Pause - (Short story)

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.

I spend the next one-hour trying to talk to the Ticket collector about the emergency. Nothing works. Kumar isn’t helping. He just trails me, carrying my luggage without a word. He just stands there watching everything around him like its all a big circus.

“Get me a seat in the unreserved compartment,” I hiss angrily at him.

He looks at me surprised. He walks off obediently. I don’t have much hope. He comes back empty handed. Train leaves and we go back to the car. I insist against his advice that we check the buses. Bus stand is horrible. Its windy and the recent rains had left a big mess on its wake. I don’t want to get down. He goes inquiring. I don’t think he tries hard, so I get down. But nothing works.

He starts the car, “Shall we try the lorries?” he asks, laughter lining his words.

I glare at him. “You wouldn’t know what it means to have big responsibility. I take things seriously and I want to make a mark, not fool around,” I respond nastily, taking my frustration out on him, immediately regretting my words. I don’t know why I am so angry with him. I look at his face, biting my lips.

He turns and says calmly, “I am sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you,” I feel bad that he said sorry, before me.

“Shall we go home?”, he asks. I nod to assuage the situation and I curse myself for agreeing. But I feel awkward to insist I want to check into a hotel. Besides I have to pack the stuff, I remember. The keys will have to be handed off in two days. We go home.

We spend the next couple of hours packing whatever is left.

He packs, whistling. I just sit, watching.

He insists that I should eat. He stacks the books neatly, saying he can give it to someone. He collects all the photos and offers to mail it to my brother. I shrug. I am not too sentimental about such things. I don’t want a picture of my uncle twice removed. He collects the odds and ends, and within a couple of hours we are done.

It’s dark. An incandescent bulb tries to chase away the darkness.

He brings in his coir cot, some blankets and pillow. He smiles and holds it up. “Clean!” I smile gratefully. He sets it up, neat and precise. He positions a table fan. He surveys what he has done. “Go to sleep madam, you have had a long day. I will go and pick up amma,” he says picking up the trash. I feel like a slob. I insist on cleaning up. He smiles, wishes me good night and leaves.

I lie down, unable to sleep. It’s just eight. I call up Rakesh. Ravi has left to take a much deserved break. Looks like the fix may work. I pull up my ipod and decide to listen to some long pending meeting recordings.

I finish up my water bottle. I get up and stare outside the window. It’s dark and quiet. It’s about eleven. They must have returned. I am thirsty. I try to sleep. I cant as usual. I usually read till one or so. But I hadnt brought any books with me. I toss and turn worrying about what the Vice-President would say in tomorrow’s meeting. I work so hard, but sometimes the politics is too much. I’d have to butter up to Ben. Mobile beeps. SMS. Ravi says he is back at work. And that they are ready to apply the fix. I get up.

I walk out to the bathroom, taking care not to make any noise. Everything is drenched in soft moonlight. The hut is silent. The dog looks up and then goes back to sleep. They must be sleeping. I return hoping he would be awake. I could ask him for water. I can see someone sleeping in the front, near the stone. It’s him. Can I wake him? I am feeling very thirsty. I whisper his name. He is sound asleep. I walk noisily near him. No movement. Is he pretending? I bend down and call a little bit louder. Absolutely no reaction. I shake his shoulders, forcefully. He raises his head from the pillow and asks groggily, “Ennakka?” He thinks I am one of his sisters.

“Kumar!” I insist.

He is awake now. He drags his hand on his eyes. “You need something Madam?”

“Water,” I tell him. “Shops won’t be open,” he remarks. “Give me the water from home,” I ask him.

He nods his head and brings a jug of water. I drink greedily. “It’s boiled,” he reassures me, smiling.

His eyes are so luminous. His smile is so serene. I finish drinking. I want to sit and talk to him. I want to tell him how I work so hard, 13-14 hours a day to get where I want to go, how I want to be a Vice president before I am thirty, how I want to be rated outstanding, about my impending promotion.

“You sleep like the dead,” I say instead in an accusatory voice.

“Yes. I do,” he responds proudly.

The breeze from the trees ruffles our hair.

“Look at the moon,” I point wistfully. “It is so bright”

“Yeah, just a day after full moon,” he says, looking up. I stand there not saying anything. He too stands, calm and quiet.

I whisper good night and walk back. He nods and goes back to sleep. I go back, message Ravi to keep me informed and lie down on my bed.

I must have gone to sleep very late. When I woke up sunlight was streaming through the windows.

Valliamma is stringing her flowers. I go and sit on the stone wiping the water off my face. She hands off a mug of coffee. “Kumar got it in a flask and asked me to give you when you woke up. He has gone for his morning regular pickups,” she says. “He leaves at 7:30 and comes back by 9:00 to drink his koozh”.

