Longsight (BH:D153)

January 3, 2012

"Athu kodutho saare? shaye entaduthu oru vaakku paranjengi njan eduthene!" (Did you sell it, Saar? Tsk...if only you had mentioned it to me)

With these words and visible disappointment, the electrician sat down on the single step in front of me in the verandah. 

His dejection stemmed from the sale of our old car. Since he planted himself in front of me, I placed the Madhyamam weekly, with the half-read eulogy of Christopher Hitchens, on the window sill. This was going to be long. 

But before recounting his lament, the story how the weekly came into my possession.

One month and one week after my second surgery, I managed to embark on my first solitary walk this morning. As I walked up the street, one of the neighbors asked if I had briefly gone back to the US. My absence has been conspicuous! 

The express purpose of my walk was to obtain a copy of the weekly. Our newspaper agent started delivery of the Mathrubhumi weekly from this morning, but he didn't have an agency of Madhyamam. 

Achan and I had walked to the Museum,walked a round inside the campus and walked back home yesterday evening but there wasn't a single magazine shop on the route. So my plan was to walk till Sasthamangalam, in the opposite direction, half a kilometer away, in search of a copy. 

At the Congress party HQ right outside the colony, several state government cars. Ministers number plated 69 and 72 were definitely there. Judging from the numerous police jeeps lining the road, more ministers must have been in attendance. All the policemen had congregated around one jeep. They were reading some paper that was spread out on its hood. Jovial atmosphere. No scent of security threats in the air. No dogs. 

Half of my walk wasn't very fruitful partly because there aren't many petty shops on the way and partly because I was busy on the cellphone. Getting close to Sasthamangalam, the hopeful sight of publications neatly hung from a rope in front of a petty shop against the backdrop of wide variety of banana stems. 

Getting closer, realization of misplaced hope. 

All of them newspapers. Manorama, Mathrubhumi, Kerala Kaumudi, Mangalam and Indian Express (or the new Indian express as they insist on calling it). No magazines were hiding behind the bananas.

The vegetable vendor woman was doing brisk business at 10am. Unripe jackfruits piled on the footpath. A house cat sipping water that hadn't drained away after a car wash. Cap less bottles, emptied out of their celebration, abandoned by an electric post. 

Sasthamangalam junction has acquired a red hue. Communist party cadres have erected red banners all around to announce the party meeting that begins on the Feb 7th. I hope they leave the color intact for Valentine's day as well. 

I do a full circle around the round about. Hope rises again at the sight of 'Suhara Juice Center'. The shop has women's magazines suspended inside plastic wraps. I make unfair associations with America's wrapped mags. I remind myself that this is India, I won't be considered a pervert for examining the jacketed publications. 

Vanitha, Grihalakshmi and Kanyaka glisten inside their sheaths. India Today hangs unprotected. 

But no sign of Madhyamam. To ward off the morning sun, a brown canvas tarpaulin was stretched across the shop face. The juicer was comfortable in the darkness inside. I ventured into his den. 

"Saare, Madhyamam undo?" (Sir, do you have Madhyamam?). 

He smiled and head-bobed a no. 

"Evide kittum ivide aduthu?" (Where can I get it nearby?) I pressed on because he, with his scruffy beard and thick framed spectacles, seemed knowledgeable about magazines. 

"dow..aa irakathil kanuna valiya kettadathinte thazhe oru kadayund...avide urappayittu kittum" (There...down that road, there is shop in the ground floor of that big buidling....you'll surely find it there)

As I crossed the road, heading towards the 'valiya kettadam', it dawned on me that I had picked a 'Suhara' juice center to ask about 'Madhyamam' which is unfairly labeled as 'Muslim' weekly.

The shop I was pointed to was called "Chinthya" (thoughtful, I suppose). 

Tea, snacks, books, magazines...the board listed the services.

Heavy racks (you dirty minds!) were placed outside the shop. 

Wider selection of magazines. Comics. 'Tell me why' books. 

