FACTS AND FIGURES

Sreekumar K

Malathi ma’m died of cardiac arrest today at seven o'clock in the morning. A few of us might attend her cremation at the city crematorium at 4: 30 in the afternoon. Her elder son, teaching at a university in Belgium has said he may not make it in time and gave permission to have her last rites done by his sister in his absence. His sister Mala is a well-known dancer.

Malathi joined our firm years ago at the lowest possible slot available for a candidate of her education then. She worked under me for two years and then got a double promotion and reached my level. It was mainly because of my strong recommendation that she got that post. I was sure that, with her dedication and hard work, she would be a great asset to our firm.

We were very good colleagues for another year and then I got a promotion. She didn’t get any that year but she worked relentlessly and in the next year she got another double promotion and became my immediate boss. I asked her whether we were in some sort of a race. She said it was surely a race but the winner took nothing and the stadium took all.

I was failing in my health and didn’t care much about deadlines or targets anymore. Consequently, I have been in the same position for several years now.

But Malathi went soaring higher and higher. So high that we didn’t see much of her at all.  We do remember the first time she visited Australia. On her return, she was kind enough to offer a party without mentioning the occasion, though we all guessed. She thanked all of us at the party for having helped her to become what she was then. She referred to her humble beginnings and said that she was the first person to be graduated form her native place.

Still I don’t know why, but I leaned over to Sarah and whispered to her, “That says a lot about her native place.” True, since she would have graduated only in the 80s.

Globe trotting was nothing for her in years that followed. But there was no party anymore and she unfriended most of us in her first office from her facebook account. We were sure that the management had made her do it.

  However, we were very happy about that party she had given after her first flight. There was DJ, drinks and dance. We all had a really memorable time then.

The less we saw of her, the more we heard of her. There were two very popular rumours about her health and her family life. Later, we found that the news about her impending divorce was not true. Some one commented on the FB that the reason there was no divorce was that they were not in a relationship anymore. Her man was the zonal officer of a new generation bank and wrote film reviews in a national daily every Friday. He had been transfered to a metro a few months ago.

However, the rumours about her health was true. In another year, we heard that she had lost one of her breasts to cancer. We wanted to visit her, but then we found that she was at AIMS, Delhi. Most of us wondered whether it was paid for by the company or her health insurance. If it was the health insurance, some wanted to know which card she had taken.

But soon two more items of news found their way into our office. One was that her son had married a Swedish woman, mother of two and settled in Belgium. She was his colleague. Another news was about Malthi madam's financial condition. Some said she had invested heavily in real estate and some said she had become a partner in our own company. We could not find any piece of evidence about this though we accessed the details of our company several times.

Her daughter grew up to become a famous classical dancer. Unlike her mother, she was pretty and like her father, very tall. She was different from her brother when it came to academics. She was not a scholarly person like him but, much like her father, very happy with what she was and what she had. Her brother was a gold medalist in every course he took up. Just like his mother, he was a go-get-iter and both of them got whatever they went after.

All of us who thought we knew her up close wondered how she managed to put in such an amount of work. All we heard was her groans. Our interactions with her were mostly about the huge work load she had and how much sleep she hadn’t. She always complained about one sickness or another and she would recount her visits to all those doctors. In fact, we were the ones who got sick of listening to all that. Finally, we learned to ignore her when we found that her work was never affected by her health. So, was she faking it? No, in the end, she got this cancer and now this.

We have several people among us who were risen to what they are today because they had taken her as a role model. They are very grateful to her for that. True, she was good at getting the best out of all. Those who resented work used to say that she was always under stress and, in turn, put her subordinates under worse stress.

When I think of my old subordinate, my colleague for a short while and my boss for the rest of her life, I somehow feel a pain. I think that, in spite of her achievements, life was quite unfair to her. But I don’t know what exactly makes me think so. Sure, I have been jealous of her from the day she became my boss. She was aware of that and was very careful in her dealings with me.  Like hers, my own son is settled in another country now and my daughter had decided not to work after she got married. She has taken to yoga now.

Today’s paper had  Malathi madam's photo on the very front page, with a condolence message from our chairman. Her head is tilted down a little and she is smiling her best charming smile. She was only 53, three years younger to me.

