A Ladder of Panties

by Sandeep Jayaram

  ‘Of course, there is. You know how I am. I live in the past.’

  Outright lies.

  ‘I’ve got so fixed in my ways I don’t recognise change. I’m like any other oldie.’ He shook his head. ‘You’re looking… What’s the word? Cooking!’

  ‘You’re so good for me, Sri.’ The barricade of bottles on the table stopped her hand from sneaking through. ‘Now that we’ve had that beer...’

  ‘Time to sleep, then. Off you go into the arms of the Sandman.’

  ‘Sandman?’

  ‘It’s the name of that song.’

  ‘You say the craziest things, you know.’

  ‘Arre, it’s 10, right now. Shouldn’t you be heading home?’

  Her eyes widened again. ‘You don’t want me to stay?’

  ‘I only asked. I don’t want you getting into trouble.’

  ‘I’m a woman. Not some kid.’

  ‘You’re looking a little tipsy, woman.’

  ‘I’m not drunk. I know what I’m doing.’

  ‘Of course, you do.’

  ‘A woman knows, you know. Girls mature faster than guys.’ With that, her head dropped and the retching began.

  Able to see the immediate future, Sri guided her to the toilet and held her over the pot. And all that was boiling inside came out.

  ‘Fuck! Now I’ve spoilt it all. Puking…’

  ‘Spoilt what? You’ve spoilt nothing.’ He washed her face and wiped it.

  ‘I need to change, Sri.’

  ‘You got that right, Precious. Change is the only thing permanent. It’s in the Gita[109].’

  ‘Not like that. I need to change my top.’

  Nayomi now! Three down. Four to go. This tames the wild ocean and flips the bloody octopus back to rubber ducky. It’s all in the script. Oh, Phurck! One thing is leading to another. One girl is leading to another.

  Sri blinked.

  Precious is the white plastic bag. She’s all of them. And performing tonight, a double header, the past and perspicacity together! One evening. One show.

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Do you have a T-shirt I could borrow?’

  ‘Hmmm.’

  ‘Have I totally pissed you off?’

  ‘Yes. I mean no.’

  She leaned against him heavily, her breathing strained.

  Since they hadn’t distanced themselves from the pot, he held her close. Wondering what next.

  Touchy-feely behaviour after booze? Radha! Oh pihleez, what do you expect? The girl is lurching. She needs help. Still… it’s a thought.

  ‘Finished? Or you need to?’ He pointed to the pot.

  ‘I’m okay. I’m totally cool. I promise I am. I just need a T-shirt.’

  Five Is on the trot. May it please the court, in defence of my client, Radha, I present Exhibit I.

  They walked into the night, making their way slowly towards change. Parallel fingernails of disquiet raked along either side of his spine.

  Who’d have thought the great white would show up on Juhu Beach? Trust the cosmos to pull a whopping shark out of a bloody plastic bag!

  ‘Take deep breaths, Precious. It’ll make you feel better. Take your time.’

  Obediently and with uncommon sincerity, Precious took in long gulps.

  At the shop outside Shradhanjali, Sri stopped for chewing gum and mints.

  Taking a moment off her deep breathing, Precious said, ‘Pick up two B & H Lights for me. Please.’

  ‘Didn’t know you smoke.’

  ‘I feel like now. Change the taste in my mouth.’

  ‘That’s why I’m picking up these.’ He flipped a packet of mints into the air.

  ‘Really boring, Sri. Get with it.’

  The smokes were bought without any further resistance. He was up against it. However much he might try to get up and block the view, this movie would be seen.

  Can we ask Precious to accept the award on behalf of Malaika for her commanding performance in Smoking is Cooool?

  Five down. A spot of lesbianism, an exorcism and everyone can head home and sleep. Wo-ho-kay, if the present involves restful sleep, why am I confusing things? Is it because of what she’s brought back from the gutter? Is it because the white plastic veil has finally been cast aside?

  The lift shook itself upwards. Sri held Precious and kissed her forehead.

  Inside 801, Sri asked, ‘You’re sure you don’t need the loo?’

  ‘I’m done with that. Got a drink?’

  ‘No. And no. In case that wasn’t clear, I meant no. Tea, coffee, soup? Sure. Something to eat? Sure. Alcohol? Sorry.’

