I am here to sell my house. My mother's house, that is. And no, this is not a piece of sentimental crap where I write about warm fluffy memories of me twirling in slow motion in that house as a little girl. I couldn't care less about selling it. Don't get me wrong. I mean, it was a nice house and I do have some fond memories and all, but I hardly visit the house or even Madurai, the town where I grew up. I haven't seen it in the last ten, twelve years. So the chances of me breaking down crying and kissing the earth are extremely unlikely.
I just want to finish the whole thing. I had that feeling even before spending a sleepless night in the train.
I had postponed it long enough. My brother last week after having gotten to the end of his dither, asked me in his most accusatory tone – “Are you holding out? Do you want a share, Priya?” Of course, I couldn't postpone it any further, after he had impugned me thus. He is in the US and he wasn't amused. I couldn't possibly go off to Madurai in the middle of the week. I know Murphy’s Law, don't I? But after having said that for the past six months, he wasn't willing to buy it any longer.
I get down from the train, my eyes bloodshot, drop my laptop and backpack on the platform and stand there for a moment, my mind going blank.
We hadn't had a single major crisis this week, no deadlines, no upgrades, nothing. This was probably as good as it would get. So there I was, rushing down the steps of the underground platform in Bangalore station, on a Thursday evening. I couldn't believe the awful stink and cracks and trash lining the platform and stupid men who couldn't walk without brushing or hitting me. I had to close my nose with my tissue the whole time. This platform is surprisingly much cleaner. I hadn't expected it.
I didn't get much sleep Wednesday night either. I wanted to make sure things were squared away before I left. The buyer wouldn't sign the papers on a Saturday. Otherwise I could have waited till tomorrow.
I sigh and look at the time. Seven thirty. I could dial Rakesh. Though I doubt they'd have done anything in the last two hours.
It had to happen yesterday. I shudder to think what would have happened if I hadn't called Rakesh before I left yesterday. He wouldn't have checked his mail till later in the night and all hell would have broken loose. Not that it hasn't. I wearily rub my eyes.
I don’t know why my brother couldn't come himself and finish this off. It is his house. I suppose he doesn't really feel like spending 10K dollars on a trip to India now. The house is fetching him 50K dollars. Not bad, considering. I am surprised people are willing to pay that much money to our small house. After mom died a couple of years ago, no one has been in the house. I can't remember if he tried renting it out. He did mention something about clearing off whatever is left there. I’ll probably not have time. I will only have time to go sign the papers, have lunch, pack everything into a giant bin and leave. He said our old maid stays nearby and will know the details. I hope things go smooth.
I try to figure out what my next move is. There are a couple of chauffeurs with placards. My name isn't there.
Someone comes and stands near me. I turn to look at a young man smiling at me. “Yes?” I raise my brows. He is wearing khaki uniform – an auto driver I suppose.
He steps near. “I am Valliamma’s son. Shall we go?” he says in chaste Tamil, bending to pick up my backpack and laptop.
I nod absent mindedly, fiddling with my phone. I could call Naveen instead. Sometimes Raksh is slow, he doesn't understand the urgency. If he had called back in time, I might not have gotten into that train. Wasted precious minutes. System had crashed late yesterday night. We couldn't reproduce the problem. No logs. No workarounds. And this was one of our top clients, likely to bring more projects. That client has always been difficult. And this - right when we are negotiating another project. Last month when I was there, I had been quite aggressive in my claims.
Valliamma’s son asks me to wait near the entrance, and walks off to bring his auto.
I woke up people, asked them to roll back stuff, asked them to relink stuff. Nothing worked. God I spent half the night in various phone calls standing near the door of the compartment yelling on my phone, over the sound of the train on the tracks. There were bins and crates and horrible stench near the door. My mobile connection kept dropping. In the middle of my conference call with our New York client, my phone died. I have two chargers, but there was no connection. I sat there staring intently at the little line on the left. This is my worst nightmare. And I am nowhere near waking up.
“So you please call my son Madam.” I nod hastily, at the man stopping near me, pretending to be busy. This man cornered me between the bathroom and the door in the middle of the night. He had started off sounding sympathetic about me and then proceeded to tell me how his son is looking for a change in his job. It was unnerving to have him stand there watching me while I rattled off on the phone.