It may rain in the afternoon. If it is a heavy downpour, I don’t think I might choose to go. The road is in a mess and there isn’t enought parking space at the crematorium

 

 Dies NOBODY DIES

Sreekumar K

It had been a week but I hadn’t decided whether to visit the family not. Even if I visited them I would not go alone, Ramani or George would come with me.

Of course, the day of the funeral was the best day to go, but we all came to know about it too late. It was not exactly a rainy evening but it was still drizzling.

Now, a week later, I doubted if there is any point in going. I was not that close to him either. In fact, we were only acquaintances who met regularly at the city poetry club every month.

He was an electrical engineer, retired from the KSEB. I had a certain dislike for all those who worked for that department. But my tirade against his poetry had nothing do with it. Sasikumar had asked me one day whether I had known him for long. I hadn’t. In fact, I met him only after I joined the poetry club a month ago.

Both George and Ramani agreed to come with me. Sasikumar also felt that someone should visit the family at least now.

My car had been sent for service. So, I borrowed Sasikumar’s car. I am not used to driving auto gears, auto transmission to use the right term. But somehow I was managing.

“His daughter also writes,” said George.

“Yeah, she is a better poet than him. I met her at the Mathrubhumi Literary Fest. She recited one of her poems. Three collections already, she is only 23,” added Ramani.

“Twenty-three. His only daughter? But he was pretty old, right?” I wondered.

“.No, he married quite late and they got a daughter ever much later. The newspaper said he was only 66. That is young nowadays. My grandfather is turning ninety-four this month,” said Ramani.

“Did you like his poems. I could never enjoy his poems when I read them or heard them.” I turned back to see what their faces might tell me. I was willing to face it.

It was no secret that I used to change the poetry sessions into a cockfight whenever he was there. Not that I didn’t go hard on the other poets. I had earned a bad name in that too. But, he was my chief pleasure.

Even a few days before his death he had read out, rather recited, one of his poems in the monthly poetry meet. It was titled FLOW. I found it very pretentious. I was not sure whether he did live as he advocated in his poems. But they never do.

How many of the Great British Romantics really thought about the colonies? All of them were criminally insensitive. Even Rudyard Kipling referred to us as ‘the white man’s burdern’. I don’t allow my nephew to watch The Jungle Book. I hated his poem IF, but of course for other reasons.

“I had asked him to bring out a collection several times. He said no one would buy. That is also true. I am left with only four more copies of my short story collection. I printed 300 copies and sold only seventy. The rest were given to friends as gifts,” said Geroge.

True. I also got two or three copies of his book, ‘Both Ways Uphill’. Not a bad work. But who cares! Poetry sells more. Ramani had brought out four collections and won several prestigious awards. She gets invited to almost all the literary fests in India. She is fishing for some fellowship now. I found her poetry highly obscure.

The car left the city and went into the suburbs. Thiruvananthapuram is no big city. It is only a big town. Fifteen kilometers in any direction and you see pastoral life. Rural life.

There were paddy fields on either side hedged in by very tall coconut trees. A stream ran along our road and then disappeared under it at a culvert and came out from the other side. This would be where he used to go for walks with his daughter. Beautiful countryside. None of these appeared much in his poetry.

“He had had two surgeries earlier and so this does not come as a shock to his family. My neighbour used to work with him. One thing he said about him is that this man was clean. Not corrupt in any way. He has two flats in the city, but it is absolutely his own money. Ironically, for the same reason, no one in his office liked him,” said Geroge.

“I expect him to be so. He was a soft mannered person but very strong-willed too,” I said.

At the very next junction, as Sasikumar had instructed us, we turned into a narrow road. Not a residential area. Just like a typical Kerala Village. It was easy to find the house. A poster showing his picture put up by the neigbours was still there.

His daughter was in the garden, straightening up some flower pots that the visitors had upset. She greeted us politely and asked us to walk in.

We went in and sat down. No one knew what to say. So, I asked the daughter what she was doing. She had taken a PG in zoology and was preparing for JRF. I told him that she was known among us as a writer.

Her mother was rather quiet, dark patches were still around her eyes. She spoke in a soft tone and asked us who each of us were.

“He used to tell me about you all. He was very particular about attending the monthly meeting. He would postpone anything but not this.”

She repeated our names and asked what we were doing. Ramani said she was a Homeopath, George said he taught at the University, She called me by name and asked me how my business was doing. She said her husband used to talk a lot about me.

Then again there was nothing to talk about. His daughter, Susmitha, brought us tea and snacks.

