Mahesh Rao - The Smoke is Rising

Hailing from a prominent Brahmin family that could number among its antecedents several Sanskrit scholars, a tax collector, a leading astrophysicist and the founder of a hospice for destitute widows, the initial outlook had been buoyant. Allowances then had to be made for a schizophrenic aunt and a great-uncle who spent his Sundays dressed as a former maharani of Mysore. There was also some speculation regarding the occasional presence of Babu’s father at an illegal gambling house. It was duly noted that Babu did not stand to inherit land of any great value, the bulk of the ancestral property having found its way into the hands of an alternate branch of the family. Being a graduate, his value had appreciated, but not by much. Years of Nehruvian planning and entrenched official venality had meant that he would still be adrift in a sea of lettered young men, unless a benevolent patron emerged to ease his passage into professional life. This was not an impossible occurrence. The astrophysicist’s son still passed through Konnapur on occasion. As a senior official at Western Railway who lived in a sprawling pistachio-green mansion in Baroda, there were plenty of favours he could grant.

Most importantly though, Babu’s personality conveyed the sense of a man sanctified by fate. His apparent confidence and social ease generated an assurance that could not help but conquer potential in-laws. Babu himself was more circumspect about his future. An opening at a local secondary school did not hold great promise. But he had to get married and he needed to make sure that he presented himself in the best possible light. As a result, Babu talked himself into a favourable alliance.

Rukmini’s family owned great swathes of land around Konnapur. Her father’s orchards and plantations were breathlessly enumerated by those who liked to keep abreast of such matters. In all likelihood the extent of his wealth was exaggerated in those provincial circles, thereby rendering his children even more attractive. His four sons and eight daughters could launch themselves into their adulthood with more than a degree of confidence.

Rukmini had been eager to study further, perhaps Hindi literature at college. This would have entailed moving to another town, an outlandish prospect for an unmarried woman. Rukmini accepted this fact, being above all a woman of great pragmatism, and resolved to throw herself into the life chosen for her with all the enthusiasm that she could muster. Happily she had avoided the fate of her sister, who had recently been coupled with a boss-eyed creature in a safari suit, albeit one with a safe full of gold; at least her husband was handsome, articulate and entertaining. It was a good start.

As time went on, however, it became apparent that Babu’s perpetual élan was not going to fuel an ascendancy in any chosen field. True, there were occasional successes in his varied careers, but these instances of good fortune could not disguise the fact that the months and years had generally been difficult and unpredictable. Rukmini had been forced to sell off most of the land that she inherited to meet various expenses. The small amount of capital that was eventually left was cautiously converted into Unit Trust of India units, generating a modest but vital sum of interest. She would run her finger around the blue edges of the certificates, before locking them in the secure compartment of her Godrej wardrobe. Rukmini was not in any doubt that bemoaning her husband’s fortunes would be futile and unbecoming. She had, after all, two daughters to raise and a labyrinth of social obligations through which to navigate.

In spite of the hardship, Rukmini felt that she had done well. Babu’s loving regard had made up for the shortcomings; she still thrilled at the awareness of his sudden presence and the rush of so many memories. The first Sunday of the month had always been special. At about half past six in the evening Rukmini and Babu would leave the house, Babu’s mother having concocted some fantastical event as a decoy for the children. The couple would then make their way to Sujatha Talkies for the early evening show. Depending on the film, there would either be an impatient tumult outside the cinema, manic ticket touts shoving their way towards anyone who looked desperate or simple, or a few layabouts keeping a weary eye on the stray dogs that padded around under the ticket window. It was always the same: a length of fresh jasmine, the cracked leather of the balcony seats, oil-roasted peanuts at the interval and the charge of Babu’s hand on her hip as they groped their way down the dark aisle at the end of the film. Later it was dosas and coffee at Kwality Hotel, Babu putting on a new accent each time to try to get the attention of the waiters in the ear-splitting din, osh bosh Britisher, ithe kithe Punjabi, apro kapro Gujarati. The waiters were never amused, and rewarded Babu with looks that could curdle milk. Rukmini and Babu would leave in high spirits, the syrupy burn of the coffee coating their tongues, their table instantly seized by a hungry waiting couple.

At the Vishram Coffee House in Mysore, two public sector bank officials were having lunch.

‘So, what news, sir?’

‘You have to tell me.’

‘So Kumar got promoted.’

‘Why wouldn’t they promote him, the buttock-licking chamcha .’

‘Sir, it is a real shame that they didn’t transport the filthy fellow to the moon with that space mission. And leave the bastard there.’

‘The moon does not deserve such treatment. Not happy with ruining this country, the government has to go and destroy the whole galaxy too.’

‘Chandrayaan-1, that rocket is called, sir. How many more will be sent?’

‘If these satellites are anything like the Nehru-Gandhi family, there will be one every five or six years.’

‘Sir, one more coffee?’

‘Make it one by two.’

‘You are correct, sir, about all this ruination. Every day things are getting worse. They will need to sort out all our social nuisances before that HeritageLand is built.’

‘Very true. The whole world will be looking at us.’

‘I tell you, sir, the current climate of criminality is too much. You know what happened with my aunt and an auto driver?’

‘Your aunt?’

‘Yes, sir. On my father’s side. She suffered very serious verbal abuse and mental torture.’

‘What happened?’

‘She was walking to the market, sir, and this idiot slows down next to her. She thought he was just wanting a fare so she told him that she was not interested. Very nicely, she told him, sir, my aunt is not just any kind of woman.’

‘Then?’

‘Then he asked her to go with him to a lodge. Can you believe it, sir? My aunt is in her sixties.’

‘What nonsense is this? What kind of bastards are becoming auto drivers these days?’

‘That’s what, sir, you will not believe. Two, three more times, he was inviting her to some lodge.’

‘She should have just given him two tight slaps on each cheek.’

‘She is a heart patient, sir. Diabetes, too.’

‘That is beyond the limit. Beyond the limit, I say.’

The two sipped their coffees in silence for a couple of minutes. Two blonde women walked past their table and left the restaurant.

‘Sir, all these yoga students who come here, they don’t have jobs in their own countries?’

‘No, it’s a very difficult situation for them. No jobs, thrown out by their families, rejected by society. Yoga is their last chance to make something of their lives.’

‘That is very sad, sir; maybe that is why they are all so thin?’