In the evening just when Swamy finished doing ‘it’, the phone rang. The sound appeared to reverberate louder with each ring in his ears as panic seized him. He pulled his pant up, lowered the blanket and wiped off the stains with it. Yellowish moist marks persisted, and from his previous experiences he knew they wouldn’t be cleansed off easily. As the phone ring grew louder, filling the room deafening his ears, he kept staring at the stains in terror, muttering he would never to do ‘it’ again.
He heard his mother’s voice answer the phone in her room and now shouting out that it was for him. Swamy covered the stains with whatever he could find around and lifted the receiver in the drawing room. He heard, “Hello”, in a fake deep voice, and Swamy could immediately make out who it was. He shouted outside the receiver, “Ma! Put the phone down.” He heard his mother say, “I was waiting for you to lift”, and a click through the receiver. He was relieved. “You never know who is listening”, he said as if to himself into the receiver. “Who else is listening, Swamy?”, said the voice from the other end still sounding affected and grown-man-like. “Now, O.K. O.K., the voice doesn’t crack overnight. Stop playing around.”, said Swamy irritated. “Who said so?”, he heard in the same tone. “Narayan Sir.” “Oh-dammit”, he heard from the other end in a tone child-like and a frequency much similar to his; his friend Shravan’s voice. “I have been practicing hoarsening my voice by saying ‘aaah..’ from my throat all day long and drinking as little water as possible.”, said Shravan. “That won’t help. Narayan Sir said, it should happen…aah…happen…ya…’when it happens we wouldn’t even know it.’ And its not called hoarsening of the voice, its deepening.” “O.K. Whatever. Guess what?” “What?” “Guess.” “What.” “I saw Navya today walking her dog past my house.”, said Shravan. “Hmm…what did…”, started Swamy in excitement. “She tried to scare me by letting her dog loose onto me; Pomeranian; ferocious bitch. It almost jumped on…” “What was she wearing?” “Who?” “Navya.” “Why?” “Nothing. Just like that.”, said Swamy dreamily, and asked, “Did you talk?” “Ya, casually.” Then Swamy heard his mother shout out from the other room asking him to cut the conversation and get ready. He said into the phone that he had to go to his grandfather’s place in a while and will be putting the phone down. “Oh! To your jail eh?”, giggled Shravan. “Ya, I will have to stay there for a week. Anyway see you tomorrow in school. Bye.”
Swamy then sat on the sofa and wondered why he couldn’t talk to Navya so easily as Shravan did. When his mother came into the drawing room, combing her long hair, to tell him to get ready, Swamy was immediately transported, mentally, back to the day Navya was introduced to his class as a new student. She had a similar long hair and like his mother now, she wore a white shirt but with yellow flowers printed on it. Since that day, Navya proved to be a mysterious attraction for him.
When Swamy sat in the car beside the driver’s seat, his mother sitting behind launched forth into her usual to-do monologues about helping him in his chores, about being considerate and patient towards him, and talking to him whenever he appeared depressed. She also said that it is painful to lose someone close as his grandfather did, and feeling lonely he needed company and reassurance. Swamy didn’t pay much attention to his mother as he was waiting for the Coca-Cola hoarding showing a sexy model in a revealing red bikini holding up a bottle, which would pass by en route. When the hoarding did pass by, Swamy wary that his mother or the driver might notice him, secretly peeked at it from the corner of his eye. And all he could gather was the navel of the model, etched in her tummy. Still, this little show of skin was sufficient enough to cause a bulge in his pants. He leaned back, closed his eyes and meditated on the picture of the navel he saw. The navel slowly transformed into a dark space, a tunnel, absorbing him and shutting him from the noise of traffic, his mother’s chatter, the driver and the world around. He started curling up in the seat, mesmerized, when his mother shook him asking, “Are you listening?” He suddenly woke up from his trance like state and absent mindedly mumbled a ‘yes’, and covered his erection with his T-shirt. “I’ll miss you.”, his mother said, and pulled his face from behind and kissed him on his cheek. Swamy rubbed off the inexistent saliva from the spot she kissed, irritated, and wore an annoyed expression. “If you grandfather saw me doing this, he would say I still consider you a little baby and that I’m pampering you. But how does he know how much I will miss you sending you away for a week.”, she said ignoring Swamy’s reactions.
When the car screeched to a halt in front of the grandfather’s apartments, the grandfather waiting outside shouted at the driver for applying the brakes so suddenly. Hearing the ex-army man’s cry, annoyed and loud, everyone in the car came to attention. The grandfather walked up to Swamy’s side of the car, opened the door and asked sternly, “Is his highness coming out or not?” Swamy frightfully, in a jolt got out of the car hiding his crotch behind his bag and stooping his shoulders. The old man caught Swamy’s shoulder, pushed them back, straightened his spine and said in an Army Major’s tone, “Stand straight soldier!”, laughingly. Swamy’s bag dropped on his feet and thankfully his erection was subsiding.