While sipping the hot tea, I felt a searing pain somewhere inside as if the hot tea had found its way into some deep crevices of my being.

I coughed and excused myself and went out. I went on coughing outside in the garden.

The garden looked quite old, mostly exotic plants, rare ones.

I stood there a while longer and wondered why I was so hard on him as a poet. He was just an old man finding some solace and comfort in the applause he sought and got. Most people enjoyed his poems. They were quite metrical though the rhyming was laboured.

But there was no real reason to take on him so regularly at every meeting.

Anyway, now it is all over. I walked towards where the funeral pyre had been. Rituals were over and there was a young happy coconut tree, its baby fronds wet in the rain and swaying in the wind.

I stood there and apologized.

No, there was no excuse for what I had done. I walked back.

I went back in and finished the tea rather carefully. We asked a few questions about where he used to work. He had worked a long time at Idukki and the family also stayed there for long. Susmitha went to school there.

George stared at me signaling that it was time to go. As if on cue, we all got up and moved towards the front porch.

His wife asked me to stay.

She went in and brought out a folder full of poems.

“He was planning to bring this out. He wished to ask you to write the introduction. Will you have the time, sir?”

I took it from him as if it was her newborn baby. My heart skipped a beat.

“He has set aside some money to get it published. We would like to do that.”

“Oh! Did he really say I should write the introduction.”

“Yes, he wanted to surprise you, he once told us.”

I found it hard to walk properly. My legs had gone numb and week. I didn’t have the courage to look at the others.

We said goodbye to the family and got into the car. I asked George to drive.

I looked at the folder.

It did pulsate.

I was relieved when Ramani took it from me.

 he Intruder

Sreekumar K

The phone rang for the third time. I knew who it was. Karthika, the librarian at our school. It was not so rare for Karthika to call me, though mostly for official purposes. But the Christmas holidays had begun and the school would be closed for over a week. So, that couldn’t be anything official.

I looked towards the kitchen. Vinaya was busy. A little bit of flirting won’t go bad, I hoped.

“Hello, Karthika! Happy Christmas!”

“Yeah, yeah same to you. I have been trying for some time”
God! Do I have to explain? What could she be calling me for? Sure to be something silly. A malfunctioning oven or wanting to know where to buy a shirt for her man.

“Sorry, I was busy with Niranjan. This year we have decided to celebrate Christmas.”

“O, really? He should be really happy about it. I had called you because I have a problem here and Chithran is not here.”

“O, where is he?”

“Who knows! He left three days ago promising to be here for Christmas. Probably next Christmas. I called you because I got scared.”
“Scared? Scared of what?”

“I think there is a mouse or a rat in our bedroom. First I thought it was in the kitchen. Probably it was. Now, I think it has run into our bedroom, the master bedroom. I closed it. Or it might run everywhere.”

“Wait a minute. Are you sure it is a rat?”

“I don’t know. There may not be anything at all. You know, I am so jittery about these things.”

“I know that. Be careful. It might be a snake or something.”

“No, it is not a snake. What I saw running around was something only as big as this.”

Sure, she is gesturing with her hands.

“Sorry, I mean it was as big as a big frog.” She added.

“Then it could be a frog.”

“No, it isn’t a frog. It was not leaping about.”

“Are you sure you saw something?”

“Now that you ask, I am not even sure of that. Let me open the door and go into the bedroom.”

I had never seen her home. I was left to imagine what it would be like. Just like her mind, I hoped. If it is like her mind, then it is beyond anyone’s imagination. She is a real scatterbrain, trying to do a hundred different things, all with such perfection.

At the library, nobody complimented her for anything. It was their way of responding to her being very cold towards them. But the visitors profusely complimented her and they say she never thanked them even once.

The library was always neat and tidy. No dust or torn papers lying around. Portraits of great writers, her own work, adorned the walls. Posters on the best books in there displaying the comments of the kids who had read it could be seen near each shelf. The library was a very attractive spot in our school. It inspired the kids to read and also to write. She had set a corner for the budding writers and she herself could be seen writing poems there.

“OK, I am inside. There is surely something in here. A very slight noise, but I am sure it is there. Let me move the cot a little. Don’t cut the call. I am so scared. You know what? Even Chithran is so scared of these things. We live near this bog, know? Several times these things had dropped in uninvited. My driver was helpful then.”

