A Ladder of Panties

by Sandeep Jayaram

  ‘Bloody telephone bills. They’ve stopped the bloody liburry and started on the bloody telephone.’

  Even better.

  ‘Mom, I’m getting married.’

  Oh, Phurck!

  ‘What did you say?’

  ‘I’m getting married.’

  ‘With whose permission?’

  ‘Do I need someone’s?’

  ‘Don’t talk to your mother like that!’ This was a resurgent Dad. He seemed to draw strength from any mention of the library.

  ‘Okay, Dad. I’m in love with someone and I want to marry her.’

  ‘No. You can’t.’ Her rejection was flat. Dead. Given her years at marinating any and all manner of life, it came easily.

  ‘Don’t think I need your permission, Mom. I really love her and she’s—‘

  ‘She’s such a lovely girl, Mom. She reminds me of you.’

  ‘How would you know, Sri? Have you also met her? If so’—her lips stretched into a mix between a grimace and smirk—‘it would appear secret plans have been on for a while.’

  ‘Sri hasn’t met her. I told him about her last night. He’s scared…’

  ‘Scared of what?’

  Fears, in such a nurturing environment, were preposterous. The perspicacious one gripped the arms of his chair. He knew from past exposure that this tone preceded cataclysms of unprecedented magnitude.

  ‘... that you’ll freak out when you find out Zahra is pregnant.’

  ‘Zahra? Is that her name now? Sounds foreign. Is she a foreigner? These foreigners always get pregnant before marriage.’ Mr. Ramachandran bounced back in with his take on international mating practices.

  His wife ignored him. ‘No son of mine is getting married to a Muslim. That is something I will not tolerate.’

  ‘A Muslim? Never thought Muslims got pregnant before marriage.’

  ‘Shut up, Chandra.’

  Dad looked hurt but followed instructions.

  ‘Even after the bomb blasts you still want to get married to a Muslim, haan?’

  ‘Zahra didn’t mastermind the bomb blasts. Please, Mom? She’s pregnant with my kid.’

  If Ani keeps revisiting Zahra’s pregnancy like it’s a shrine where wishes are doled out, there will be no question of living to fight another day. Come on, people. Both you have presented your points. Why don’t we take a relook at some future date? Examine all the evidence in new light? Preferably a few years down the line. By then, I’ll have risen in love and life. Out of harm’s way.

  The goddess, however, had other ideas. Bad things were afoot. Such developments could upset the balance of power inside 101, Ganga Sagar.

  ‘I will not have a Muslim girl under my roof.’

  Having three men under her hoof meant her latest amendment to the house rules had to be accepted, uncontested.

  ‘Why? Why not, Mom? Don’t think you can come between me and Zahra.’

  ‘Obviously I can’t. She wouldn’t be pregnant if I could.’

  ‘Listen, Mom. I’m twenty-six. I don’t need to listen to this shit.’

  ‘Watch your language in this house. Of course, if you don’t want to stay here…’

  ‘I knew you’d throw that in my face. I don’t know what importance this bloody house has in your head. Did you really think I hadn’t given it a thought?’

  ‘And what have you thought, Ani? You and your pregnant Muslim girl are going to stay in a sidecar?’

  Anirudh Ramachandran chuckled nastily. For a dud who’d managed to fail in all manner of Accounts, his balance sheet had finally tallied.

  ‘No sidecar for Zahra and me. We’ve already paid the deposit for a flat in Bandra.’

  The demon-rider turned bike-dealer got up from the table and placed his plate in the kitchen sink. Before walking out of the room, he squeezed Dad’s shoulder.

  ‘You’ll have to get someone else to save you and this performance from tomatoes.’

  Silence.

  In that instant, their wedding card appeared in front of Sri’s eyes.

  Zero weds Zahra. Not really, Ani’s no zero. He’s gone one up on that Czech guy and his nightmarish fantasy story. Here in 101, Ganga Sagar, the beetle has metamorphosed into a superhero. He’s shed his panties and donned a cape. He’s the defender of pregnant Muslims. Ani’s taken on the Red Queen in her castle and won. And it’s all because of Zahra. I need a Zahra: someone who’ll give me super powers. Radha?

  A long shadow fell across Sri’s deliberations. It belonged to the wicked Grand Vizier and Chancellor of the Exchequer, Javed.

