It is not usual for Manikumar to get woken up by his alarm; even on the days of his exam it was always due to his mother’s nudging or a splatter of water by father that he got up – quite irritated and hesitant or directly jumping out of the bed – depending on whether it was his mom’s or dad’s day. But today he is fully awake at 5:55 AM. He is lying in his cozy bed, waiting for the alarm to go in another five minutes. It was exactly 7:20 AM when he reached Malai Mandir. The last time he had come here was on the New Year day – January 1st, 2009. He was with his two other flat mates that day. The three had the hangover of the previous night’s party. Mani drinks occasionally. His New Year resolutions – 1) read one big book a month 2) save Rs.250. Looking at his track record I think “big” is anything above 35 pages, it included Filmfare also.
By the time he reached the idli shop at Munirkha it was almost 8:30. The sambhar here reminded him of his very old granny back at Pollachi. He makes it a point to visit her during every trip down South. Though they quarrel very often, they both bonded like school pals. It was his granny who taught him fishing, during his school vacation many years back. The local ponds over-flowing after a lavish monsoon have always fascinated the little boy. He learnt swimming in one of those numerous ponds that dot the landscape surrounded by mountains and coconut trees. It was also his granny who rescued Mani from his father who almost killed him when he had come to know about Mani’s smoking habits. I think Mani would have started his smoking career with beedis. But his last stay at her home was not something to remember for both of them. In fact Mani hurled the watch she gave him to the corner of the verandah and vowed that he would never meet her again, before rushing to the bus stand. I think the watch he is wearing now is that injured watch, revived. Do watches also have nine lives?
It is almost 10 o’ clock now. He has a brief talk with the Pollachi granny before saying “Sari” and hanging up the phone. He has an appointment with his former colleague Ranga, in some time. Ever since Mani’s first day at his earlier office Ranga has been his FPG. “Sorry Mani..got tied up with the routine stuff”. It was five minutes past 11:00 when Ranga met Mani near the Central Park. Mani wanted to lunch with Ranga today but they had to settle for a brunch. It seemed Ranga had some major work lined up at the office. “Success is not about winning, Mani – it is about fighting when you have almost lost”, Ranga said looking directly into our hero’s eyes. It was almost 1:00 pm by the time they both reach the Rajiv Chowk Metro station. In the last two hours or so they both had jumped from Satyam scandal to their old sadistic boss to Delhi winters to Katrina Kaif to elections to Taj blasts to the next table babe to Shimla trip to poor food to Sania to crazy fathers to many more places until they reached APJ Abdul Kalam. It was at this point when Ranga closed the topic with that punch dialogue. Mani returned Ranga Rs.1600 and the mobile phone he had taken from him two weeks back, before saying “Bye”.
Mani rushed to the PVR nearby and managed to get the ticket for the 1:30 PM show. He had watched the Tamil Ghajini more than four times; the last two times being a back-to-back show in his flat-mate Gopi’s laptop recently. Mani regarded Asin as the most charming lady on earth. He had been waiting restlessly for the last two weeks for Aamir Khan's Ghajini. It is different matter that he did not understand Hindi beyond “Teek hai ji”. “Why are you so late?! I don’t think they will allow now”. After much coaxing Dr.Selvam got the staff accept one unit blood from Mani. In many government offices the only policy followed is closing the work exactly at the fixed office hour. 9 AM to 5 PM means – a possibility that the staff will be present anytime after nine; certainty that nobody stays even a second beyond five. Even the blood donation counter at this medical college hospital is no exception to this rule. But Dr.Selvam has always had the reputation of finding his way out. They were back benchers in school. Mani had boldly written a love letter to their tuition friend Banumathi, who also happened to be the daughter of the most famous chartered accountant in their town. And he took this great risk – just for a plate of chicken biryani and a bottle of beer. But for Selvam’s diplomacy Mani would have ended up getting killed by his own father! It was 6:30 PM when Mani walked out of the hospital. He looked exceptionally satisfied and fresh. He was also happily holding Selvam’s wedding card in his right hand.