But books and magazines up front were really just a front, the practical side of the business were the tea and snacks. 

Aroma of fresh puffs and 'vada' waited to tear into the wraps of Femina and Women's Era. Bunch of young men, with their backpacks, from the nearby 'coaching center' hung around. 

I unclipped a Madhyamam and handed two five rupee notes, over a topless pyramid of puffs, to one of the men inside who was busy mixing "double strong tea".

It was this Madhyamam with glorious eulogies of Vaclav Havel and Christopher Hitchens (clearly nothing Islamist about such a publication) that I was reading when the electrician sat down in front of me in a story telling mood.

"I have been looking for a second-hand car to help me with the business," he continued. "It is difficult to transport stuff in my bike most of the time. I have already expressed interest in one car. A 96 Zen with air-conditioning. I will offer Rs. 50,000. The a/c is not working that well. Do you think it is a fair price?"

I nodded not wanting to get into the valuation business and interrupt his flow.

"I only need to drive it around the city mostly. Maximum, I will take it to Guruvayoor. They plan to sell it in four months. Also, Saare, once I have a car, I can do some side business," he winked. 

I was intrigued.

"I can run it like a cab for my neighbors. Drop them at the railway station, take them to the market etc. For a couple of hundred rupees"

"You can offer to help them with wedding invitations," I suggested. He liked how I was thinking.

"You see, Saare, it is important for me to have more sources of income. There is no guarantee that my son will take care of us. Once he gets a job, may be soon he will think, "Oh, I should get married now", after that we cannot predict how that girl is going to handle the situation. I have to watch out for me and my wife." 

"How old is your son?"

"22"

I was a bit surprised because this father hardly looked 40. "What does he study?"

"Engineering. Computer Science. At the Narayana College in Tamil Nadu."

"He must be close to graduating..."

"Yes, it is his final semester."

"I hope he gets a job soon."

"I hope so too. Initially I took a loan to build a room upstairs for him in our house. We thought it can be done in 1.5 lakhs, it cost us 3 lakhs. Now with rest of the educational loan, we owe the bank nearly 10 lakhs."

"He should be able to get a job with his degree. He should be able to pay off the loan."

"He should be. But he doesn't have to. Right, Saare? The loan is in my name. He may not say so, but he can very well tell me that it is all my debt. Even if he doesn't his wife can. Once he has a job, he will want to start a family soon. I am not blaming that girl, " He continued about his son's imaginary future bride, "people have gotten used to different lifestyles. They may not compromise. So they will be thinking far ahead into their own future. I don't blame them. Things have become expensive. Right, Saare? We go to drink just a cup of tea and it will turn out to cost Rs. 115, so we might have to borrow Rs. 15 right there because we have only hundred rupees in our pocket. 

[Pause. Eyes skyward. Continues] 

"They will have their own plans. They won't want two old people draining on their income. So we have to plan."

I stuck to the easy smile response.

"I have been working with this medical equipment contractors. For 15 years, my salary has been only Rs. 6500. Last year, finally they hiked it up to Rs 8000. But that is like what rich folks spent on one night's dinner out. You know what I mean! I have taken all these loans for my son's college. If he doesn't pay them off, I will have to. I don't know how much longer I can do these electrical and plumbing business. Well, electrician's work I can do for more time, but plumbing becomes difficult with age. Soon if I apply too much strength with my pipe wrench on some heavy duty tap, it will be my bones that will be twisted. Bones are gone when we get old. Right, Saare? I do brass polishing also. Already some times my arms shaking if I am holding a little too heavy brass lamp," He finally stood up.

"I would have surely bought the old car from you. Next month I will get some fund from work of Rs. 40,000. I can use some savings added to that to buy that car. We have no pension, Saar. So I have to plan on working whatever my health will permit as long as I can. I will come back with a replacement" 

He walked away carrying the electronic chalk of the tube-light that had blown on the night of installation itself last week. 

If only there was a shop that issued replacement warranties for parental anxieties...