I remember her driver. An old affectionate man. He passed away a year  ago.

I looked around. Niranjan was pruning the Christmas tree. He was carefully taking things off and putting them back. Then standing away to see if it looked good.

Vinaya was still in the kitchen dressing the chicken. At any time now, she might call me to help her chop it to pieces. Or at least to sharpen the knife.

“Yesssss. It is a rat. Big one, but so very cute. Looks like Aurangazebe to me.”

“O, you have seen him too? Is there anyone you haven’t met yet?”

“Yes, the angel of death. Came close to him several times but he slipped away. I will catch him one of these days. You wait!”

“Hope I will be around then.”
“Yes, sure you will be around, still teaching in our school. Ah, got him. He is staring at me as if I am the intruder. Hey, go and come back next Saturday. Shhh, go, go.”

“Are you focusing your torch on him. He might be dazed.”

“What torch? The one you gave me for my birthday. It broke long ago and Chithran took it to some repair shop and he can’t remember which shop it is!”

“Take a broom or something and hit it. It won’t get hurt. And I know you will be soft on it too.”

“What do you mean? I am going to take a jackhammer and beat it to pulp and then scoop it on to my canvas, let it dry and varnish and frame it for my drawing-room. Will it smell?”

“Once it is dead it can’t smell. It might stink though.”

“Where is your darling wife?”

“I don’t know where my darling wife is. The not-so darling one is in the kitchen.”

“Busy with the turkey?”

“No, we could not find one. Managed with a big bad rooster.”
“Yes, it has started running. It should be blind or it might have jumped on the table and screamed at me. God, how I look!”

“Yes, how do you look? What are you wearing?”

“It has gone under the cupboard. Now I have to move the cupboard. Don’t cut the call. I am putting down the phone for a minute. I am moving the cupboard.”

I sat down on the sofa. I knew it might go for some time. I didn’t even think there was a lizard in her room and I don’t think she was imagining anything. She might be coolly sitting there with a cup of cornflakes soaked in soya milk, her favourite breakfast. What time was it, I looked at the clock. It was half-past eleven.

“Yes, I have moved the cupboard. He is slowly moving along the wall.”

“Chase it out of the room. Once in the open, it will run away. Do you have a cat? Yes, I remember, you have one. You had written about it too.”
“Cat? I don’t keep one now. I had one and it is long dead. It never chased rats though. If you are busy you may cut the call. I think I am safe now. It has gone to the veranda.”

“OK, OK, see it doesn’t go back into the kitchen.”
“No, no I closed it. It is just slowly moving up and down in the veranda. I will sit here watching it. Are you going somewhere for the holidays?”
“No, some of my friends are coming from Bhopal. An ex-colleague and her family. A yoga teacher.”

“Then run a crash course with her. I will come.”

“Mmmm. Let me think of that!”

“I know you won’t even think about it.”
“Then why did you suggest!”
“Ok, the rat is walking down the steps and is disappearing. I am totally safe now.”

“How is your Christmas?”
“Nothing. Will just visit a church. And then my parents. If Chithran comes back tomorrow, we may go for a movie. Are there any good ones in town?”
“I don’t know.”

“OK, go ahead with your work. Be with Niranjan. I can hear him calling you. So sweet!”

She cut the call and I looked at my phone to confirm it.

I walked towards Niranjan.

“Who was it, dad?”
“O, that was Santa Claus calling to ask what you would like to have this Christmas.”
“And what did you tell him?”
“I told him you would like to have two pairs of teeth for your upper jaw."
He hugged me and laughed, laughed so much that Vinaya came out still holding the blunt knife in her right hand and the wing of the rooster in the other.

