...continued from here.
***
The first time Sen walked, it was caught on tape and beamed across the world daily for many years. He was an incredibly cute, chubby baby - The Man Upstairs had sculpted him personally for Cerelac advertisements. There is a rumour that the then head of Nestle undertook severe penance for a new Cerelac baby. In the climax of this penance, he was beating a gong with all his might when he dropped it. At that very instant, in a box-like apartment in Andheri, Sen was born.
Sen loved to talk. He found his voice, and his love for the sound of his voice very early. He could make three-hundred and sixty distinct baby sounds by the time he was six months old. On his first birthday, he apparently said his fifth adult-language word, and one that would become his profession, "Share". While his mother, a writer, was convinced that he was referring to Kipling's legendary tiger, his father, a Bengali banker settled in Bombay foretold the future. "This boy is all talk", he said, "stock market talk".
But for all Sen's talk, he never walked. People around him tried everything. They put his favourite he-man toy a few metres away from him, he gave them a dirty look and a sound firing in his native tongue. They tried to forcibly make him stand, he cried loudly till they could stand it no more. When they placed him back in his comfort zone - he took off again - telling them that they should never have climbed down from the trees.
One of the highlights in Sen's life was the Cerelac advertisement. The whole day, his parents were tense. What would the ad agency say when they realised that a baby who couldn't walk was advertising the product for the age group between one and two years? What would the target audience think of the cereal? A boy fed on this for more than a year isn't walking. Maybe the agency would only shoot Sen's face. But his parents had lied in their letter.
"You shouldn't have said he could walk 'briskly'!"
"I didn't even want to say he walked. You forced me."
"Yeah. But why did you add the 'briskly' part?"
"I heard Mr. Shah telling his wife that he had put 'walks comfortably' on his application. I had to think of an adverb."
"Of all the adverbs in the English language, there is nothing worse than 'briskly'."
"Suggestively."
And so Sen was placed before seven cameras, enough lights to illuminate three football stadiums, a multitude of crew members, the edgy Director and Mr. and Mrs. Shah - the parents of the other baby - the Girl Who Walked Comfortably.
When Sen saw the cameras, he was excited. He gave his speech with more vigour, and said the word "Share" more often than usual. And then his keen eye noticed something - the camera followed his movements. But it looked dangerous. He thought that maybe it harmed him, and he tried to avoid its gaze. But everywhere he moved, the camera was there. Something told him that it couldn't follow him on the one movement that he hadn't tried before - upwards.
So, from a squat, he graduated to a stand. His parents were in shock. Sen was overjoyed. Why was he refusing to give this movement a shot, he wondered. He forgot about the evil camera eye tracking him. And he walked. If you were a little charitable, you'd even say he walked briskly. His other-worldly cuteness was always there. The Girl Who Walked Comfortably gave Sen a glowing look that made him go red. He reacted the same way he reacted to everything in his life - he talked incessantly. The head of Nestle developed the world's first case of an artery block caused by happiness.
This incident ensured two things in Sen's life. It created a bond between him and the cameras. His lack of acting skills, and his over-serious approach to life meant that he could never leverage his bond with the cameras to cinematic fame or celebrity status. He became a newsreader in a Business News channel. It also meant that women never thought of him as hot or cool. They always thought he was cute. Every single woman. Even Lila.
***
On the same day that Sen was married to the cameras, a newlywed couple in Madras left on their Honeymoon. Subramanian had been looking forward to this day for months. He and his missus would spend that night on a train - in a First AC cubicle all to themselves.
"Chee, not on the train," she said, pulling herself away.
"Why not?"
"Not on the train. Its not nice."
"This is First AC. We're never going to travel in such luxury again."
She brushed him aside and stared resolutely outside the window. Subramanian sat next to her, but made an extra effort to seem like he wasn't looking at her.
After some silence, he asked again, "Are we doing this or not?"
