BEING ELITE IN THE RAIN

                                                    

        

Throughout Onam it rained and then it rained again and again. All the portholes filled, manholes overflowed, drainage blocked, shallow ‘bog recovered real estate land’ oozed crimson mud and stray dogs learnt to swim. I couldn’t dry my new sandals, so I quit the idea of going out. The TV was never switched on. The bathroom light flickered with every sudden downpour which seemed to temporarily disrupt the continuous shower. It’s not monsoon. It’s not the mango shower but it was raining chaos on boredom.

Waking up was the toughest part. The rain will squeeze the last drop of sleep out of you. For a moment I was glad that I had no office to report to at 9.30 in the morning. Finally when I get up at noon the breakfast would be set on the table and no one would be around. The lonely cold coffee cup and the newspaper were set next to it. The tooth paste limp like a dead lizard.

“its raining again, there might be flood “,

“mmm.. chewing down the stiff rock hard steam cake and the dry curry I would node to my mother.

“any news on the date of joining ?” the question that my numb ears always filter out. It didn’t bother me anymore

“mmmm…no “  and I chew the gumption down to the deepest chambers of my head.

“ I heard their shares collapsed” she would add salt to burn.

“mmmm..”

“I heard they threw 200 engineers out. Sent them home “. She wouldn’t stop.

“mmmm…..”

“the IT industry has collapsed” she would coil up the last round.

“mmmm..yes”

“Why don’t you search for some other job”

“mmmm…yes”

I leave the dining table in haste. To run to my trench, my room, my only resort.

“Why don’t you go and pay the electricity bill??!”

Act like I didn’t hear it. It’s easy to just pretend that I am busy with something on the PC.

Some days I feel like taking a walk in the rain. Feels like it will set me free. Feels like I am in some movie where I just won a war and suddenly it started raining. Feels like I just knocked down a bully and water droplets dispersed in slow motion. (Too many movies. I am watching too many movies).

“ sea is rough, its 40 for three ” Lilly aunty dressed in non contrasting colors would bargain fishes with grandma as cats caress her leg eagerly waiting for a free fish that she would never care or dare to throw at them. The rest of the conversation is irrelevant. The dogs bark at the cats and the bargain is fixed. Grandma and mom talks about the bargain for the rest of the day. Even when they serve it for lunch.

“The rain would stop by Monday, you should wash your clothes on Monday “

Act like I didn’t hear it.

The “brother’s hotel” is always jam-packed. Its small but, then I couldn’t remember a time when it was empty.

“Twelve parotta”

“and……………….” the fat  young owner, with lips like a tea cup ,probably one of the brother’s  would ask trying to catch every single gesture of doubt and confusion as I make calculations of how much each one at home is going to eat to the net amount available.

“chicken curry…lot of gravy”

“and……………”

“that will be all”, I would shove in a smile to end the conversation.

It was raining heavily and the rain drops on the metal corrugated sheet over the hotel made the place more secure. The power cut made another regular surprise visit and the petromax lamp attracted the flame loving flying suicide squads.

Light, strong and medium tea was served all around me. Strength of the man is directly proportional to the strength of the tea. I remember when I switched from medium to strong. To be honest everything tasted the same except the name and the look that the cook gave .I could wait for the rain to stop and go home after the rain with the parottas cold as the steam cake that I will get the next day morning or I could use my umbrella and walk in the rain and feel like a movie star. I went for the latter. Tough guys don’t care about the rain or terrain. I wouldn’t remember these sentences when I search for my asthma inhaler tomorrow.

It was 7.30pm, the street light and its twin on the road stream shown bright in the rain. I got out of the hotel and stood on the traffic island. I saw a guy run towards me and he took refuge in my umbrella. I knew him. I didn’t know his name. But we used to play together when we were kids. He smiled “what are you doing in the rain ?”

Somehow’ buying a parcel for home makes me not wanting to face anyone. I know they are not going to gorger on my parcel. But then…I don’t know. I just avoid people.

“I came to buy parottas”

I walked him to the hotel and left him under the noisy roof. “How are you ?”

“I am fine. You have grown  tall and put on weight,” he replied with interest.

We used to play the great tournaments together. Not thick friends but rival team mates.

The ground was shared by US and THEM. US the elite group of people who studied in English medium schools, who wore shoes and socks, who grew up on bread crumbs of grammar and punctuality, uniform and progress reports and were lucky enough to be born to middle class government officials or local businessmen. US who would mind our own busieness living in a little selfish shell.

THEM the not so lucky batch ,residing in slums near the channel., who went to government schools by around lunchtime, who didn’t even wear sandals, who grew up on the stale breeze of the channel with their mothers working as servants in households of the elites and their fathers working as daily wage masons or laborers. THEM who were ready to die for each other, who had nothing to count on except each other.

The ground will forget all the distinction. All of us would sweat alike and swear alike.

We played against each other and sometimes when the count was not enough we played with each other. Cricket bonded us. Friendship sealed together by the sticky paste of cricket.