  ‘Gosh. You’re really boring. Give me a match.’

  ‘First, take a T-shirt. Smoke later.’

  From behind the closed door of his bedroom, she asked, ‘What happened to that institute you were going to set up?’

  ‘Why did you suddenly think of it?’

  ‘Don’t know. Just happened. You haven’t said anything about it in really long.’

  ‘Guess there were more important things like…’

  She came out. ‘Enough. I know. So?’

  He offered her a match. ‘I don’t think anything will ever happen. Those guys haven’t got back. Nobody else seems interested. So what? My hierarchy of needs will have a missing tier.’

  ‘I am.’

  ‘I am?’

  ‘I am interested.’

  ‘Now I have two students.’

  ‘Who’s the other? Don’t tell me.’

  ‘Will be the right classroom atmosphere, won’t it?’

  ‘Won’t affect me! Should I ask my mom?’

  ‘Your mom? Why?’

  ‘She’s connected. My whole family is.’

  From out of the grey, the ladder rose, rung upon rung, stabbing at the heavens.

  ‘Sure. Sounds deeeyaaam good. I’d love it if you could set something up. I really don’t see anything else happening on that front. Hungry? Think there’s sabzi[110] and chapatti[111].’

  ‘Since you aren’t giving me anything to drink I might as well eat.’ She followed him into the kitchen.

  It was in the air. He’d forgotten to put the sabzi in the fridge. Not wholly unexpected in a household where booze features so prominently.

  ‘Oh shit! Shit. The baingan[112] is screwed. We’ll have to get khaana[113] from out.’

  Precious tightened the leash. ‘No, we won’t. I’m going to make you something.’

  ‘You? In your state? Thank you very much. But you’re not.’ Rightly assuming she’d override central command, he added, ‘Don’t trust you near the gas.’

  ‘Shush! I don’t need the gas.’ She looked around the kitchen. ‘I can see onions and garlic. Do you have akkha[114] red chillies? I need a mixer. Dried coconut?’

  Sri pointed unbelievingly.

  ‘Cool. I’ll make some chutney really fast. We’ll have it with the chapattis. You go sit in the living room.’

  He needed to sit down. Immediately.

  Ladies and gentlemen, the obligatory exorcism has been called off. She’s doing it with lasoon chutney instead. Ask Theresa Braganza onny.

  He turned away to stop gaping at her and picked out a CD. ‘Thank You (Falettinme Be Mice Elf Agin)’ came on.

  The script is coming through. Sure it is. If Precious goes home with a good report card maybe the voice-training academy could still… NO.

  Precious will, must confess to being girly drunk. She’ll say, post Goldie, she’s become a lesbian and is compelled by design to leave with the pomegranate chick who’s sure to swing by, any second.

  His hands came together in prayer. His neck bent on cue. He froze.

  No errors in posture, please! An actor’s best tool is belief. Not bowing.

  She brought two plates, the chapatti dabba[115] and a chutney bowl on a brushed stainless steel tray.

  Is that tray mine? Where did she find it? Apparently, in the same place she’s found that shy look.

  ‘This is really sweet of you, Precious.’

/>   ‘It’s nothing.’

  ‘Can’t feed two with nothing.’

  ‘Eat. Please.’

  After khaana, she nudged him. ‘Come on, Sri. Don’t just leave the dishes there. Who’s going to do them?’

  ‘That’s precisely why the maid is paid.’

  Disregarding Sri’s personnel policy, Precious insisted. ‘Let’s do it together. There are hardly any. It’ll be fun.’

  ‘Now who’s talking crazy? You want us to stand close to each other after shamelessly hogging lasoon chutney? As it is, I can still smell the spoilt sabzi in the air.’

  ‘Gosh! You’re really acting like a girl. Stop being so difficult!’

  Girly difficult? Never ever been that.

  Yet, his answer was exactly that. ‘In the interest of our safety, I remain adamantine.’

  ‘You speak so funnily. No wonder you’re trying to be a teacher.’

  ‘That aside, the post lasoon chutney scenario calls for utmost restraint.’ Even as the words left Sri’s mouth, he knew they weren’t his. They were being put there.

  He hadn’t used restraint since that evening in Pune. Fourteen years ago.

  ‘Restraint? Isn’t that when…?’