After his grandmother passed away, this was the first time Swamy had been to his grandfather’s apartment. He found it neat but very disorderly. The old man made him stand in attention and gave a speech about how he should behave under him. He started by saying, “Your mother pampers you a lot you do not know anything about household chores you are a grown up now you should learn to be independent and not depend on your mother in my house the rules are going to be different you will learn to…”, and gave a long list of rules and ‘behavioral methods.’ He was to observe the old man do his household chores on the first two days and then on do them on his own. For now, he was asked to stand and observe. He was not to be caught yawning or giggling.
To stand in attention all the while and observe proved to be arduous and boring for Swamy. The old man absent mindedly removed things in and out of the refrigerator, repeated the chores for he frequently forgot where he kept a certain thing, mopped the floor with the table-cleaning-cloth, cleaned the table with the floor-mopping-cloth, wet-mopped the floor first and then dry-mopped and did a various other things in a jumbled up juvenile way. He put salt and pepper in the refrigerator and forgot to have the milk cold. Swamy knew the old man did all this not because of his senility but because he was not used to doing household work until his wife died; at least, his mother said so. Swamy’s parents asked his grandfather many times to stay with them but he was always adamant in his refusal, saying he wanted to be independent. (He had a cook who was very irregular). By the time the old man dragged the fifteen minute worth chores to hours, Swamy’s blood pooled up in his feet and he started to feel dizzy. The monotonous tick-tock of the clock was bothering his mind, and he terribly wanted to sit.
When at last the evening’s work finished Swamy was allowed to sit in front of the television but only for a while before they went out to buy eggs and milk for the dinner. By then, Swamy’s head was reeling and the colours from the television appeared too bright, for he hadn’t eaten anything since lunch and was exhausted. He was too afraid to ask his grandfather for a snack because he thought the old man might say something like – a soldier needs to control his hunger until the food is offered, or some such crap. The old man meanwhile was flipping through the hundred odd channels faster than the blink of Swamy’s eye. When he finished a round, he tossed the remote control towards Swamy’s side, saying all that they show on T.V. is useless.
Swamy’s taste in television programs of late was broadening beyond his favourite cartoon channels to other channels’ programs which stimulated some recently discovered pleasure areas in his brain. Though he still watched cartoons, he wouldn’t dare watch them in front of his grandfather, who regarded them fit only for toddlers. But Swamy had a method, which he followed at home while watching television with his parents. With an affected innocence, he would jump first directly to a cartoon channel and casually browse through the other channels showing a bit of feminine skin. So now, he saw Popeye on Cartoon Network for some fifteen seconds and started flicking the channels until he arrived the one showing the Hindi movie Dev D. He knew after the present scene, the actor would lie on the actress and try to make love. He planned to have a glimpse of that scene and then, as if righteous and ‘pure’ minded would change the channel, just as things start to spice up. The present scene showed the actress walk into the actor’s dirty and messy room. The actress’ character reprimands the actor’s for his state of affairs. Then she clears up the mess and cleans the room while he just watches over without lending help like a little kid cornered by his mother. Then the actress crouching on the bathroom floor washes all the dirty clothes of the actor which had been stacked for days together. While doing this she launches into a tirade about his careless and loose attitude with genuine concern. At this moment, the old man suddenly clutched the sofa hard and squeezed it so tight, tensing himself, that Swamy sitting on the other end could sense it. “Goddamn movies!”, growled the old man. Swamy peeked at his grandfather from the corner of his eye and seeing his woeful expression, felt he had to change the channel.
He jumped to a fashion channel knowingly, with his former affected innocence, and scrolled through the next twenty odd identical channels at a tempered pace. These channels lit Swamy’s eyes, when saris revealed, short T-shirts raised, bikinis and weird fashion costumes exposed the mid-riffs of women. These naked abdomens moved in and out, when they talked, laughed, walked or danced. Etched in these well toned tummies was a little dark pit which moved in different direction, opening, closing and flowering, bothering his loins. Swamy was drawn to it in all the channels; the pit leading to a tunnel burrowing deep inside, transfixing his gaze. When he switched off the television at his grandfather’s call, there was an eerie silence in the drawing room compounded by the whirring sound of the fan. In this ambience, Swamy staring at the blank, dark screen felt drawn more intensely into the tunnel bringing about a trance like effect on his mind, and accentuating his earlier dizziness, reeling sensation and bright colours.
Swamy’s grandfather asked him to halt the elevator in their floor while the old man switched off the lights and fans and locked the apartment. (They were to go to the grocer’s.) Swamy with the fever in his head and the weight in his groins walked as if unconsciously in the dimly lit bluish corridor towards the dark space of the old fashioned grilled-lift whose two doors are made of latticed metal with gaps in between the size of an arm’s width. When he pushed the button, he saw through the grill, cords and other apparatus move with a sweet humming noise. Then the white light of the elevator slowly descended to his floor, illuminating the corridor and lightening up Swamy. In the lift were a twenty-something boy and a girl, who seemed to have moved away from each other just when the lift halted. The boy was grinning and the girl was giggling looking down, as if embarrassed. The girl was wearing a short T-shirt and low waist jeans, which exposed her navel. The navel had a ring and it glittered, attracting Swamy’s attention. When Swamy was about to slide open the grill, the boy shut it tight saying, “Not now, kiddo!” and drew the girl towards him by her waist, with his arm curled around her, shutting the enticing pit in the girl’s tummy from Swamy’s view with his hand. The girl giggled even more, hiding her face against the boy’s shoulder, and he on the other hand chuckled, pressing a floor’s button in the elevator. Then when the white light of the lift descended down, their laughter was replaced by muffled noises in the elevator’s sweet hum. Swamy went closer to the grill as if he wanted to hear them, and kept staring at the blank, dark space left. Then entranced in the lift’s apparatus’ hum he, unconsciously, raised his hand and slid it through the latticed grill into the dark space and repeatedly made fists as if trying to grasp something in the void.
