[Inspired by Belandur]
Shyam sat down on his chair with a loud thump and heaved a long sad sigh. His wife Kamala gently stroked his hair as he sat and pondered in despair, regarding what he might be demanded to do. Never before in his life had there been a situation where he had felt so helpless, so unprepared or so unwilling as he felt right now.. except once before.
It has been about two years since Shyam had faced such a terrible crisis. His friend Shankar had borrowed a large sum of money from him to start his own business - which ultimately went bust. And as with all investments, the investor i.e. Shyam wanted his money back, for you see, he wanted to contribute a fairly large sum for his sister-in-law’s wedding. After much haggling, pleading and even a couple of threats, Shankar’s friend finally returned the money before disappearing– as a Demand Draft.
That evening after reaching home with the DD in his pocket, Shyam had settled down to some lukewarm Vadas and switched on the TV when it occurred to him that he ought to keep the demand draft in a safe place. On searching everywhere in his house, he couldn’t find his pant which he had so carelessly thrown on the bed. Just as he was starting to lose patience, his wife entered the house with all their shopping for the week - done. It also turned out that Sunday was also the day when she gave their laundry – and Shyam’s pant had gone along with it. On learning this, Shyam hurried to the washerman only to find that he too had closed early that Sunday evening. Never before had Shyam felt so helpless and was distraught at the thought that he had to wait an entire day to retrieve his measly pant.
That Monday was one of the most stressful that Shyam had ever undergone. He was unable to concentrate on his work and knew that at the end of the day he was sure to be reprimanded. But his immediate worry was the demand draft, in his pant pocket, at the washerman’s. That evening he got onto a moving bus, rode the footboard, got into a fight with a beggar for stepping on him and almost got to see the underside of a eunuch when he passed by without taking something out of wallet.
On finally reaching the washerman’s, panting, he asked if his pant had been taken away for lavating. The clueless washerman was dumbfounded that Shyam had done something as stupid as leave a demand draft in his pant pocket before positively being negative about finding his pant. But this was probably because he really wasn’t a washerman at all but just the ‘sales and accounting manager’ for that particular washing enterprise. Shyam thought that his life couldn’t get any worse.
Shyam was walking home a bit slowly that night. In fact he wasn’t walking at all. He just stood still unable to comprehend the fact that his life’s savings was in some big bucket full of soap, waiting to be squeezed and thrashed to cleanliness. He returned to his old habit of lighting a cigarette and keeping it near his mouth because all his friends used to do it, he didn’t want to, but wanted to anyway. So there he was standing still, with a lit cigarette and staring straight into space when he met Guduji - the person everyone in their neighbourhood turned too when they had a problem. Guduji was also a local ruffian with vague connections to the political elite. As a matter of fact he used to campaign for different parties at different times, but always in the same locality. Now Guduji had what many people considered the bane to everything that knowing a ruffian would come as a boon – he demanded loyalty. For once anyone had taken a favour from Guduji, they had do anything he asked one to do. But again in his favour, he would only ask a thief to steal, a murderer to murder and a homemaker to help save a house. He could also track down a lone van carrying clothes and get the driver to return the demand draft without it being deliberately misplaced or lost along the way.
And so we find ourselves back to today, when Shyam is sitting with his hand on his head, his wife Kamala gently stroking his hair as he sat and pondered in despair regarding what he might be required to do. The shopkeepers below his apartment had given him the heads up that Guduji was looking for him and that would only mean that he wanted Shyam to do something illegal. It is a working rule in the overworked police force that a previously innocent man would be pardoned for his first offence. Citizens with no previous criminal record are every small time ruffian’s most prized asset.
The door opened with a loud thud with the hinge making a long high pitched creak that when mixed with the thud seemingly matched the shock and gripping fear that Shyam and his wife felt. Guduji’s large figure was blocking their doorway, his spick and span shirt in sharp contrast with his dark complexion. But it was his wide grin and clean white teeth that gave away the gay mood that he was in.
“Shyam! I was looking for you everywhere. Where you hiding from me?
Anyway, here is an invitation to my daughter’s wedding. Both you and your wife must surely come ok....”
And that was when Shyam heaved the longest relieved sigh of his life.
