Razor-Sharp: 13 Short Stories

by Abhinav Kumar

  “Oh, Swami, it’s you! Should have just walked in, she’d left the door open anyway, foolish woman…”

  “Thank you, uncle,” Swami said as he closed the door behind him. His eyes took a moment to adjust to the darkness. This house received little direct sunshine, for which they could not be blamed. But Swami had always wondered why people chose to sit around in the dark. Dim rooms made him uneasy. Amma always complained that he switched on all the lights wherever he went, but he still thought that that was better than chatting with each other with the shadows for added company.

  “Not studying at home, Swami?” Venkatesh said with a twinkle in his eye as he settled back into his chair. “How will you become an engineer if you’re playing truant all the time?”

  Swami grinned. “I’ll work hard, uncle.”.

  “Hard or hardly? Ha, ha, ha…” Venkatesh was wont to guffaw at his own jokes. Mouldy as this one was, Swami smiled.

  “Is Vinayak there, Uncle?”

  “Oh, of course, of course...he’s right there in his room…”

  Pleased that he’d managed to avoid Kaushalya’s beady eyes and probing questions, Swami hurried inside. The house, like any other of its kind, was of a modest size, but replete with baubles and memorabilia, some of them expensive. Family money, Amma dismissed anytime they returned from Vinayak’s house, as if that somehow sullied its décor. But that was Amma. Equally appreciative in public and private, but often with a qualification that was meant to negate the compliment. These were some of the things that Swami didn’t understand. He did wonder, of course, what Venkatesh did for a living, given that he always found him lounging around, clad in a sheer white veshti that he’d only seen men his grandfather’s age wear. He supposed that that’s where family money helped out. He wished his family had some, too.

  “So you’ve come, eh?” Vinayak said, looking up from his study table.

  “You told me to come at 5, no?” Swami said, panicking slightly.

  “Yes yes, but who comes dot at 5…” Vinayak mock grumbled. Relieved, Swami sat on the bed.

  “You’ll have to wait for a few minutes, though,” Vinayak said, turning back to his textbook. “Just a few more sums.”

  “Okay,” Swami said, perching himself on the edge of the bed, careful not to cause any creases. He always found himself ill at ease in others’ houses, even when they belonged to good friends. He could never rid himself of the fear that he might do something to attract censure from Parents. And so, he sat rather still, watching Vinayak make scratches in his exercise book, his brow furrowed in concentration.

  At a few years older than him, Vinayak had many more things to worry about. Whenever they rested after a hard day’s play, the elder boys often got serious and discussed the future, completely oblivious to the presence of children like Swami. He listened with mild awe as they discussed science and engineering (only one – Raju – wanted to take up medicine; science, it seemed, was non-negotiable) and boasted about the textbooks their fathers had bought them. Swami did not quite know whether science and engineering were his calling; he had a distinctly uncomfortable relationship with mathematics. Regardless, he wished that he, too, would one day be able to bring himself to practice maths in his spare time.

  “Done,” Vinayak said, shutting his book with a snap, a smug smile on his face. “I did 50 sums today, you know.”

  “50!” Swami said, mustering suitable wonder.

  “Yes, yes…I heard Ganesh just gets by with 30, can you believe it?”

  Swami shook his head. Restlessness was slowly creeping in. His eyes kept darting towards the verandah-room.

  Vinayak followed his gaze. “Can’t wait to get at it, eh?” he said, indulging Swami’s naked desire..

  “Whenever it suits you,” Swami said, flashing an innocent smile, although his limbs were itching to move, willing him to get up from the perfectly made bed and make his way to the other room, attack the shroud and reveal...

  “Well, come on then,” Vinayak said, rising with a languorous stretch. He ambled over to the connecting door. Swami sprang up and followed, stopping to glance at the thick textbooks that lined Vinayak’s study table.

  Apart from the table, a swiveling chair and a stool, the verandah-room was bare. A dusty mattress, long forgotten, lay on the floor, serving only to accentuate the spartan look of the room. The windows, which, in other houses, tended to be wide open in the evening to receive scraps of sunlight and birdsong, were shut. Vinayak settled down on the chair and drew up the stool.

