2 States The Story Of My Marriage (22 page)

‘Oh, cool,’ she said.

The peon came again.

‘Yes,’ I turned to the peon after asking Ananya to hold.

‘Sir is asking which client?’ peon said.

I looked around. Outside the office window there were several hoardings. I saw

one for fireworks.

‘Standard Fireworks, Sivakasi. OK?’ I said.

The peon nodded.

‘Bye sweetie, am I disturbing you?’

‘Yeah, but what is life without being disturbed by the right people,’ I said.

‘Thank you. Love you,’ Ananya said.

‘I love you, too’ I said and hung up the phone. The peon stood in front of me,

his eyes big after the last line.

‘Why are you still here?’ I said.

‘Sorry, sir,’ the peon said and left.

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I left my office early to finish the presentation at uncle’s house. We had come to

the end with only final formatting left. I passed a CD store in Mylapore. Some

music would be nice while I completed the presentation, I thought, I went in.

‘What you want, sir?’ the shopkeeper said.

I scanned the shelves filled with Tamil CDs in psychedelic covers resembling

crime novels. ‘What non-Tamil CDs do you have?’ I asked.

He shook his head in disappointment. ‘Non-Tamil you go to Nungambakkam,

sir.’ But the shop attendant looked through his collection to find something.

‘OK here,’ he said as he took out three CDs.

The first CD was non-stop Hindi remixed hits. It had girls with cleavage on the
cover. I had to reject it. The second was a romantic love-songs collection that had

a heart-shaped cover. The third CD was nursery rhymes in English.

‘Give me the love songs,’ I said.

The shopkeeper made the bill as I scanned a section on Carnatic music.

‘Any good Carnatic music CDs?’ I said.

‘Good meaning what, sir?’ he said as he wrapped my red-coloured CD.

I looked at the Carnatic covers. Most of them had middle-aged Tamilian men

and women on them. ‘Do you have any greatest hits collection in Carnatic?’ I

said.

The shopkeeper looked puzzled. I threw up my hands in despair. ‘I have no

clue. I want to get started,’ I said.

‘North Indian?’ he said.

I nodded.

‘Then why you want to learn Carnatic music?’

I didn’t answer.

The shopkeeper gave me two CDs. One had a woman holding a tambura on the

cover. The other had the picture of an old man. The entire text was in Tamil. I

flipped it around.

‘T.R. Subramanium nice,’ said an elderly lady who had just walked into the

shop and noticed my CDs.

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‘Yeah, my all-time favourite,’ I said as I kept the CDs in my bag and walked out
of the shop.

I reached Ananya’s place at 6.30. Uncle already sat at the table. He wore reading

glasses and made corrections on a printout of the presentation. He had kept hot

vadas on the table with red, green and white coloured chutneys.

‘Take one. It is a famous shop near my office. I brought them for you,’ uncle

said.

I looked at him as I picked up a vada. We made eye contact for the first time

ever since I had known him. I noticed that if you ignored the wrinkly face and the

reading glasses, he had the same eyes as Ananya.

‘So today, no matter how late it gets, we finish this,’ I said as I opened the file.

Uncle nodded. He pulled his chair close to mine to see the screen.

‘OK, so let’s go through each slide. I will format as we go along,’ I said.

I went through the first five slides in an hour.

‘Uncle, do you mind if I put some music on? This formatting is quite tedious,’ I
said. I opened the CD player in my laptop.

‘Play it on the stereo,’ uncle said and pointed to the hi-fi system kept in the
living room display cabinet. I too out the CDs from my office bag.

Uncle walked up with me to connect the system. He fiddled with the wires as I

noticed a one-litre unopened bottle of Chivas Regal whisky kept next to the

stereo system.

I took my chances and asked him. ‘You like whisky?’

‘No, just a little peg sometimes when I have a cold. Harish gave me this big

bottle. It will last me years,’ he said.

I kept quiet.

‘You know Harish? The boy who came to see Ananya.’

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I nodded.

‘Really good boy,’ he said.

Uncle switched the stereo on. I gave him the heart shaped CD in my bag.

Uncle turned it around in his hands a few times.

‘That’s all the Mylapore shop had,’ I said in a sheepish voice.

‘What are the others?’

I showed him the other two CDs.

‘T.R. Subramanium and M. S. Sheela? Who did you get this for?’

‘For myself.’

‘You understand Carnatic music?’

‘No, but I want to learn. I’ve heard it is the purest form of music,’ I said.

Uncle shook his head. I wondered if my reason had not come across as real.

He put the CDs back in my bag. ‘Sometimes, I wish I had never encouraged

Radha in Carnatic music. It has only given her pain.’

I nodded, not sure of how I should respond. Uncle was talking personal for the

first time. It is amazing how much closeness two men with a laptop in a closed

room can achieve in five days.

We sat back at the table as I worked on the sixth slide. Mandy Moore’s

romantic track filled the room.

I wanna be with you

If only for the night

The lyrics were a little odd for a work date between a fifty-year-old Tamilian

and a twenty-four-year-old Punjabi boy, but better than the silence. I enjoyed

putting the textboxes, tables, charts and lists in their right place and making each
slide look slick. Uncle read each point and checked the figures. The song

continued.

To be one who is in your arms

Who holds you tight

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The CD played itself over three times before I reached the halfway mark. We

paused for dinner at ten. Uncle went to the kitchen and came back with tomato

rice in two plates.

‘You must be bored of South Indian food?’ he said.

‘No, I am used to it now. Feels like home food,’ I said.

‘Good,’ he said. He went to the display cabinet.