I call up Manish. No good news. Still debugging. Only good news is Ravi is now in client site. Stroke of luck he was in the vicinity. He is good.
A car glides near me and come to a gentle stop. The driver gets down and opens the door for me. Thank god, its a car. My laptop and backpack are neatly stowed in the back.
My head is pounding. We ease into the traffic. Gentle breeze flows from the half unrolled front windows. This car has a nice, fresh smell, unlike those cheap perfumes that taxis seem to stock. I recline a bit.
Kattabomman is still standing in the same place. Yellow auto rickshaws still defy traffic rules. Huge hoardings still line the main street. This town hasn't changed at all. Everything seems to be immersed in layers of dust. I watch the ubiquitous men in folded white dhotis, with a strange feeling of time travel. How provincial.
“Sir didn't come?” the driver asks, jerking me out of my reverie. I crease my brows trying to get the context. “Huh?”
“I was asking if your husband didn't accompany you?” he repeats slightly turning.
Oh great. I am expected to hold a conversation with him. Cant he see I am alone? Of course my husband didn't accompany me. “No, he didn't.”
Mercifully, Valliamma’s son decides to leave me alone. I knead my forehead. I am expecting a raise and a promotion. This couldn't have come in a bad time. There is no way I could have predicted it. It maybe a good idea to call my boss. The man didn't remember I was going on vacation today. I had been telling him about it for weeks.
“Would you like some coffee?” the driver asks me, slowing down near a wayside coffee shop. I shudder at the filth and say, “No, let us go home.”
I call up my boss. I can't believe he is asking me to send a detailed mail. “Priya a mail from you detailing what we are doing, how we are approaching the problem would go a long way.”
“Is there a browsing center near by?” I ask the driver.
“Yes, but they wont be open now,” he responds. The car stops. I notice with surprise that we are home. The house looks so dilapidated.
“I have to go to a browsing center,” I repeat, sitting still in the car.
“Yes, I’ll take you. But it wont be open now,” he says slowly. He makes his tone sound reasonable as though he is talking to a petulant child. I glare at him. I should ask him to get back and drive. I get down anyway. He must be right. At least they have something called Internet.
“How are you dear?”, an old lady opens the door and comes running towards me. I realize its Valliamma, our maid. A stray dog wags its tail standing next to her son.
“Valliamma!”, I exclaim. “How are you?” She holds my hand grinning so happily, I am slightly embarrassed. Her son gives her an indulgent look and grins at me stupidly. What's with them?
“Come in, come in,” she pulls me inside. “Do you stay here?” I ask her, eyeing the hut in the back.
“Yes. We have been here for the past seven years. You never came here after going off for studies abroad,” she says, her tone accusing. I shrug and mumble something about time. Well it is true! I hardly have time for courtesy visits. I value my time too much. Mom and my brother visited often enough anyway.
The rooms are empty. It has the stuffy smell of closed spaces, still lingering a bit despite the open windows. “Kumar cleaned this room yesterday, for you,” she says. It's clean but bare. I realize belatedly the mistake of not booking a room in a good hotel.
I look at everything doubtfully. Valliamma is chattering away. I hardly catch a word or two. She is saying now that she would go and get me a cup of coffee. My head is pounding. I blindly nod. Kumar is nowhere in sight. I walk up to the backyard and sit on the steps with my hands on my head. I have to check my mail. This is nuts. I get up to see Kumar crouching and coming out of their hut.
He looks at me and then says – “Our neighbor has internet. Shall I ask him?”
I am torn. Can I just walk into a stranger’s house and ask to use their Internet? I just need to send that one mail. I am wrestling with the idea when the said neighbor appears as if on cue across the compound wall.
“Kumar, aunty wants to go for a wedding at one. Can you come?”
“I cant but I will have someone come and pick her up, Sir” he responds.
“Why?”
“Madam has come,” responds Kumar. The neighbor looks at me and gives me a full toothed artificial grin. “Heheheh. I didn't notice you. I heard that you were coming. How long are you staying?”
“Just today”
“Oh, very short trip,” he grins again. “If you need anything please ask,” he says.