  “You can sit here,” he said. Swami settled down.

  A long cloth, the colour of rust, stared back at them from the table. Misshapen, it wound up sharply in a slope, plateaud in a straight line and fell back down in a steep incline, punctured here and there by little lumps. To Swami, it looked like a giant snake that had swallowed a giant rat. He’d seen something of the sort before, a drawing in a book, but he couldn’t recall which one.

  “Ready?” Vinayak said, an air of importance about him, like a magician about to reveal the secret behind his most marvellous trick.

  “Yes,” Swami said, his elbows quivering.

  Vinayak stood, gripped the cloth between his thumb and forefinger at the plateau, and yanked it off with a flourish. It came away cleanly. The dull orangish-red of the cloth gave way to a gleaming white.

  Swami stared. At the smooth white of the machine, the shimmering black of the screen, the buttons of its appendages.

  “Beautiful, isn’t it?” Vinayak said, a slight smirk on his face.

  “Yes,” Swami breathed, not having to manufacture any wonder this time around.

  “Well, hang back, let’s get it going, it’s 5.15 already.,” Vinayak said, reaching over. He pushed a button, and the computer whirred to life.

  ***

  Swami had heard of computers, of course, and had even seen one or two on a visit to Appa’s office. People needed them to work, Appa had said. But the world Vinayak had told him about, that didn’t sound like work. He’d managed to catch him while he was cycling the day before.

  “Ey Vinayak, how come you never come out to play anymore?”

  “I play at home now.”

  “At home? But that’s what little kids do.”

  “Well, all I see in the park now are kids. You’re trying to blend in, I hope?”

  Swami’s cheeks burned.

  “I don’t like them. I don’t want to play their games.”

  “Why not? Hide and seek, chor police, gallery…what fun!”

  “Have you found some different game, then?”

  “You could say that…move now, you’re blocking the way.”

  “A new game? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “It’s not for you.”

  “What kind of game is it? I can play! I learn fast.”

  “Even Ramesh and Raju gave it a go, but they didn’t manage to pick it up.”

  “What sort of game is this?”

  “Ada! You really won’t let me go, will you?”

  “Please tell me about it, please. I don’t want to play gallery and four corners.”

  “All right, all right, come to my house on Wednesday at 5.”

  “But what is it? What will we play?”

  “You’ll see. We’ll race cars and shoot guns and jump over fire and plunder treasure.” And with this, Vinayak had raced away, laughing at the look on Swami’s face.

  ***

  His parents had found out the same evening; Kaushalya had let the news out strategically during the evening walk.

  “Harrumph,” Amma snorted as she dished out the rice that night. “Whatever do they need one at home for?”

  “It’s not a bad idea,” Appa said, always more moderate in his opinions. “People are beginning to get them now. It helps with many things.”

  “And in the verandah, too,” Amma sniffed. “The abominations people inflict on their houses…”

  The humming machine, elegant and powerful, did not seem like an abomina
tion to Swami. He sat still as words and images began to swim past. Vinayak’s words were etched in his brain. He recalled the time that a wedding reception had happened to take place near a video game arcade. He had watched his friends play video games on the clunky, ungainly machines. The games themselves had seemed grainy and uninspiring, tacky. But what Vinayak had described…that sounded very different indeed. It had fired up his imagination like never before. Over the past couple of days, he had dreamt relentlessly of elusive treasure, sleek cars, thunderous guns, of racing past monsters, climbing mountains and jumping over trees.

  And here he was, finally, waiting for the magic to begin. Vinayak set himself up in front of the screen, expertly navigating the images that flashed across.

  “Let’s play the racing game first, what do you say?”

  “Y-yes,” Swami said, staring at the monitor, transfixed.

  Vinayak started the game. “You have to pick a car first,” he explained. “Here, let’s pick this one…the red Mustang. Do you like it?”

  “Yes yes,” Swami said. “It looks the best.”

  “Then we pick a track…we can begin with this one…it’s easy.”

