“God you are great!” he screamed at the afternoon sun. Blinded by its glare, he lowered his head to the open sewer again.
He spat into it once more and observed the number of times the foam spiraled in the sewage water. His father had always told him that this was the best way of checking if the quality of the brandy he had just gulped was good or not.
Once he was convinced of the quality, he turned away from the sewer, adjusting his lungi. He looked around to register where he was. He was standing on a lonely road with no vehicles or pedestrians.
One needed to be really cautious on these roads. Although the government claimed to have built them wide, there was never enough space for drunkards like him to walk.
But it was alright. Kuppusamy always loved challenges. “I will walk from here till my house without banging into a single wall. You just wait and see…”, he told his glowering wife, who appeared before him for an instant and then was gone.
The sun was burning the sandy road that afternoon. It was a really hot day.
Kuppusamy unbuttoned his shirt as he began walking towards his house. The button came off in his hand. He stared down at his dark brown shirt, which had once been red.
This was the fourth such button to have obtained freedom. Only one more was left. He smiled. What more can you expect from a shirt that was given to him to vote for Thangam in the previous elections?
He wondered when the next elections would be. He needed another shirt.
How he wished even small boys could vote… That way even his three children could have got shirts…
“The government can never think of schemes like this”, he muttered to himself.
Just then, he noticed a neatly dressed gentleman coming up the road. He might know about the elections, thought Kuppusamy, as he walked up to him.
“Saar… Saar… When is the next elections saar?” he asked in Tamil, bending his back humbly and folding his hands.
The gentleman glowered at him, through his spectacles and continued walking, shaking his head.
“Okay saar… You have work… No problem saar… Good afternoon saar…” spoke Kuppusamy in broken english, saluting the gentleman as he walked off. Educated gentlemen should always be respected. After all, they were high class people who drank scotch and vodka…
But, though the gentleman had left, Kuppusamy stood in the middle of the road with his hand still in the saluting pose. The salute had reminded him of the soldiers and army men of the country. He imagined how it would feel to be a soldier. Fighting terrorists, handling guns, protecting the people…
Kuppusamy swerved around and tightened his lungi around his waist. He began to imagine he was an army officer and started marching while chanting “Left! Right! Left…”
That is when a small, stout kid with a swollen eye came running with a bat in hand and collided with Colonel Kuppu.
*****
“Geetha, this fan needs to be replaced…”, spoke old Gowri Maami, looking up at the creaking ceiling fan. She was lying on the mosaic floor of the apartment house, with a folded-up cloth as pillow and a magazine as the fan.
“Okay ma”, said Geetha without looking up. She was seated at a table in the adjoining room, poring over a bunch of files.
“It is very slow and makes a lot of noise too. The baby is not able to sleep…”, added Gowri Maami.
“Okaaaaaaay…”
It was evident some office work was eating into Geetha’s head at that moment. Gowri Maami fell silent. She turned towards her husband on the sofa. The retired magistrate was snoring peacefully.
Hence, she turned to the chubby little kid, who was playing in the centre of the living room. There was a big, open cardboard box in front of him, which was filled with toys, building blocks and tennis balls.
“You want to eat anything kanna?” The old lady asked the chubby kid. The kid shook his head. Just a few moments ago, two plates full of rice mixed with ghee had been thrown down the poor fellow’s food pipe.
“Maybe one biscuit? Or shall I bring some milk?”
“Ma… Leave him alone. You are spoiling him too much…”, spoke Geetha sternly.
“Don’t talk like that Geetha. After all, he is a growing child…”
That was when a ball flew in through the open window and went bouncing towards one of the corners of the living room.
*****
“How much more?” asked young Pranay, wiping off his sweat on the sleeve of his shirt.
“Six runs. Two balls left”, replied Sathish, his team-mate and patted him on his back, “You can do it.”
Pranay, Sathish and their friends were playing a six over match on a desolate road.
“Eight to win in two balls…”, shouted out the bowler before starting his run-up to bowl.
