The Rat Eater

by Anand Ranganathan

  SP Kharbanda turned to DSP Sharma and said, ‘Ban-cho, did you see that, Sharma?’

  ‘I saw that alright, sir. It is unquestionably a goat.’

  ‘No, you idiot. I was talking about him,’ said SP Kharbanda pointing at Ajay, still meandering his way through crowded tables.

  ‘Oh. Yes, sir. I know what you mean.’

  ‘He’ll be tearing his meat away like babbar-bancho-sher. And for us, soup and breadsticks.’

  ‘I know, sir. And soup is an appetiser, is it not. I mean, this is like kicking a man in his stomach just when he is dying of hunger.’

  SP Kharbanda rubbed his thumb on his forefinger. ‘And all on government expense. See, Sharma? That’s how it works. In ten years, we have to reach that place, that table.’

  ‘Yes, sir, I get you.’

  ‘Or it will always be soup and bread-batti for us lot.’

  ‘Very true, sir.’

  ‘How many years do you have left in service, Sharma?’

  ‘Seven, sir, and a few months here and there.’

  ‘Well, in that case, at least I have to reach that table in ten years’ time.’

  ‘Eh? Er…yes, sir.’

  SP Kharbanda sighed. ‘Anyway, Sharma saab, no use crying now. This is all written in our kundli. Ban-cho, had I shown some courage at the time and told Bauji I’d like to join the Indian Revenue Service…’

  ‘Lakhs, sir, lakhs. Crores. You’d be driving a Mercedes by now, sir.’

  SP Kharbanda turned to DSP Sharma with a deadpan expression. ‘Or, ban-cho, someone would be driving it for me.’

  ‘Er, that’s what I meant, sir.’

  ‘You said it, Sharma, you said it. Anyway, cut to the present and stop making all these khayali pulaos. I bet even khayali pulaos cost a packet here.’

  ‘True, sir.’

  ‘Well then, what are you waiting for? Call that bundhgala and ask him to get some soup and that ban-cho bread.’

  ‘Yes, sir, at once,’ said DSP Sharma and waved at a waiter. ‘…Oye Jawaharlal. Haan, yes you.’

  Meanwhile, Ajay had managed finally to reach his table. He produced a lazy salute and pulled the chair out. ‘Hi guys.’

  Akhil let go. ‘AB, saaley, what’s this, man? Api was about to leave me and walk out.’

  As soon as he had said it, Akhil cursed himself for the choice of words.

  Api joined in. ‘Yes, dammit. We have been waiting for at least thirty minutes, yaar. What kept you, anyway?’

  ‘Arey bhai, don’t ask. The bloody case, what else.’

  ‘So it’s just you, is it—the one person in charge?’

  ‘Now don’t start here, begum—not in front of Akhil. We don’t want him thinking it’s always me, the reason we get late every time, kyon?’

  Api puckered her lips. ‘So now it’s my fault, is it? Yes, that’s it, isn’t it? We come to Mumbai, we stay in Mumbai, we eat in Mumbai, we go from Mumbai.’

  Ajay removed his watch and placed it next to the fork carefully, like it was part of the cutlery. He massaged his bleached wrist. ‘Oh come on, Aps—be a sport, yaar. Aks, you say something, man.’

  ‘Keep me out of it. You are the one who married her.’

  ‘Achha relax, guys. I’ll make up for it. Let’s all go to Elephanta tomorrow afternoon. How about it?’

  ‘And back to Delhi…?’

  ‘Tomorrow night, if all goes well. And now, I am starving. All I have had since morning is a kachauri…Waiter?’

  The waiter sprinted forward. ‘Yes, sir?’

  Ajay gestured with his hands. ‘Yes, get the menu—and some water.’

  ‘Sir, mineral or regular?’

  ‘What’s the difference?’

  ‘Sir, one is complimentary, the other is ninety…’

  ‘Get three bottles. And what beer?’

  ‘Kingfisher, sir.’

  Ajay looked at Akhil. ‘Beer, Aks? I know Aps only drinks my blood.’

  ‘My husband is acting funny today. Just a nimbu pani for me.’

  ‘Aks?’

  ‘Ya, why not. A beer.’

  ‘Good…Listen, two Kingfishers, one nimbu pani. And can I have the menu now?’