“what do you do now ?” he asked.

“ well..i passed my b tech and I am waiting for my call letter” I wish I could say this with a grin.

“oh…engineering. Gud . lucky” he smiled again

I knew now it was my turn to ask “ what do you do now ?”

The answer came in pretty late “ I work for a contractor. I dig wells. We lay the inner rings of the well. “

“ sounds like an interesting job”

“risky”

Then I saw it.  . His smile was poignant, miserable. He barely managed to hold up. He looked down his pocket and took out a fistful of hundred rupees notes and kept it back.

“that’s three hundred rupees”

mmmm………”

“ that’s my wage for today. My wage in weeks.”

“mmmm….why ? what’s with the well digging ?” I could ask,

“the rain.. its too risky. The contractor can’t afford to loose a life. The walls might collapse and some one might die. He called off all the works. We haven’t cooked anything in the past five days “

“oh… yeah I know its too risky.” I probably put in a sentence that would make both of us genuinely comfortable.

“Mother went to her sister’s house. At least she could manage one day’s meal.” Now he was sobbing.

“its ok…” I am bad in this department.

“” she came home today. I went out and finally managed to get a work. I dug a well without my contractor’s knowledge somewhere far. It was risky. But someone had already dug three forth and I and my friend completed it. “

“wasn’t it raining ??”

“it was”

I remember telling my friend who worked in an insurance company that I could do any job while he was staring at three men clearing a drainage porthole. His co worker added that “it’s a nice attitude”. But on the second thought, Would I. I don’t know. I don’t think so. I couldn’t be this guy.

“I got four hundred rupees, I went home and there was no firewood, all that we had soaked in this darn friggin rain. So here I am just like you buying parottas” he could smile again.

Now I could remember that I never really talked with this guy when I was young. Thought we were friends. This is probably the first conversation I had. It stirred me. It stirred me more than the economic recession to which I am directly related to.

The parottas were cold now. I didn’t care.

“ let me go and buy my parottas. He was feeling a lot relaxed now. Its like he passed on his grief to me and I am left dry in the rain.

“ should I wait”

“ no you carry on. I need to go to the bar after I am done here. A ‘large’ would help me sleep tight.

“ bye”

“good bye”

The rain didn’t make me feel like a movie star any more. I looked into my wallet. He had three hundred rupees. I didn’t have any. An empty elite wallet…

**********************

The H shaped curve

“You need to have your license and passport ready”. Nothing else, no other sentence big or small came to my mind as I waited in queue. I don’t remember his face but I remember his tie. Black stripes on blue. I was wearing navy blue doctors’ tie. He was not employed in the big software company that I was recruited to, but a member of the small ship to which the recruitment ceremony was outsourced. The queue was damp with anticipation. They sweated more to the tension in the air than to the blazing heat near the beach. “Stand in alphabetic order. A to M in one queue the rest of the names in the next queue”. Gladly I am in the first. Sadly I am the third one from the front. I noticed the fair petite female standing in the next queue, her face loaded with doubts as she gazed at the fat middle aged pot bellied police inspector verifying the documents. “What do u do ?” suddenly it struck me. I was not the third anymore. I was in front and a dark police man enquired grabbing the papers out of my hand.

“ …nothing…I passed B tech.. I mean engineering and I am placed in a software company”

“Where ?” he wasn’t even looking at me..

“ Bangalore..”

“Will call u” he murmured

“ yeah they will..as soon as this economic crisis is over” I replied with a smile.

He looked up surprised and smiled “ What ….. will call u for the license test in about ten minutes “

“thank u ..Sir” , I didn’t felt thankful and I didn’t respect him. But educated etiquettes make u feel civilized.

“They will call u soon.. Don’t get tensed.. u will get it. TEA ???” my driving teacher put his hand around me. I felt comforted and then I felt insecure. Was he looking over my shoulders into my pocket? I gave him enough and more. “ no..am fine. Had Tea.”

“So ..what do think about driving the M 80. We tuned it in such a way that u can take the 8...easily. You will get the motorcycle. It’s the car that I am worried about.”

“Yeah..” I had practiced the eight shaped route small enough for a two wheeler to fit in the same morning. The air suddenly got a little dense. I remember telling my friends that I could smell the rain even before it came. "Hmm.. dogs have that" They laughed at me. I laughed with them at me. I didn’t smell this one coming and suddenly I was running for cover. The brokers, the fat driving teachers, the thin driving teachers and the intermediate brokers and the hundreds of eager people waiting to get licensed ran for cover. There was none. I got into the car that I am supposed to take the test on. My sir got in too.” Hate the rain.. but you will get it”

The drizzle left in haste as it came. “Where is…???” and with a loud bang she banged the rear door. “Bloody rain”, she was the driving teachers wife. Somehow everybody feels insecure when a male driving teacher teaches female students. That might be the reason why he married her. I was wrong; she was the one who established the driving school. Two years before marrying him. Then he became what he is now. From a pace bowler who loves old Malayalam songs to a driving teacher. She is all small talk. He is serious. She scolds you when you put the first gear instead of the third. He puts it when you go wrong. She asks for money. He waits for the answer. She listens to your small talk. He doesn’t. I had developed a dislike when she asked me if I had problems to differentiate left from the right. Like I was a 22 year retard. The rain passed by. Unbeable heat passed in.