  The poisoned spindle pricked him. The air stilled. But it wasn’t a hundred years sleep that beckoned. Nope. It was a crooked finger. And it had paint on it. Through the vacuum, it moved. A thread of colour coiled outwards from it forming a C-clamp and egg—Sri holding the white plastic bag.

  And Olivia vaulted over the wall and joined the gang of girls.

  No bloody restraint here. Another volte-face by the German forces! Instead of playing lesbian in search of pomegranates, she’s turned voice-over artist and spoken for the cartoon. The last card’s been thrown down. Seven of Hearts. Fourteen effing years! Still so confused. Still wagging my tail. But I’ll never forget the smell of jasmine and lilies. In the end, it will protect me from all this bloody garlic.

  ‘I’m a woman, you know. I can read silences. You’re backing off, aren’t you?’

  ‘Absolutely. What’s wrong with you? I’m… a drunk old uncle.’

  ‘It’s because I’m fat, isn’t it?’

  ‘How many times must I tell you not to talk like that?’

  ‘I can see it in your eyes. You’re like a mirror, Sri.’

  ‘Rubbish. If you could, you’d only see how precious you really are.’

  From nowhere at all, his first tear of the evening came up. And exactly like in the presence of the German actress, the armed forces joined in the rescue operation.

  ‘Show me. Tell me how precious I am.’

  Stumped! There’s no way I’m going to bat out the remaining overs against this kind of pace and movement. Not with tears in my eyes.

  ‘I’d rather do something else.’

  Precious slid across the sofa.

  Out went restraint through the window in the hall. Taking with it grace, white plastic bag and all.

  Inside his head, a familiar tune played. I keep getting lost… I keep getting los… I keep getting lo… The echo drowned out the end of the word.

  The lift halted on the ground floor. Through the rhombuses in the collapsible gate, he could see no sign of Precious. It would be bizarre if he could, considering she’d left the previous night. After showering and vigorously brushing her teeth.

  It’ll be some time before she’s seen again, if at all. She didn’t even look up when saying bye. Then the showering and brushing and all. That’s got to count for something.

  She had been out for revenge and he managed to get lost. Now she’d get lost. And he’d be back to venting his vengeance on the world. That was the nature of the script. It kept the actors true.

  He walked out into a darkening day.

  Goldie called a couple of times and invited him for a drink. Some excuse or the other was made.

  You don’t go drinking with a fit fish after bonking his girl. Ex-girl. Still…

  Anirudh found Sri staring at the ceiling. It was a familiar situation.

  Ani waded into the short stuff. ‘What the fuck have you done?’

  ‘Ani. Ani. Ani.’ Sri replied softly. Slowly.

  ‘Oh fuck!’

  ‘I got lost.’ This was even softer.

  ‘Speak straight. And louder. I can’t hear you.’

  ‘I made another mistake.’

  ‘How much does she want this time?’

  Anirudh spat out the last line in Tamil. Surely that meant something.

  ‘Nothing. She hasn’t even got in touch after that night.’

  ‘What are you moping about then?’

  ‘It was so wrong. I feel like a cheap dog.’

  ‘What’s wrong? You aren’t becoming gay, are you?’

  ‘Things got so complicated, Ani. Like an absolute prick, I let the past… Shit! I can’t even bring myself to say it. Remember the white plastic bag?’

  Anirudh grinned lopsidedly. ‘What does that have to do…? She found it?’

  ‘In a manner of speaking, Ani.’

  The grin froze on Anirudh’s face. ‘Really fucking weird you kept that bloody bag. Not right at all. I for one was damn happy when Mom threw the stupid thing out. What’s gone is gone. What’s the word? Re… something. When you chew on stuff you bring up? Dogs do it sometimes.’

  ‘Regurgitation.’

  ‘That’s the one. Don’t keep bringing up the past. It’s meant to stay down.’

  ‘I’m sick. My head isn’t working properly. It hasn’t for a long while.’

  Anirudh took his brother’s hand in his own. Possibly wondering, in the poetic language of the garage people, how much of a fucking nut job he was.

  ‘Okay. Shoo!’ Ani pulled him close. ‘Take it easy, man. Move on. I’m there for you.’

  ‘I keep thinking of Mohina, Ani.’

