by Anil Chawla
‘Actually, I’d come on a short visit to meet my parents,’ replied Roma.
‘And how’s your husband?’ the stewardess asked.
‘He’s fine, thanks,’ Roma responded warmly. ‘He went back last week.’
In the last hour of her flight, Roma rehearsed Sammy’s instructions so she didn’t make mistakes. The flight landed, clearances took half an hour and she finally pushed the trolley wearily towards the exit. All of a sudden, from behind her, two arms came and wrapped themselves around her. She opened her mouth to yell but stopped when she realized the arms were familiar, and turned around. It was Sammy, who had appeared from nowhere. She let go of the trolley and fell into his arms. For Roma, this was the most pleasant surprise Sammy had ever given her. And then an airport official interrupted the hugging couple, pointing towards their unattended luggage.
Roma was curious to know how Sammy got leave to come over to receive her, but waited to ask. Sammy took charge of the trolley and they walked to their car. On the way home, there were many things to share, including tidbits about how the families had spent the last two weeks in India.
They were close to NJ when Sammy stopped at a traffic signal and said, ‘Honey, I quit my job.’
There was silence for the next few moments which was broken when the lights turned green and Sammy restarted the car.
‘And I’ve got another offer which is 50 per cent higher than the current one,’ he added.
Roma was just not able to hold herself back any longer and demanded a detailed account. Sammy said he had made up his mind. The job market in the US was hot, and within a week of returning, he had got a couple of offers—both from American companies. He decided to choose the smaller one which had only a hundred employees and catered to the pharmaceutical and healthcare sector. This was to be one of the defining decisions of Sammy’s life.
Roma persisted, probing him with questions as to why he had resigned; his current employers were considered a very good company, and so on and so forth. Initially, Sammy tiptoed around this question. When she persisted, he confessed that he had first thought of leaving when the company had declined his request for Roma to accompany him to India.
There was silence as they reached home and Sammy parked the car. Roma had a lump in her throat. Tears rolled down her cheeks. Sammy put his arm around her and drew her near. She buried her head in his chest and sobbed, ‘I knew you loved me. I didn’t realize you loved me so much!’ She looked like a weeping angel—weeping, because she was in tears, and an angel, because her feelings for him were glowing out of every pore of her face, giving her a beatific appearance.
Sammy continued to pat her. Gently wiping away her tears, he said, ‘I love you more than anything else in the world and will always do’.
Sammy was not keen on household chores, and the drawing room was a mess. Things were lying all over the place. The dining table had food spills, and the sofa and coffee table were covered with discarded bottles and takeaway cartons. As her eyes moved across the room, Sammy sensed what Roma was thinking, and quickly cleared the furniture, gave the table a swish with a towel, and made Roma sit on the hastily emptied sofa. He sat down next to her and embraced her. She almost melted in his arms.
But soon Roma made a move to get up, saying, ‘Oh god! I have to clean this mess up. Let me get on with the job.’ Sammy tried to sit her down, saying he had done a bit of cleaning. Roma ignored this statement and started towards the kitchen but he turned her towards the bedroom. He opened the door and ushered her in. She looked around, stunned. It had been decorated wall-to-wall with flowers and smelt heavenly. Everything in the bedroom was in its place, and perfectly clean. Roma recognized the floral bedcover as a still-unused wedding gift from her parents. She turned around and exclaimed, ‘What a contrast between the drawing room and the bedroom!’ She was delighted that Sammy had gone to so much effort in doing up their special room. A wave of excitement washed over her.
‘Why do we need the drawing room?’ said Sammy, looking at her meaningfully. ‘We can do the drawing here itself!’
She returned his gaze and whispered, ‘For the next few hours, of course, yes!’
He pulled her towards him when she said, ‘Let me quickly take a shower first,’ and rushed into the bathroom. There was a sudden spring in her step and the tiredness of the long journey seemed to have given way to excitement. Sammy changed into comfortable clothes and eased himself into a half-lying position on the bed.