The auto rickshaw meter read: Rs. 42.60. Mani handed over a fifty rupees note to the autowala and started to walk towards the internet café without turning back. He had got three new mails – two offering him tips to reduce the waist line without cutting down on sweets, and the third one was from Banu. She had sent a forwarded mail having some funny photos, as usual. He replied “:-)”.
Shining soap bubbles. Stuffed giant elephant toys. Couples sitting beyond the reaches of light. Pink-coloured-cotton candy sellers. Young men running behind their two feet tall kids. Glowing mini-parachutes landing on the dark lawns. Bunch of teenagers commenting on the oversized aunty in red saree. Helpless children selling masala tea. Impeccably dressed defence men. Bhel puriwalas doing a brisk business. Transgenders continuing with their harassment. Photographers promising a print in 10 minutes. Amidst all this was standing the imposing structure – India Gate. Mani is not someone really patriotic or interested in picnics. But a mere visit to this place inspires him like nothing else. I don’t know why. The crowd looked highly under-sized for 8:45 PM, Saturday.
“I will be there by 10 at the PCO down the street”. Before Mani could hang the phone he heard Gopi saying impishly, “Someone is waiting for you here, be fast”. Mani tried calling a number. He dialed twice. I think the number was out of reach. Or was it the other person did not pick the call? He looked a little gloomy while paying Rs.2 to the man at the booth.
“Welcome my king!” Gopi excitedly said while opening the door. Mani got a little uneasy on hearing that. “What’s wrong my dear? Everything is ready!! It has been a very long time since we had a...guest!” Mani disappointed Gopi by giving vague reasons like head ache, mood out etc before getting inside his room. “OK..leave him”, the third person told Gopi, who still looked greatly puzzled at Mani’s strange behaviour. “Ok…take this at least”, Gopi barged into Mani’s room with some rice and chicken pieces on his plate. Gopi was again confused by the way Mani hugged and thanked him. “So much courtesy for a plate of food?!” Gopi wondered before getting lost in his world. He had shelled out almost five hundred rupees for the guest.
The next morning. Old habits die hard. Mani did not wake up to the alarm’s call at 6:00AM.
It was around 10 o’ clock when the black mortuary van arrived.
It was a nylon rope.
By the time he reached the idli shop at Munirkha it was almost 8:30. The sambhar here reminded him of his very old granny back at Pollachi. He makes it a point to visit her during every trip down South. Though they quarrel very often, they both bonded like school pals. It was his granny who taught him fishing, during his school vacation many years back. The local ponds over-flowing after a lavish monsoon have always fascinated the little boy. He learnt swimming in one of those numerous ponds that dot the landscape surrounded by mountains and coconut trees. It was also his granny who rescued Mani from his father who almost killed him when he had come to know about Mani’s smoking habits. I think Mani would have started his smoking career with beedis. But his last stay at her home was not something to remember for both of them. In fact Mani hurled the watch she gave him to the corner of the verandah and vowed that he would never meet her again, before rushing to the bus stand. I think the watch he is wearing now is that injured watch, revived. Do watches also have nine lives?
It is almost 10 o’ clock now. He has a brief talk with the Pollachi granny before saying “Sari” and hanging up the phone. He has an appointment with his former colleague Ranga, in some time. Ever since Mani’s first day at his earlier office Ranga has been his FPG. “Sorry Mani..got tied up with the routine stuff”. It was five minutes past 11:00 when Ranga met Mani near the Central Park. Mani wanted to lunch with Ranga today but they had to settle for a brunch. It seemed Ranga had some major work lined up at the office. “Success is not about winning, Mani – it is about fighting when you have almost lost”, Ranga said looking directly into our hero’s eyes. It was almost 1:00 pm by the time they both reach the Rajiv Chowk Metro station. In the last two hours or so they both had jumped from Satyam scandal to their old sadistic boss to Delhi winters to Katrina Kaif to elections to Taj blasts to the next table babe to Shimla trip to poor food to Sania to crazy fathers to many more places until they reached APJ Abdul Kalam. It was at this point when Ranga closed the topic with that punch dialogue. Mani returned Ranga Rs.1600 and the mobile phone he had taken from him two weeks back, before saying “Bye”.