 A TRAVELOGUE ON HELL

Sreekumar K

It is nice to have a visit to this place called hell sometimes. It reminds you of quite a lot you used to do and saves you from repeating your own mistakes. No matter how prepared you are, hell can always surprise you, unpleasantly, of course.
What is it actually? It is a place where there is no love. It is a place where everyone wants love and no one spares any. It is a place where people are so stiff-necked they never took a good look at themselves. No mirrors too, since there are no friends.
You can’t befriend anyone here. Trying to do so is like asking a frog to jump after you have cut off its limbs. The frog can still hear you but it can’t move a limb, having none at all. This might make you shout or look up its aural canal for ear wax. It doesn’t help.
But people are happy in hell. It is your visit that bothers them. Left to themselves, they manage. They do it playing a game called comparison. Anyone who goes in will have to play this game. The visiting players always seem to do better and that causes a national disaster in hell. They declare a few days of mourning and all of them, or at least those who were playing, go back to their shells. Their Internet Service Providers go on vacation.
The interesting thing about hell is the language they speak with you. They speak in a language they don’t understand. And if you claim to have understood it, they will tell you they meant totally something else. And then they repeat what they had said. You are left to wonder what the difference is. There is a difference. They have only one pronoun in their language; it has a nominative case also. Other pronouns are used only in the accusative case.
It goes something like this.
Eg: They do.
She does.
But I am done to. (not I do) (and its passive voice)
In their churches, when the big question is asked, there is perfect silence. The bride and the bridegroom turn around and ask their friends and relatives whether they should say “She does or He does or I am done to or its more passive form, ‘This is (being) done to me'
The schools in hell are interesting too. Even the lessons are called Mistakes. (Compare with those in heaven where mistakes are called Lessons.) The schools are all play-way method schools. They play games.
There is no problem with power failures here since everyone is blind and they just love darkness. Some people who got their blindness cured when they had a near-life experience had to leave hell and go live in heaven, leaving their near and dear ones behind. Now, who likes that!
There are no hills in hell. Everyone lives in a ditch. Wherever you go you are walking both ways downhill. It is the phenomenon called double gravitational pull as time doubles up as space. Time does not exist here and a lot of wounds are green and unhealed.
There is no water in hell. People dig for water everywhere. It is all rocky terrain. This has made people look for water wherever rocks are. Too many stone-hearted people here live in fear that someday their hearts will be dug into.
Pets are a craze in hell. Most of them love pets and keep them. Pets are ususally preferred to children. Children sometimes make things complicated. They might turn against you but you can’t kill them. You are stuck with them. Parents and spouses also don’t fare better. Only those who love are loved. Loving only those who love you is called romance in here.
However, people here are very nice. When they see you, they grab your hand and hold on to you till they leave you. And they are so nice, they leave you soon. If you hold them any longer, they twist your arms and free themselves. It is called a good-bye.
More travelogues to other interesting places soon.

 WAVES OF TRANSPARENCY (FINAL EPISODE)

Sreekumar K

In the afternoon session Patricia dropped a bomb on everyone. Her speech was very positive when it started. But as it went on the room felt colder than it actually was.

"Knowledge creation and dissemination will become more democratic as language ceases to be the only medium of communication between brains. When we substitute words with waves, knowledge will become no one's monopoly. Education, science, technology, health care and such fields of human activity will take a quantum leap. From the morning session, it should be clear to you all that the technology to link brains using gravitational waves is available now. Those who invest in this will be the only ones to make any money out of it. The opinions and suggestion you shared with us about its pros and cons are invaluable for us. Since the consortium feels that you were not adequately rewarded for that, they plan to make you shareholders, free of cost to some extent. At the same time, you are reminded of the agreement between you and the consortium regarding how one of you should volunteer to take part in the field test."

It was then that July and Emily realized the imminent danger that Michael had warned them about.  Michael also  remembered that economists does not think any lunch is free.

Six years ago when they signed the agreement, everyone thought only of the huge amount in their bank accounts. None of them thought of the unfortunate person among them whose mind would be made totally transparent one day. No one really believed that such a technology would be available during their own lifetime. But now they realize that fate caught up with them.

They all felt like unfortunate convicts who fell unconscious hearing their death sentence and waking up only on the day of execution. They looked at each other to see how the others were taking it.

Each of them got up to explain why they were not able to volunteer. Secrets are what make us individuals and personalities. Secrets make us unique. Without our uniqueness, none of us counts, Janet argued. Several of them quoted Havlock Ellis statement that all are secretive even to themselves.

When a man's mind is made totally transparent he is as good as dead. And killing a person is no legal. Even if a person approaches the court for euthanasia, he won't be granted the request unless there is a proper reason for that. And mostly such requests were rejected. Such were the arguments.

 

Patricia listened to everything. She smiled at the arguments fully knowing that the consortium could by any court under the sky. She reminded them of the huge amount they would have to pay back if nobody volunteered. Still no one budged.

