Now, there was no sign of him. She looked around carefully. No, he had not come. She went over their conversation of the previous evening. No, there can’t be a mistake about the place of their meeting. Yes, they did consider a few alternatives, but finally settled on the mall, each repeating the place and the time as if it were an address or a telephone number, given by one to the other, that they were cross-checking for the sake of safety and accuracy. She glanced at her watch. 1.07. Well, that’s not too late. Traffic. Something remembered at the last moment. An unexpected errand. It’s a big metro and a few minutes’ delay can’t be taken too seriously.

She had taken some care in dressing for the occasion, and also applied some make-up. Her natural beauty delectably accentuated, she looked quite stunning. Come to think of looks, he was also quite handsome. Besides, he carried himself well, giving off more than a suggestion of being smart, which probably indicated intelligence as well. It pleased her to be approached directly, to be asked for a cosy chat and coffee on a Saturday afternoon. A one-to-one was always interesting, for she did not believe in hanging out as a bunch, the girls sloping over the arms of the boys. She had her own independent presence, stride and pace.

She now realised that she was attracting the attention of the passers-by as much by her appearance as by her being alone. She moved along the windows of the store, casually scanning the display. She soon grew restless. She was there for a purpose, and hated to go through the motions of entertaining herself by aimless window-shopping. 17 minutes past one. Vague thoughts of owning a mobile phone passed through her mind. But the futile waiting and the mounting frustration of her anticipation of a nice, agreeable afternoon began to affect her. 20 minutes. She was positively angry. Must she leave?

From a vantage position on the first floor, he watched her. True to his word, he had arrived a few minutes early, only to prepare himself for an experience he knew would satisfy his ego immensely. He had not only succeeded in getting her to meet him, but also in making her wait for him. It was indeed a double triumph, and no one would ever again dare doubt his talent and skill. The last twenty minutes had proved quite an amazing experience. He could not wait for the culmination. Although he detected a moment ago something of a decision in her body language, he was certain that she would be so overwhelmed on seeing him that her frustration would simply evaporate. He even wondered what she might do in her excitement and thrill, as he took the escalator down to the ground floor.

She spotted him as he descended, stationary on the escalator. He stepped off the escalator and walked towards her. In those few seconds, several things registered on her mind. His smile. His swagger. His complete lack of urgency. It all added up to something. She knew it. Two more paces and he was right in front of her.

With a most disarming smile, he said “Hi!”

Her vicious backhand slap across his cheek sent him staggering back, his eyes bulging in shock and pain. She strode towards the exit, and the automatic doors opened, allowing her and her fury and her satisfaction to leave the mall.

I read the book, leisurely and over a few days, which gave me the chance to ruminate on the characters and events, and also anticipate what was to follow with a fair degree of anxiety and hope. I felt the dreams and desires, pain, despair and frustration of the main characters as the story unfolded. The wit, insight and outlook of the author, coming through her characters, have a beauty and the power to stimulate thinking. And, like an anxiously optimistic teen, I felt nice and blissful about the ending.

The Chimney Sweeper’s Boy by Barbara Vine was a real thriller. It is no murder mystery or anything of the sort, yet her brilliant writing kept me glued to the book. Again, I read it not at a vigorous pace, savouring every bit of it. This book made me think about the legitimacy, while writing a novel, of drawing from one’s own life’s happenings and the people one lives with and meets, and, even if that is allowed, how much one can extract without the work becoming entirely or hugely autobiographical, or at least without forfeiting the right to be called a work of fiction.

The foursome studied one another for a space of a few seconds, as if they were strangers who had accidentally occupied the same table, guided by some unseen presence in a fateful moment of dark.

Reconciled to the situation, Socrates, with more than a hint of impatience, boomed,      ‘What would you guys have?’ and, turning to a still bleary Nero, cooed, ‘Would you like to have some beer, Nero?’

‘Beer is what I wouldn’t like anything except’ Nero murmured, as if it were a literary gathering.

‘You shameless plagiarist! But I must appreciate your capacity to regurgitate such gems from Wodehouse, and aptly too at that!’

‘The chap himself was a plagiarist, an eclectic one, to boot,’ Nero countered, raising his voice a notch, ‘but I pardon him, for he makes even types like Soc laugh, making for humanness.’

‘You soulless fool’ Soc thundered, ‘laughing isn’t all that matters in this world.’

The barman, a lugubrious specimen, placed the glasses and the pitcher of draught on the table, having earlier been suitably directed by a gesture from Socrates.