  ‘Of course, sir…here.’

  ‘Good. Good.’

  Akhil glanced around distractedly and spotted the two officers. ‘By the way, AB, I hope those two there are being well looked after? For food, I mean.’

  ‘Let the bastards rot in hell. Did you know, since Monday, I have been doing all the investigating, probing, thinking—short of typing the reports, bloody everything.’

  Api smirked. ‘Finally, AB justifies his salary.’

  ‘Yes, and I suppose one day you will, too, my darling, when the morcha you are leading ends up at a lecture hall rather than Jantar Mantar.’

  ‘Arey stop it, you two—bickering like kids. Reminds me of that autowallah—on Muk-mem day, remember?’

  Ajay roared. ‘Who can forget? Were it not for me…’

  ‘Oh, sure. Cometh the hour, cometh the wardrobe man.’

  ‘Achha achha, boss, let’s order first…Aps? Aks?’

  ‘We’ll leave it to you—you are good at ordering.’

  ‘See, Aks? And it’s like this all the time...Waiter?’

  ‘…Yes, sir, ready when you are.’

  ‘Ya, we’ll have one butter chicken lahori—boneless.’

  ‘Sir.’

  ‘One bhindi nayantara, one kadai paneer…’

  ‘Sir.’

  ‘One dal tadka, raita, some papad …’

  ‘Sir.’

  ‘…And, two—no, make that three—butter naans to begin with.’

  ‘Yes, sir. Your drinks will be with you in a minute.’

  ‘Good. Achaa listen—can you bring some mixture along with the beers?’

  ‘Sure, sir, mixture. Thank you, sir.’

  Ajay tried balancing an upended knife. ‘Good…haan, so bhai, what’s new? What’s up? How are things at your end, Aks? Sorry about that night, man. Just couldn’t make it, you know?’

  ‘Yes, Aps told me the next day. You came back to the guest house around eleven.’

  ‘Arey what to do, man. I have become a prisoner of this bloody system. But leave all that. Tell me, what’s up with you?’

  ‘Nothing much. This and that—you know how it is with research…’

  Api let out a secret. ‘Our Akhil has become a philosopher.’

  ‘Now is that true? Ha ha ha, found science too tough, is it? These brainstorming events you guys keep organising came to naught, is it? Ha ha…philosophising about what?’

  ‘Arey, don’t listen to her.’

  Api disclosed something more damaging. ‘And he’s married, too.’

  ‘What. Who? Where? When? Bastard. Saaley. What? How?’

  ‘Abey leave it, na. She’s talking about my Padmini.’

  ‘Padmini?’

  The waiter approached with his hands full. ‘Your beers, sir.’

  ‘What? Haan, yes, and there—and nimbu pani for her.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Good…haan, so back to this Padmini bhabhi…’

  ‘Car. It’s my great white Fiat, thullay.’

  ‘A car. Oh, Padmini! I get it.’

  ‘Tube light.’

  ‘No, but seriously, Aks, forty is no age to be single.’

  ‘Forty hoga tera baap. I am thirty-eight.’

  ‘One and the same. Look at me—married when I was in my prime.’

  ‘Yes, I know about that. Prime pot belly, prime dhoti, prime sunglasses.’

  ‘So you told him, then, did you? Dammit, Aps.’

  Api giggled. ‘Wasn’t my fault. He wanted the truth.’

  ‘But seriously, what’s bugging him, Aps?’

  ‘Oh, nothing much. He can’t stand the system, hates the way things are, is bugged by the traffic, livid with the water and the power situation, troubled by the literacy rate, objects to the scientific set-up, scornful of our netas, disturbed over corruption, enraged with
crony capitalism…Nothing much, really.’

  Ajay drummed a quick beat with the fork. ‘I told you. I knew it. India is a great country—but only for pucca Indians.’

  Akhil smirked. ‘And what am I, bastard—Jaapani?’

  ‘No no, you don’t get it. Aps, didn’t I tell you then, too?’

  Api smiled. ‘Yes, can’t say you didn’t.’

  ‘What the hell are you two…’

  ‘You see, Aks, my boy, it is very simple. You are not a pucca Indian anymore. I am sorry to have to tell you that.’

  Akhil nodded his head slowly. ‘Oh, is that right?’

