There was a high possibility this wouldn’t be worth the set-up time. She didn’t come across as being particularly bright. But could Sri ignore the other possibility? A new direction in interpersonal connectivity!
‘People bite each other’s earlobes during moments of passion. Sometimes it gets a bit much. We provide a discreet replacement service.’
‘Shit! Didn’t think of that at all. This is really a niche business, isn’t it?’
And the tide turned. The waves were running for him.
‘Yes. My father started it some years ago after visiting Germany.’
‘Germany?’
‘Sorry. Meant the Netherlands. Shall we get another drink?’
Moving away from the dance floor, Sri chided himself on the slip-up but redemption wasn’t far away.
‘Let me get that. Just because I do business with the Netherlands doesn’t mean we have to go Dutch.’
Lights came on at Project Tiger. It was the first thing she had understood all evening. Her preference for repeating words and lobbing them back with question marks was replaced by a curious smile.
Sri soon found out Tina wasn’t always this way. She used to be the kind who’d just get on with doing things rather than ask questions. Unfortunately, she too was in a flap. Delhi, where she came from, was very different from Mumbai. Mumbai was a place to be wished on others: those you loathe at a cellular level.
Her biggest grouse was the way people spoke. It could be argued that as an Assistant Director in a production house, her job called for things to be as per schedule. Her thesis on speech patterns at the workplace could ideally come later.
This being true, when Chacko Philipose, her immediate boss, gave her two hours to arrange ‘deeb resonund boys for the teaser’, pardon with attached question mark should have been lobbed back. Instead, Tina had got in touch with a model coordinator and asked for a video database of plump school-going boys.
To her mind, ‘deeb and resonund’ sounded overweight-ish. If that was what was wanted, then that was precisely what would be delivered. Instead of asking questions, she’d gone with gut feel.
This footage had then been laid at the feet of Debabrata Ghosh, the director. Upon inspecting mile after mile of fat school-going boys, the show was brought to an abrupt end.
‘Is there a reason why I’m watching this?’
‘Isn’t this what…?’
‘So there is no hidden purpose?’
‘I felt healthy schoolboys…’
‘What? Actually, fuck that! Call Chacko in, please. With the brief I gave him.’
With the arrival of Chacko and documentation, Tina was made aware of her senior’s ability to conjure up the magic of Malayalam while speaking in English.
Under voice-over requirements, where Debabrata’s finger was, it read—a deep resonant voice for the teacher.
Much like the voice she was hearing through the music. ‘Deeb and resonund.’ That’s what had made her smile when he’d asked for a glass of wine. Pity! The guy exported ears or some shit like that.
Sri took note of the dreamy look in Project Tiger’s eyes.
Suchlike can be recognised, in the language of shipping magnates, as the prelude to a thrashing night on the cruise ship.
Still, this seafaring lady was a little short on years and that made the captain pensive.
Wait a sec, is the balance being righted? Is the cosmos compensating for Mohina at Twenty with Project Tiger? Bloody hell! If this kind of stuff is going down, de-uncling is a distinct possibility.
‘You know you’ve got a cool voice.’
Project Tiger and the cosmos were looked at with renewed respect.
‘Really? You’re kidding.’
‘I’m serious. You should do voice-overs and stuff.’
‘Really?’
‘Stop saying really like I’m some nut job. Have you ever tried doing one?’
‘Really? Sorry. It just slipped out.’
‘Srinivas Ramachandran, the voice in person.’ It was Debabrata Ghosh.
‘Hey, Deb. How’s it going?’
This response rightly popped the question mark back into Project Tiger’s recent grasp of affairs. The dance floor guy knows the workplace guy?
Raising an eyebrow at Tina, Deb repeated Sri’s greeting in a mock deep voice.
Sri winced—an automatic reaction to imitation—and introduced the two.
‘We know each other. Deb sir is the director of the commercial I’m working on.’ Tina spoke like a woman caught skipping through the green channel when what she was packing merited the red.
Sri said, ‘Really, now? I thought he exported prosthetic earlobes.’