I had made it to the category of ‘good’ though still not ‘really good’ like

Harish, I thought.

‘The presentation is under control now. You want a drink?’ uncle said.

‘Sure,’ I said.

Uncle took out two glasses from the crockery rack in the display cabinet. He

told me to get a spoon and ice form the kitchen. He opened the bottle.

‘Five spoons for me is enough,’ he said as he made his drink. ‘How about

you?’

‘We don’t use spoon to measure alcohol,’ I said. I was a little agitated. One

week of working my ass off and still Harish was the ‘really good’ boy. Fuck you,

Harish, I am going to have your Chivas Regal. I poured the golden coloured liquid

four fingers thick.

‘What are you doing?’ he exclaimed.

‘Making myself a real drink. Cheers,’ I said and lifted my glass.

‘Actually, Radha stops me from having more,’ uncle said and took the bottle

from me. He tilted it and made his drink level with mine.

‘Cheers,’ he said, ‘and thank you. You IITians are very smart. What a

presentation you have made.’

‘You are welcome,’ I said.

We finished our dinner and first drink by ten-thirty. I brought the whisky bottle
next to the laptop. I poured a second drink for myself and offered it to uncle. He

didn’t decline. The song changed to Last Christmas.

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Uncle went to the stereo and increased the volume. ‘I gave you my heart,’

uncle sang in sync with the song and snapped his finger. He came back and sat

down.

I had witnessed an amazing sight. A Tamil Brahmin had set himself free

probably for the first time. If I didn’t have the presentation to make, I’d have loved
to observe him more. All I remember is that in the next two hours we reached the

last slide and the one-third mark on the whisky bottle.

‘And thank you,’ I said as I read the last slide. Here we go, it is done.’

I saved the file.

‘Save it twice,’ uncle said.

I saved it again and checked the time. It was 1 a.m. In three hours, Manju

would wake up.

‘All ready to present it?’ I asked.

‘Present? Me? No, no, Verma will present this. My job was to complete this and

it’s done.’

‘Uncle,’ I said my voice firmed by the whisky, ‘you have to present. What’s the
point of slaving over this for weeks if you don’t get to present.’

‘I have never operated that projector,’ uncle said.

‘There’s nothing to it. You IT will set it up. And you press the forward button to
move to the next slide.’

‘I don’t know.’ He turned quiet.

I closed my laptop and shook my head. ‘This is unbelievable. The presentation

is in such good shape. Your country manager will be there. And all you want to

do is sit in a corner. Verma will take all the credit.’

‘Really?’ he said.

‘That’s what all bosses do, without exception,’ I said.

‘Bloody North Indian fellow,’ uncle said.

I stood up to leave.

‘Sleepy?’ he asked.

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‘Not as much as you. You sleep at ten, right?’ I said.

‘This has woken me up,’ uncle said, pointing me to his drink. ‘Want another

one?’

‘Uncle, I have to find an auto. It’s late.’

‘Why don’t you just stay here?’ he said.

‘Excuse me?’ I said.

‘Yes. I’ll give you a set of nightclothes. Mine should fit you,’ he said.

I had past-life trauma of wearing my girlfriend’s father’s clothes. This can’t be
a good idea, I thought.

Before I could respond, uncle had poured us another round of drinks.

“Change the music if you want,’ he said.

I rifled through Ananya’s tapes in the drawer. I found a Pink Floyd album and

couldn’t resist. The alcohol demanded Floyd.

The long, trippy opening note of Shine On You Crazy Diamond played in the

room.

Uncle tapped a foot gently to the slow beats. I wondered if he would be able to
handle so much alcohol. I longed to smoke. No, don’t think about smoking, my

mind advised. Don’t think about being with Ananya. Think about the worst-case

emergency plan. What if uncle threw up or fainted? How do you call an ambulance in

Chennai? How would you explain it to Ananya’s mother?

However, uncle seemed to be having a good time. He sat on the sofa, and put

his legs on the table. ‘One thing Verma told me I will never forget,’ he said.

I nodded.

Verma said, ‘Swaminathan, do you know why they make you deputy GM and

sent me to become GM?”

‘Why?’ I said, too drunk to show restraint.

‘He said it was because South Indians are top class number two officers, but

horrible in number one positions.’ Uncle shook his head as he took a big sip.

Even in his drunkenness, I could see his pain. I didn’t know what to say.

‘Do you agree?’ he asked.

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‘Oh, I don’t know. My boss is South Indian,’ I said.

‘Yes, but you have just started. Maybe he is right. We hate the limelight. I know
I should present this, but I don’t want to.’

‘Why?’

‘Because knowledge is not for showing off. If I do good work, people should

notice me. I cannot go sell myself like that shameless Verma.’

I nodded, more to tell him I listened than in agreement. There is no better

source of wisdom than two drunk men.

‘Right?’

‘Depends.’ I said.

‘On what?’

‘Did you feel bad when they didn’t make you GM?’ I said.

Uncle looked at me for a few seconds. He leaned forward from the sofa to

come near me. ‘Let me tell you one thing. What is your name?’ he said.

Obviously, I was not anywhere close to getting close to him. ‘Krish,’ I said.

‘Of course, sorry, this whisky … Anyway, Krish, I had offers. Ten years back I

had offers from multinational banks. But I stayed loyal to my bank. And I was

patient to get my turn to be GM. Now, I have five years to retire and they send this
rascal North Indian.’

‘You did feel bad,’ I said.

‘I still feel horrible. I haven’t even told this to my wife. I am drinking too much,’