The fragrance of jasmine and lilies announced her arrival. Sri looked up. And bit his tongue.
I bit the inside of my cheek.
‘Mohina?’
‘Sri?’
‘Oh, Phurck!’
‘Shoo! There are kids around.’
‘What are you doing here?’
‘These girls are from my daughter’s class.’
‘Your daughter’s here?’
‘No. I’m standing in for one of the mothers. We’re recording a choral piece for our annual day programme.’
‘Sri! Can’t you get those girls to be quiet?’ The voice was on his cell phone. It sounded exactly like the marine monster of yesteryear.
‘Radha. I want you to meet someone. Come fast.’
All five feet ten inches of Radha arrived. Not looking happy.
‘Radha. Meet Mohina. She was my girlfriend. We used to go around in college.’
The tone used was meant to show that the past was past. Super though it was.
The receiver of one masterpiece of a card confirmed the historical side of affairs. ‘Years ago, Radha. How are you?’
‘I’m good. I thought this was work-related, Sri.’ Radha didn’t appear too keen on bearing the burden of history.
‘So how have you been, Mohina? Tell. Tell.’
‘Softer, please! You’re only adding to the noise. Abhijeet will walk out any second.’
‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to be loud.’
‘So how long have you guys been married?’
The question was asked more to distract than out of any real interest.
‘Married? We’re not married.’
The shape of Radha’s lips confirmed Sri had been a shade too quick out of the blocks.
‘If you don’t mind, I’ll get back to Abhijeet. Nice meeting you, Mohini.’
Sri stared after her, numb.
The older rung on the ladder hastened away to quieten the kids. And the surface film fused over. Over tongues and cheeks that had been bitten. History curled up and went to sleep in the arms of the present.
Mohina is married and has a daughter!
Sri reminded himself the score was 4-3. He was ahead. He’d climbed. He’d reached higher. With Radha, spelt with an I.
It was just before dinner that the glass of water slipped out of Radha’s hand.
‘Don’t move,’ Sri blurted out. ‘You aren’t wearing slippers. You’ll cut yourself.’
‘You’re really proud we aren’t married. Aren’t you, Srinivas?’
‘I’ll get you your slippers.’
‘I’m not a child. You heard what I said. You announced it to Mohini.’
‘Announced what? And her name is Mohina.’
‘Her name means nothing to me, Mr. Proud-to-be-single.’
The glass shards stuck out of the water on the floor. Like icebergs. And he was only a little penguin.
‘Listen, Radha! I was only telling her the truth.’
‘I’d like a little sensitivity if the truth involves me. Especially if you’re going to fling it about in front of your girlfriends! Thank you.’
‘Why aren’t we married, Radha? And I don’t want any sensitivity. Thank you.’
‘I don’t know. I don’t know.’ Then using the same three words, she put the issue beyond all doubt. ‘I don’t know what’s happening with that money? Am I ever going to see it?’
That night, Radha assumed what had become the only way she slept. Sri didn’t sleep at all.
So? Is it time to duck? Nope. There’s still poetry in the air. What began with a Hi was still firming up.
The scene at Real Sound had ground down. There were long gaps between bookings, and everyone had time on hand to closely examine their fingernails.
A few visitors of no commercial value would come in just to hang out, friends of so and/or so. One such dropper-by was a college buddy of Minette, the switchboard girl.
In all Sri’s twenty-eight years, he’d never seen hair this red.
You’ve got to be a lunatic to dye your hair like this.
It’s turned her into the face of chaos and desert storms. She’s the Set Animal, the primordial Egyptian demon.
He shuddered then pretended the air-conditioning was too high.
Much like the albatross around Radha’s neck, the Set Animal set about plaguing Real Sound. Possessed of a marvellous thirst and appetite, it was also a most commendable freeloader. As the clouds above Real Sound turned greyer, the same could be said for Sri’s hair.
‘Sri, do you mind if I use Studio Three for a couple of minutes? Minette told me it’s free. I’ve asked Ravi and he’s free too.’