"Why are you talking as if it is some chore - like cleaning the car or something?"
"How do you want me to talk?"
"Be a little more subtle in your approach?"
"Subtle Subramanian - that has a nice ring to it..."
"I give up. Lets get this done with before you find other things that have a nice ring to them."
Subramanian didn't want to get too adventurous. It was his first time after all. But years of pent up frustration and pillow-practice didn't make the atmosphere conducive for self-control. He did get a little too adventurous. When he crossed the lines that he shouldn't have crossed, she pushed him away emphatically. A combination of the force of the push, their position and the lack of space in the train resulted in a fractured jaw. Although he brushed aside concerns that evening with a quick, "I'm okay," he wasn't. The features on his face were all permanently pushed, slightly to the left.
The result of those activities on the train was Vinod. Destined to not be subtle, bound and gagged by fate to the Indian Railways, and ordained to find true love on First AC compartments.
When the Indian Railways announced its upgrade system, Vinod was the first in the country to be upgraded to First AC. And in his little cubicle, was an incredible woman reading The Economic and Political Weekly. If the woman didn't resemble a Ravi Varma painting as much, he might have been surprised by the fact that such a journal even existed. As he found resting places for his luggage, he decided to make conversation with the woman.
Hi, he practiced in his head. Nah. This was too random.
Excuse me, he thought. But what if she said, kya re? The only reply he could remember was, main do bacchon ki maa re.
Hey, he thought, does this train stop for long at Egmore? Yeah. That had a nice ring to it.
Just then, a vaguely familiar face walked in, announcing to the girl, "I found water..."
"Holy fuck," said Vinod.
"Macha!" said the new entrant.
"How are you, da, Sherman?"
"Good da, macha. Where are you these days?"
"I'm shifting, actually. Was in Madras with TCS. I'm now joining their office in Bombay. You?"
"Bombay. Investment Banking." Such pomposity, thought Vinod.
"Macha, is that your sister Kavya?" he asked Sharma quietly.
"No da..."
"Cousin?"
"No... Girlfriend! You're still the same, eh? Subtle as ever."
"Hey, Lila, meet Subtle Subramanian. My friend from school in Hyderabad..."
"Hi. L-L-Lila. Hi... Um, I, um, I-I think you're really beautiful. But I'm sure people have told you that already."
She smiled. "Yeah. People have told me that, but..."
"... a little more subtly! Hahaha! Subtle Subbu, what a guy!" Sharma intervened. Sharma was the same, Vinod thought. Vinod asked himself a question that Lila asked herself many times in her life - God, what was she doing with him?! When he looked at her a little closely, he realised something.
"Hey. I know you... My dad watches you all the time."
Uncomfortable pause.
"Oh my god, I meant, um, you're on the news, right? I knew I'd seen you somewhere."
"Yeah. I have a lot more make-up on, and usually I wear more corporate looking clothes. Although I don't fully endorse globalisation and corporatisation. Just thought I'd clarify before you get the wrong idea." Vinod was getting wrong ideas. But they had nothing to do with globalisation or corporatisation.
"She's attempting a sort of a critique from within the system. Bring in new discourses to the way business news is viewed and understood by the moneyed," Sharma explained.
"Hmmm," said Vinod, for the lack of a more intelligent thing to say. But he understood why they were together. Clearly, no one else knew what she was attempting. Few people even realised she was attempting something. Fewer listened to what she had to say on the news.
For most of the journey after that, she read the EPW, Sherman worked on his laptop, the two of them walked out for cigarette-and-allied-pleasures breaks every now and then, and Vinod practised staring at her, subtly, and failed.
***
Every conceivable surface had been plastered with gold paper - the bare-chested princes wore cardboard jewellery coated with gold paper, the princess with the garland in her hand had gold plastered over her thermocole crown, the frail bow had more gold paper on it than wood. Even the centre table on which the bow rested was not spared - gold adorned every little place it could have adorned.
