October 14, 2011
While waiting for the architect outside Kotak Mahindra bank's building this morning, I saw an old lady with a twisted stick, almost as tall as her, for support, go from window to window of the cars parked on the road. When she was done with the Hyundai i10, she limped over towards me. She had a deformed jaw that slurred her speech. But I could make out her saying, "Enniku anjooru roopa thannu, makkale" (I was given 500 rupees, son). I am pretty sure such a generous car driver existed only in her imagination.
I pulled out a 5 rupee note, the reasonable alms amount these days. She gave me the expected, most sympathetic look. "You cheap beggar!" her eyes said. "vendengi venda" (it's fine if you don't want) I said pulling my hand back towards my pocket. She quickly grabbed the money. A real 5 rupee is better than the 500 in her mind. "Mani ethrayayi mone?" (What is the time, son?) she asked as if to diffuse any tension that might have risen between us. "Ettara" (8:30)I wondered what appointment she was limping off to. The bells of the Yakshi Amma temple nearby were ringing.
Showing the architect our old home that needs demolition and reconstruction meant telling him all the juicy gossips about the neighbors. You see, the neighbors' consent is mandatory to avoid leaving any land as boundary to the sides. On one side of this house is a rented home where I am told a few bar boys and waiters who double as henchmen and hitmen crash for the night.
To the other side is a newly walled off vacant lot that is in dispute. When I was a kid, a family from Assam who had settled in Kerala lived in the huge property that contained this lot. The old man and his wife died in the 90s. The daughter married a big shot archeologist. She has left him since then to be with a driver. This couple "sold" the property to an out of town businessman. He went to court when he realized that the ownership of the land actually lies with someone in Mumbai. So for the past few years, this lot has been home to a massive array of wild plants. I am sure there are rodents too but they are happy in their dark tunnels during the day when the human pests forage.
In front of the house, a beauty parlor runs from the ground floor of a home. It is the home of one of the two sisters who dont talk to each other these days. She has recently given herself over to the Pentecostal cause and her husband has put his faith in alcohol. The other sister lives next door. Their dad owned one of the oldest hotels in the city.
As he dropped me back, the architect promised to give me a thread for a new play soon. I guess I was rather dramatic in presenting the neighborly slandering.
Around 11am, Achan and I showed up at the BSNL accounts office near the government press. Luckily, no student agitation to block the roads in that area today. At the downstairs counter, we were asked to go upstairs to get the matter of the nonexistent bill sorted out.
Chaos upstairs!
Bunch of people crowded around each of the five counters. We wait with a fair amount of confusion, a tinge of anguish and a sprinkle of irritation on our faces. A staff member who walked in after presumably his tea break takes notice and pity.
He listens to our problem and leads us into the office of the Chief Accounts Officer.
The CAO was on the phone while trying to get a file emailed from his desktop. Our friendly guide told us to take the seats. This windowsless office in the old building is what Stephen Fry compared the Microsoft Windows environment to.
The CAO looked like a Brahmin version of Mr. John from the Vellayambalam office. Thick head of hair graying at the roots, unshaved one day beard, a spot of kumkum on the forehead. Exceptionally emaciated forearms that end in disproportionately big palms come out of his half sleeve red shirt with thin white stripes.. He had a white paper on a clipboard on the glass top table. He was scribbling down the list of complaints on it. A lady staff member entered carrying a thermos flask and went into a side room that had a placard saying "no admission".
Finally, the file was emailed. He turned to us, "Entha prashnam?" (What is the problem) with an accent that confirmed my suspicion that he hailed from north Kerala.
"Sir, combo1350 plan August..." I began the epic saga but what cut short by his cellphone ringing. He took a few minutes to note down the complaint from the lady at the other end. "Refund undavum madam, njan parayam, refund kittum" (There will be a refund madam, I will tell, you will get a refund" He ended the call with that promise, blocked out that complaint on the paper with a squiggly ink boundary and turned back to us.
I felt like we were in a doctor's office. I told him about the connection, disconnection and the bills that remain illusive.
"Image illatha bill aayirikum" (It might be a bill without an image!) he diagnosed immediately.
I had no clue what that meant. Neither had Achan. But we both shook our heads in agreement. Of course, that must be the problem!
He dived back into the abysmal (as in deep) database of BSNL subscribers and did not find our bill. He clicked on a few tabs hoping to enhance the bill's self image. Fruitless. He explained our problem over the phone to someone. "Onnu nokkane" (Please take a look) he ended the call.
"Hyderabad officil paranjittund. Sheriyakkum. full year bill with discount varum" (I have told the Hyderabad office. It will be taken care of. varshika varisankhya kizhivu sahitham will come)
"Ini cut aakumo?" (Will service be disconnected again?)Achan expressed his doubt
"Illa, ini cut aayal ente uthavaditham aanu" (No, if it is disconnected then you can hold me responsible) He assured us. It was good to find such dedicated employees at the top.
Tomorrow morning I am off to Mumbai for the weekend. Looking forward to catching up with a couple of friends and relatives and meeting a good friend for the first time in real life. Facebook has provided a handful of great friends. It should be an interesting experience to be back in the IIT campus. Will update the notes on Monday when I get back.
Quick Hindi film music trivia for the day: In the song "Pyar kiya to darna kya" from Mughal-e-Azam, though Shakeel Badayuni wrote the lyrics, the most famous line in the song, "Pyar kiya koyi chori nahi ki" was composer Naushad's contribution.
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