When Strangers Meet (50000 ebooks sold): 3 in 1 Box Set (Now with Sample Chapters from A GAME OF GODS)

by K. Hari Kumar

  I peeped into the huge unroofed chamber; the cooking area. The smell was quite different from what we usually get to weed at our Brahmin weddings. This one had a tint of garlic and warm seasoned oils. The picture of Salim’s Biryani showed up in front of my eyes. Salim was a classmate of mine who would bring Mutton Biryani to school often, and secretly I would steal his lunchbox and ooze out the juice from the muttonchops. I loved it, but alas! I could not do it more often or in public for I was a BRAHMIN! Condemned to grassroots and leaves! But never had I imagined I would smell so much of Biryani over Sāmbhar and rasam. I entered the room, and there were a dozen vessels.

  I pulled aside the lid that covered one of the vessels; hot steam that smelled like clove oil in cashew stew brushed through my face. I breathed in the aroma, wait, there was more. The smell was followed by the sight of golden rice and pieces of muttonchops lying strewn here and there in between chunks of onion strips and broken cashew nuts. It was the turn of my mouth now to churn out every single drop of water inside my body and collect it around greedy gums, ready to drop out the moment I would open my mouth. I could not control my hunger, pride, or whatever. Just like I did back in school, I killed the Brahmin inside me (once again) and molded my right hand into the vessel, pulled out the best-looking piece of mutton and pounced on it like a hungry wolf that had not seen food for a lifetime.

  ‘Krishna! Aiyayayooo!!!’ somebody stressed out from behind, I knew somebody had seen me digging me into the unholy vessel. However, the tone and the voice both were unfamiliar. The tone was not one that of anger or shock, but one that was jeering. While the voice, I knew did not belong to anyone from the close family, but I knew that voice. I was not able to recollect the owner of that voice, but I was sure that I had heard that somewhere before, maybe in a previous life? It was too sweet to forget.

  I turned around, I saw a girl standing at the doorstep, pinning her right hand on the frame of the door and the resting the palm of the left hand on her implicitly curved hip. Her brows moved in an interrogatory rhythm, twice; up and then down. As if asking, what are you doing here?

  The eyes, pitch black like those of a tainted deer. I was surprised, pleasantly surprised to see her for I never knew If I would be ever able to meet her again. Last time, I saw her at a close relative’s wedding in 1993. Her eyes had struck a deal with mine at that very instant when I had seen her. But sadly, my great Appa interfered and I lost her, I couldn’t even get to hear her name! All I had with me was the first syllable of her name ‘PA’ and the visual memory of her sreedeviness.

  Now, after two years, here she was, standing in front of me while I, well, I had a piece of unholy mutton hanging from the corner my mouth. I unsnarled my incisors and let go off the piece; it fell down on the floor. I giggled in embarrassment, ‘I thought it was a vegetarian…err…vegetable’ I claimed, trying to hide the embarrassment.

  ‘Ahahaha!’ she teased in a typical Tamilian tone, ‘Of course, it smells like drumstick, right?’

  I chuckled.

  ‘What else do you think besides considering me stupid? Eh? THALAIVA?’

  She remembered my nickname, which brought out a spirit of romance within me. I struck back, like a young Romeo trying to impress his Juliet for the first time, ‘I think….’

  ‘What do you think?’

  ‘I think that …. You are the most beautiful girl on earth.’

  She started walking towards me, her eyes shimmered as the fire lighting the vessels behind me formed a reflected image on them. There was literally fire in her eyes, and I could feel the heat of desire punching me down to the guts. As she drew closer, I started trembling; I found it difficult to find words to spill out when she would start talking. She stopped, winked her left eye wickedly.

  ‘It’s ok, I am not telling anyone! Just get out of here before anyone else sees you.’ She adhered.

  ‘I do not think anyone from our families would come anywhere around here.’ I shot back confidently.

  ‘Oh! Really? Then what are we doing here?’