Then, at that point, he shook with a shock and removed his hand when he heard the grandfather shout, “Remove you hand, dammit!!”
Swamy, in his state of mind couldn’t gather what was happening, when the old man twisted his arm and screamed at him for his ‘stupidity’ and ‘carelessness’. Then the lift with its white light again halted in the floor, and out walked R.K.Narayan, Swamy’s teacher. Seeing him, the grandfather left Swamy’s arm and said, “Look Narayan, what your student has been up to.” Narayan walked towards them, ruffled Swamy’s hair and as if he didn’t hear the old man went to him and whispered. Swamy feeling relieved off the pain in his arm, massaged it and looked at the adults talk in low tones. His grandfather looked shocked, whiles his teacher who did most of the talking, unhappy and tensed. To Swamy, Narayan’s eyes appeared red, as if he cried.
“We were just going out to the grocer’s.”, said Swamy’s grandfather to Narayan, opening the apartment’s lock. “We will go later. No hurry.” When the three entered the drawing room, Narayan was made to sit and Swamy followed his grandfather to his bedroom where in a whole shelf of the cupboard were biscuits and hard candies. Swamy was asked to take one of each but just one of them and not the Foxes at any cost, which was opened and half empty anyway. Then he was asked to go to his room, do some homework or something until he is called. Swamy closed his room’s door shut and laid on his bed, munching on biscuits, trying to relax and calm his feverish mind. But he couldn’t help thinking about his teacher, who walked into the apartment with his head down, weak and depressed. Swamy, who admired and always found him jovial, inspiring and strong, found it strange to find him different outside school. He wanted to know more. He went towards the door to listen to these adults talk in the drawing room. On the door was stuck a large poster of an apple tree and a Christian quote below, which the previous tenants had left. Swamy placed his one ear on the door approximately on a bitten apple, hanging from one of the tree’s branches. At first he couldn’t hear much. When he concentrated he heard someone crying and he was pretty much sure it was his teacher. Then he caught a few words like ‘she’, ‘loved’ and ‘money’, but they were drowned in sobs. He strained his ear trying to catch whole sentences but then, suddenly his other ear reverberated with the sound of a baby’s cry through the other wall from the adjacent apartment. Now, he couldn’t hear anything from the other side of the door. The cry intensified in its pitch, filling the whole room and troubling his already troubled state of mind. The noise pained his ears and he felt his blood drain off his brain downwards. He laid on the bed, shut his ears with the pillow, closed his eyes and tried imagining something quiet. He saw himself all flexed in a dark tunnel leading to an amber light.
When Swamy was called out of his room, he saw Narayan give him a forced smile. His eyes seemed just dried off tears. “Come let’s go out for a walk, to the grocer’s”, he said, trying hard to smile. All the way through the lift until the parking lot seemed glum and lost in thoughts. For a while none of the three talked and Swamy was starting to feel better outside the claustrophobic interiors, when the grandfather as if to break the silence said, “Do you know Narayan what adventures your student had been up to?” Swamy lowered his head in embarrassment. Narayan placed his hand on Swamy’s back and asked him smiling, “What did you do Swamy?” When Swamy didn’t reply, the old man said, “He slid his hands through the elevator grill like an immature four year old.” “The lift was going away, down”, retorted Swamy immediately. “ Still, that’s a dangerous thing to do Swamy.”, said Narayan in a tone which appeared very foreign to Swamy, as if he was saying it to someone else and without conviction. He continued after a minute, “I had a friend when young. He did the same thing, and his arm got chopped off. It was his right arm I remember. It was such a painful experience. It was as if his whole life changed. He couldn’t play cricket, eat properly or write. It took years for him to train his left hand. I think you can imagine the consequences, you are old enough.” Then after a few seconds in a dreamy tone, looking ahead at some point in space, he said, “But do you know what the worst part was? Even though his sleeve was empty of an arm, he still felt he possessed it. It was as if he had an invisible arm which only he could feel. It could feel pain, heat, cold. He even thought he could lift objects with it. That was the worst part. Once while sitting in a café he said he was holding the cup of coffee with that hand. I definitely couldn’t see him doing it. He was grasping the cup alright, may be according to him; may be he could feel it; could he lift it? No. I pulled the cup away from him and he screamed in pain.” He walked a few paces and in the same tone he said, “The invisible arm just existed for him; it was sensitive, but was of no use. It was a pain rather; it was full of demands and desires – to hold a pencil maybe, to lift a cup, or do anything pleasurable…it wanted to belong; belong to its earlier entity; an entity it was severed from; and feel safe from a harrowing, meaningless existence full of desires; desires unfulfilled, illusory ones. It was forever groping in the dark trying to grasp something substantial, lift it and bring it to his chest near his beating heart, and feel real.” Not wanting to look at his teacher’s face he kept looking at his arms reaching out and grasp air. “Later he got a wooden arm of course. But it was nowhere like the ‘real’ one. It just served as an illusion; a false and dead substitute for the real; just to fool the on-lookers when he wore a full sleeve. But what is the point; it wouldn’t help him get rid of the pangs.” After a moment he asked, “Swamy, are you following me?” Swamy heard his grandfather chuckle softly. He looked at him irritated and said, “Yes sir, somewhat.”; he didn’t lie.
