raised his eyebrows at him, Sri smiled back smugly, returning favours conferred in the realm of intrigue.
Laying his hand on Xerxes’s shoulder, Sri asked, ‘Give me three matchsticks, man.’
‘Here! Take the entire box.’
‘No, man. Just three matchsticks.’
Olivia pulled some loose strands of hair into her ponytail.
‘Bye. I’ll head back with Anundmaayee. Thanks for bringing me here.’
Unable to resist a parting shot, Sri stopped by the door. ‘Hold on tight. The ride is just beginning.’
That’ll teach them to hold hands in front of me.
‘Beats standing still,’ Anandmayi shot back.
He’d walked into that by standing still. Stumped. Again and again.
Further down the lane, silhouetted by a streetlamp, he pulled out his Gold Flakes and lighter. Begging the question, if he had a lighter why...? Stumps are matchsticks. And players collect trophies for the white plastic bag.
There was a something to be learnt from Olivia, the pomegranate chick, Savio and Xerxes. There was also the huge whacking—how could I not see what was right there? This was not to say Anal hadn’t been educative. Cringing because of a name like that was one thing but to chalk up novel ways to disgrace oneself like Srinivas Ramachandran, fucking fabulous.
The score: three up, three down. The last up could only be counted because of his personal contribution. He’d risen in love. Hadn’t he?
Then it blew up in his face.
This is one bloody dark Diwali[64].
Rockets whistled off into the deep blue night sky carrying, as their payload, all his hope.
Sri plucked at the pillowcase in his lap and looked towards the white plastic bag on top of the wardrobes.
Mohina. Her fingers always had paint on them. Oh, shut it!
The picture especially after the non-event with the German actress was dire.
After all these years, I haven’t moved a fucking inch. It’s all very well to celebrate the victory of light over darkness. But that’s just making too much of too little.
‘My house, my rules’ had become the anthem at 101, Ganga Sagar, and duels at dawn, the regular fixture. The goddess of trifling matters had stamped her foot on the pedal. Sri would have to work for her.
How do I escape Madhavi Coastal Masalas’ version of Matsya Avatar[65]? Got to take up another management course! There was that advertisement in the Mid-Day. I’ll sell Red Rock University, USA to them as an international degree. Tell them it will increase my value in the job market. Lucky bastard, Ani! He’s being bathed in milk and dry fruits at his bike dealership.
As a management course held over the weekend, Red Rock University’s programme did have an economic filter in place. The fees were steep.
Dad took a loan against his gold bracelet to pay the fees.
On hearing of this, the winged dragon, as befitted a beast of great power, hurled an antique crystal decanter into the gutter. She had wanted Sri under her hooves. Instead, her drunkard husband had aided and abetted a felon.
I’ve been looking at the wrong script. The Red Rock MBA is not just a way to slip out of Mom’s net. That’s naive. I’m in a class full of financially solid parties, sorry, panties. Any of these has the potential to take me to unforeseen levels. Add to that, this lot can’t be too brainy. Sure, they’re not the dimmest candles but they most definitely can’t be the brightest bulbs. Else, they wouldn’t be at a part-time course conducted by some Red Rockers. I’m in with a chance! The ladder’s back!
&
nbsp; The Sri that trotted off to class had much brighter eyes than the Sri leaving Savio’s place.
On the matter of intelligence, the last three risings/fallings in love had shown a slowing down. Questions had been asked of him.
Much like the professor in class.
‘Would you like to explain the liabilities side of the balance sheet?’
‘Shashi rapes Shabana under coconut palm.’
Shocked by the violence of the crime but unable to understand its place in an Accounts lecture, the professor was stupefied.
‘Pardon?’
‘Shashi—Share Capital, Rapes—Reserves and Surplus, Shabana—Secured Loans, Under—’
‘Aaah! Yes. Thank you. You may sit down.’
Sri did so to the accompaniment of laughter. There was at least one female laugh. Shashi hadn’t raped Shabana in vain.
Two women came up to him during the break.