"There is only one opting for me now. It is forced on me. I have nothing personal in this," as she said this, she glanced at Cheng Lee first and then at Jean. One was her history and the other was her future. She too didn't want to think of one of them being the scape goat.

"So, we will try lots now. We will use random number prediction for that. I will turn on the unit implanted in the brain of the chosen one at twelve o' clock tonight. Those whom I decide or myself will have access to his or her mind from then onwards," said Patricia in a quivering voice.

Emily jumped up to say that there is nothing called a random number. All the other supported her and Patricia too had to agree. Michael and Emily kissed in public.

Patricia could sense that everyone was suddenly infuriated about the consortium, about the project and about herself.

So, actual lots were tried. Everyone's names were written in bits of paper and dropped in a box. A waiter was called in to choose one. He took one and thinking that the one he chose got some handsome prize, he wanted for compliments. Janet gave him a dollar and sent him away. He bowed out of the room.

Everyone was anxious to know who it was.

Everyone could hear their neighbour's heart beating.

Everyone wanted it to be someone else, no matter who it was.

They all prayed to that effect and then realized how mean they were. Each of them saw themselves as such ruthless people to wish doom on their own dear ones.

But they also knew that the chosen one would have a life worse than death. A state in which one ceases to exist while still alive.

Even the few atheists were seen crossing themselves.

Finally, Patricia read out the name.

Jean Larvin

No one spoke for a while.

They were asking themselves whether they should congratulate their dear ones for their luck or show their sympathy for the unfortunate one.

Finally, Avanthika spoke for the first time that day.

"Don't worry Jean, nothing will happen to you. We are all with you. Without implanting a unit on your body, nothing can be done. It is illegal to do it without your permission.

Nobody else said anything.

"There is no solace in that Avanthika. As soon as we signed the agreement, they implanted it as an injection in our body telling us it is our ID. As a neuroscientist, I knew that. But I didn't tell any of you. And now I am paying the price. I will undergo this willingly. I don't have secrets in my life from now on. I am not a person anymore. I am as good as dead," saying this Jean sat on the floor.

Nobody knew how to console him.

His body looked like a corpse to all of them.

Patricia heard about Jean's death early in the morning.

It was a suicide.

No one knew why.

There was no suicide note.

It was the room boy who saw the body first.

However, it was no news for Patricia.

She had turned on his unit exactly at twelve the previous night.

His thoughts had been slithering all over her brain the whole night.

She had mistaken them for her own thoughts and had even wondered why she felt like hanging herself.

All those nightmares were blackish red in colour.

A Privileged Teacher

Sreekumar K

We, my wife, my daughter and myself, had gone to bed when the call came. Whoever called had no sense of time, I thought. Torrential rain and a chilly wind had made us curl up inside our think blankets.

My daughter attended the call and came over to knock at our bedroom door.
“There is a shortage of volunteers at the corporation office to pack and load. Shall I go?”
“Yes, sure. Wait a minute I am also coming.”
“Mom will be OK?”
“Just unleash Luna. She will take care of her.”
In a minute we both got ready and jumped on my scooter. Lekshmi said she could manage.  I said yes. I don’t ride anything anymore. I have to take care of my injured foot.
It was not raining much. Only a very slight drizzle. We rode down the narrow street and entered the broadway that leads to the corporation office.
Near the zoo, she slowed down at the spot where a journalist had got run over by a car two days back. I noticed my daughter moving back on her seat to be closer to me. The wind was very cold.

At the corporation office which was a collection centre for the flood relief operations, tons of materials lay around unsorted. Towards the corner a truck was getting loaded by some young men, most of them known to my daughter.
I left my daughter with her friends and went in. The guard gave me a strange look as if he suspected something. Then he looked at my foot and smiled at me.
I was not an enlisted volunteer and could join any group. Contrary to my expectations, there was no chair to sit down and work. I decided to stand. My foot might swell again. That is OK for tonight.

Towards my left there were a wife and her husband busy unpacking, sorting and packing. Their three little children looked with curiosity at what their parents were doing. Obviously, the kids were feeling very happy about this late-night outing. They were also commenting to one another on the things they found in the packs.
I too found it strange how generous people were.  I decided to work with some young men sorting clothes. My God! People had bought clothes without looking much at the price tag. And they were all meant for people they had never seen and would never see.