When Swamy and his grandfather returned to their apartment, Swamy found it disheartening to see his grandfather chortle at Narayan’s talk. “What crap the crack-pot talks sometimes! God, these people who pose themselves as writers!”, said the old man. “He wants to become a writer, the teacher of yours; with all his financial troubles and family to look after. No wonder his wife is sore at him. That son-of-a-bitch needs some disciplining; the sensitive fool.” Then he mumbled something and turned to Swamy saying, “Now don’t tell your mother I used curse words.” Swamy smiled and asked, “What are Narayan Sir’s problems?” “He has some problems regarding his wife…”, the old man started but cut it short saying, ”anyway, that’s none of your business. It is adult talk.”
After the dinner, Swamy again observed his grandfather do his chores, while half-heartedly listening to his grandfather again repeat his, how-a-man-has-to-be-independent-not-depending-on-others lecture. By the tone of the old man and the way he said it it appeared to Swamy that the purpose of the lecture was more to reinforce the substance in his self than to impart it to Swamy. It was as if the old man was doing it unconsciously, as a habit. Swamy after a while said he had a headache and went to bed early.
Lying on the bed under the cool breeze of the fan, his door shut off from the world, he started to feel relaxed. Images of alluring women crept under his closed eyelids almost naturally, without any conscious effort. His hand slid along his tummy to his loins, where a slow erection was happening. He hugged the pillow with his other hand, and imagining its one corner to be the breast of a woman, put it in his mouth and sucked it. Images of Navya floated into his mind. He felt excited, and without having to do much, he ejaculated with an orgasm (well maybe, a word he hadn’t known). His body felt properly relaxed for the first time in the day and as his muddled up mind started to ease, he fell asleep. Then, after a while he dreamt.
In the dream, he found himself running; running away from his mother, who was shouting, like in those 80s 90s Hindi movies, “Come back home! Swamy come back!” As he ran, he found the world around him transform into a tunnel, which appeared vaguely familiar; his mother’s cry faintly audible in it. At the end of the tunnel was a classroom; empty, except for Navya, who was with her dog, sitting in her usual place facing the blackboard. Then, he found himself sitting in his place, hesitating whether to talk to her. She turned around and said, “Come lets take my dog out for a walk.” He, excited and nervous tried getting up from his chair, but realized he was stuck to it. Then, he heard Shravan whisper in his ear excitedly, that he was going to kiss her, and would tell him later what happened. Shravan, Navya and the dog started to walk away from him. He tried his best freeing himself off the chair, but couldn’t. He heard his grandfather shout, “Come on, be strong! You are a man!” Then, the Coca-cola model walked up to him in her bikini. She bent down, kissed him on his lips and hugged his face to her belly. He kissed her on her navel, hugging her tight. He started to levitate off the chair, curling into a ball up in mid-air. When he was at the height of her belly, his arms and legs out-stretched and he found himself entering her navel. It led him to a tunnel, which seemed like the previous one, and he floated along in it for sometime, until he found himself in a dark place, cozy and warm, inside a blanket, on a bed, but felt like he was floating in liquid. His mother’s arm hugged him from nowhere towards her belly, and he curled into the foetal posture. She whispered into his ear, if he wanted to play with her on the beach like in the ‘olden days’. Then, they were on the beach; he, playing with the sand, building a castle, and she, helping him. He turned aside his head a little, and suddenly he was confronted with a sand sculpture, long and thick, of an erect penis. ‘Did I make it?’, he thought. He turned around to ask his mother, but she was no longer there. He saw Navya walking up to him with her dog. She began to run around the erect penis and Swamy in circles. Swamy got up and tried catching her; he could reach her but couldn’t hold her; he could feel her arm but couldn’t grasp it, as if she was an illusion. When he tried to run after her the dog barked at him, and he scared, fell onto the castle he and his mother were making. Navya and the dog then, started to walk away from him. He desperately tried chasing her, but the sand was too difficult to run on. He fell many times but still didn’t give up. Navya and the dog were too far away now. He was lying on the sand looking at them exhausted when he heard a baby cry. It was as if the sound tore down from the sky and filled the entire beach deafening him. He shut his ears, burrowed his face deep into the sand, and started to dig out a tunnel similar to the previous ones. But the baby’s cry didn’t die out. He, suffocated in the sand, woke up gasping for breath.