  ‘Yes. And it is so elementary my dear Watsonwa that I am not surprised your miniature brain couldn’t catch it. You see, in order to be happy in our country, you have to be in our country—always. You understand? It is…’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Let me finish. In order to not go mad in chaos, you need to always be in chaos. You get me now? Man, you experience a few years of order and then come back and think you’ll slip back in—into the chaos. Well, it never happens. Here, let me give you an example. Do you adhere to lane driving?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  ‘Good. And do you feel outraged when a piddly little bastard weaves his Maruti round your, your Padmini—weaves and cuts it around like he is driving a bike, brushing aside all rules and courtesies of good, friendly driving? Do you get mad?’

  ‘Very.’

  ‘You see? You get mad because you have experienced order and considerate and mannered driving abroad. And you are a fool if you think you’ll get all smiles and goodwill if you drive like them, those guys in England or wherever. Well, I tell you, man, you are annoying your fellow drivers here by sticking to your lane.’

  ‘You are annoying me right now.’

  ‘You are adhering to, clinging on to some order, when all around you there is chaos. We Indians wouldn’t want to extend our right hand and flick that indicator on—too much effort. It’s not worth it. And when everyone on the road won’t flick the indicator, it is understood that no matter what, that indicator wouldn’t be flicked on. It’s telepathy—you understand. You, my friend, by flashing the indicator, you are the odd one out. You are the disturbance. And that’s when trouble starts.’

  Api found herself agreeing. ‘I can see his point, Aks.’

  Akhil broke in. ‘I can see he is talking bullshit.’

  ‘But think, man. If 99% of your fellow drivers here don’t follow lane driving, then what the bloody hell are you doing holding on to your order haan? Try it. Do as I say. Try weaving all around the place. For one, you’ll see the other folks as your brothers—they’ll understand you. They’ll be happy. There is camaraderie among the violators, you know.’

  ‘Well, I can’t believe a DIG is advising me to break rules.’

  ‘And that’s another one for you to think about. I never break any rules—my driver does.’

  Akhil clapped his hands. ‘Oh. Fantastic, milord. Saaley.’

  ‘And that’s the secret of survival; correction, anyone can survive—the idea is to survive and be happy. Just allow yourself to be taken in by chaos. And look the other way when rules are being broken.’

  ‘Someone please record this.’

  ‘And a third bit of advice. You hate cows on the roads, you…’

  ‘No, I love cows on the roads. I really do. They remind me that it is us who have taken their space.’

  ‘Mad. Anyway, if you hate the roads, hate potholes and all that shit, you get a good car with a great suspension. No point cursing the system, getting all riled up with anger and hatred for the municipality, for the bloody contractor who made the road. I mean, that ass isn’t worth you spending your few seconds thinking about him. Just get a great car and glide over the potholes, skim over them. Life’s a dream in the back seat. So throw away your damn khatara and get a car that can handle our roads. Then hire a driver who will violate all the traffic rules. You just close your eyes in the back and think of things you ought to be thinking about.’

  Akhil nodded his head mockingly. ‘And of course, when you stop at a traffic light, look away from those decapitated, nose-less, ear-less, lip-less…’

  ‘No need to be sarcastic. Get your car windows tinted—a dark tint—and ask your driver to pump up the volume.’

  ‘Wah. DIG saab, wah. Congratulations, Ms Aparajita for being—what was it—wedded off to such a man.’

  Ajay disregarded the comment and carried on. ‘Arey, you laugh at me now, and that’s alright. But let me tell you. You can cast and mould and shape millions in this country like you—a million brooders. There’s plenty to stew over and curse in India, man. But you got to think: what is my karam? Do I have a job? How do I do it to the best of my ability? Bugger the bastard who can’t or doesn’t know how to. Why the hell should I spend my precious time thinking about that man’s ineptitude and incompetence, haan?’

  ‘Absolutely, DIG saab.’

  ‘But think, man. Are you getting paid to do research or has the government employed you to look at those beggars at traffic lights? And anyway, what have you ever done for them other than throw them your loose change, haan? Believe me, Aks, you’ll sleep much better at night. You’ll be able to concentrate on what you are paid for. Leave the problems of beggars, traffic, water, electricity to the bastards who are paid to look after those things.’

  ‘And what a marvellous job they have done.’