I look at Kumar. He is looking at me calmly as if to tell me it’s my decision. I almost make up my mind to ask him, when he says, “My daughter is also studying computer science.”
I get up immediately, not wanting another resume thrust on me, with a polite ‘thank you.’ I turn to ask Kumar when we should go to the registration office and find him watching me. I can’t place the expression on his face – except that it disturbs me.
I lay on my back on the bare floor my mind abuzz with worries. Oh I could call Arvind I realize. I call my husband ask him to log into my email system and have him send an email. I dictate to him what needs to be sent and who to send it to. He grudgingly does it. Apparently he had an equally bad night. When I asked him to start reading more emails, he refuses. I put the phone down in a huff.
Valliamma walks in with a cup in her hand. “Kumar got coffee for you,” she says.
Strong, soothing. I take a few sips in silence. Valliamma looks old. She must be in her forties or early fifties. “How old is Kumar? Is he the last?” I ask her.
“Yes. Kumar is twenty one. Neela, Saroja and Savithri are all married and they have children,” she says.
It can’t have crashed. I took every step according to the book. I couldn’t possibly have failed. What did I not do? Ben would have a field day with this. He has been gunning for me for a really long time. I vaguely register Valliamma is chattering. She is talking about Kumar – something about what a great son he is. I vaguely smile at her.
“I better take bath,” I get up. Bathrooms are outside in these old fashioned houses. I pick up my backpack and walk out. Thankfully it’s clean.
“Pipes won’t work. We don’t have the motor to pump water,” Kumar says carrying huge buckets of water. He deposits them on the bathroom floor.
“Isn’t there hot water?” I ask. He looks at me surprised. “I have a bad back. I need hot water,” I respond coolly. Who is he to judge me? Hot water is not a luxury. He nods his head. Just says “Five minutes,” and then leaves me standing there.
I watch him resentfully, as he gathers some logs piled up in a corner and brings it to a brick stove. He whistles softly as he prepares to boil the water. He is tall and lanky and looks his age. Except when he looks straight at you. He has this expression that belies his age, I realize. He continues his humming and sets about his task in a relaxed manner. He doesn’t seem to care that I am waiting.
“You didn’t study?” I ask him curiously.
He turns, smiles and says, “I didn’t go to college,” I wonder if his rephrasing was intentional.
“Why not?”
“I didn’t think there was anything there for me to learn”
“What crap,” I say bluntly. “Don’t get carried away by those trade union talks. I went to a good college. See where I am,” I feel compelled to point out.
He laughs. “Trade unions don’t advise that. Anyway I do agree in general.” I don’t usually get into such arguments. I think his condescension is rattling me. I should be the one who should feel superior. He must be either foolish or lazy or both and just pretending to talk things he doesn’t understand. I flip my head to stare at the walls.
He stands there for a few moments calmly, “I think you misunderstand me. I didn’t say anything about college education in general. For my circumstances I felt this choice was better,” he said his voice placating. I nod my head, depite my intention to make it gracious, I am afraid it came off curt.
Not that he is perturbed by it. His whistling resumes. He feeds more logs and watches to keep a steady flame going. He plays with the stray dog in between, letting it climb on him.
Valliamma brings a basket of flowers. “You have cut off your hair, otherwise I could have made you a nice string of flowers,” she says. I shrug.
When the water finishes boiling, he deposits that too inside the bathroom. “I have my regular trips for the morning. I’ll be back in twenty minutes. Shall I bring you breakfast,” he asks. I nod my head.
He walks off, his hands in his pocket, a spring to his feet.
The hot water is so soothing. I take a leisurely bath and then get ready. My headache is much better. My eyes are puffy, begging to sleep.
Valliamma is sitting there stringing the flowers still. I sit on the stone we used for washing clothes.
I hear the whistle before he comes in.
“Breakfast is ready,” he announces. He proceeds to get a clean plate from inside the hut, arranges the idlis and the chutney artfully and hands it to me.
“How about you?” I ask as the warm food glides into my throat. “We have had our koozh. Would you like some coconut juice?” he asks, picking up the green coconuts heaped near the compound wall. I nod my acquiescence.