When he came to his senses, he realized the baby’s cry was from the adjacent apartment. He then drank water and went to the window for some fresh air. Below the window was a parking lot with its cars. After a minute or so, he saw a woman walk hurriedly up to a car. She sat in it and banged the door shut. Then he saw Narayan run towards the car, and just when he could touch the bonnet, the car started and zoomed off. He ran after it shouting a name but stopped at the gate panting, with his hands on his knees and bent down. He stood there for a whole fifteen minutes and the baby was still crying.
Next morning Swamy got ready and was passing by the parking lot when Narayan offered him a lift to school. Swamy was surprised to see the car back. He saw that his teacher’s eyes were red, as if he didn’t sleep enough.
In the car, Swamy though excited traveling with his teacher did not feel like initiating any conversation as he felt Narayan was in a bad mood. He had secret glimpses of semi-nude pictures of women on the posters of B-grade films and the occasional blue films stuck on walls and hoardings He looked at the people waiting for buses, shared autos, taxis and others hurrying past to offices and other places of work. To Swamy all these adults appeared to be in some haste to get to work and seemed lost in their own worlds while they stood waiting or strode swiftly. In the mornings, they all appeared quiet. ‘What do they think?’, thought Swamy, ‘…all these grown ups.’ ‘They all appear so innocent as if they do not know anything, but for sure they all might have had sex. At least they know about it, surely. But no one shows a sign that this devil bugging me hides in them too. Look at them, glum, drab, as if nothing…nothing had happened last night. That old man there, walking with a stick, he definitely must be having kids; he must be a grandfather. That means he might have had sex. But look at him; he looks as if the thought doesn’t even cross his mind. If I mention it to him, he might scoff at me in anger. All these men and women; doesn’t even one think like me? Or is it only happening to me? Is it a disease? Then why else doesn’t anyone talk about or appear to think about these things, which fill my days and nights. Are there more important things these adults think which I do not know? When I look at the Coca-Cola hoarding, am I the only one looking at the girl? Do all these adults look only at the bottle? Only Shravan talks about these things; but damn, he is an idiot. But does he also do what I do every night? Does anyone else in this world do it alone? Any of these people? But then, who are these people who watch the so called ‘blue films’? Are they the ‘bad’ people? Even I want to watch them. But what if someone sees me doing it? Will I go to jail? Will my mother cry if she comes to know? But aren’t these the people who are like me? Should I control these thoughts? How?’
Swamy was looking at each individual and contemplating for a few seconds whether he or she had had sex or not, whether the person is good or bad, whether the person is normal or not, when Narayan asked him if he studied the science chapter taught by him in the previous class. “Yes.”, replied Swamy. “Do you have any doubts? None of you guys asked any questions. You needn’t feel shy. ‘Reproduction’ isn’t something to blush about. You guys must be having a lot of doubts”, said Narayan. The science text book said the sperm is released from the penis ,enters the female body and fuses with the egg. But it didn’t say how it enters. Though sexual reproduction wasn’t mentioned Swamy, thanks to Shravan knew all about it and even referred the Oxford English Dictionary to verify, which finally nailed reality into his pubescent mind. Narayan in the class said, ‘the baby comes out’, and Swamy thought it would tear itself out of the stomach. But Shravan said babies come out of the vagina. This image horrified Swamy as he had once seen how big a new born baby was and had in a video seen how small a woman’s vagina is. More than that, he couldn’t comprehend how something good like birth, which reminded him of his mother, could be associated with something bad like a vagina, which, reminded him of the naked women in the video clips. He wanted to ask Narayan about this, but he was scared to use the ‘V’-word or rather the ‘P’ or ‘C’ words which he was more used to thanks to Shravan. So Swamy said he didn’t have any doubts and resumed looking out of the window. He saw a woman carrying a baby which was crying and asked, “Why do babies cry so much? There is one beside grandpa’s apartment, and it always cries.” Looking ahead, Narayan seemed to think for a while. Then in a soft tone, as if speaking to himself, said, “May be they do not like cutting themselves off the womb and coming out. Maybe they prefer staying in the quiet, cozy, safe interiors of the womb compared to the outside world.” He drove the car a while in silence, rubbed his forehead with the fingers of one hand and resumed, “May be…even we…as adults cry like that the whole day, but in a more silent way. Even as grown ups we cry, until…until we get back into the chamber we originally belong.” Narayan turned to Swamy and asked, “Do you remember yesterday’s story about my friend’s arm?” “Yes.” Then with an abstract gaze at the road, he continued, “This too is like that, once the umbilical cord is cut, severing off the womb from us, there start pangs or a desire to connect back to the original entity we belong to. Like that hand, we feel there still exists the womb; in another person; in another way of living; where, we will be safe off this world’s loneliness and desires. And, we forever, for our whole lives, search and try to connect back to it. We run and chase after phantom wombs and try to get inside. But in the process, all we find are wooden arms, or, inferior or illusory wombs, which we imagine for a while to be real; which when observed closely would disappear like a mirage in a desert; which one day would leave us alone, blaming the act on nature…May be, nothing can replace the real. May be there is only one real, and we were doomed for the rest of our lives to cling to wooden arms, or, to float around with painful pangs of desires, forever trying to attach to somebody or to some mode of living, like those mad nascent hydrogen atoms which so desperately want to bond and stabilize.” Tears filled Narayan’s eyes and Swamy turned his head away so as not to embarrass him. Narayan sniffled and in a tone which tried so hard not to break down said, “I realised lately that I too have been on a wooden arm, and now lost in the darkness, I try to grasp again something else; probably something more real, and feel peaceful.”