‘I thought you said you exported earlobes or did I…’ She smiled a smile belying her age. Unlike Sophie and her low exit threshold, it would appear Project Tiger was a cat lover.
‘What? You export ear lobes? What have you been drinking? You’re on for the 29th, right?’ Deb asked Sri, ignoring Tina.
‘Yaaas. Just send me the script. You know I like doing my homework in advance.’
‘If it’s not too confusing, Tina, perhaps you could send Srinivas Ramachandran a soft copy of the campus script. Tomorrow.’
A biggish girl from client servicing came up, slung Deb over her shoulder and hauled him off. The song playing was ‘Drop the Pressure’.
‘Looks like you guys have a past.’
Project Tiger picked up what was dropped expectantly and walked him through the fat boy debacle.
‘Aaah,’ said Sri, his eyes alight with scarcely contained laughter. ‘That’s a bit of an achaar but it’s rich.’
‘I don’t understand. You find this funny?’
‘Not funny. Flavoursome. Be that as it may, we have much to remedy. Considering all aspects of your case, it is I who holds the key to your professional survival. Entrez[102]. Let us plot together.’
From here on, Project Tiger was brought within kissing distance of the ways of the jungle. In a lengthy but emotional speech, it was made explicit that everyone needs a helping hand especially people from out of town. Her eyes glistened with something close to hope. Capping it all, Sri glibly said he intended to bail out of the assignment at the last moment.
‘You can’t do that. You said you were going to help me.’
‘Belief is the actor’s best tool.’
‘But I’m not an actor.’
‘Okay. Don’t interrupt and I promise you’ll see the light.’ Praying she wouldn’t point to some light source, the twists and sub-plots held back so far were revealed. ‘The director of an ad film is the king of the jungle. He is taken care of by lesser animals. He never begs. He expects the ADs to do that. This is the broad sketch. We’ll script character dialogue later. Okay? Now, listen carefully. Without professionally disembowelling myself, I’ll figure a way to back out. He’ll play it cool with me. Keeping all emotions in check. But upon termination of the call, he’ll dash his bangles against the wall. He’ll shake his hair loose and smear his sindoor[103]. From his neck—’
‘Are you still talking about Deb sir?’
A hand was raised to indicate the speech wasn’t over. ‘The point I’m making is Deb will lose his head. He wants me for the job but cannot, will not, beg. Cruel words will spill from his mouth. Within seconds, they will reach you in your subterranean cavern. Verily, these will allude to the business of the fat boy bonanza. These cutting words are the cue. From the depths of darkness, Project Tiger will leap onstage and—’
‘I know I shouldn’t interrupt but who is Project Tiger?’
‘It’s your code name. This is an undercover operation.’
She absorbed this too. With that older woman smile.
Sri marched on. ‘Your role is to assure Deb you’ll get me on board. He’ll say he knows me for years. You’ll say that’s fine. He’ll say you’re new to things in Mumbai. You’ll say that’s fine too. He’ll give you an hour. You’ll say that’s more than enough. He’ll ready the lime pit to
dispose your body. You’ll pick up the phone and call me.’
Lights burned at Project Tiger.
‘I’ll plead with you and you’ll agree. You’ll give me some crazy time slot. You’ll call me to some remote studio. You’ll make things even tougher by throwing tantrums. We’ll end up staying all night, but the job will be done.’
‘Oooh. Nice touch. Hadn’t planned on the all-nighter but you’re skipping along well.’
Project Tiger linked herself to his upper arm. Nothing undercover in this operation. There was also nothing hidden in the manner her lips grazed his left ear.
When Polly Esther shut for the night, Project Tiger and Mowgli made their way back to 801, Shradhanjali to understand the specifics of Operation All-nighter by working with a real-life simulation. There was also the mandate to explore all available ears as set in motion by her preliminary interest in his.
It was in a foggy dream sequence that he woke, the kind that has a couple dancing and singing. He looked about him. He was alone. No one dancing or singing. The thinning fog parted to reveal two long strands of coloured hair on the pillow next to his.
Fog? How can there be a fog on the cruise ship?