  ‘I couldn’t resist the luring smell, so I dragged myself in, to taste some Biryani,’ I saw her smile at my reply, but my curiosity decked in a query, ‘but what are you doing here? Were you too lured in by the smell of Biryani?’ I winked at her.

  She giggled and replied, ‘I saw a very familiar face sneaking in. Out of curiosity I followed that face.’

  ‘Whose face was that?’

  She suspired at my question and turned around.

  I followed her, ‘I’m sorry, wasn’t I supposed to ask that?’

  ‘Can we get out of this room please?’ She pleaded in a commanding tone, a tone that I had started to like just like that wedding. First the biryani and now the girl who had caught hold of my fantasies ever since we had had our first meeting.

  Was I in love?

  We quickly walked out of the room; I pressed my question again ‘Whom were you following?’

  She gave me that look once again; I felt the sreedeviness in her again. Oh! I loved it.

  ‘Are you acting stupid so that I can feel smarter?’

  ‘No! Tell me, I was the only one sneaking into that room. But I do not think you would be so curious just to follow me, that’s why I asked if there was someone else.’

  ‘Unfortunately, I was following you,’ she noted the tilt formed above my brow, ‘Shocked?’

  ‘Why?’ I so much wanted to smile like a hopeless romantic, but I had to be a man here, so just came up with an innocent why.

  ‘I remembered seeing you at that wedding in Madurai, two years ago. It was almost at this same time, May or June.’ She tried to recollect.

  I was so happy to hear that from her, if I had my ways, I would have lifted her by the hip and then spun her around in a circle, just as they did in movies. The adrenaline had reached the joints of my fingers; they almost rubbed each other in excitement. I tried my best to keep it plain and simple, ‘yes! Of course, now I remember you. You were with another girl.’

  ‘Yes, that was Kaveri.’

  ‘Of course, you know, we meet so many people every day that it is simply impossible to remember every face.’ I passed the most ironic statement of my life at that time, for she was the face I was looking ever since that first meeting. Even she must have noted that, I started with a line, which sounded more stupid than flirtatious, and now carrying a dewy eye of a tender fawn.

  She kept gazing constantly at the mild brown spot on my white cotton shirt. The spot was the result of something that had happened while I was pouncing on the mutton biryani.

  ‘So, are you planning to top the exams this time too?’ She asked.

  I didn’t reply.

  ‘You do not seem excited?’

  ‘It’s a long story!’ I sighed.

  ‘We got the entire afternoon, I guess.’

  ‘I hope so….’ I was interrupted by a demonic invocation.

  ‘Krishna,’ called out the demonic voice that I recognized very well.

  I wished he could have interrupted a little later. After a wait of two long years, I finally had a chance to talk to the girl of my dreams.

  ‘Krishna, are you deaf?’ The voice asked again.

  ‘Yes Appa, what is it?’ I replied, I noticed that the girl silently slipped out of sight. I wanted to hit my head against the wall in front of me. I have missed her, again I forgot to ask her name, and I knew I would not be in a mood to look for the beautiful girl once I have meted out with my old man. This fact frustrated me, even before he had started talking.

  ‘Mr. Venakatachalam wants to ask you something.’

  Everything seemed to repeat itself, the girl, the same questions from the people, high on expectations and now Mr. Venakatachalam. I did not care to study his face carefully, for my mind was still showing me that girl everywhere. There was this killer frustration that constantly tried to creep out of my head. My father’s friend was saying something; I did not hear it for my mind was preoccupied with parted emotions.


  ‘Krishna, did you hear what he said?’ asked my father, the words from that voice would never miss my ears. Although they always wished they could.

  ‘Yes!’ I nodded without knowing what my father’s friend said.

  ‘So, you have decided to study higher mathematics at the same place where your father once ruled as the best student?’

  That was the bomb, which shook my world. Although I knew my father wanted me to graduate in mathematics, but he had never made a final decision on that. I thought he would let me do what I wanted. He had even decided the college where I would be studying what he wanted me to study. To study what I hated the most- mathematics.