‘Come on, Soc,’ enjoined Monster with his characteristic sense of probity. ‘You can’t make such fundamental judgments of character, just because you are buying us the bloody beer.’ He lit a cigarette, and passed it to Socrates, as a minor honor to the host, and not because he was busy on his shiny mobile. He then lit one for himself in an imperious manner, erasing the possible interpretation by anyone of his recent behaviour as deferential.

‘This place is so uninspiring’, pontificated Nero, now finding his form and warming to the situation. ‘Gets more monotonous by the visit,’ he added for emphasis, and looked about for concurrence or denial. He needed an argument, profound or puerile, to make him heady, the beer being unfailingly ineffectual.

The clink of glass gone horizontal made them jump, including Silencer who, in his gloomy stupor, had dreamily waved aside a particle of peril and realistically flattened his as-yet-undrunk-from glass. Nero, showing unusual agility, dodged his leg from the drip, as Monster watched the evolving pattern of the spreading liquid with geographical interest, while simultaneously gesticulating to Socrates, who was fuming at this dissipation, with an air of nonchalance to take it in his stride.

‘Damn!’ roared Socrates, ignoring Monster’s wisdom. ‘I pay for that, too, eh?’ he growled mockingly. Nero chose the moment to nimbly extricate the cigarette from Socrates’ hold, and pulled hard at it, enjoying the experience all the more, for he never in theory smoked, but the puffs he pinched and passively inhaled helped considerably increase the fag end of Socrates’ expenditure.

‘Put a sock in it!’ said Monster in irritation, and proceeded to trivialize Socrates’ lament by refilling his glass, Nero’s, and, as an afterthought, the host’s.

The barman put a fresh glass in front of Silencer who, his gloom having deepened, owing partly to the mishap but largely to the passage of time, now sat with his right palm cupping his left fist, as if in atonement and possibly denial.

The amber liquid flowed steady and fast, silence reigning for a while, and finally broken by Silencer. ‘I have a confession to make,’ he said gingerly, adding quickly, ‘it’s not as if you guys wouldn’t have known or at least guessed, if you had been observant enough, which I now see you hadn’t.’ His eyes rested on Socrates with a plea to understand or to forgive, it was hard to say.

Socrates felt Nero’s and Monster’s eyes upon him, and almost sensed the catastrophic. For a moment, rage over the secrecy and the impending disclosure overtook shock. ‘What are you guys holding from me? Silencer, is it about Nims, you idiot?’ he banged the table, making the brimful glasses shed copious quantities before their rightful owners got a grip of the situation and stemmed the wasteful displacement, Monster unselfishly steadying Socrates’ glass as well.

‘Nims? What about her?’ chorused Nero and Monster, in relief at their acquittal and in indignation against poor Silencer whose glass stood fresh and empty in front of him.

Now it is Silencer’s turn to become subjected to the accusing glares of three pairs of eyes.

‘Silencer, out with it!’ bellowed the voices, at once threatening and deafening.

‘It’s bad, quite bad, but not as bad as it could have been, you understand,’ bleated Silencer. Now, his comrades inched towards him, the urge to cause injury or death, especially in Monster, nearly overriding their impatience to know the truth.

‘One more attempt at jabbering, Silencer,’ warned the trio, ‘and we will become your namesakes after performing the required ritual swiftly and gleefully.’

‘Well, Nims I thought had some feeling for me. I of course didn’t tell you guys. We, Nims and I, met a couple of times last week, when I excused myself reporting diarrhoea, a mild case of, if I remember right,’ sped on Silencer, now clearly oblivious to battery and assault, impending or instantaneous. ‘Both times I felt kinda guilty, wishing to come clean and make a clean breast of it and the rest, but something stopped me, you know, I don’t know what. Maybe it’s the way Nims acted, very funny, vague. A smile now, a faraway look next, as if she was in two minds about something. And, that was really it. But this morning when I met her, she was all clear. I don’t know how, she didn’t tell me, not that it would have mattered. She had realized that she was, oh well is a lesbo. For sure. She had of course, poor girl, wanted to be absolutely certain, before she could commit herself to Soc, or me perhaps. Now there is no doubt whatsoever. As if to seal the issue, she had brought her girl friend, Bims who, it transpired, had all along known the real Nims, as it were. Nice pair, Nims and Bims, at least by the sound of it. Better you than me, that’s what you might have said, Soc, what?’ Silencer was breathless.