***
A curly-haired boy huddled in a corner of the bed, his hands clasping his knees to his chest. He seemed to be holding back his tears but fear was writ large on his face. A man in his late forties sat in an easy chair, speaking angrily to a woman who was moving aimlessly around the room. A heated exchange had been going on between them for some time. Each was accusing the other of neglecting the responsibility of bringing up their son, Sammy. A maid walked in and there was a sudden silence. She escorted the boy into another room and closed the door behind them. The fighting between his parents resumed. Sammy could hear everything because they had raised their voices even more. And then he heard the sound of shattering glass as the man shouted, ‘What do you want me to do? Leave my work and sit at home?’
The woman screamed almost the same words back at him.
This was a regular feature at the Samuel home. When his parents returned home, tired after a hard day’s work at the hospital, they quarrelled. Although they had a maid to help a home, they almost always found a reason to fight over neglected duties. It had been going on for years, and Sammy had seen it all. Sometimes he wondered why his parents were living together at all. They bickered over small and big things with equal fury. He also wondered—maybe it was because of him!
One day he mustered enough courage to ask them, ‘Why don’t you live separately?’
All hell broke loose at that.
His father blamed his mother for not teaching him the right way to speak to his parents.
His mother fumed, ‘Do children learn things only from mothers? Is the father not responsible for what the child does?’ The maid interrupted the exchange in the hope of quietening down the situation but his father ordered her to take Sammy away from his sight.
Sammy was fourteen then.
Lying on his bed, he cried for hours. The maid tried to calm him down but left the room after a few minutes. He had dozed off when he felt the maid’s hand on his head. She was telling him that she was going out to buy groceries and would be back in an hour or so.
‘Where are Mom and Dad?’ Sammy asked tiredly.
‘They’ve gone to the hospital,’ replied the maid.
As he bolted the door from the inside, the sense of being alone in the house made him feel lighter. He felt as if he had control over his destiny, at least for the next hour or so. His mind was full of weird thoughts, mostly incoherent. He paced around the house without purpose. He wanted to do something significant but did not know what. He also felt hungry. He spotted the fruit basket on the dining table. He picked up an apple and started looking for a knife. He discovered one in a spoon-stand next to the basket. He tried to cut the apple, but his hand slipped and the corner of the knife grazed his little finger. The knife was really sharp and a drop of blood emerged. He started eating the apple without thinking, his eyes on his finger. Another drop of blood oozed out. He felt no pain, however. His thoughts grew wilder. He finished eating the apple and got up with the knife in his hand. He went to his bedroom and sat down, still looking at the knife. His churning mind went back a few years when his mother had narrated the case of a young boy who had slit his wrist and had been rushed to her hospital after serious blood loss. In one single, smooth, ruthless stroke, he pressed the sharp edge of the knife down on his wrist and slashed it. Blood gushed out of the cut. He watched the drops forming into a stream, falling first on his shorts and then on the bed. Slowly, he stretched himself out on his back on one side of the bed, so that his slashed arm hung loosely down. As the b
lood fell on the wooden floor, it made a peculiar sound which affected his senses in a way he could not describe. He began to feel drowsy. He closed his eyes. He felt the drops now falling on the centre of his forehead, and then he was transitioning to a surreal world.
***
A drop of water fell on his forehead, almost exactly at the centre. Then another, and another. His two worlds were juxtaposed. Sometimes one dominated and then faded into the background while the other came to the forefront. Then there was a more generous splash of water, which woke him up. There she was, standing right next to his head, in a pink nightie, water droplets falling from her wet hair and sliding down her cheeks. With a gentle swish of her head, she sprayed more water on his face. Sammy was back to real life. He gazed closely at her. She looked like a mermaid, and, as if she had access to his thoughts, she touched his forehead. A pulse of emotion ran from his forehead and through her hand. The moment grew longer. His looked at her intently, she at him. There was innocence in his look and fire and passion in hers. He buried his face in her body, wrapped his arms around her waist and sobbed softly. She asked no questions but ran her fingers through his hair. Her fingers had a miraculously soothing effect on him. She sat down on the bed and came closer to him. He surrendered himself to her arms and heaved a heavy sigh of relief.