Why is this flaming phantom hanging about the premises? Isn’t it enough that over the last week it has devoured all the tea in Upper Egypt?
‘I can’t say I’m thrilled to hear Studio Three is free, nor can I say my heartstrings hum with joy to note our sound recordist is similarly placed, but I have full faith you don’t intend to leave me in the dark for too long. What do you have in mind?’
‘I want to make a demo CD. It’d be really cool if you let me practise. If you don’t mind, I’ll use any studio when it’s free. That way you guys won’t lose anything.’
Now it wants more for free?
‘This is a business, you know. We will not be frowned at if we charge for the usage of our studios. And it just so happens that clients can only use them if they’re untenanted ergo free. Which part of this process perplexes you?’
The beast grinned tight-facedly. Two points appeared in the flesh above its upper lip suggesting a nasty underbite.
‘Come on, Sri, yaar. Please. Minette is very close to me. She’ll do all the coordinating. You won’t have to worry about a thing. Just an hour a day. Come on. Don’t tell me you’re going to get hassled about something this small.’
Snap! The jaws of the Set Animal closed about him. Not wanting to come across as cheap, he agreed.
Can’t have her ripping us off! Give it the 360.
The student of history, with a special passion for his own, turned to that trove of inspiration: the white plastic bag. It had been a while since he’d last used its services, but these were desperate times. The distance between shit and fan was closing up.
His fingertips touched a matchstick.
Aaah! This one is from the Olivia night. Lesbians! Who? Where? Can’t be. The matchsticks were right on top thaaaat’s why I touched them first.
He went in for re-entry. Out came one of Mohina’s cards. It had a cartoon of two girls in conversation.
Two chicks? Oh, Phurck! Once again, I’ve missed something right under my nose. They’re always sharing ciggies, tea, even dosas[76]. Just about anything that touches the lips. That’s the way it’s being played this time around. Exposure. Not the other word. Matchsticks! Two chicks! The wise white one is guiding me. In rhyme. I’ve got to answer for four lakh seventy-five thousand. Can’t be seen donating to the Fund for Lovebirds and Lesbians. The Set Animal with her flaming red feathers is obviously the industrious male and modest Minette, the female. Hah! They’re going to have to move their little love nest out from behind the switchboard.
‘Sir. Can my friend use Studio Three? It’s free right now.’
‘Minette, I’ve already had a word with her. Please don’t hurry me. I’ll tell you when, later.’
‘Thank you, sir. This means so much to me.’
Pensive panties were hitched up.
The pomegranate chick had looked at me, worried, all through that evening in Pune. What was she scared of? An obstacle? A love interest! Riiiiight! Who can replace me in this edition? Who can create a similar aura of suspicion and fear? Ravi, the sound recordist! Of bloody course! His pronounced body odour will do much to create an air, heavy with hesitation. Is that enough, though? Mere odour won’t repel a beast the stature of the Set Animal. As long as it’s free, she’ll breathe it all in like mountain breeze. What if Ravi were introduced as a lover? A bounding, enthusias
tic suitor smelling of days old yoghurt, socks and train travel? That’s a plan and a half. It’ll turn her bloody hair grey!
Sri twirled an imaginary moustache.
‘Ravi. I’ve been meaning to talk to you for a while.’
‘What about, sir?’
‘You don’t need me to tell you we aren’t doing well.’
‘Yes?’
‘Now understand this. Radha’s doing her best to spread the word. Get new clients. Networking. While she’s out there, it’s our job to do our best here. See what I mean?’
‘Yes?’
‘What I’m asking for isn’t much.’
‘What, sir?’
‘Show more courtesy to clients. Raise your service.’
Ravi scratched his inner thigh absently.
‘We have to value every client inside. The ones outside will come. But, what about those already here? I want our staff behaviour amped up. I mean the highest level of courtesy and service. Do you get me?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Smile at clients. Greet them. Open the studio door. Test the mics. Offer suggestions. Give the client what he wants. Not before he asks, but even before he thinks of it!’