 
There was some cheering outside. The fifty-fifth truck was being flagged off. It would travel about 500 kilometers in the bad weather to reach the northern districts Kerala where landslides had devasted several villages. 55 trucks loaded with love.
I heard my daughter voice rather loudly towards my right. I looked up from my work but could not see her. There was a small crowd there. She had obviously met one of her old classmates. Probably someone I too had taught. She is good at keeping contacts. I am not.
After an hour a lean handsome boy came near me and bend down to stare at my face as if he was attending to a sick person. I looked up. His face looked familiar.

“Do you remember me?”
“Of course, I do”
“Then, say my name.”
“You are Shambhu.”
He laughed out.
“But I cheated. I recalled your name because I heard my daughter call you so. But I remember your face.”
He laughed again.
He too began to pick up the clothes and pack them in cartons. He was neat and he looked tall.
He had been a headache for me in his high school days.
He never did his homework and scored poorly in all his tests. It was impossible to reach him.
Later I heard that when his parents sent him to get a demand draft for him to join the college, he ran away with the money. He reached Chennai and got employed as a guard at an ATM. The next day, his old-time classmate, a girl, spotted him in his khaki uniform. She had heard that he was missing. She informed his parents and he was taken back home.
“What do you do now?”
“I joined for MA.”
“What have you taken?”
“English literature.”
“Then you should come to me for tuition.”
He laughed again.
Maybe he didn’t sense it, but I wanted to teach him.
It is a privilege.
An honour.
Outside, the crowd had lined up in two rows passing heavy boxes to be loaded on to the next truck.
One was my daughter, the others were my sons.

---

"GRAVITATIONAL WAVES!"

Sreekumar K

" Right, I had read about it in the newspaper. Didn't get to read any journals about it. I am yet to see the connection with all these," said Georges without hiding his annoyance.

"I had also read about it in the New Scientist. It reminded me of the sea of milk that the Indians talk about. Their Lord Vishnu who sustains everything reposes on a snake that floats on an ocean of milk. Lives are supposed to be the waves in that ocean," said Yufi.

"Yes, it is more or less like that. Only that it is an ocean of energy that we live in. We say vacuum, but nothing is totally so. It only means there is no air there. The universe is simply an ocean of energy. What we perceive as forms are only energy in disguise. There is no empty space anywhere and there should not be. Our Babel Project aims at harnessing these gravitational waves just like we use the electromagnetic waves now. These billionaires have bought that technology. The price? Just for now understand that you can buy two Netherlands at that price," said Jeane.

"O, you lost me there! I had almost got it when it again slipped away," said Yufi.

"It is simple. Now we use electromagnetic waves for almost all our communications, from FM radio to our mobile phones. We may switch to gravitational waves,” explained Jeane.

" Such an elaborate discussion and preparation for just this?" asked Yufi.

" This discussion is not just for that. You will get a clear idea about it by tea time,” Jeane expressed his unwillingness to say more about it. .

He had a clear idea about the Armageddon going to hit the earth. If those with him had carefully read through the documents they had signed six years ago, they too would have been scared like him. He had read so carefully through the documents only because he was quite aware of how Patricia operated and how she got things done.

"One more question. My last and final one. How come this technology costs this much?" Georges moved his chair back and faced Jeane.

"My knowledge about that is very rudimentary, only what I put together from some science journals. Though the gravitational waves can travel this far from another galaxy, their amplitude is rather low. Or it is low till they are disturbed further. Even then, it is ten raised to minus twenty or so. One sextyllion, that is. Think of the technology needed to work with them. Think of the level of sensitivity such an equipment should have!” Jeane heaved a sigh.

"When you say hunt, chase and catch, it sounds so simple. But let me ask you, what kind of a trap are we talking about?" asked Georges. "And if you think I won't get it, then leave it. I just asked."

"No, no. That is fairly easy to understand. Think of two pipes 600 meters long joined to form an L. From where they are joined, laser beams are sent to either ends. At the ends they are reflected back. The reflected ray from both ends will reach back at the same time since the pipes are of the same length and the rays are of uniform wavelength. Then, if an unseen wave hits one end of one of the pipes and that pipe shrinks a little, way too little, like the size of an atom, the ray reflected from that end of the pipe will take less time to reach back, since its course is shorter now by the size of an atom or so. Takes less time means slowed down to ten raised to minus twenty or two hundred kilometres per nano second. This is what it means to catch a wave. The difference in their times shows the presence of a disturbed wave,” explained Jeane.