Close by, a machine droned.
Wo-ho-kay! Must be mosquito-fogging happening outside. Remarkable enthusiasm for a bloody mossie killer!
In the bathroom, there was ‘Thanks’ scrawled in eyeliner on the mirror. Sri grinned.
Back in the bedroom, the last of the fog retreated to reveal something else.
Finally, Srinivas Ramachandran stands for something. My undies mean something. I’ve become one of those people to be slept with if you want to get ahead. I’ve arrived. You handsome devil! You! Why this prickling between my shoulder blades, then? Is it because others way younger and better looking are in on sleep and reap? Get your shit together. Where’s that bloody Mukherjee? Anu?
Then he thought of that woman. The one whose face he’d seen on top of Project Tiger’s.
Operation All-nighter came off like those Russian gymnasts. The backing out, the pleading, the actual stuff in the studio, every detail right down to the final dismount in 801, Shradhanjali was a tribute to the athlete’s dexterity.
When the call came, he was walking on Sitladevi Temple Road. Propping himself against a streetlight, he watched stunned as the temple to his left swung over to the right. Bringing along the cows tethered outside.
‘… periods… I saw the test line… purple…’
‘Oh, Phurck! How? Is it me?’
‘Of course, it’s you.’ Her breath caught. ‘What do you think I am?’
‘I’m so sorry. I just thought I was pretty good at you know… I’m sorry. My brain’s gone numb. You should see me. I’m holding onto a streetlamp outside Sitladevi temple.’
‘Listen, Sri. This isn’t about you or where you are at this point.’
‘So sorry. What do you want to do?’
‘I don’t know. I have to have an abortion.’
‘Is that what needs to be done? Isn’t there a pill or something? This has never happened to me before.’
‘Nothing has happened to you.’
‘Please, I beg you. Don’t think I’m being inconsiderate. I really don’t know shit.’
‘An abortion costs forty thousand.’
‘Forty thousand?’
‘I could get it done for twenty, though.’
‘Really?’
‘A friend’s mother is a gynaec. She’ll help.’
‘Really? I can’t figure out how…’
‘Stop saying really! Don’t you believe me? This is all because of what happened the first night we met. Listen, I don’t have any money and you’ve got me in…’
‘Don’t! Don’t say it. I didn’t mean to get you into anything.’
Contrary to the perambulatory arrangement devotees have with temples, the one at Sitladevi was going around him.
‘I know. I need to see a doc. Suppose she calls me right away?’
‘Go. I’ll give you the money.’
‘How? Where?’
‘Tell me where you are. I’ll go to an ATM and then come there.’
‘No. Don’t. Give it to me tomorrow. I’ll go then.’
‘Okay. Whatever you say. Just take care and listen... I’m there for you. Don’t worry.’
The cell phone nearly slipped from his hand as he shoved it back into his pocket. Almost like a rerun of what had happened all those years ago on that call with Padmini when he’d invited her to the party for boys to meet girls for the first time.
Better call Ani. Not now!
When it came to getting chicks pregnant, the two brothers had creative differences. The elder one opted for marriage.
Tina called the next day and told Sri to meet her outside Breach Candy hospital. The water felt fiendishly cold in the shower. He continued to shiver as he pulled on his jeans.
She ran towards him, the hospital buildings behind her, as he paid off the cab. ‘I’ve spoken to the doc. She’s ready if I am. I am. Sri?’
She’s asking if I’m okay. Her strength is incredible.
‘I’ve got the money. Do you want me to come?’
She smiled that smile of hers. ‘No, I’d like to do this myself.’
He slipped an envelope into her hand. Looking over her shoulder at the hospital, he asked, ‘When are they admitting you?’
‘I’m not doing it here. I’m doing it in Delhi.’
‘Oh. Please take care of yourself. Do you want me to come?’
‘Where?’
‘You tell me. I’ll do whatever you want.’
‘No, I’ll manage. You’ve done enough.’
Under her building, he offered to help her pack. She refused, saying she needed some time to think. There was that smile again.