***
He was a small boy holding his mother’s hand on the way to the bus stop. She was telling him a story, and he was listening carefully, his eyes on her face. He was happy, but then he saw the school bus approaching from a distance. He clung to her, not wanting to let go. The bus got nearer, and tears filled his eyes. Other children at the bus stop started to laugh at him. Then all the others were in the bus and the driver was calling his name. A little push from his mother, and he had to climb in as well.
Now it was another day, and his new friends in the bus were shouting his name in excitement. They stopped as he sat down in his seat. He looked out the window and saw his mother waving at him, becoming smaller as the bus moved away. And then it was no longer his mother, but the maid walking away; he was older and it was the maid who brought him to the bus stop.
***
The warmth and fragrance of Roma’s body brought him back to reality. He caressed her and slowly brought his face closer to hers. As he touched her skin, it felt like perfumed satin. The light fragrance emanating from her acted like an aphrodisiac. He kissed her on the neck and then all over. He felt the warm breath from her lips. Their mouths locked in a passionate kiss. The world faded away as they explored each other. A part of Sammy had detached from his persona and was floating over the blue clouds they had seen together on their way to NY. Roma and Sammy appeared like two clouds engulfing each other. As time passed, they coalesced into one. There was thunder and there was lightning, followed by rain, and then an unusual calm, when nothing moved.
The Mathematician Saint
Abunch of students at LEC Trichy were hurriedly doing some last-minute packing. Those who were ready with their backpacks were noisily booing the laggards and issuing threats about the bus leaving without them in the next two minutes. They were second-year students of engineering at LEC, and were headed to Munnar for a four-day trip. The group consisted of 10 girls and 39 boys who were excited to have their favourite professor, Sri sir, accompany them.
Sri’s towering figure made an appearance, walking from the faculty block with his own backpack firmly in place, and by his side a group of five students who had volunteered to be the marshals for this trip. One of them had a mike in his hand over which he loudly announced, ‘This is the first and final call for all the remaining aspirants to the suchhas picnic to board the Silverline Express immediately. I repeat, this is the first and final call.’ Seeing how first-year students were called ‘fuchhas’, second-year students had decided to name themselves ‘suchhas’.
As students started boarding the bus in an orderly manner, Sri watched them carefully. This was the first time that a full section of the second-year engineering batch was going for an OFT (Outbound Fun and Training) trip. He had brought up the idea himself when, while evaluating a group project of six students, he noticed the inadequacy of solid teamwork amongst participants. The analysis was sketchy, the ideas were good but disjointed, and the central theme was incoherent. And when the group was called to make a presentation of their work, Sri made a surprise move and swapped the presenters with the other three students. The façade stood thoroughly exposed. Subsequent questioning really nailed the truth: half of them knew almost nothing about the project. It was then that Sri decided enough was enough. At the same time, he knew very well that it was the system which lured students to find ways and means to bend it to their advantage, without realizing the long-term impact of this on their learning and capabilities.
Sri was a professor of computer engineering at LEC and had been teaching for nearly fifteen years. While he taught computer science and information technology, his felicity for and mastery over mathematics and statistics were near perfect. Students loved him for what he taught, how he conducted himself, the way he helped students, and the way he loved education itself.
Sri’s early career had been chequered. After graduating from LEC Surat, he took up a job at the Oil and Natural Gas Commission, mainly for the opportunity to get ‘away from the madding crowd’ periodically. Many of ONGC’s locations were away from the mainland. Typically, people deputed to these locations were away for three to six months at a time, and during this period, the rig was their life.