Mani rushed to the PVR nearby and managed to get the ticket for the 1:30 PM show. He had watched the Tamil Ghajini more than four times; the last two times being a back-to-back show in his flat-mate Gopi’s laptop recently. Mani regarded Asin as the most charming lady on earth. He had been waiting restlessly for the last two weeks for Aamir Khan's Ghajini. It is different matter that he did not understand Hindi beyond “Teek hai ji”. “Why are you so late?! I don’t think they will allow now”. After much coaxing Dr.Selvam got the staff accept one unit blood from Mani. In many government offices the only policy followed is closing the work exactly at the fixed office hour. 9 AM to 5 PM means – a possibility that the staff will be present anytime after nine; certainty that nobody stays even a second beyond five. Even the blood donation counter at this medical college hospital is no exception to this rule. But Dr.Selvam has always had the reputation of finding his way out. They were back benchers in school. Mani had boldly written a love letter to their tuition friend Banumathi, who also happened to be the daughter of the most famous chartered accountant in their town. And he took this great risk – just for a plate of chicken biryani and a bottle of beer. But for Selvam’s diplomacy Mani would have ended up getting killed by his own father! It was 6:30 PM when Mani walked out of the hospital. He looked exceptionally satisfied and fresh. He was also happily holding Selvam’s wedding card in his right hand.
The auto rickshaw meter read: Rs. 42.60. Mani handed over a fifty rupees note to the autowala and started to walk towards the internet café without turning back. He had got three new mails – two offering him tips to reduce the waist line without cutting down on sweets, and the third one was from Banu. She had sent a forwarded mail having some funny photos, as usual. He replied “:-)”.
Shining soap bubbles. Stuffed giant elephant toys. Couples sitting beyond the reaches of light. Pink-coloured-cotton candy sellers. Young men running behind their two feet tall kids. Glowing mini-parachutes landing on the dark lawns. Bunch of teenagers commenting on the oversized aunty in red saree. Helpless children selling masala tea. Impeccably dressed defence men. Bhel puriwalas doing a brisk business. Transgenders continuing with their harassment. Photographers promising a print in 10 minutes. Amidst all this was standing the imposing structure – India Gate. Mani is not someone really patriotic or interested in picnics. But a mere visit to this place inspires him like nothing else. I don’t know why. The crowd looked highly under-sized for 8:45 PM, Saturday.
“I will be there by 10 at the PCO down the street”. Before Mani could hang the phone he heard Gopi saying impishly, “Someone is waiting for you here, be fast”. Mani tried calling a number. He dialed twice. I think the number was out of reach. Or was it the other person did not pick the call? He looked a little gloomy while paying Rs.2 to the man at the booth.
“Welcome my king!” Gopi excitedly said while opening the door. Mani got a little uneasy on hearing that. “What’s wrong my dear? Everything is ready!! It has been a very long time since we had a...guest!” Mani disappointed Gopi by giving vague reasons like head ache, mood out etc before getting inside his room. “OK..leave him”, the third person told Gopi, who still looked greatly puzzled at Mani’s strange behaviour. “Ok…take this at least”, Gopi barged into Mani’s room with some rice and chicken pieces on his plate. Gopi was again confused by the way Mani hugged and thanked him. “So much courtesy for a plate of food?!” Gopi wondered before getting lost in his world. He had shelled out almost five hundred rupees for the guest.
The next morning. Old habits die hard. Mani did not wake up to the alarm’s call at 6:00AM.
It was around 10 o’ clock when the black mortuary van arrived.
It was a nylon rope.
4 comments:
Ghajini and chicken rice before hanging self?? at least Mani cud have had some raw flesh b'fore going down :)
Point! :)
Why do you need a van to carry a rope?
I can understand your plight Cosmic...IT Act etc after a long time!
;)
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