One by one, the princes came forward to try and lift the bow. The bow was a sorry twig from a nearby tree that could break if someone even held it firmly. It required excellent acting on the part of the kids make it seem as if it was too heavy. The princes were doing a great job. The first five in the line, the side-artists who fail, approached it hesitatingly and lifted. The princess had an expression of anticipation on her face as she looked at each prince attempting - an expression that changed to dismay at each failure.
And then the hero, Rama, Lord Rama, walked up to the bow. His gait was confident. He knew that he was scripted to lift it, and that little Sita would garland him. The audience would clap, and the curtain would fall as badly orchestrated Ram Bhajans played in the background. Effortlessly, Rama lifted the bow and broke it while trying to string it. The heroism and majesty in his face was mirrored by the nervous teacher standing backstage.
It was Sita's turn to do her bit now. But the five-year-old Sita realised something. She didn't want her husband to be a weightlifter. She wanted him to be a cool guy. She was looking for a husband, not a bodyguard. She looked around at the princes. The teacher was getting nervous. Garland him, she mouthed from backstage. Sita set her eyes on another prince standing at the back, Rama's brother, Laxmana - the cool dude who decided Sita wasn't good enough for him and let Rama do the heart-winning.
Sita ran straight to Laxmana and garlanded him. The bewildered boy started crying on stage. The audience was in splits. Rama, not being able to comprehend the situation, started crying too. The man handling the audio had no idea if he should play the Ram Bhajans now, but decided to do so anyway. The man handling the curtain, who had fallen asleep, woke up when he heard the music, and let the curtain fall. Sita beamed triumphantly. The applause was deafening.
"Lila!" the teacher screamed.
Lila gave her part-mischievous-part-innocent smile that would, later in her life, be used with unerring success on all kinds of men.
Calming down, trying to understand the child's nervousness and making concession for her age, the teacher said, "You chose the wrong prince, dear."
Twenty-one years passed.
In a particularly heated exchange, Lila said, "Sherman! I'm done with this relationship. I cant handle this superciliousness."
"Supercilicity."
"No. I checked the dictionary this time before using a big word. Superciliousness."
"Its that guy, isn't it?"
"What guy?"
"That guy who reads the news with you."
"What?!"
"I know - you've fallen in love discussing 'technical overhangs' and 'short-covering' with him all day."
"Just like I fell in love with you discussing 'colonial hangovers' and 'tropes of subjectivity?'"
"I saw him making eyes at you. What the fuck - the whole world saw him make eyes at you. Its all over the internet. On your channel website."
"Channel website?"
"Yeah. On the discussion forums. Look at the thread under Infosys."
"Oh, I think I forgot to mention the other reason I cant stand you - you're so suspicious about every man I ever talk to. I'm sure you think Vinod and I are secretly humping also."
"Vinod likes you more than Sen likes himself. He's not very subtle about it. And you to..."
"I like the fact that Vinod isn't subtle. At least I wouldn't have to wonder each day if this guy actually likes me or not. It'll be clear to me and the world. Sometimes I cant handle your subtlety. Me and Sen. God! You've been dying to ask me about this, haven't you? All those roundabout ways of putting the question to me - 'What do you think of office romances?' 'This girl in my office was telling me that she found Sen really cute. You think he's cute?' God! Pathetic. For the record, I think office romances are fine, and that Sen is cute, and he looks and acts like an overgrown baby."
***
Three days later, Sen saw his opportunity. He confessed that the discussion forums were right, and that he wanted to do more than just make eyes at her. The cameras had, as usual, recorded the more crucial events of his life. She asked for some time to think about it. That evening, she said yes.
She vividly remembered what her kindergarten teacher told her all those years ago, "You chose the wrong prince, dear".
Should she have chosen the weightlifter over the cool dude? But which of the two was the weightlifter? Wait, was it the third guy?
***
Today, on the Environment News Service, I read this:
Posts