" God, it is worse than the most unbelievable tale I ever heard," said Yufi.

Those sitting at the next table were also engaged in a discussion, though on a different topic. The three of them had also taken part enthusiastically in the morning session, debating on every topic that had come up. Emily and July were scientists but Michael was a far better scholar than either of them. It was no secret that he was always against the project, whatever it was. July could not help prodding him.

“I wonder why you are so irritated about the project. I am sure you know about it much more than any of us here," said July.

“One is a statement of facts and the other is the reason. I am against it only because I know its future. I know my life is in danger for saying this. Crucifixion or bullets were always the reward for truth. Still, I find it hard to speak against my conscience. You can steal meals, but you can’t steal sleep.”

“O, Michael, your poetry is obscure. Tell me if there is any physics in it,” said Emily.

"There is no physics, but there is some biology. Shall I? 'Meals' means food and by extension of ideas, it means wealth. It can be stolen from others. It IS always stolen from others. Since food is not enough in this world, anyone who overeats is stealing someone else's food. A few people steal other people food and a lot of people get looted. That is the way of the world. But sleep is not wealth though it is very precious. Sleep is actually our peace of mind. Like the Indians say, it is the time when we are one with God. And it is God's grace if you get it . It cannot be stolen or hoarded. From the very beginning, because of its clandestine nature, I was never happy about the project. I think it smells of evil. There were sixteen sponsors in the beginning. Now, only five.”

"What about it? Eleven people would have backed out. OK, now I get it. If they got out, there would have been proper reason for that after such a huge investment. You have guessed it right, Michael," said July.

"That is not the point. And I am not guessing. Each time I came to know a sponsor backed out, I bought the latest issue of the Vogue."

"Your poetry is not only obscure, it is cryptic too. I don't see the connection between a fashion magazine and rocket science. What about you, July?" asked Emily.

July was silently looking at Michael as he promptly replied.

“There is a remote connection. I like that phrase 'remote connection'. Now, the Vogue features the death of every billionaire who dies. When each of the secret sponsors was reported as left the project, I also found that one more billionaire had left the world. Not just billionaires, the very rich ones. The Vogue just does not care about any billionaire. There are too many of them. And let me finish, each death was unnatural. True, most billionaires have unnatural deaths. Still!”

July was still looking at Michael with admiration. If brain was the charm of a gentleman, he was the most charming she had ever seen. His book yoking together sociology and environment, The Green Ghost, is a classic on both subjects. She had spent some time with him in Peru to help him finish the book. It was her only honeymoon in life. He was adamant about not setting up a family, though she had tried her best. She still longed for him even though she had not seen him for more than a year.

“I know this. There is a TED talk on this,” said Emily

“What? About their deaths?” asked Michael.

“No, about co-incidence. When two things happen together, our mind tends to connect them as cause and effect. It is our nature. Cum hoc ergo propter hoc. With this, therefore because of this.  In this case, we don’t know whether those who died were our sponsors. All we know is that eleven people backed out and eleven people died. The common factor here is the number eleven,” said Emily and stared at July who was trying to interrupt.

“Not accurate,” corrected July. “They were all billionaires.”

“Yes, but those were not the only billionaires in the world. Like the Vogue believes, there are too many of them now. So, that cannot be a common factor. Not a valid one,” Emily argued.

“OK. I am not pushing it. But what are these guys trying to do? They are trying to put an end to our ability to lie. Our ability to lie is even older than our ability to speak. It is our birthright. Even ants have this. Neil Postman, in one of his books, describes how the use of pesticides lead to the ants learning to use their limbs in communication to mislead their predators,” said Michael.

“I respect Neil Postman. I met him once. But, these researches they carry out in humanities are all unreliable. They even had a research on whether human nature changes when they find that there is no free will. I laughed a lot about that one.” Emilyy started laughing.

“Why is it even funny?” asked Michael.

“How can you say someone is lying if there is no free will. He has no choice. He is absolutely the product of his circumstances,” said Emily suppressing her laughter.

As July listened to their discussion, she felt envious of Emily. She wondered whether he would have said no to Emily if she wanted to set up a family with him.

The discussion went on but July was reminiscing her days with him in Peru. Even as they moved towards the hall after their rather quick lunch, she held his hand and walked close to him. But he was not there at all.

And his face was like that of a man sentenced to death.