  ‘Yes, they haven’t done much, maybe nothing—I am the first to acknowledge it. But then, bastard, if you do their job, who will do yours? No water? Get a water tanker to come to your house every day for hundred bucks. No power? Get an inverter for God’s sake. You see? Solve your problems and that is how you will have time to think about the things that you are paid to do. Aks, Aks, Aks. Believe me—you can’t change the system. It is better that the system changes you. It is for your own good.’

  ‘Yes, I can see you made the same points in your UPSC interview all those years ago.’

  ‘No, you are right. I didn’t. I told them the system needed changing. And you know what? I told them exactly what they wanted to hear. But in my own small way, I try and do my job…’

  ‘And by gosh, you do. Aps was all wrong—you are the bloody philosopher.’

  ‘But this isn’t philosophy my friend. This is common sense. Any fool can feel gutted looking at the misery, the filth, the beggars. It takes genuine effort to overlook it all and focus on your job.’

  ‘Now don’t you get me started, man.’

  ‘No no, I want to get you started. In fact, I know why you returned to India, after all.’

  Akhil tilted his head and leaned forward. ‘Oh, you do?’

  ‘Yes, and I’ll tell you. You see, I was in Munich last year—this delegation for fact-finding something, something. Twenty of us.’

  Akhil chuckled. ‘Let me guess—it must have been in the summer.’

  ‘Yes, June—but why does it…well, anyway. Munich. I was gobsmacked by the cleanliness, the brightly painted buildings, the spotless pavements, gliding buses, people moving about quietly. The whole damn thing shook me to my core. It unsettled me. Quite like the way you get unsettled when some ass weaves around on the roads here. Yes, I couldn’t quite place it then but it dawned on me later. I am from a different country.’

  ‘A different planet more like.’

  ‘No use pretending I am not. I belong to chaos. I feed on it. Chaos runs in my veins. And there I was, dropped bang in the middle of order, complete order—everything perfect. I felt misplaced, a refugee, a pariah. I was in shock for the first two days, then shock turned into something much worse—I was petrified.’

  ‘Of what? The guilt of having wasted taxpayers’ money on a jamboree?’

  ‘Petrified of my movements. All of them. I couldn’t walk properly. I couldn’t talk naturally. I was petrified I would make a mistake, that I might involuntarily indulge in a bit of chaos, give in to my natural instinct. And there, y
ou see. That’s when I realised I cannot belong anywhere else but India. You won’t believe it but I spent the last couple of days locked up in my hotel room with a kambal over my head. And so, my friend, you ask: Dear AB, why did you behave the way you did?’

  Akhil grinned. ‘Dear AB, why did you behave the way you did?’

  ‘The whole thing comes down to this: that I may not spit on the roads here, I may not unzip and pee by the wall, I may not take or give bribes, I may not practise lane driving, I may not do any of these voluntarily. But—and here it is, are you listening—but if I did, if I did do any of these things, then, my friend, in my India, I can get away with it—scot-free.’

  Akhil thumped the table. ‘Wah! DIG saab, wah. Satya vachan.’

  Ajay continued. ‘And what a reassurance that is. Of not violating the laws but being reassured in the knowledge that were you to break them, nothing would happen. You see that? I tell you, man, there’s nothing like it. Not a feeling in the world comes close to it. Remember, I didn’t say this feeling prompts me to break the law; it just comforts me. You understand?’

  ‘Perfectly.’

  ‘And that, my friend, is the exact reason why I think you came back, too.’

  ‘What rot.’

  ‘Go on, admit it. I have given it a hell of a thought.’

  ‘And sadly, I have given you a hell of a lot of talking time.’

  The waiter approached with the food trolley.

  Ajay looked up. ‘Time out, guys.’

  Akhil punched his palm in pretend dejection. ‘Dammit. Just when I was about to learn more.’

  ‘You will, you will…Yes, the chicken there, yes. Aks?’

  ‘Yes, sir, may I serve you?’ the waiter asked.

  Akhil raised his hand. ‘No, it’s alright, thanks. I’ll take care of it.’

  ‘No no, Aks, let him. It is his job.’

  ‘Well, DIG saab, I’d like to do his job for now if that’s fine by you.’

  Ajay threw his shoulders back. ‘You see. That’s the problem with you non-pucca Indians. I mean, the guy is happy doing his job. It was his job.’