‘Sir, clients get what they want from the artiste. They won’t like me interfering.’
‘Listen. We have to change something about the way we work. Because I hate to say if things don’t improve, your job…’ Sri let that drift.
To safeguard against Ravi effing up the heads of the few remaining clients, the Set Animal’s session was scheduled first thing in the morning.
The next morning, when the Set Animal arrived for her freebie, she found a service-oriented Ravi by her shoulder. Behind her and under her feet. In fact, there was nowhere he wasn’t.
Broad smiles and thumbs-ups burst from the sound console as she read out, but obviously, from Little Women. There was even the odd hug. Ravi was going for glory. The Set Animal wore an expression thus far unseen on premises. Apprehension. Sri didn’t relax. He knew this was only Part One of the plan.
Minette was sent out to get some scripts copied. In her absence, a haiku was unimaginatively printed out. It was the same one from the book, ‘It’. Ben Hanscom had written it to Beverly Marsh, the girl with red hair. He had, pretty niftily, told the bird her hair was like winter fire. He’d also added his heart burned in those January embers.
Bloody work of art!
This was Part Two. Sri exhaled.
To even the most slender of intellects, it was a dead cert this plan was nuanced, possessed of multiple layers of complexity, begging the question—why the long-spun tale when short stuff could so easily make the cut?
If past events could be accessed like recent files on a computer, at least three prior instances had required the same toss-up. Between the long-spun tale and the short stuff. And Sri was still to figure what went where.
Part Three was conducted over the internal line.
‘Minette. Aaah, you’re back! Excellent. Please brief your friend on the rules we have at the studio.’
‘Sorry, sir. Did she do something?’
‘Nothing as yet. But, I’d be happy if you could have a word with her. Immediately. Especially with respect to what she can expect for free and what she can’t.’
‘I’ll do it right away. Anything else, sir?’
‘And not with Ravi around.’
Minette signalled to the girl inside the booth. Ravi grinned as he opened the door for her. He also escorted the two girls to the switchboard from where he was politely asked to return. Minette spoke to the Set Animal in whispers.
Part Four called for split-second timing. The returning Ravi was collared and asked to wait in Sri’s cabin. Sri left.
Five. With the stealth of a man with a plan, he taped the haiku (the one with stuff burning in red hair) to the open page in Little Women. He raced back. All within sixty seconds.
Six.
‘Didn’t realise you had a client. Go back! We’ll talk later.’
A bewildered Ravi left to be courteous and provide service. It was only after Ravi had scratched himself intermittently over the next four minutes that the Set Animal returned. In seconds, it seized on the haiku. It bared its fangs and rushed to the door of the booth. Ravi grinned, held it open and escorted her back to Minette. Once again, Ravi was politely asked to return.
The haiku was dropped in Minette’s lap. She spoke in an even lower voice to the Set Animal. The Set Animal made a beeline for her bag and stomped out.
After a week, it was safe to say Real Sound might not be out of the red but the red, sure as hell, was out of Real Sound.
Sri sipped on his vodka like a tycoon. Hands behind her back, Radha entered the living room. The thoughtful, understanding mother was a soft step behind.
‘So you’re allowing girls to use the studio for free?’ Radha’s hands remained motionless.
‘What girl? Where?’ A man at the top of his game cannot be fazed.
The mother reached behind Radha and pulled out a slip of paper with a flourish. ‘The same one you wrote this love letter to.’
Once more, the long-spun tale and the short stuff went toe-to-toe. Again, the outcome was no less remarkable.
‘That poem was written by Ravi. Not me.’ An actor’s best tool is belief.
‘I saw it in the recent documents folder on the comp. Only you and I have the password to create documents.’ The ‘Gotcha’ in Radha’s voice was unmistakable. ‘To blame Ravi is not only cheap, it’s cowardly.’
Now. Duck!
And Sri was down.
What began with a Hi, all those years ago, was about to blow up… with a haiku. Yet again, he had managed to fall in love.