I sip my coffee. The breeze is so balming. There are coconut trees, a drumstick tree, guava trees, and even a badam tree. They stand in a neat row, water paths set around them. Fallen coconut leaves are stacked in a corner. They probably use it for logs. There are tulsi and curry plants. Maybe some vegetables too. I see the hot water for my bath, simmering on the stove.

I finish my bath and collect all my things. I have a few messages on my mobile. The system is back up. The meeting is at four in the afternoon. I note down some points that I should bring up.

I hear the whistle before he appears. He saunters in, a happy smile in his face, hands in his pocket. He wishes me good morning. “Breakfast,” he announces brightly. Sets it up and serves. They drink their koozh while I eat.

“Why didn’t you get this for yourself too?” I ask.

“I like koozh,” he says simply.

“I have to book my tickets and then go to the browsing center,” I tell him. He nods his head; “I can book the ticket for you. But can you wait I have to water the plants, It will take only 15 minutes,” he says.

I agree. He pumps water from the old fashioned hand pump, his hands working vigorously on the handle. Then he starts watering. He does this repeatedly. He moves on next to the side of the house. I follow him and my breath catches. The flowering plants - Hibiscus, Jasmine, Pavalamalli, Nandiyavattai, so many. I don’t remember these plants. They must have planted it.

“You want to help?” He asks. I nod my head. We work in companiable silence. The flowers sway in the gentle breeze giving a happy impression. The perfume is intoxicating. “Valliamma doesn’t pluck all the flowers?” I ask.

“No, She makes a small garland for the deity. Sometimes the neighbor’s daughters come and pluck. Otherwise I just let it be”

“Now I know why you are so devoted,” I smile impishly.

He grins, wiggling his brows dramatically. Pavalamalli flowers have dropped on the ground making a pretty carpet. “It is nice to lie down here and watch the flowers fall,” he says.

“Maybe the new owner will let you stay”

“No, he is leasing it to a grocery chain,” he says, matter of fact. I stare at him, watering the plants, still whistling.

“They will cut off these,” I say tortuously.

“Yes,” he pauses.

“I am sorry”, I say in a small voice.

He turns and looks, seeming somewhat surprised.

“We had to sell. We hardly come here,” I say defensively.

“Ofcourse” he nods his head.

“Where will you go?”

“I have found a place. It’s a little far. It’s an empty plot; the owner wants a caretaker for sometime. It suits me,” he says.

I pick up the Pavalamalli flowers on the ground. “This is your routine?”

“Yes. I go to a stand and wait after this for rides. I come back home for lunch and then go to the station. There are a few afternoon trains. Regular pickups again after that. There is an old professor who worked in shanthiniketan. He is retired now. I attend to him later in the afternoon.”

“Attend to him?”

“Take him wherever he wants to. I read books for him. His eyesight is failing. Then go back to the stand again. He influences me a lot”

Misguiding him more like it.

“How much money you make?” I ask him.

“I make between four to five thousand rupees a month. I have regular services that gets me two thousand and the rest is variable,” he says.

“Lot of school children dumped together, that sort of thing?” I ask him.

“Ofcourse not. I don’t take more than four small kids at a time,” he responds seriously.

“You seem smart. Why don’t you do something?” I ask him. He shrugs, “I am doing something. I own my auto. I can take care of my mom, get her good medicine”

“But these are very small. What are your plans? I mean where do you want to be? Tomorrow, five years from now? Don’t you want to stop driving ”

He laughs, “You are too smart and educated and you ask tough questions for an ordinary man like me to answer”

I hesitate. Somehow I get the feeling that he is saying it to shut my mouth. “Let us go,” he says, shrugging the excess water off his hands.

“Whose car is this?” I ask settling down. “I borrowed it for the weekend, for you,” he responds. His auto stands near the gate clean and shining under the morning rays.

“I’ll wait while you book the tickets” I tell him. He parks the car near a shady tree, urges me to keep my door open for air. Starts off and then comes back smiling, “I’ll play some music,” he says starts a tape and walks off with sure strides, hands in his pockets. Violins play soft music. I just sit there. The breeze from the banyan tree is soothing.

I call Arvind. He is busy. He asks me to take care. I send a text message to Ravi to keep me informed.

Kumar is back waving my ticket like a trophy. “RAC 3, but it will get confirmed,” he says.

“Kumar, will the temple be open?” I ask him. He nods his head, checking the time. I ask him to go there. He stops his vehicle for me to get down near the main gopuram. “Don’t go off like yesterday. Wait here,” I chide him jokingly.

He nods his head smiling. I wander inside the temple. Its dusty, no one seems to care. The huge buildings near it spoil the beauty, I realize. I quickly finish the sanctum and dwell on the artha mandapam. The sculptures are beautiful. How can stone be so expressive? The lips, the eyes, even the nails. Such attention to perfection and detail. How long would it take to master an art like this? I remember the paths better than I expected.