  I stared hard into my father’s eyes. His eyes were made of stone, thick black gravel that had no place for compassion or room for tolerance. The frustration inside me grew stronger and my face started turning red along with my eyes. Appa noted the change in my facial expressions. He was agitated by the way I was responding to the situation. He hated the way I had learned to look boldly into his eyes every time we started arguing. He tried to suppress everything by passing a fake smile.

  Finally I spoke ‘I think it’s high time. We got to talk about this.’

  The words directed at my Appa who now tried to ignore my question; he turned around and started greeting the first person who came his way.

  I drifted towards him, called out ‘Appa! I want to talk to you, now!’ He ignored me.

  I tried calling him again, but was of no use.

  Then I perched on his shoulder thrice ‘Appa! I know you are trying to ignore me’. He said something, but it was too low for me to hear.

  I could only hold my frustration within the fiber walls constructed by my patience to this limit. I broke out and with my hand pulled him around. The gesture moved him rocked like a piece of jigsaw puzzle falling out of piece.

  Now, we stood there, face to face.

  Man to man.

  Father to son.

  Son to father.

  Twenty Two

  ‘How dare you use your force on your father?’ He asked like Hitler in dhoti, ‘Have you forgot your etiquettes?’ I felt him shiver as he said that, or was it the air around me that was shivering in front of the volcano that was about to erupt here in few minutes.

  ‘I just want to make a few things…clear!’ I stressed on each word individually.

  ‘I do not have time for this.’

  ‘Neither do I,’ I pressed, ‘I do not have time to follow your dictatorship.’

  ‘How dare you say that?’ He burst out with anger.

  ‘I said that with my mouth’ I replied. My reply further set him on fire.

  ‘Now, you have started to mock your father’s words? Have you grown that much?’

  ‘Yes, I have! For God’s sake, I am eighteen years old and I can make my own decisions. Let alone decisions, have you even considered knowing my opinion, ever? At least, on matters that has to do with my future?’ I paused to breathe, ‘Look! I do not care what you want to do with your life or any other person’s life. But, I can’t let you decide what is right for me.’

  ‘You are just a kid! You do not know anything.’ Appa testified.

  ‘Yes! I do not know anything, I do not know what you know, and I do not know Mathematics! However, I know what I want to be, I know my passion. I know that I want to be an actor. And I know I will be an actor!’ I declared.

  ‘Dei! You are out of your senses!’

  ‘No, Appa! It is now that I have come to my senses!’

  Now, my replies were a decibel or ten louder than my father’s statements and people had started gathering around us, but nobody tried to stop either of us. They wanted a fight; they were getting one that would be enough for the day’s entertainment and would last for a month’s gossip. Amma had also entered the scene; she was the first person who tried to stop me from continuing the argument.

  ‘Why should I not say anything? Just now, this, Venakatachalam comes and tells me what I am going to do after my class twelfth. He tells me which college I am going to join and what profession I have to adopt! He tells me what you have decided for me. Then why do you even need me alive? You need a puppet, whose strings are always in your hands,’ I inched closer to Appa, bore into his eyes, ‘I am not your…..Puppet!’

  ‘Get this stray dog out of my sight or I will kill him.’ My father dictated his brothers.

  Without even a second’s lag, my uncles surrounded me like goons from a Tamil movie. I bet many among the spectators expected a father-son fistfight, rather prayed for it to happen.

  ‘I am not a stray dog!’ I shouted and this time, my uproar almost stopped the wedding proceedings. Nobody except the bride, groom and those pious people were at the proceedings, while everybody else was witnessing our heated exchange. I continued, ‘I am tired of being your dog. Ever since I remember, I have been doing what you have wanted me to. I had never let you down. Now it is time I started making my decisions, this being first of the decisions that I make for myself. I can’t let you dictate me throughout my life!’

  ‘Krishna, leave it son, we can talk at home.’ My Amma tried to bring down the temperature, but that was of no use.