Radha with an I had been wronged. A cold fire burned in the thoughtful, understanding mother’s eyes.
He fished for support. ‘I don’t mind leaving. I know how you felt about Javed. I’ve only stayed all this time because—’
Radha exploded with rage. ‘You can’t leave. Not if you have any decency.’
‘—of some weird hope that you still liked me. You really want me to stay?’ Confused wagging again.
‘Yes, Srinivas. Until you straighten out the mess you’ve made with my money.’
No confusion at all.
That night Radha moved into her mother’s bedroom. Snap Tie.
Life in 1603, Kohinoor Apartments, became wait and watch from this point onwards. And Sri found himself ensconced in the finest of female inners. Easily rivalling those at 101, Ganga Sagar.
It was only in the coming summer that the investments broke even. SHIT happened.
Sanjay Kewalramani called one evening to say the market had broken out. Sri didn’t bother to find out why or what over. Immediate sale was his instruction.
In firm handwriting, Radha and her mother were assured their monies would be realised within four working days. Sanjay Kewalramani’s contact details formed part of the note so did the promise to repay the notional interest lost on the money invested. This letter of intent was peppered with Is.
The Knight Accountant closed the door behind him. Knowing he would never return.
The bus journey back to Opera House raised several issues, all with a rather repetitive theme. This wasn’t the way it was meant to be.
I can’t be with my eye on the target at one point and then hurtling down to the dragon’s lair, the next. Even if all I am, is a cartoon. Oh, Phurck! Mom will kill me.
Matchsticks, two chicks and that’s equal to lesbians behind switchboards? Sri, Sri, Sri. For a man with a plan... ha ha ha. I’m not being heartless. Really I’m not. I’m just sticking to the have-a-bit-of-a-laugh motif. Climbing up this ladder of panties, it would seem his own were in tatters.
On his left wrist was the Tag Heuer Radha had gifted him. He looked at it as he climbed up the steps to 101, Ganga Sagar then at the white plastic bag in hand. He thought of dropping the watch inside. His eyes lost their defeated dullness. There was something else to feed the wis
e white one.
Haven’t I made a video of Radha’s Is? Isn’t that DVD already in the bag?
Surely, the mind boggles. How could any amount of film capture all of them? This time, there was no argument between the long-spun tale and the short stuff.
It was in the process. Use natural light, falling softly, on the face of the subject. Start filming. Make sure the subject is looking straight into the camera lens. Zoom in slowly until the frame is filled with nothing but… her eyes.
Sri looked at the Tag Heuer in relief. Taking it off would have been inviting a fate worse than marination.
Back in 101 Ganga Sagar, time means everything.
to the top
9. in the lift
The chicks were rotating.
That would mean they’re spinning in their seats.
He took a long, slow look at the girl to his left.
Yasmin isn’t spinning. What’s the other thing planets do? These chicks are doing that. I’m the sun.
He drained his glass of sparkling wine.
Stopping the car by the side of the road, he poured out another glass. The doors opened as they had throughout the journey. They closed. Placing the glass safely between his thighs, he was driving after all, he glanced left.
Another resounding success for Indian astronomy! It’s not the same girl. Yasmin’s gone. It’s Anu now. What’s that bloody word?
Filling the car was that guy’s voice. Singing about cars and girls. And Sri was back at the party for boys to meet girls for the first time.
They had a car then. They have a car now. They had been drunk as skunks then. Ditto. What about that night I returned from Radha’s? Drop it! The Rosy Pelican at Liberty Gardens had been drunk before I’d ever fallen in love. This sparkling wine is being consumed in full knowledge I’ll never use that shitty word again. Why am I like this? Three pissed chicks going round and round. And I’m running circles in my past? Damn it! I’m with three revolving—Aaah! That’s the bloody word—chicks.
How now this revolution amongst drunken womankind? That would require hitting the previous button and stopping at the moment Sri entered a party thrown by Erica, the head of a film production unit.
A Ladder of Panties Page 15