Compared to many other public sector companies, ONGC paid very well. The icing on the cake were the generous perks it offered, often in the name of ‘essential gear’. This included two Raymond suit lengths and a pair of Bata shoes every year, among other things. A host of ‘out of pocket’ expenses were reimbursable, thereby saving tax. Another advantage was that on the rig, there was nowhere they could spend their money, and hence the savings were huge. When Sri was posted on the rig for the first time, he thought it was like being on the moon or Mars, but without having to wear a heavy and cumbersome spacesuit. It was, however, mandatory to wear protective gear when they went into the bore. The solitude this environment offered Sri was a big positive, though the nature of the job was less exciting. He was in the drilling section headed by one Arvind Paliwal. Very soon after joining, he heard stories from junior technicians about ‘The Boss’ and his incompetence and haughtiness. Arvind spent most of his time trying to please his boss, who headed the rig. As he worked closely with Arvind, Sri soon realized how difficult it was to work with a nincompoop. Not only was the man inept, he also played dirty politics for personal advantage.
Sri worked hard and often spent inhumanly long hours in the bore. The team generally went into the bore in the wee hours of the morning. Usually, Sri got up a couple of hours before the rest, freshened up and went to the deck. Here he watched the black sky turn lighter, and the flight of sea birds. The smoothness and effortlessness with which they sailed through the air, dipped towards the sea and soundlessly landed on the water amazed him. And then they teetered like a see-saw on the waves. Occasionally, a distant light indicated a ship, almost touching the horizon. At every such sight, Sri liked to make believe that it was the ghost of the Titanic rising from its underwater grave. Then he looked at his watch and noted the exact time. He liked guesstimating the time the ship would take to reach him. Then the hooter on the rig would blow and he would know it was time to go undersea.
After three months on the rig, Sri got a memo from Arvind, extending his stay by another three months. Sri would have been okay with this but for the manner in which it was done. The work days of all three freshers in the team were being extended without consulting them. Adding insult to injury, a meeting had been called where others had been asked about their willingness to stay on deck. Some of the more experienced employees had decided to stay, primarily because there was a hefty daily allowance for being on the rig. His impulse was to talk to Arvind, but Sri decided against t
his. He was enjoying his stay on the rig and let it go. The next three months were routine, except for an oil spill in the Indian Ocean at a site not very far from their rig. Just as the entire team was readied to be flown to a safer place as an emergency measure in case of a fire, news came that the spill had been contained.
He was halfway through his stipulated training when he got marching orders from the head office for a transfer to the North-East. ONGC made it mandatory for every new employee to spend five years in the north-eastern region of the country, which was considered a difficult posting. Sri had a different perspective on this and was excited at the prospect of exploring a new place. When he asked Arvind to release him, he was shocked to hear, ‘You are not going anywhere. I will talk to the head office. You will continue here for another year.’ He didn’t even wait for Sri’s reply.
Sri had an informal chat with his colleagues at the rig. They confirmed what he already suspected about Arvind’s style of functioning: he exploited trainees by giving them long and odd working hours and extracting the maximum possible work from them. And when needed, he dangled carrots in front of those who buckled, and brought out sticks for those who didn’t. Sri felt like he didn’t have a choice and continued on the rig. As time passed and Arvind heaped more injustices on him, Sri grew disillusioned with the setup altogether. One fine day, Sri decided to quit and sent his resignation letter to Arvind. Arvind almost exploded. ‘What the hell do you think of yourself?’ he blustered. ‘Is it your father’s company that you can come and go as you wish?’
‘Arvind sir, I can’t work with you,’ Sri replied calmly. ‘I can’t compromise my self-respect.’
Arvind turned purple and things got to a point that other officers had to take Sri away from Arvind’s chamber. They tried to pacify him but Sri had had enough. He’d actually begun to wonder if the corporate world—public sector or not—was the right place for him.