  ‘Who Mohina? That chick from your college days?’

  ‘Not just thinking of her. I keep seeing her. Anywhere. Everywhere. Morning, evening, night!’

  ‘You’ve totally lost me. You’re thinking of Mohina in the middle of sleeping with other chicks?’

  ‘It’s been going on for years. I could lie but not to you, Ani.’

  ‘Okay. Okay. Fuck all that. Take some time off. Leave this city alone.’

  ‘It wasn’t meant to be like this. Am I really a choot[116]?’

  ‘Not at all. You’re the best acrobat in our little circus and you’re my brother. Self-pity is bad shit. Go somewhere.’

  ‘I can’t go on a holiday feeling like this.’

  ‘Who said it’s a holiday? It’s not like I’ve asked you to go bike-riding in Delhi.’

  As in the past, Sri was left speechless.

  When his speech returned, it was to book tickets to Munnar and so he found himself in a light drizzle at Echo Point. A few tourists shouted into the open over the sound of falling rain. Very few got results. He waited for them. By lunchtime, they cleared off. He was alone.

  Only then did he scream. And scream. And scream out his name. He got nothing for the effort. Not a peep.

  Prickling drops dotted the water ahead. Munnar. Mun. Nar. Three rivers.

  Damn it! They’ve got together and sucked up my bloody name. All three of them: Sri, Srinivas and Sir. Nothing’s coming back. Nothing can come back. I’m in the gutter. Finally.

  The rain got thicker. Curtain after curtain of rain separated him from the water. He thought of calling out another name.

  Don’t be a loser! Screaming out the name of some bloody chick from college is even worse than bowing your head. Can I whisper her name then, please?

  Before his dignity could respond, he whispered her name.

  ‘Sri?’

  Slipping his hand under his jacket, he pinched himself. A few feet away stood the name he’d just whispered aloud. She looked unsure, trembling and cold. He blinked for what he hoped would be the last time.

  ‘Mohina? Oh, Phurck!’

  ‘Yes.’

  With this prelude, the
lost grey dog gazed with wide unblinking eyes at his mistress. Wagging his tale.

  This is perhaps the best place to end this story, but I can’t. Could it be that I too have a thing for Is? This is the story of an idiot, after all. Still, this is my idiot and I am his morning bride. He is mine… to save from himself.

  Distraction over, no better time to return to the main story, the more important one. Over the last week or so, a few hesitant smiles have broken out of Aahaana’s silence. That dazed battered look has given way to something stronger. She said she was ready to return to Mumbai. She had more to say, but it would all be at home. I hugged her tight. The colours of the Rubik’s cube were all falling into place. As if guided from beyond.

  We were sitting on the riverbank, the day before I left. I was running my fingers through his grey-streaked hair when he asked me about my divorce. For the nth time! I parried his repeated questions. Surely the perspicacious Srinivas Ramachandran could recognise an n for ‘not now’. My tell-all, too, would be in Mumbai.

  Gazing ahead at the water, he said, ‘I told Anirudh and Zahra about you. They want to meet you.’

  On my phone, I opened the directory of voice notes. The tale is told.

  He reached for my hand. ‘But when shall we two meet again? In thunder, lightning, or in rain?’

  Still looking at the last of those notes, I replied, ‘Macbeth’s witches should have known you can’t have one without the other. Thunder is the sound of lightning. They’re one.’

  Lips slightly parted, he stared in exactly the same way he used to. He lowered his head. For a guy who hates… Ass.

  ‘But Sri, my literary genius, surely you’re aware there were three witches not two. Must you mangle everything?’

  ‘Oh, White Queen! I’m the last remaining Knight Accountant. It’s my dharma to rebalance the figures.’

  He got up from near my feet and sat next to me. I rested my head on his shoulder, my hair blowing across his face in the breeze. Trees last seen in a hotel garden shouldn’t have grown this close to each other on a riverbank.

  As I tried to straighten my hair, he held my hand again and breathed in deeply.

  ‘Mohina. Mohina. Mohina.’

  Surely, not something silly!

  ‘I’m just deeeyaaam happy thunder is the sound of lightning. I know I shouldn’t say it but I’m deeeyaaam happy you’re divorced. Too deeeyaaam happy it’s just you and—’

  My cell phone rang.