Sarangapani Street

The otherwise calm Sarangapani Street was full of voices. Every mouth had a story. The men folk were ready with their judgments even before the matter reached court. "life imprisonment" said one; "death sentence" said another. Their women were full of gossips, each one trying to juice up the story in her own way. Children were chasing the Jeep and along with them ran Subramaniam. He ran and ran till he was panting and could no longer keep pace. Standing there still, he stared at the dimly fainting sight of the Jeep still trying to catch a glimpse of his master.

Subramaniam was days old when Ramanujam picked him from the street and since then he was his trusted companion. He would follow him to the lakeside, the woods, the library, for that matter anywhere Ramanujam went. Ramanujam was unlike anybody in the village. He never sat under the big banyan tree to discuss the worldly matters nor was he interested in the boat race which the other men folk were so fond of. He was more to himself and had no friends except Subramaniam. He would spend his days in his huge ancestral house coming out only to go by the lakeside or take a walk to the library. Chandramma, his maid was the sole visitor to his house. She would come there every day at the wake of dawn and would find him already in front of his canvas.

Gate B52

Shit…shit shit…shiiiittttt… Aravind woke up screaming. The clock showed 8:05 am.

His iPhone was dead. “Crap not again…”

He gargled some Listerine, threw on some clothes, grabbed his passport and ran out still buttoning his shirt.

“Taxi… La Guardia Airport”

“Can you go any faster… please... I might miss my flight”

“You should have left early sir… this is a rush hour”

“I will give you 20 bucks extra”

“I know a shortcut... What time do you have to reach?”

“Sorry ma’am. We are still waiting for an update. I will announce as soon as we are informed. In the mean time, our agent will distribute breakfast coupons. You can use them at any restaurant here.”

“Can I have mine now?”

“Sorry ma’am, you will have to wait for the announcement.”

“I have been sitting here since 4:30…” The airline agent was looking at her with a blank expression. “Never mind”

“I am on the 11:30 flight to India”, Aravind said gasping.

“Sure sir, we will need your passport for identification”

“Am I late? I ran as fast as I could when I got off the taxi”

“No sir, your flight is slightly delayed. But I advise you to go through security and wait at the gate. They will have the latest information about flight take offs. Your gate is B 52. Thank you.”

Narayan’s Journal

My name is Veerasarai Surya Narayan. I am expecting my children for Pongal. This is the first time I have to worry about their arrival, stay etc. My wife Savitri was the one who was in-charge of these things. She used to call them every week, ask their well being; if they are eating right and if they are drinking 8 glasses of water every day. I don’t know why but she was peculiarly particular about the later. A few years ago I read an article that this 8 glasses of water every day thing is a myth but I didn’t dare to tell her that. She would have ignored me anyway. She passed away last year just after Pongal. And since then my kids have been asking me to come stay with them, but I could not push myself to do that. My wife and I started living in this town Srirangam after I retired 4 years ago. This was my parental village and I really like the simple life here.

Jan 12

My eldest daughter Sandhya arrived in the afternoon with her husband and two children. She lives in Mumbai and works as a professor in the mathematics department of a university where her husband is a professor in the department of psychology.

When It Rained

It was the month of July. Rain was no longer a guest now. Chai ka pyaala and pakodas with Geetmala on radio was a 4 o'clock scene in every household. "Maa I don't want to go to school in this rain", said Meena removing her school shoes. "I will start wearing my old shoes from tomorrow till the rains stop. You give me a letter writing the same to the PT teacher."

Rains have taken a toll on everyone not only Meena. Most of the daily activities have come to halt these days. Every thing rescheduled according to the rain, the whole routine changed. Madhavi does not mind doing it, as long as the rain sticks to that schedule. Continuous downpour has made her crippled. Their house no longer resembles their own, with wet clothes hanging everywhere and water lying on the floor even though Madhavi wipes it at the mere sight of it. The house now stinks of the smell that wet clothes give when not dried in sun. She has asked her maid not to come till the rains stop, not because it was difficult for her to walk 2 kilometres in the rain but because she used to dirty the house more with her wet soiled saree in the pretext of cleaning it. What should I prepare for tonight's dinner, the tarkari has not come today, thought she. "How would he even come when the water on the road does not let his cart enter the street?"