‘Apologies anyway, Soc,’ added Silencer. Socrates shrugged in reply. Just as Monster opened his mouth to say something in meaningful conclusion, they heard a pitiful croak. Nero, looking deathly pale, muttered, ‘did you say Bims, Silencer?’

A visit to the British Council Library has always been a very welcome experience. Even as I approach the library, I visualize to myself the pure pleasure of being amidst thousands of books. Inside the library, it is so quiet that I am automatically absorbed into another world, a world of deep contemplation, unexpected discovery, and of hidden treasures. I always have this feeling reinforced that, blessed with this ability to commune with these writers whose soulful presence is intimately felt, I am never richer than when being in such company and, more important, engaged in their retelling.

Though I wish to visit it more often than I have done, the frequency has remained monthly over all these long years. It’s a long journey from home and I mostly travel by bus which is the cheapest but occupies at least 2 hours both ways, even if you get the bus without much of a wait.

It is seldom that I have read all the four that I brought home, although I always feel a huge thrill just carrying four volumes that potentially represent hours of inestimable reading pleasure. It is a feeling akin to having the power to board at random any of the four trains, which are each bound for a new, unknown destination, alight anywhere on the way and board another, without going through the trouble of waiting and buying fresh fare.  Though, like most readers, I do look for the works of my favourite authors, but I am an impartial explorer. I would anytime prefer a book by a new author, if its blurb or something particular about it instantly appeals to me. This predilection for a new author betrays my attraction to fiction set in the contemporary world.

The books that I borrowed on my last visit are due next week, and I am surprised and happy that I am reading the last one of the four that a member is allowed to borrow on an individual membership. I started with 24 for 3 by Jennie Walker – a very small novel written well. The plot is sort of vague for my taste, but in portions it engaged my interest. Next I read One of Us by Melissa Benn – a very enjoyable read. With all its characters credible, contemporary and alive, the story unfolds at a gentle pace, going back and forth over a huge timescape. Ruth Rendell’s Tigerlily’s Orchids gave me the satisfaction that her books always give me. With so many characters, seldom distinguishable as major or minor, there is always an energy and bustle in her books. And, her ability to eschew exaggeration and drama and yet lock the reader into her narration is uniquely hers. I am about a quarter of my way into Ian McEwan’s Amsterdam and it is drawing me in.

Who says?

Me.

Gate-crashing for a great welcome

Every day, we set out to meet as many corporate organizations as we could. Seldom fixing an appointment and always counting on our luck, we would drop in at the address, walk up to the Reception, explain the purpose of our visit and politely ask for a quick meeting. Most often, we managed to meet a friendly and helpful soul who shared our excitement and really felt that we were doing a very good thing, both in terms of adventure and the World Peace and Understanding theme. Once the rapport was struck, we kept meeting all prospective sponsors regularly, hoping to clinch a nice deal.

Sponsorship Hunt and Foreign Exchange Headache

We met a number of big-industry names – TI Cycles, MRF, Shaw Wallace, TVS Group, Ashok Leyland, Amrutanjan and Pond’s – and many other smaller firms who showed equal interest in supporting us. Foreign exchange proved to be a hindrance, although many companies tried their best to get around this difficulty. We also had to contend with the Indian government regulation that stipulated a maximum of US$500 that one could carry while travelling on a tourist visa. At one point, when everything else was coming along nicely, the sponsorship looked a dead-end. We had to mobilize some funds and mobilize them quickly.

A friend offers a solution

Our contact at Shaw Wallace, who had become a great friend by then, offered a solution: Get some adverts and articles, and print a souvenir announcing the tour. Bingo! We went ahead with the suggestion and put the idea across to all the companies that we had been seeing. Stymied by the foreign-exchange control, yet determined to help us in some manner, most of these companies readily agreed to put an advert in the proposed souvenir. We came up with a plan and offered reasonable rates for full-page and half-page adverts, and also for inside covers and back-cover spaces. Adverts flowed in to fill the souvenir pages. Arthur Pais, a kindred soul who had hitch-hiked extensively through Asia and Europe for three years, and N S Ramaswamy, historian and sports journalist, each contributed an article. Ravi and I also wrote our own little pieces to enlarge the editorial content of the souvenir. Another good friend got the souvenir printed. Many personal friends chipped in gladly to fatten the funds-bag.

Guess how much the kitty was worth finally! Soon with you about that and further lucky breaks!