“Go and stand in that queue...” she said with a tone of authority. He just smiled. She wore a smile too. Subtle. Fake. And I was in another queue. The guy standing in front of me turned around and said “we will get it.. I am tensed. You want to exchange my position. I can’t say no. not that I haven’t practiced it. But to say “ no “ to a kid like him would be totally unworthy of my practice “never mind”, I said with a smile. Subtle. Not fake. But Pointless and hollow. The motor cycle test went pretty good. The path was charged with mud and I was shaped with fear and confidence. Confidence and fear mixed together on milk mans scooter tuned to go on first gear. The gentle push from the owner of the scooter who rents it to all the aspirants gave me the inertia. He is paid up with the officials.

“So what do you do ?” the man in uniform enquired politely.

“I passed my engineering. Waiting for the call letter.” He smiled at me. As he punched the ‘passed the motor cycle test’ seal onto a document. I ran to my driving school teacher.

“ no time to waste ..go for the four wheeler test “

“ok” give me a compliment at least. You didn’t give me single class on the bike and I come here and get it done at the first attempt. A mere tap on the shoulders would do the trick.

No queue here. The path sodden with rain. The marks, drenched and muddy. These marks gives you the position to turn the motor car at specific points which will let you pass the H shaped trodden muddy track. I got the test. I thought I knocked down a pole. No I didn’t.. same questions were asked again. Same answers were answered again. Same gestures were received again from the driving teacher. His wife was nowhere to be seen.

“ you didn’t get the curve right”

“I got it”

“ you should press the clutch first and then the brakes “

“ I got it…er”

“you got it’

“I did”

“no one fails the road test”

“I hope I get it too”

She came running in from some corner and found out that I made it. She was happier than I was. “ you know why you got it “ she asked .

“ I didn’t knock down the poles. I took the ‘H’”

“yeah right… not if I hadn’t bribed them. I went to pay it. 400rs for the motor car and 200 for the motor cycle.” She revealed.

“oh.. so should I pay anything more” I posed as if I didn’t have any problem with paying anything more. But I knew that I have paid enough and more. I took out my wallet. I gave it to him. She grabbed it from his pocket. He smiled.

“did you learn all the signals??”

“I didn’t’

“ok”

And now I was standing there practicing the overtake, left turn, right turn, stop hand signals. I was embarrassed. I was finding it hard. I felt naked.

“ stretch it ooout. Straight. Steady”

“I still didn’t get the overtake right.

“Like caressing a rainbow”

“yeah”

“no ..move your hand to and fro along the curve”

I remembered a sign behind some truck that I was trying to overtake on my bike not long back. It said “sound horn” “ no hand signals’ “ all India permit”

The face of a demon painted on a metal scrap hung about staring at all the folk trying to overtake it. A similar face was giving a similar look now. She got in with me for the driving road test. The officer sat next to me. “second” he said as soon as i started the car.

“third” I didn’t drive more than 20 meters. “fourth”

At this speed fourth gear would knock. I pressed the accelerator. “slow down and stop”

I put the fourth gear in haste and slowed the car down. I didn’t show any signals. I stopped the vehicle. I could see the agitation my driving teacher’s wife was showing through the rear view mirror. The officer could see it too. I stuck my hand out of the window and displayed the ‘stop’ signal. The officer smiled and said “what’s the point ? You already stopped”

I smiled. She laughed. He started putting tick marks on everything on the list.

The slope test- tick.

U turn-tick

I couldn’t read the rest but there were a whole lot of ticks. The officer got in out and moved towards the car behind me. Jam packed with students.

My driving teacher’s wife had a glow on her face. “You got it”

“ but I didn’t show the signals”

“.. well you got it..”

Soon I took the road test for the motor cycle as well. I stood in front of an officer and started doing the signals one by one. Then I got on the M 80 and drove it desperately trying to display all the signals. He barely noticed

.” what do you do?”

“I passed my b tech waiting for my call letter ”

“will sent it to your address”

“no maybe ..they will mail me online “

“What??!! ….. will sent the license to your address”

I walked up to my driving sir. “ thanks”

“none of my students ever fail”

“yeah”

“ hey … we need to give classes to a few students in Maruthunkuzhy. The bus stop is over there.” She whispered. “but you did a good job.”

“if any your friends want to get license you can sent them to us” and they left me in the sun.

“ I will”’ I won’t. No never. I hate the bureaucrats who were bribed for my test. I hate the system which gives license to people who doesn’t know it. I hate the doctor who gave me 6/6 vision certificate without even knowing me. I hate the road filled with gutters. “But I need to be ready with me license and passport when the call letter comes”.

**********************