  It didn’t take the winged dragon too long. While Ani was at work, she packed all his belongings into two suitcases. Sri watched helplessly, tears filling his yes.

  By evening, he put his foot down. ‘Mom, you can’t do this. How can you throw Ani out of the house?’

  ‘I’m not throwing him out. He’s the one who made the choice.’

  A horrified Mr. Ramachandran got into the act. ‘Listen, Madhavi. This is madness. This is Anirudh’s house as much as anyone else’s.’

  ‘Chandra. Just because you’ve managed to remain sober doesn’t mean you’ve the right to tell me what happens in my house.’ She didn’t even look at him.

  ‘Listen, Madhavi. He is our son. We can’t do this.’

  Still looking away, she hissed, ‘Please, Chandra. Shut up.’

  The doorbell rang.

  ‘Aunty, Ani has asked me to collect his stuff.’

  Looking at his brother’s right-hand man through a curtain of tears, Sri’s face shone with pride. His older brother was still ahead of the game.

  ‘Right there! Just remember, once those suitcases leave this house they’re never coming back.’

  Maurice walked to the suitcases.

  ‘Morerayas?’

  ‘Yes, Aunty.’

  ‘Remember what I said.’

  Maurice nodded. Before letting himself out, he gave Sri a slip of paper. On it was a suburban telephone number.

  ‘It’s for the best, re. Be jolly, men.’

  That night didn’t feature a submerged Dad. He didn’t even look in the direction of the bar. A scraping sound accompanied the rocking of the chair. The remaining son sat on the floor, by his feet.

  Sri pulled out the chit and gave it to Dad. They looked at each other before Sri took Dad’s hand in his own. The queen of 101, Ganga Sagar watched TV and knitted away. From the balcony, father and son stared into the darkness trying to figure out how far the elastic stretched.

  A week passed. Quietly. Both Dad and Sri tried Ani but were unable to get through. Luckily, Maurice came by with the latest. He said Ani was looking happier than ever. Zahra’s parents’ resistance, dire predictions and threats had all been shown the door. Not many parents could take a flat in Bandra head-on. But it wasn’t just the real estate move. It was the look the rebel faction wore. They were a man and woman who earned their keep. And there was a kid on the way.

  Woman Two called. She got offended when Sri called her that and reminded him of her name. This he promptly forgot. In the course of the same conversation, she mentioned Woman One’s name. This was dealt with similarly.

  Why should I cram my head with the names of married women? They’re only being used to establish credibility. Be happy I gave you my telephone number and leave it at that.

  Woman Two wanted him to come earlier to class. Woman One would also be there. Sri agreed.

  The same night, Radha called. She wanted in on the Accounts action. Such an appreciation of his skills should have triggered a trill of joy. Instead, all there was... was a sardonic curl of the lips. But as Maurice pronounced Morerayas said—It’s for the best, re.

  Radha was asked to join the other two.

  All three sets of female eyes were on Sri. He wished for the nth time Anirudh were around.

  From the door came a male voice. ‘You’re teaching them Accounts, aren’t you? Can we come in?’

  Sri nodded. In came a couple fresh out of college.
/>   Suburban sorts: Virar One and Two. Couples deserve the same treatment as married women.

  From the initial stages itself, the suburban sorts moved into an early lead. Elsewhere in class, however, much pain ruled. Observing this, the perspicacious one used real-life examples. And life became more tolerable. Sri’s students stopped picking at their forearms and got on with putting pen to paper. The pre-lecture ended with Woman One, Woman Two and Radha in agreement that double entry wasn’t about entering and reentering a room. Not a second too late.

  The mob that formed the regular batch entered.

  From time to time in the lecture, Sri sneaked looks at Radha.

  Is the lighting doing her justice? Is she just better looking than the others or does she whip them silly? How expensive are her clothes? Does she have rings around her toes? Where did that fucking tattoo come from? It was on her left upper arm, peeking out from beneath the T-shirt sleeve. A burst of red, blue and purple. Not wanting to make it obvious, he dragged his eyes off. And returned. Again and again.

  He wished the other would return too. It’s for the best, re. Ani had lit up the path. He’d shown what needed to be done.