After the first three hours, it was Narayan’s lecture, and when he hadn’t arrived yet, the class was noisy with the students chattering. Swamy sitting in the last bench at the end of the classroom, looked at Shravan cracking jokes with Navya. Just when Swamy thought of getting up and joining the two, Shravan signaled that he would be there in a minute.
Shravan sat beside Swamy, and putting one hand in his bag, said, “Guess what?” “What?”, asked Swamy. “Guess.” “What.” Shravan brought out a C.D. from the bag and showed it to Swamy. “American teens get dirty and naughty and three other films – full nudity!” “Is this the one you told me about a few days back?”, asked Swamy. “Yes, you can keep it. A gift from me.”, said Shravan laughing. When Swamy stealthily tried to put the C.D. between a book in his bag, he jerked, hearing someone shout, “Quiet!”, with a duster’s bang on the table. It was a teacher from the neighbouring class. She said, she was unable to teach because of the noise and asked them to maintain pin-drop silence for the next one hour as Narayan Sir wasn’t feeling well and had to go home. She asked Shravan to monitor the class and asked him to write down the names of anyone who talked or made noise. And these names would go to the principal’s office where they would be punished.
When the teacher went away, Navya beckoned Swamy to sit beside her. Swamy a little excited and nervous, did so, smiling at Shravan, who looked at this without any change in expression. The class was quiet, with some students reading, and the others lying their heads on the tables trying to sleep, or whispering to their partners beside. Shravan was at the head of the class, by the teacher’s table, observing the students.
Swamy and Navya didn’t care to remain silent as they knew Shravan wouldn’t write their names. Navya said to Swamy in a low tone, “you know, yesterday I was walking my dog past Shravan’s house, when he came out to meet me. I knew he was scared of dogs. As he came near me, I said I would leave the dog on to him. He said it was only a Pomeranian and he is not afraid of it. And then suddenly…”, she giggled, “my dog started barking at him…”, she gave out a squeal of laughter and continued, “and he danced in a frenzy towards his house.” Swamy though didn’t find this so funny, laughed with her. She still laughing, said, “I almost let my dog loose, and when it started pouncing on him, he ran all the way inside his house, shouting Ma! Ma!” Swamy looking at her eyes twinkle with laughter, laughed until she stopped.
Shravan came near, told them not to laugh so loudly, and to keep their voices low. He then asked softly, “What are guys talking about? Are you laughing at me?” Navya replied smiling, “I was telling Swamy how jealous you became the other day, when I said Swamy looked cute.” “I didn’t become jealous then…”, Shravan started, when he realised Vikram’s voice rise at the other end of the class. He saying, “Vikram do not talk or else I will write down your name.”, went towards him. Swamy unable to contain his excitement and feeling cAonfident, asked Navya, “Did you say I looked cute?” She waved her hand in dismissal saying, “Never mind that. Do you like dogs, Swamy?” “Ya, I love dogs. I have an Alsatian at home.”, lied Swamy. (Alsatian was the only breed he knew). “Ow!! Alsatians aren’t pretty!”, she complained, and launched into a speech about the different ‘pretty’ looking breeds and how one differed from the other. Swamy, though he didn’t pay attention to what she said, just stared at her talking animatedly, her face assuming various expressions, which transported him into a world unknown to him. When he felt conscious of his stare with his mouth ajar, he turned to look at the class and then at Shravan, who, was looking at him with a cold expression, which jolted Swamy off his trance. ‘Was he looking at us or at me, all the while?’, thought Swamy. He said to Navya, “I think Shravan’s feeling jealous that he cannot talk like us while he monitored the class.” But somewhere in the back of his mind Swamy knew the reasons could be something else. When they both looked at Shravan, he signaled them to put their heads down on the table and to please not talk, as he might get into trouble.
Swamy and Navya laid their heads on the adjoining tables, facing each other. Navya closed her eyes and appeared to Swamy as if she was trying to sleep. He thought, ‘So this is how you appear every night in bed, when I think about you.’ He felt, she is the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. Closing his eyes, he felt, he was floating in the tunnel in bliss towards a clam, cozy womb. Then, opening his eyes, he stammered, “Ev…even you lo…look very cute.” “What? I couldn’t get you.”, she said. He moved his head closer to hers. He could smell the shampoo from her untied hair; it smelt wonderful. Maybe I should start using the same shampoo, he thought; apply it all over my body; feel her hair all over me. Stammering even more, he repeated. His heart beat faster. Then in this nervousness, he sensed the presence of Shravan looming over him. He hated him for being there at that moment, when he raised his head from the table to check. Shravan was looking at him frigidly, his cheeks flushed (with anger? with jealousy? Swamy didn’t know). Navya said, “Thank you.”, and smiled. Swamy smiled at Shravan. Shravan without returning the smile went swiftly towards Vikram’s bench shouting, “Vikram! This is the last warning! If you do not stop talking, I’ll write your name down.” “You fuckin asshole!! I wasn’t talking! Tell your friends to shut up first.”, retorted Vikram in anger.