I am hungry. It’s already one, I note with surprise. There are no messages. I come out and spot the car. Kumar is sitting inside reading some book. “What book is it?” I ask. “It’s a book by La.sa.ra,” he says. I nod my head absent-mindedly.

“I am hungry,” I say.

“There is a good hotel nearby,” he starts the car. “Would you give me company?” I ask. He hesitates. “People would stare,” he points out.

“Never mind, just pack some lunch, let’s go home,” I respond.

If he is surprised, he doesn’t show. We get food and go home. I ask Valliamma and Kumar to join me, ashamed I hadn’t insisted before. We sit beneath the badam tree. Kumar spreads some newspapers and sets everything up. We eat slowly. They eat off a makeshift plate of badam leaves stitched together. Valliamma chats happlily about her family, her daughters, and the old neighbours. She praises Kumar ofcourse, what a wonderful boy he is. How he is so responsible, helpful etc. etc. He grins unabashed. She says how she is planning to marry off Kumar to one of her grand daughters. A very pretty girl who is going to school. He smiles at me, his eyes twinkling.

I sigh deeply, my stomach heavy with a full meal. Its time for my call. Since it was quiet enough, I join the call sitting on the washing stone.

Dan starts off demanding reasons. I am strangely not too perturbed. I explain the reasons, how we are planning to tackle it etc. It must be the full stomach and the breeze and the afternoon sun brightening the backyard. I don’t respond to his jibes and provocations. The call finishes quicker than expected. Valliamma is reclining. Kumar must have gone off for his afternoon shift. I lie down in the cot that is out now. I close my eyes.

I wake up to Valliamma calling my name. It’s almost six, I should get ready for my train. I wash my face. My things are packed anyway.

Kumar comes in shortly. He has brought coffee. He hands me a neat packet for my dinner. Picking up my stuff, he strolls off to the car, whistling as usual.

I sit in the front, watching him drive.

“No one I know whistle constantly like you do”

“So sad,” he grins.

“Don’t you have any ambition? Don’t you want to be somebody, do something?”

He is quiet, as though weighing my question. He shrugs, “Its not a driving need for me”

“Ambition isnt a bad thing you know,” I tell him.

“Contentment isnt a bad thing you know,” he mimics me. His smile takes the bite out of his imitation.

We get down. I thrust some money into his hands, “I might forget in my hurry,” I say lamely.

“Its thrice what you owe me,” he points out.

“I am very aware of your righteousness, dammit. Take the money,” I growl.

He smiles his same serene smile and pockets it in.

“What are you the buddha?” I ask.

“You are too difficult to please,” he laughs.

We wait in the platform. It’s relatively clean and quiet. They have announcement displays for each platform I notice.

“You should go to to Kutrallam for the season with your husband,” he remarks.

“What are you now, a marriage counsellor?” I snap, then shift uneasily at my outburst. He doesn’t. “I hardly have time,” I mumble.

“On weekends?”

“I have classes. Sometimes I have to work. Its ages since I took holidays,” I say.

“There is a fundamental problem then,” he observes.

“Okay Marx, you think about how to fix it”

“I didn’t mean the system. I meant you,” he says. And then apologizes. It is a very bold statement coming from him. He must have realized it. “I didn’t mean to sound like that. You seemed like you would like a vacation but have not been able to do so,” he explains.

I shrug. “Vacations are over-rated,” I gaze at him. “You know you are smart. You should be more of a go-getter. I think you are a waste”

“But you don’t think I am a fool,” he smiles. “Not anymore,” he observes. I stare at him. He looks at me directly, without any hesitation. I sigh.

I stare aimelessly at the roof, at the quickly changing displays, the parcels. I’ll probably not have any reason to visit Madurai anymore. Valiammal, her son, her daughters. I vaguely remember her daughters, about my age coming to our house. Her son..

“I remember you,” I exclaim. He looks confused.

“I remember you, you used to come to our house with your mom. When you were little. You used to suck your thumb constantly. You wouldn’t speak much.” His smile is brilliant. “You still don’t speak much”

He seems very happy.

“You used to call me akka and used to follow me around,” I say remembering the little boy, playing quietly while his mom did the dishes. The little boy who would stare at me wide-eyed, following me while I played with my friends.

“And you used to share all your treats – fruits, chocolates, snacks with me,” he says, his voice soft. I feel gratefull for his words.

“You must have been angry I didn’t remember you”

“Not at all”

“Hurt and disappointed?”

“No..no.. ," he says gallantly.

“I am sorry,” I say in a small voice.

“Its okay,” he says. His voice is gentle. He seems wise beyond his years.

Train rolls in. He deposits my bags under the seat. I give him my card. I don’t think he will ever call me. He says bye, says that it was nice meeting me and gets off.

The windows are dark, I can’t see him. He must be walking back, a spring to his feet, his hands thrust deep in his pockets, whistling a tune.

I sit back, close my eyes and let the sounds of the train wash over me.