  After classes, he delayed heading back home. That den of delight, Ganga Sagar, had surrendered its ability to draw crowds from all over. Its star performer had taken leave of his senses and stopped drinking. With Dad separating himself from the bottle and Anirudh preoccupied with making babies in Bandra, the audience was left with the clicking of her knitting needles. Not exactly riotous.

  ‘Two paise for your thoughts.’

  ‘Two bucks, please. Fag prices are skimming the tree tops.’

  ‘Have it your way.’

  ‘That’s an unusual tattoo. What does it mean?’

  ‘It’s not a tattoo.’

  ‘Oh! What is it then? Bloody hell. You chicks have so many tricks up your sleeves.’

  ‘Some of us bruise easily. It’s where he pinched me.’

  ‘Pinched? Who?’

  ‘My boyfriend. You met him the other day.’

  ‘He pinches?’ Sri couldn’t help but laugh. Then he laughed some more.

  A guy who pinches? This is what 101, Ganga Sagar needs. A serious crowd-puller. Shit! I’m laughing at my superpower.

  ‘I’m sorry. I wasn’t laughing at you. I was laughing at him. To think a guy would pinch a chick is so... so...’

  Radha pulled her sleeve over the bruise. ‘This was for making him wait.’

  And I thought he was a fine example of explosive masculinity. Jumped to conclusions again. Should have shown some restr... No. Not that word. Ever.

  ‘Anyway, thanks for the lecture. Bye.’

  ‘Hang on. I wasn’t laughing at you. Really. Believe me.’

  ‘Okay. Bye.’

  He took a few steps behind her and dropped his voice. ‘You shouldn’t be tolerating this shit. Tell me if you need help.’

  He meant it.

  Some superpowers need nurturing before they unleash their full potential.

  ‘And what? You’ll punch him?’

  ‘I could pinch him if you prefer.’

  She shook her head sadly and left him smoking on the roadside. Not even one I! The wicked Grand Vizier and Chancellor of the Exchequer had pinched the self-belief out of her.

  Radha with all her Is blazing is the woman I must have. Not this sad shadow. The Knight Accountant must take it upon himself to rectify this imbalance. This is my pinch to bear. I will put the I back in Radha. For it is Radha, spelt with an I, who will put Mohina to sleep.

  He lit another Gold Flake and wondered how big her place was.

  It took a few more days before the brothers finally reconnected over the phone.

  ‘Sure, Sri. Why don’t you come over? Actually, don’t. Actually, I didn’t mean it that way. You’re welcome to come over but you can’t smoke. Zahra’s... you know.’

  Another voice joined in over Anirudh’s.

  ‘Don’t worry about that. You can smoke if you want. Come over, Sri. I haven’t met you. I’d love to.’

  That’s what she sounds like. Happy! Devil-may-care!

  No wonder that idiot Maurice was singing hymns in praise of Zahra and holy matrimony. Lucky bastard Ani!

  Dad’s eyes filled with tears when he heard of the telephone call. Sri asked if he’d like to go over. Dad said he’d only just got back from there.

  Bloody hell! Sneaky, sober Dad.

  That night Dad poured himself a drink. And then several more.

  ‘Started drinking again, have you?’

  ‘I’ve reason to. I’m happy.’

  ‘Reason to? Ha. Drunk because you’re happy. Drunk because you’re sad. Drunk even when you’re sober.’

  ‘Today’s been a good day. Please don’t spoil it, Madhavi.’

  ‘Mom, I spoke to Zahra. She sounds really cool. I mean...’

  Dad straightened up and glared at Sri. But the needle was on the record.

  Sri continued. ‘She’s called me over. Come with me, na?’

  The response to his plea was a full-bodied smirk. The needles knitted on.

  ‘Madhavi, how long are you going to hang on to your anger? He’s our—’

  ‘Chandra, there’s no anger. Only disappointment.’ She breathed out and closed her eyes. ‘Disappointed Anirudh hasn’t shown any character. Disappointed Sri hasn’t got a job. As for you? I don’t even have the words.’

  ‘Mom. Stop it. Please. I know you’re disappointed with Ani and me but please stop talking to Dad like this.’

  ‘Why? Isn’t one allowed to say anything to you men? Is one just supposed to suffer quietly?’

  She and suffer quietly? Is she on some stuff? Are those bloody knitting needles or hypodermics?