Swamy, with his head on the table, remembered he had a toffee in his bag. He brought it out and showed it to Navya, smiling, enticing her. She gave a mischievous grin and pulled it from Swamy’s hand and pulled it from Swamy’s hand whispering, “Its mine!” Though Swamy wanted her to have it, he, just to play along snatched it from her saying, “Too late!” He removed the wrapper, smelt the toffee, made a ‘hmm’ sound and playfully hovered it around his open mouth, teasing her. Navya slapped his hand and the toffee fell on the table. Immediately, both of them reached to grab it, and when Swamy got it, Navya gave out a squeal and shut her mouth with her hand looking at Shravan. She whispered to Swamy, “Lets make it into halves.” Swamy couldn’t break it with his hands. So Navya bit it into two and offered the pieces to him. When Swamy took the smaller piece, Navya smiled and pinched his cheek lightly, whispering, “You are choo chweet!” Swamy, blushed, rubbing his cheek over the spot she pinched.
Later, Out of the whole class, only Swamy and Navya were summoned to the principal’s office for talking and making noise.
Swamy was sent out of the principal’s office first, and he waited outside for Navya. Though the principal’s scolding and punishment didn’t affect him much, he still couldn’t get over the shock of Shravan’s betrayal. He felt bad for Navya who was on the verge of tears in the principal’s room. When she came out, he realized she had cried. When he approached her, she shoved him off saying, “To hell with you and your friend!” He swiftly walked behind her, calling out her name, with his arm outstretched. She didn’t bother to listen and strode briskly away. This reminded him of the dream he had the previous night. At the school gate he waited for Shravan, to confront him and question him about his behaviour. When Shravan did come, he walked past Swamy ignoring him. Swamy caught up with him, held his arm and asked why he behaved so. Shravan freed his arm off Swamy’s clutch and without looking at him, said sternly, “I couldn’t help it.” Swamy painfully watched him go away.
His legs started to tremble and his hands started to shiver. He sat on the pavement and looking towards Shravan’s direction, mumbled, “I’m sorry.” He then bent down placed his head between his knees and closed his eyes. He saw the tunnel blocked by a rubble of rocks. Dead end.
By the time Swamy reached his grandfather’s apartment, his mental state was again that of the previous evening with his blood pooled in his feet and the head feeling slightly dizzy. On entering the apartment, he found his grandfather in the dim living room staring blankly at the wall, looking sullen and sad. Swamy’s mother warned him about this state of the grandfather which those days was becoming his nature. She asked him to talk; talk anything, so that the old man would feel distracted. But for Swamy, the turn of events in the school, on whose rumination during the travel back home, was taking a toll on his young blood. With neither of them exchanging a word, Swamy went to his room and lied on the bed to relax. He closed his eyes to see the random images of the day’s happenings float by. He saw Shravan presenting him the C.D., Navya’s pretty face with her eyes closed and many other pleasant things, when he heard his grandfather enter the room. “How was your day today?”, asked the old man sternly. “Fine.”, replied Swamy. “An old man is sitting all by himself, waiting for his highness to come home, and you don’t even acknowledge it! Don’t you have the courtesy to ask how my day was or how I am?!”, growled the grandfather, “This is what too much pampering does. You become self-centered.” Swamy immediately got up and stammered a ‘sorry’. His grandfather’s eyes appeared sunken and watery, and the voice seemed to shake despite the affected growl. “I have been waiting so that I could make your favourite French toast for you. Come to the kitchen.”, he said turning away.
The old man was removing various bowls and utensils from the kitchen cabinets when Swamy entered. “You should be a little more considerate Swamy, of other people; your elder’s especially.”, said his grandfather. When Swamy mumbled a ‘yes’, the old man looked at him and said, “What is wrong with you? You look so dull and lost, as if the whole world has fallen upon you. How old are you for god’s sakes! What troubles do kids your age have. Be active. Come here. Wash the bowls.” Then walking towards the refrigerator, he said, “Even if the whole world falls on you, you should learn to stand straight; be brave and strong.”, and then opening the fridge door, he scanned for an entire five minutes mumbling, “Where is the milk.” Then, holding the milk container in one hand and picking the eggs from the tray, he asked, “Did Narayan come to school today?” “He came, but went after an hour because he wasn’t feeling well.”, replied Swamy. “Serves him right! For being dragged along by her sari’s tip like a dog under the name of love. Now look what happened! The sari’s tip is tucked in and the poor puppy is left alone. A man has to be independent.” Swamy wasn’t paying much attention as he was stricken with grief that whatever happened with Navya that day had ended abruptly. He thought all his daydreams led around by the leash of Navya have suddenly been cut off. He is now stranded; nowhere to go; a poor pet puppy lost. I shouldn’t have taken her so seriously, he thought; but was it in his hands?; he was merely pulled by a mysterious attraction beyond his comprehension.
