Manu Joseph - Serious Men

The man at the head of the Gents’ line was hollering to the occupant of one of the toilets, ‘How long is this going to take?’ He turned to look at the others in the queue and said in a disappointed way, ‘Boys these days.’ The general suspicion about adolescent boys who spent a lot of time in the toilet was that they were clearing their pipes, and in the mornings, the suspicion drove even the most broadminded of men here crazy. At the end of the queue, Ayyan showed the newspaper to a man in front of him.

Soon, in the glow of a soft ethereal light that was coming through the broken glass of two arched windows above the toilets, a small crowd of men and women, with their own little buckets, gathered around Ayyan. And they read. Some read aloud, some silently.

‘There was always something about him,’ a woman said.

‘The kind of things he talks about,’ a man said shaking his head. ‘I hear he talks about things even adults don’t understand. You are a lucky man, Mani. Look at me. I have a son who lies around like a python.’

The adolescent finally emerged from the toilet and he looked confused at the small commotion outside. The orderly line was now in shreds.

‘All done? Was it good?’ a man asked him angrily, and then with a benevolent face asked Ayyan to jump the queue and finish his job before all of them.

‘Already, the boy is making me proud,’ Ayyan said, and everyone laughed.

*

In the glass enclosure that stood near the kitchen platform, Oja rubbed coconut oil on her naked son. The boy endured the special treatment with a grimace. She was muttering something about the great future that lay before him. ‘But always remember, never be arrogant. People like humility in smart people because that way they don’t feel very small.’ She bathed him in cold water and dressed him up in white short-sleeved shirt and white shorts. She combed his thick oiled hair, holding his jaw violently, and watched like a hawk as he tied his shoelaces. Then she handed him over to her husband. ‘Don’t take the taxi,’ she said, ‘Walk.’

In the back seat of the taxi, Ayyan gave his little finger to his son, who reciprocally locked his in it.

‘Our secret,’ Ayyan said. ‘Our secret,’ the boy said, laughing.

‘You will not tell your mother that we took a taxi?’

‘I will not,’ Adi said. ‘Our secret.’

They didn’t speak for a while. When the car stopped at a signal, the boy asked, ‘What did the newspaper say?’

‘You can read Marathi.’

‘I can’t understand the way the papers write. What did the newspaper say?’

‘That you are very bright.’

‘That’s all?’

‘It also said that you passed a test which five hundred boys wrote.’

‘When did I write the test?’

‘You know that. Think.’

‘Twenty-second April?’

‘Correct. And now you will go to Geneva.’

‘Where is Geneva?’

‘It’s a big city in Switzerland. You know Switzerland.’

‘Yes. But its capital is not Geneva.’

‘What is the capital of Switzerland?’

‘B-e-r-n-e’.

‘You are a very clever boy.’

‘I am a genius.’

Ayyan looked at Adi, a bit concerned for a moment, but when the boy returned the stare both of them burst out laughing.

‘Why do countries have capitals?’ Adi asked.

‘Because every country wants to say this is the most important city in our place.’

‘But don’t other cities feel bad?’

‘No. Do you think Bombay feels bad it’s not the capital?’

‘Yes.’

Adi muttered the name of every car that was passing by. ‘Esteem, Skoda, Fiat, Accent, Accent, Baleno, Accent,’ he was saying. He fell silent for about a minute.

‘Say, “Decimal system”,’ his father said. ‘D-e-c-i-m-a-l s-y-s-t-e-m.’

‘That’s easy,’ Adi said, but a look of concentration came to his face. ‘Decimal system,’ he said slowly.

At the iron gates where the security guard stared at the backs of young mothers, Adi let go of his father’s hand and ran to his class. Ayyan made his way to meet the fierce Salesian Principal. Sister Chastity looked surprised to see him. ‘Something wrong?’ she asked. (She always hoped something was wrong in the lives of married people.)

‘It’s something the boy has done,’ Ayyan said.

Sister Chastity went through the news report. In the brief silence that followed, Ayyan could hear the distant murmurs of a class where the teacher was probably delayed. Sister Chastity’s moustache had grown a bit darker, he thought. He caught a glimpse of Christ in the background: Christ, whose heart was on fire and whose munificent eyes reminded him of the woman who had stepped out of the pastry shop yesterday evening.

Sister Chastity lifted her head and inhaled thoughtfully. ‘This boy,’ she said kindly, ‘What has this boy done? I see his picture. But I am sorry, I cannot read Marathi. I can read Hindi and even French, but not Marathi. The script is the same as Hindi you know but some words …’

Ayyan translated the story for her. ‘This boy,’ she said shaking her head. ‘I am going to put it on the notice-board right away. Praise the Lord! I wish the report had mentioned St Andrew’s, Worli. You know, there are so many schools called St Andrew’s. Praise the Lord!’ She stared at him for a moment and said, ‘I see, Mr Mani, you don’t praise the Lord.’

‘Oh — Praise the Lord.’

‘Please don’t feel compelled to say these things.’

‘Not at all. Lord is lord. Nothing Christian about it,’ he said.

‘Him, not it.’

‘Him.’

‘What if I meant it as a very Christian thing. Would you have still said, “Praise the Lord”?’ she asked.

‘Of course. God is one. Hindu god, Christian god — all the same thing.’

‘The same one?’

‘The same one.’

‘Yes,’ Sister Chastity said sadly. ‘People say that. People say many things. But I am sure you like the sound of “Christ is the true Lord”. There is something about it?’

‘Yes, there is something about it, but a lawyer was telling me a few months ago that it is against the Indian constitution to say “Christ is the true Lord”.’

‘What matters, Mr Mani, is the human constitution.’

‘I don’t understand, Sister.’

‘It’s all right. A day like this, Mr Mani, when your son is showing signs of a great future, isn’t it time for you to consider how the boy’s spiritual life is going to be?’

‘I am too dazed today.’

‘I understand. But sooner or later, the Lord will make a decision for you.’

‘His mother is happy with Buddhism right now.’

‘But Buddhism is a philosophy, Mr Mani. Christianity is a religion. Christ said everything that Buddha said and much more. Buddha stopped at the Peepal tree. Christ went all the way.’

‘Yes, but his mother is …’

‘I know, I know,’ Sister Chastity said. ‘I’ve tried talking to her. She just keeps quiet and pretends to be dumb when I try to give her Christ. Once she told me she felt like a Hindu. What a terrible thing to say! After all the atrocities her ancestors and your ancestors suffered, she still wants to follow that religion.’

‘You know how she is,’ Ayyan said, trying to look disappointed.

‘Yes, yes, but you’re a very intelligent man. You are the father of a genius. You have groomed your son so well. Isn’t it time you wondered how you are going to support his future?’

‘I think I’ll manage.’

‘Education is very expensive, Mr Mani,’ she said making a sorrowful face and leaning back on her chair. ‘Christians get discounts. As a financially backward Christian, you will be eligible for many benefits. You know that. I am just saying this as a concerned educator. I am not even implying that you should accept Jesus for the monetary rewards that will certainly come your way if you do that.’