“It’s six to win… not eight...”, screamed back Sathish.
“Cheater cock!” shouted Pranay.
“Who is cheater cock?” questioned the bowler, walking angrily towards the batsman.
Ten minutes later, Pranay took his stance with a swollen eye. The target had been compromisingly set as seven (average of six and eight, as suggested by a bright kid).
“Cheaters never prosper Pranay. You play. We will win…”, mumbled Sathish, sitting with a grumpy face on a cycle carrier.
The ball was bowled and Pranay hit it with full anger. Ten pairs of eyes followed the ball as it sailed through the air. It went through the grills of a window on the first floor of a nearby apartment.
“Oh shit! It’s gone into the house of the witch lady! Run!” screamed Sathish.
The ten boys scattered off in different directions in no time.
“Started again? Won’t you let people sleep peacefully on a Sunday afternoon?” came the voice of the old lady. The kids, who were hiding behind parked vehicles on the road, smirked at each other. They knew each and every dialogue to follow by heart.
The lady would stand at the doorstep of the apartment and shout.
“There are old people sleeping in the house. Don’t you have mercy on old people? Are you devils? If something breaks will you pay the money? Why don’t you go to the nearby ground and play? Every Sunday you come to disturb our peace. Don’t you have studies?”
Hearing this, one or two aunties would peep out of the balconies of their houses. The old lady would then start complaining to them, “See madam. These kids have no sense. See this ball. I was sleeping inside the house and it is coming and hitting on my head.”
“How does the ball correctly hit her head every time?” Sathish would murmur to the kid, hiding beside him. The two would then chuckle together.
The aunties, who listen to the complaints, would nod their heads and then form a coalition with the old lady in cursing the kids for some other misdeeds. One of the kids would then grow impatient, come out of hiding, walk up to the old lady and ask for the ball. After a few more taunts and warnings, the old lady would finally ask the kid to bring his mother and walk off into her house with the ball. In fact, the kids knew that by now the old lady would have a carton, full of tennis balls which she had acquired in such a manner.
But that day, as Gowri Maami reached the line ‘Every Sunday you come to disturb our peace’, another voice countered her.
“Now...Who is peaceful and who is shouting?”
Gowri Maami turned towards the direction of the voice. A lean man with a torn, brown shirt and an unkempt beard stood a few paces away. But he was not exactly standing. From the way his feet oscillated, she knew his state. People like him were the curse of the nation, she thought.
From behind his back, the usual mischievous kid was smiling and winking at his friends. He was the kid who had made fun of the big vermilion dot on her face and had nicknamed her as the witch lady. Gowri Maami could not remember his name.
“Hey you little rascal! I will tell your mother! Come here!” shouted Gowri maami, staring at the mischievous brat.
“My mother died long back maami… Conch already blown…” replied the drunken man with a grin.
Kuppusamy knew a Brahmin lady when he saw one. He had seen and heard a lot about them. He knew she would screw up her face in disgust on seeing a drunken man like him. She did as expected.
"Ai...Little rascal...Stop hiding behind that dirty man and come here..." the old lady threatened again.
“Ai…" shouted back Kuppusamy in a commanding tone, holding up his falling lungi, "If you stand there and talk one more word…”, He picked up a big stone lying on the ground and swung it threateningly at the old lady.
Pranay peeped from behind the drunken man and grinned at the sight he saw. It is not very often that you see an old Maami, throw away a tennis ball, wind up her saree over her head and run indoors...
Once the old lady had been chased away, the drunken man turned to Pranay and the other kids. Handing over the ball to them, the drunken man spoke, "You play on, my dear citizens! No one can do anything as long as I stand guard!"
Speaking thus, Colonel Kuppu picked up a wooden stick lying on the ground. Holding it like a rifle, he started pacing up and down the road.
And so...that was how on that bright sunny Sunday, ten kids played happily under the protection of a colonel without any trouble from witches.