Got to give it to her. Smiling through all this shit. At her age, I’d just about become a cartoon.
From the cab, Ani was called. Without offering too many details, Sri asked if they could meet. Ani told him to come to the gym.
‘Ani. Ani. Ani.’
‘Ehn? Oh fuck! You’re going to say something stupid, aren’t you? Whenever you say my name three times—’
‘Not stupid. An experience of a lifetime. Something you’ve been through too.’
‘Okay. You said it’s urgent. I wouldn’t have called you to the gym otherwise.’
‘It’s definitely more important than arm curls.’
‘Yaah. Yaah. Now. Speak. Fast.’
The mirror showed both brothers facing it. One with a dumb-bell, the other…
‘I got a girl pregnant, Ani.’
The older one was silent, undecided over which dumb-bell.
‘We’re so different, man.’
Without a word, Ani continued checking out the weights.
‘She told me she’s getting an abortion.’
Concentrating on his right arm, Ani finally broke his silence. ‘How do you know she’s pregnant?’
Not many do the short stuff like Anirudh Ramachandran. For the raconteur, it was like being questioned whether he’s sure the guy who nailed the fish is Arjuna.
‘What do you mean, Ani?’
‘It’s not a trick question.’
‘She told me.’
Having registered the first hit with a thirty-pound weight, Anirudh toned it down. ‘Right.’
‘I don’t like the way you’re treating this. The chick is pregnant, Ani.’
‘So you say, Sri.’
‘Why would anyone lie about being pregnant?’
‘You’ve haven’t spent time in a garage, have you? The things you hear.’ The dumb-bell moved from right to left. ‘Anyway, I’m sure you spoke with the mechanic.’
‘She didn’t want me to come with her to the doc.’
‘Of course.’
‘What are you trying to say? Spill it out. Fast.’
‘In our line of work, we always return the old part. The one we replace. That way the customer knows he’s not bei
ng made a chootiya. It’s like proof, Sri.’
‘She didn’t show me any test. How can you be so cynical? The chick is pregnant, man.’
‘Don’t fight with me, Sri. The only girl I got pregnant, I married.’
‘Screw this. Now you’re lecturing me. I even gave her twenty grand for the abortion. Of course, she’s pregnant.’
‘Twenty grand?’
‘She told me it costs forty but she knows someone who’ll do it cheap.’
‘Which hospital is she in?’
‘Not here. She’s gone to Delhi.’
Anirudh made a rude sound.
‘Have you heard yourself? You’ve just spent twenty grand on repairs. But you haven’t seen a mechanic touch the bike. You’re not even sure if any part has been changed.’ Shaking with laughter, he sat down. When he spoke again, there were tears in his eyes. ‘Now you tell me you can’t even ride it because the fucking bike is in Delhi.’
It was some time before Sri said, ‘Oh, Phurck!’
Debabrata Ghosh was called the next morning. Sri asked if Deb had received a discount from the studio. The reply was in the affirmative. Small talk done with, Sri dived into what he’d really called for.
‘Hey, Deb. That Tina is quite a cute chick, man.’
‘Cute and dumb. Just the right balance. Pity, she left.’
‘She’s gone, has she?’
‘She’d wanted to leave for a while. I held her back… actually held her salary back. Told her payments weren’t in. See if she’d change her mind.’
‘Right.’
‘Then last night she said she was leaving because she’d had enough of Mumbai. I said, what about your salary? She said she’d made some cash from a freelance gig. Told me to send her salary whenever I could, to her home address.’
‘Right.’
‘I thought, fucking patronising chick, yaar. You know how it is, na? Her dad must have sent her some cash and a ticket.’
‘Right.’
The phone slid out of his hand exactly like it had when he’d invited Padmini to that bloody party.
12. the lowdown on Maslow
The egg, graceful and all, was stuck in the jaws of the vice.
He lay with a pillow pressed to his face. Wrapped tightly over the pillow and his head was the bed sheet. Within this padded cell, he hid from the ladder. When desirous of a more scenic environment, the ceiling returned as faithful friend and confidante.
A Ladder of Panties Page 21