  Swami had nothing to contribute. He watched in silence as the race began. Vinayak’s red car raced past the others in a trice. The countryside flashed by in a blur of green and blue.

  “See?” Vinayak said, his voice thick with excitement and a dint of pride. “See how fast I can go!”

  “Yes, you’ve left the others behind!” Swami crowed, happy to join the elder boy in his delight. It was rare for him to share such a moment with any of the elder boys, one of pure, unadulterated joy, ignorant of the shackles of age. It made Swami happy in a way that few other things did. He had a friend. He wanted to take advantage of the moment, to ask Vinayak about computers, about Mustangs and about how cars went so fast…but he didn’t have the heart to disturb him. He decided to wait till the race ended, and watched the car dodge pedestrians and policemen as it sped towards the finish line.

  “Ha!” Vinayak said after a few moments. “Left them to bite the dust as usual.”

  “You played very well,” Swami said.

  “Well, what should we do now?” Vinayak said, his tone casual.

  “Maybe you could play another track?” Could it be that…

  “Hmmm, I’ve already played them all. These things can get boring after a while, you know.”

  Swami didn’t know.

  “Do you want to have a try?”

  Swami’s heart skipped a beat.

  “Me? But I wouldn’t know how.”

  “Of course you will. It’s easy. Didn’t I do it just now, in front of your eyes?”

  “I wouldn’t want to spoil the computer,” Swami said, a touch of reverence in his voice, although his eyes betrayed his longing.

  “Oh go on, don’t be so timid all the time,” Vinayak said. He got up, leaving the computer chair empty. Swami rose and sank onto the warm seat. After a moment’s hesitation, he ran his fingers across the keyboard, wondering what many of the keys did.

  “You should get one soon,” Vinayak said, smiling. Swami just smiled back.

  “We can start a new game now. I’ll show you how. Wait, someone’s at the door…Appa might have dozed off …Don’t touch anything till I come back.”

  Swami didn’t need to be told. While he felt exhilarated to be within touching distance of its wonders, the machine unnerved him. He barely heard Vinayak return.

  “What da, always at it, is it? We’re getting ours next week, finally.”

  Swami turned, blinking. Ramesh crossed the verandah with easy strides and sat on the stool.

  “I can’t believe it’s taking so long. Appa yelled at the company people this morning. They’re a bunch of idiots, of course. Anyway, no harm done, it’ll be here soon and then we can exchange games…”

  They chatted on, taking no notice of Swami, who continued to hang on to the promised game, his heart beating fast. He glanced at the screen. Cars of all hues imaginable appeared one by one, each inviting him into the driver's seat. His fingers wavered over the keyboard. Maybe if he just...

  “Eh, what are you doing here?” Ramesh had taken his time to turn his attention to Swami, like the headmaster who lingers over the innocent, enjoying the moment as the culprit quivers in the corner.

  “I came at 5,” Swami said, tearing his eyes away to face Ramesh.

  “Yes, but what are you doing there?” Ramesh said, looking at the chair.

  Pleading eyes, searching eyes found no succour.

  “I came here to...”

  “Did I say you could sit there? Did I not tell you to stay away?”

  “But-”

  “I just went to the door. You couldn't help yourself, could you?"

  “You can’t just take liberties like this, Swami,” Ramesh said, using the grave tone he usually reserved for the other kids when they didn’t take a game as seriously as Ramesh wanted. “It’s his house, his property. You do understand the concept of property, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” Swami said, eager for the conversation to end. “I’ll be more careful.”

  “I tell you da, this is why we should just stay away from these little buggers. No manners...” Even as he realized that he had been relegated to the role of a spectator in a single stroke, Swami was mollified to note that Vinayak had taken the trouble not to sound furious, especially at the end. He liked to think that it was more of an elder brotherly rant than anything else.

  “Never mind da. He doesn't have one. You won't do it again, will you, Swami?” he said, prodding Swami out of the chair.

  “No no, I won't.” He rarely found support in Ramesh, the most caustic and pompous of the lot.