Woman One asked, ‘You’re in our class, na?’
‘Needlessly restrictive but that is a possible way to look at it.’
Woman Two got to the point. ‘Are you a Commerce graduate?’
‘I’d like to think so.’
Woman One went, ‘Can you help us? Both of us are Arts graduates and can’t understand a word of Accounts.’
‘Sure. Tell me what you need.’
‘All that debit and credit stuff—’
‘Oh nooooo! That’s the beginning of time itself. This mission is doomed. If we go that far back to rescue the princesses, we’ll never make it to the present.’
‘Whaaaat? Speak simply, please.’
‘Furrow not thy brow, maiden. Accountancy needs a knight. That’s where I nimbly step in.’
‘Why at night but? Can’t you teach us during the day?’
Are those coronation bells I hear? This is what I was born to rule.
‘I don’t think he meant that. A knight is like a warrior or something,’ explained Woman Two.
‘With that, the lovely lady wins a first-rate Accounts package.’
Seeing the others head back, Sri signalled grazing time was over. His brain was whirring. Cars, bikes, threads, dinners, bouquets! Sure, flash helps. But stack them up against credibility and see how they blink. Ladies needing Accounts tuitions now have a knight to save them. This has to translate into something bigger. Maybe even a throng of screaming girls climbing over the gates, breaking into Sri’s Accounts Academy...
After class, Woman One and Two joined him again.
‘When you spoke about an Accounts package, did you mean you were going to charge us?’
Woman Two had an attractive simplicity.
‘Not at all! How can I charge my muses? You will raise me to dizzying heights.’
‘Muses?’ Woman One’s eyes widened in near panic.
‘Sources of inspiration! I will, without desire of coin or credit, fight alongside you in this battle.’
‘Sorry. I can’t understand anything you’re saying. Do you drink and come to class?’
Unable to shed skills learnt in the days of yore, Sri had been studying what lay beyond Woman One’s shoulder. By the staircase was the epitome of lissome femininity. She was shifting from one foot to another, looking at her wristwatch and then in his direction.
Perhaps, you desire audience with the Knight Accountant?
Woman Two continued prissily, ‘Just promise us there will be no drinking.’
Not wanting to prolong this conversation, Sri promised, ‘Yaah. Yaah. Not a drop.’
The two women left, satisfied.
Sri turned like he’d done on the roof of the Liberty Gardens Hotel.
Speed must reassure. Not blind.
She came up immediately.
How did I ever miss her? All five feet ten inches of her!
‘Hi. I’m Radha. I’m in class with you.’
‘Never seen you before. They did say they were going to do something about the lighting, though.’
If Sri were feeling less optimistic, he would say her smile was tired. But, the ladder was back and the Knight Accountant could see a most desirable asset.
‘I’ve only just come to Bombay. I had to apply for a transfer. I was in the Pune batch.’
Pune? Was she around when I’d put my tail between my legs and left Savio’s place?
‘I won’t take much of your time. I am a science student. I am stuck as far as Accounts goes.’
Every sentence she’d said so far began with an I. Now that he thought of it even the opening Hi had sounded like an I. She had reached eight so far.
He said, ‘Okay. What would you like me to do?’
Just back in training, there was the larger picture involving Radha’s tutelage. However, like any Knight Accountant would desire, it was best the quest be put into words. By the damsel!
‘I was thinking of coming here early. I could call you in advance. I can even pick you up if—’
The count of Is is eleven. She’s brought a full team to the ground.
‘A private tuition? At the feet of the—’
‘What the fuck are you doing chatting with this guy? I’ve been waiting like an idiot at Regal cinema for you.’
The bomb blasts earlier that year hadn’t shaken Sri up as much as this explosion. He blinked.
All five feet ten inches of Radha addressed all six feet one of the eruption. ‘Shit. So sorry, Javed! Give me a second. Let me sort out some Accounts.’
‘This guy owes you money?’