  ‘Amma, leave me, I have grown tired of this man’s dictatorship! What does he think of himself? You have had enough already? He doesn’t even allow you to mingle around with other women, he has kept you tied to the pillar of our kitchen like a slave, I bet he gives more freedom to our maid than he gives you,’ I tried to look into my Amma’s eyes, they were dewy, so were mine, but mine were red with anger, ‘I can’t take this anymore, Amma! I can’t. I do not want to be a mathematician!’

  Apart from the misting of the crowd, there was momentary silence from me and Appa. Then all of a sudden, Appa spoke, ‘You will do exactly as I command you to do!’ He marched ahead by six steps and as he completed his sentence, dug his walking stick on the floor, establishing a final seal on his decision.

  I hated that style of his when he wanted to have the final word; I kicked the cane stick with my right foot, and my Appa who was leaning completely on the stick’s support lost his balance as the stick wavered from its ground. My arrogance-filled action made everyone lose their breath. Appa’s eyes grew bolshier. The blood veins almost on the verge of erupting. He lifted his stick to hit me, ‘you son of a ….’ I halted the stick with my left hand, in my defense. With the other hand, he tried to slap hard on my face. I used my other hand to defend myself against his slap. Appa could not believe what had just happened; nobody had ever tried to defend him. He was one of the most feared and respected men, his word was will for many and now his own 18-year-old son has humiliated him in front of everyone.

  Defiance.

  This was the biggest blow to his stature, to his ego.

  I looked into his red eyes, there was disgust in them. I did not care to notice any pain or regret in them.

  ‘This boy will never come back to MY HOUSE… TO ME until I am alive, if he comes to my house; he will have to walk over my dead body. Let him come the day I die, to do away with my funeral.’ His eyes diluted, the eyeballs trembled as those words came out of his mouth, rather heart.

  ‘I will make sure that I come back to burn off your dead body! Goodbye!’ I replied.

  Everyone was shocked to see the events unfold in such a hapless fashion. I loosened my grip over my Appa’s hand and stick. I left hold of both and turned around. I walked out of the auditorium. Maybe a woman cried out my name or maybe a beautiful girl kept looking at me as I faded out into the distance, but I did not care. I had made my decision.

  I could feel their auras minimizing their presence on my soul.

  As I marched ahead, that presence grew tinier and soon it was nowhere to be, rather I was out of the scene.

  I had to catch the first bus to Madras- the City of my Dreams.

  Goodbye Tuticorin!

  Goodbye Appa!

  Twenty Three

  1996

  Madras

  I was
walking in and out of different production houses, sweeping the miles out of my days and placing stones on the comforts of nights, the same nights that I used to enjoy back home. Things had changed; life in the big city was, well, not a struggle like the stereotypes in our films and authors from bestsellers often put. Life was much easier and fast, but not discomforting. Though, it was full of struggle. I was a hero back home, but here I was a 'nobody'!

  Almost 4 months in Madras, the capital of Tamil Nadu, I do not know if anyone missed me in Tuticorin. That fact hardly mattered to me anymore, for I had broken all bonds. Now I was a free bird, ready to fly high up in the air on a husky Sunday afternoon, the day when most of the people in the busy metropolitan rested their asses at home.

  I had no home in particular, for I was a runaway with just the one thousand rupees that I had stolen from my father’s safety locker. That money was reserved for food and emergency. I found shelter at the Madras Central railway station, platform no. 1. A Northeast bound train would wake me up at exactly 4:30 am. My cargo bag that carried a pair of trousers and four shirts was my pillow. There was a Siva temple outside the station. I would take a dip in the temple tank. I had no time for rest, every morning I would get up with a bright hope on my face and knock at every producer’s door and studio. However, initially I began knocking at big ones like AVM, but soon I realized that it was impossible to find a chance among big names without a proper portfolio or a powerful background.

  I met many other aspiring actors, during my quest to become one myself. They were people like me: trying to find a place among the elites, trying to make a mark for themselves. All of them were extremely talented; some were extremely handsome and divine in appearance. But we had all one thing in common: a pitiable fate.