What you destroyed, you couldn’t create; and what you created, you couldn’t destroy; which is not really a paradox, at least according to Aki. For, when you have destroyed something, you don’t and can’t remember how exactly you destroyed it, so you couldn’t create it again. And, when you have created something, you remember exactly how you created it, so you couldn’t destroy it ever. But, on the same logic, what you destroyed was what someone else had created, and hence that person could create it again. Therefore, to make what you have destroyed remain destroyed and impossible of resurrection, you must destroy the original creator as well. But if your act of destruction of the thing and its original creator were a consequence of pure design and will, then the act would be not just an act but also a piece of creation. To destroy this singular creation, you have to destroy it and its original creator.

One decisive moment came to be, and passed.

That is the simple story of Aki’s suicide.

Roaring Support from the Lions

Lions Clubs International played a huge role in our tour, which was in a sense a sort of coincidence. Much before Ravi and I had thought of the tour, we were part of the junior wing of Lions Clubs – that is, we were members of the local Leo Club. Announcement of our decision to go on a bike tour was received with enthusiasm all round. Some senior members of our Parent Club helped us get adverts for the souvenir and, most important, as District Chairman – Leo Clubs Lion J D Pannalal, an extremely kind and helpful person, endorsed our enterprise in the form of a very nice letter of appeal for support.

Staying with families – Home Away From Home

The kind reception and hospitality that we received right through our journey across Europe was of a magnitude beyond our wildest dreams. In all, close to 50 families welcomed us as guests at their homes as we bicycled through Netherlands, Germany, Denmark, Sweden, Luxembourg, Belgium, England and France, hitchhiked in Switzerland, and travelled across Norway, Finland and Italy by various other means. Most of the time, when we had established contact with a local Lions Club member and been welcomed by the family as guests, our hosts would invariably speak to their fellow members of the towns and cities that lay ahead on our journey. Sometimes, we would be so lucky as to get our stay organized in four or five places on the trot, days in advance.

Good Interaction, Great Time, Gorgeous Company

More than anything, staying with families, besides being a wonderful experience in itself, was fun in many ways. We spoke to the members of the club about our tour and shared a lot of information about India, its culture and way of life. As we were eager to meet students who belonged to our age-group, our hosts arranged for us to meet members of the neighbourhood Leo Clubs and other students. We had interesting discussions on local and international politics, education system then prevailing in the Continent and other topics of common concern. And when it came to taking us round to show the local sights, the hosts always saw to it that at least a couple of young ladies accompanied us so as to get the equation nicely balanced. This of course came to us as a big welcome surprise, and the outings to museums, fairs, movies and other places of interest became a lot more exciting and memorable than they might otherwise have been.

So much fun and excitement and luck happened all along the journey, thanks to the many members of the Lions Clubs and their families who made it all possible. Interesting incidents and moments that we still treasure and cherish are aplenty, and I shall share them with you in the next posts.

You can’t just wish for it to happen.

Why not?

You must work for it to happen.

But I want to be a genius without work.

We completely wooed the officials of the Education Department of the Tamilnadu government in our very first meeting. All of them were very receptive and encouraging. Thereafter, every meeting took us closer to our goal of finding an alternative mode of departure from India. The Education Department on our behalf sent out letters to the Ministry of Education and Ministry of External Affairs at New Delhi, requesting them to offer us all help they could. We would visit the Tamilnadu Secretariat almost every day to follow up on the progress. Everyone we interacted with received us always with a smile and attended to us with care and involvement. We had never shared the popular perception of bureaucratic delay and indifference, and all officials enthusiastically reciprocated our determined, respectful and pleasant approach. Far from experiencing any difficulties whatsoever, we received swift and efficient assistance all the way.

Breakthrough on the horizon

The representation by the Tamilnadu government on our behalf was working and things were moving in our favour. On the crest of the wave, as it were, we met with some more luck. Thanks to a relative of mine employed with the Shipping Corporation of India, we got to meet the Chairman of the corporation. We just had a friendly chat with the Chairman at the end of which he formally sanctioned a free trip for us on an India Government-owned cargo vessel. So that’s it! We had made it! We would be off on our tour on board a ship. You can imagine how hard it would have been to resist the temptation to do a celebratory song and dance then and there.

Shipping Corporation of India offers Free Passage to U.K.-Continent

As you can see from the letter, the Shipping Corporation could not commit to giving us a free passage at various points along our route. But the firm offer of a free passage from India to U.K.-Continent was absolutely fantastic. Now we could concentrate our energies on finding corporate sponsorship.

Good wishes from the Governor of Tamil Nadu

Letter from the Governor of Tamilnadu