His grandfather, asking him to search for the egg batter, resumed, “Women. You take them seriously, and become their slaves; emotionally; psychologically. You get to know them so long, become habituated and think it will continue forever. Then suddenly, you will not know when, but a day will arrive…you will have no one to talk to…where the hell is the egg batter!!” He pushed a bowl hard to one corner in anger. Swamy ina kerk, came out of his thoughts, searched in the various cabinets and found the egg batter. Then the grandfather said, “Thank you. Now stand and observe me. Next time you should do it on your own.”, removing the wrapper off the loaf of bread. Swamy, looking at his grandfather work, felt his heart beating; he was feeling anxious. His thoughts drifted over to Shravan. Will he ever talk to me again? Is this the end of it? I know him so long, got used to him (habituated?); took him for granted. I never thought a day like this will arrive. Now, who will I talk to? Not the ordinary, superficial things, but the things I talk to Shravan. He knew so much about me. I told him how much I hate my grandfather. I cried in front of him shamelessly, when my grandmother died; I didn’t even cry in front of my own parents. Is this is what it is to become a slave, emotionally and psycho-whateverly?
The old man seemed lost in thoughts for he was repeating his actions. He was saying, “Your grandmother would have been so happy that you are here. She would have made the toast with such joy. She would have made all that you liked. She would plan for days together. Such a wonderful woman she was…is.”, looking blankly through the window. “How handicapped I am without her. The bitch! She left me! I depended too long on her…and see how she left me…all helpless! lonely!”, he continued, trying to break the egg with the batter. “I should have been more independent; not attached; not have clung…damn!!”, he shouted, when the egg yolk spilled on to the floor. When Swamy was about to lean down to clean it, the old man said, “Leave it. Let me first break an egg properly.” He took another egg, and seemed to have it a too hard, for it spilled all over again. “Fuck! I can’t even break an egg!”, he shouted, throwing the batter to one side, and panting lightly. Then stamping and squashing the spilled yolk on the floor, he plodded towards the batter, picked it up, and tried breaking another egg. When this egg too proved to be a mess, in a rage, he cluttered all the bowls, vessels and utensils in a long, quick sweep and dropped them on to the floor. In the maddening noise of the falling objects, he shouted out loud and started kicking around, when he slipped over the egg yolk and fell on the ground in a thud!
Lying on the floor, he shook his arms and legs wildly and violently in the pool of mess, wailing out his deceased wife’s name like a little boy. The little boy, Swamy, staring at him shocked, didn’t know what to do.
By the time the old man regained his composure, he had assumed the foetal posture with his knees folded to his chest while lying sideways in the warmth of the mess. He was sobbing softly. Swamy, still hesitant went to his grandfather, patted him on his back consciously, and whispered, “Don’t cry!” The old man brought him to his chest, hugging, kissed him all over his face, arms and hands breathlessly. He whispered into Swamy’s ear, with breaks of deep breaths, “I miss her a lot…All day…all night…I think about her…More than when she was here.”, and cried. Swamy too, touched, and by the mixed feelings of the day’s happenings, felt like crying. But he contained himself thinking, his grandfather will then have to take care of him, and also would ask him why he is crying.
A few minutes later, Swamy shut the door of his room and removed the C.D. from his bag. He felt it with his palm imagining Shravan, and fell on the bed hugging it. His heart seemed to feel heavy and there was a lump in the throat. His head had a reeling sensation. Lying on his side, he closed his eyes and tried to imagine a tunnel, calm and cozy. But all he kept hearing voices – of Shravan saying, ‘I couldn’t help it’; of Navya saying, ‘To hell with you’; of his grandfather sobbing and wailing; of Narayan saying, ‘Our umbilical cords are cut…all that we find are wooden arms’; of babies crying and deafening his ears. He saw images from the dream, his mother calling him; he running after Navya, and images of a hand cut off; of the hand trying to hold Navya’s arm, but failing to; of Shravan walking away. He clasped a part of the bed-sheet hard in his fist and tried to extinguish these horrors. He tried to imagine a hot and sexy girl, and when it failed, he tried to imagine Navya naked (which he had never done before). He passed his hand to his groin, inside his underwear, and tried to manipulate his penis. He moved the fore-skin up and down rapidly, tiring his arm, which started to ache. His glans penis felt a burning sensation. But no matter how much he tried, the sexual visual imagery he tried so hard to conjure weren’t sufficient to evoke any response from his member. He manipulated his genitals ever more violently till they became so sore that he let out a cry. Then, in frustration he pulled his pubic hair hard and squeezed his flaccid penis harder till tears welled up in his eyes of physical, emotional and psychological pain. Then he removed his hand from the crotch area and hugged the pillow hard. Folding his knees to his chest in a foetal posture, he cried hard and loud into the pillow, like the baby from the adjacent apartment; like a new born baby, which, like him now, doesn’t for a moment know what is happening to it or why, lying in the coarse hands of the outside world, into which it is thrown.
THE END