  “Besides,” said Ramesh, grinning as he swiveled the chair around, stopping with panache so that his fingers fit neatly onto the keyboard, “who wouldn't be excited about this game? Even I won't be able to get it so soon. ”

  “Go on, da, give it another go,” Vinayak said, taking a seat on the stool. “I just finished a race. I'm sure you'll beat my time this time around.”

  Swami took his place on the mattress. The dying rays of the sun streamed in through the windows. He could see the park out of the corner of his eye. He wondered what Karthik and Tanya and Soumya and the rest were doing. Surely not something as exciting as this, he though to himself, as Ramesh started a race. The players whooped their delight, and their audience smiled along.

  ***

  ”Where have you been?” Amma demanded. ”We couldn't see you anywhere.”

  “I was at Vinayak's house, Amma,” Swami said. He missed the flash of disdain that crossed his mother's face as he bent down to remove his sandals.

  “What were you doing indoors the entire evening? Weren't your friends outside?”

  “Oh, Amma, nobody plays outside anymore,” Swami said, dismissing the notion as if already obsolete.

  “Don't tell me you played board games for three hours!”

  “No Amma! It was wonderful, we raced cars and we sped past everyone else...”

  Amma was nonplussed. “It was a computer game, Amma,” Swami said, rolling the word on his tongue. Compewter. He smiled fondly in remembrance. It must be all wrapped up again now, waiting to come alive again and whisk Vinayak into a thousand worlds.

  Amma grimaced. “The lengths some people will go to…”

  “It was absolutely wonderful, Amma! Ramesh also came. He's getting one, too, next week,” Swami said, as he sat at the dining table and helped himself to a handful of karudam. Fried to a crisp, yet bearing no hint of oil. The way only Amma could.

  “When are we getting our compewter, Amma?” Swami said between mouthfuls.

  “What? Computer-aa?” Amma said, nostrils flaring. “We certainly don't need one. We're fine just as we are,” she announced to the world at large. “As for you,” she said, spooning rasam onto Swami's rice with sharp, vigourous motions. “There's no need to go to Vinayak's house anymore. You can p
lay outside from tomorrow, with Soumya and Karthik and the rest. I'd better call Geetha and warn her about this...”

  Swami frowned and paused, mid-bite, as Amma made for the telephone, bristling. He'd ask Appa later, of course. But if Amma was determined to get her way... He thought of the compewter, itching to come back to life as it sat under its rust-coloured shroud.

  Well, he could always go to Ramesh's house next week. Brightening up, he began to chew.

  ***

  Author's Note: This story is previously unsubmitted and unpublished.

  13(1)(VII)

  When I got a call from Rahul Rai asking to meet, I was puzzled. We hadn’t met in years – a decade and a half, to be precise – even though we lived in the same city. The last I’d heard of him was through a mutual friend, something about a personal tragedy. Even that was several years ago. To my embarrassment, I couldn’t even remember what the tragedy had been as we spoke. Thankfully, Rahul had been rather vague over the phone, and had simply asked whether we could meet for dinner on Friday. The only cases I take up these days are pro bono, so I agreed at once. After all, it’s not every day that you get a call from an old schoolmate. Most of my friends from those days are scattered all over the world, and I hardly meet them, so as Friday approached, I found myself quite looking forward to the meeting.

  We’d decided on Smokehouse Grill, a restaurant I frequent, and at 8 p.m. sharp on Friday evening, I was waiting at my usual table.

  “Can I interest you in our latest Cabernet Sauvignon, sir? Or a scotch, perhaps?”

  “Just water for now, Sameer,” I said, acknowledging the head waiter with a smile. “I’m expecting company. I’ll let him choose our drinks.”

  As Sameer bowed and retreated, I saw Rahul enter and look around. I know we’ve aged, pushing 50 as we all are, but I still got a shock when I saw him. What I remember is a strapping, handsome man, towering over everyone else, the perpetual promise of a big, booming laugh in his twinkling eyes. What I saw was a shadow of that man – hunched and somber, eyes twitching nervously under a receding hairline where a shock of black hair used to be. The few hairs that were left were a pearly white. Beholding his spindly frame, I wondered whether he’d recognize me at all, given my heavy jowls and ever expanding belly.