Javed’s inability to spot the difference between a course subject and a debtor was disappointing. His emphasis wasn’t flattering either. It would appear he had little faith in Sri’s ability to return the bucks he hadn’t taken. The Knight Accountant was not impressed. An inch shorter he was. An outstanding debtor and defaulter he was not.
‘NO, Javed! Just give me a second, please.’ She directed him away gently.
Javed took a couple of steps and turned dramatically.
‘He really doesn’t owe me any money, Javed.’ To Sri, she said, ‘I’m sorry. I totally forgot he was waiting. I’ll call you later.’ She dialed in the air.
Fourteen Is on the trot. Fourteen. Ehn?
Sri gave her his home number.
Radha left. Sri watched her behind. He gazed at Javed’s behind, too. Couldn’t help it. They were in the same frame. Then he walked to the 122 bus stop at Marine Lines.
Back in 101, Ganga Sagar, he whispered her name. It thrilled him. Radha[66] and Krishna[67]: a love eternal. Pulling out the metal flute he’d bought, after watching Jethro Tull, he let it rip.
From across the gutter, Maurice D’cunha yelled, ‘Stop it, man! It’s scaring Snowy. The dog’s running around, peeing all over the house.’
7. the knight accountant walks into it
That very night, after Sri’s flute solo but not as a result of which, Anirudh spoke of marriage. He was in love with a girl who’d come to the showroom. His younger brother said stuff like that happened all the time. Work is to be kept separate from pleasure were Sri’s precise words.
Anirudh lifted a finger to his lips. He fluffed his pillow proudly. ‘She loves me, man. Can you believe it?’
‘No. I can’t.’
‘But she does.’
‘How do you know?’
‘She told me, you dick.’
‘She walked into the showroom and said she loves you? Come on, Ani. Do you think I’m Maurice?’
‘Not like that, you idiot! She came three months back with a friend. He wanted to buy a bike. One thing led to another.’
Sri tuned in immediately. This was the language he understood. Things (because that’s just the way they are) reproduce, and soon several little things scream for attention.
‘But marriage?’
‘She’s pregnant.’
‘With your kid?’
One thing had led to another; one so far out that Sri switched on the reading lamp.
Ani’s gone in for the biggest of all the little things.
&nb
sp; Ani pushed Sri’s hand back to the switch. ‘Put it off, you dick. Mom will come in and yell.’
The rest of the conversation continued in the flickering of the streetlight outside.
‘Fuck! How did you manage to get her pregnant, Ani?’
‘The answer is in what you just said.’
‘Three months back? Why didn’t you tell me before?’
‘She wasn’t pregnant then. It happened around a month back.’
‘Mom will kill you. You’re not supposed to get chicks pregnant. You know how they were about the library. This is going to—’
‘Shut up, Sri. I didn’t get Zahra pregnant because they stopped the library. I’m not trying to spite Mom. I love Zahra and I’m going to get married. End of story.’
‘Zahra? Is that her name?’
‘Ehn?’
‘Ani. The question is simple enough. Is her name Zahra?’
‘Oh that. Yes.’
Ani’s admission brought their bickering to a halt. In the intermittent darkness, Sri could sense Ani looking away. Things were going seriously off the rails. That Ani was going to get married was definitely not fine but he might limp through. That he’d already got the girl pregnant was presumptuous but there was still the power of prayer. However, all that was before he took her name.
Zahra! Ani is going to get married to a Muslim chick. The inferno will raze the whole of Ganga Sagar to the ground.
Over breakfast, he couldn’t take his eyes off Ani who was ploughing through a mound of idlis[68] soaked in coconut chutney and gingelly oil.
Bloody appetite of a guy on death row!
Sri stole glances at his mother to see if she had picked up the scent. Her bedroom was downwind from the boys’ room.
No telltale signs.
The scene was idyllic. Ears twitching, the innocent young fawn munched away while the winged dragon crumpled the latest telephone bill and flung it into the gutter.
‘Too many calls. Just too many calls. This house can’t afford this. I tell you I’m going to break down.’
Safe.
Dad rumbled in that morning-after voice of his.
A Ladder of Panties Page 11