  ‘Do you know how it feels to be ganged up on? I just open my mouth and you men pounce. I’m… I can’t breathe in this house.’

  Should stop walking into stuff! She has a point. Dad lost his last job on account of confusing work hours with happy hours. Marital bliss must have taken a hit. Still, Dad’s a fun guy. And fun guys really don’t have too much fun.

  ‘Right. Right. But Dad’s such a laugh with a glass in his hand.’ Sri thought he’d use the glass is half-full approach.

  ‘He’d be more fun if he had a pay cheque in his hand.’

  As usual, she made it a point to drain the cup.

  The telephone rang. Dad sipped with intent. The goddess waved dismissively. Sri got up.

  ‘Hello.’

  ‘Hi. Are you free? Can you meet?’ The voice was urgent.

  ‘More than happy to. Possible to get a name and address?’

  ‘Listen, Srinivas. This is Radha. I’m in a fix. There’s no one I can trust in Bombay. Will you help me?’

  Sri spoke in a much lower voice to counter the powers of the goddess. ‘What about your boyfriend? In a pinch I’d have thought he’d be the guy to go to.’

  ‘Oh god! Please, Srinivas. I need help. Please come.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Whispering into the phone won’t change anything.’

  He winced.

  You just can’t beat the saree-clad dragon.

  ‘It’s after 9 o’clock. You’re not going anywhere.’

  As the hour’s grown darker so have her powers.

  The worry in Radha’s voice went up a notch. ‘Worli Sea Face. Outside Aarey Milk.’

  ‘Give me an hour. I’ll be there.’

  ‘An hour? That’s too long.’

  ‘But it’ll take that long for a bus.’

  ‘Take a cab.’

  ‘I don’t have that kind of money.’ Fearing for impressions and all, he added, ‘I forgot to go to the bank today.’

  ‘Take a cab. I’ll pay for it.’

  Some Is have returned. Not many, but things are looking up. Now if I can just pull on my shoes without…

  ‘What are you doing, may I ask?’

  ‘A friend of mine needs help. She has no one else to go to. Please, Ma. I have to—’r />
  ‘She? What kind of girl needs help at night?’

  ‘The kind that’s shameless enough not to schedule problems for earlier. I beg of you. I’ll be back by midnight. Please, Mom.’

  ‘Save your sarcasm for your Cinderella. I’ll be awake waiting, so no hanky-panky. Make sure you’re back on time. And don’t forget this means you can’t go out on Saturday night. No begging then. Understand?’

  She’s sunk my Saturday plans! My breathing is up against it, too. This bloody elastic is strangling me.

  ‘Yes, Mom. I heard you clearly. No going out on Saturday. I won’t even ask. But why stay awake tonight? Go to sleep, na.’

  ‘How can I? Who’ll open the door to you? That alcoholic?’

  ‘Why don’t you give us keys?’ Then seeing time was short and the chapter opened vast, he brought his hands together as if in prayer. ‘Forget I said that. Just forget it.’

  With that, Sri closed yet another door on yet another night, head bowed, knowing he’d return.

  His mother’s voice rang out from inside the flat. ‘Heard that? Says he wants keys. Doesn’t even have a job and he wants keys.’

  ‘It’ll become like the telephone, I say. The way the boys use it without any...’ Realising the unnecessary plural, Dad shut up.

  She was different from that French guy’s statue, Le Penseur[69], in three ways. She was female. She was fully clothed. And she was on Worli Sea Face. In all other respects, she was the same. Radha had been thinking.

  Sri was quickly brought up to speed. Radha’s father, in Abu Dhabi, had given her an apartment to stay in while studying in Mumbai. It was one of several he owned.

  Sri quivered in excitement.

  To share the joy of living in Bombay, she’d invited Javed to move in with her. This subtlety had not been mentioned to her parents.

  Sri knowingly rubbed his nose.

  While she was supervising the running of her father’s sound studio during the week—Sri quivered again—and studying at Red Rock, Javed had taken it upon himself to pass his idle hours in the company of women who specialised at house calls.

  Stumbling, by chance, upon this progression in plot and finding it equally advanced in its disregard for clothing, Radha asked Javed to leave. Instead, something else left the room. She was pinched again. Radha pulled the other sleeve up.

  This time Sri didn’t laugh.