“From your own tree,” he says waving his hand at the row of coconuts and proceeds to cut it deftly. He pours it in a glass and keeps it near a short bench.
He then waits for me. The air of relaxed atmosphere around him is unmistakable. He gathers the coconut pieces, drops it in a bin and then sits in a coir cot, swinging his foot. He must have got something for the dog. It’s eating in a corner, leaving me alone.
“Do you still work? What do you do?” I ask Valliamma.
“No dear, I haven’t been working since Kumar started his driving. I make the koozh, then string some flowers and take it to the temple. I spend some time there, and then come back. Kumar comes around mid-day, helps me cook some simple lunch. We eat and then after he leaves I sleep for sometime. I go to the temple again in the evening, and then he comes there in the night and brings me home. He buys some food for us outside. He reads me some stories from the paper in the night,” she elaborates.
“Looks like you fool around all day,” I tell Kumar trying to make it a joke. He doesn’t seem offended. He just smiles. Valliamma protests. “Oh no, he works very hard. He has repaid the loan and owns his auto,” she says proudly.
“Why don’t you get another loan and buy a second auto then? You can expand, rent it out,” I ask him.
He shrugs. “I am not in any hurry,” he says, smiling. His smiles are disturbing. It is a superior smile, I think resentfully. And he has no business smiling that smile.
“Shall we go?” I ask, getting down abruptly. I don’t have time to chat with him all day. I have things to do. He nods, gets the empty plate from me, carefully washes it and stows it, while I wait impatiently.
We start off to the registrar office. I debate whether to call Ravi or not. I decide to call him. He answers brightly enough, considering it is one o clock in the night for him. Gives me some confidence. He says he has sent me some stack trace he could obtain. He also tells me his theory. It sounds promising. I give him some alternative ideas.
I call Rakesh and ask him to be ready to take over in case Ravi wants to take a break. I look out, my mind busy. I try to think of possible things that could have gone wrong, possible things to look for. The car stops. We are there.
The man who is buying the house has come by with a bunch of people. I confirm my power of attorney, and show him the documents I had brought along. We wait in a dreary room with high ceiling, old-fashioned fans and tube lights. There are so many people around. It’s stuffy. They all stare at me.
My boss calls. Apparently they want more details. Please take care of it Priya. Bah! Arvind is not at home. I sit worried and impatient about the email.
We finish the registration and then start off.
The car stops within five minutes near a hotel. I look up annoyed. Kumar smiles and points out. An Internet browsing center.
I rush in, grinning. I had to waste some time in setup, but within a half hour, I am happily connected. I get lost amidst my debug window, email software and my IM windows. Its frustratingly slow but atleast I have a feeling of control. I can see whats going on.
I am surprised when I hear Kumar’s voice. “Madam, its time for your train.”
I get up, atleast we now know what the problem is. We have a few possible fixes too. I sigh, pay the man money and walk over to the car.
“You didn’t have lunch, so I got you something. You could maybe have it in the train,” He hands me a plastic bag. “I can work without food or sleep for hours together,” I tell him proudly.
He looks up, nods his head and gets in. “Were you waiting the whole afternoon?” I ask surveying the packet.
“No, I waited till you said you were finally connected. I didn’t think you were going to come out soon,” he grins cheekily. “I called the owner from time to time, that’s it.”
Not a bad day after all. The streetlights are not on yet. We reach the station in silence.
“Whats the coach number?”, he asks. “It was in waitlist, so I dont know,” I shrug.
Kumar stops. “Waiting list?” he asks in surprise.
“Yeah. But this is Friday; no one travels from Madurai to Bangalore. My onward was also waitlist 20 or something. This is 10. I am sure I got RAC,” I tell him.
“There is a political conference in Erode tomorrow. We’ll see,” he says non-comittally.
I begin to panic. “Wait a second, I have to be there tomorrow. We will have conf-calls for analyzing the issue,” my voice reverberates.
“I thought Saturday was a holiday?” Kumar queries casually..
“Yes, but I work on Saturdays if I have to. Listen, this is important, I have to be there, okay?” I tell him impatiently.
He nods his head but I am sure he doesn’t understand. How would he? I wait tapping my foot. He comes back, shaking his head. “No its still waitlist ten,” he says.
