(Read Part 1 here).
The bus driver was in no mood to care. He was focused on his usual business - whirling the bus around stiff road bends. One such bend caused the bent man to topple to the floor. A couple of old aunties gasped in unison and lifted themselves up from their seats as much as their stiff backs permitted. Another aunty tried waving to the bus driver to alert him of the condition of the toppled passenger. But no, the bus captain was a man with immense concentration and the gasps from Singapore's Pioneer generation, were not loud enough.
The toppled caucasian managed to fumble back to his seat, although there was a moment when he hovered dangerously close to swooping down again. After seating himself in his bent position, the man realized with chagrin that he had dropped his tissues. The aunties could now see blood stains on his lips, all the way down to his chin. There were more gasps and pointing fingers. One aunty pulled out a tissue from her perennial supplies and waved it in front of the man’s face. The man never heard her and continued his bent introspection. Finally, when another passenger prodded him, he turned and saw the tissue being offered. He received it but his inebriated brain could not fathom what it was. Holding it in his palm, he stared at it, trying to figure out the conundrum. Here was something wrapped in plastic that had pictures of flowers on it.
"Tissue! Tissue!" the aunty prodded the man's brain to comprehend. He blinked. The aunty then fished inside her bag once again and pulled out a little plastic bag. This was meant for the inebriated man to pick up the fallen tissues and drop them into. But, the man looked at the plastic carry bag held out in front of his face, and slowly dropped the tissue she had given him into it.
"No! That tissue for you to use!"
"I am fine! I am fine!" mumbled the man. He looked left and right through the bus windows, as if he could not handle the attention of the aunties anymore. The bus came to a halt and as the doors opened, the man picked himself up and wobbled out into the night. The aunty put her plastic cover and tissues back into her bag, muttering something in Chinese under her breath, that loosely translated to “fair-skinned monkeys”.
And that’s when the spectacled kid spotted a card lying on the bus floor. He picked it up. The name read “Hans Gosling”. But, before the kid could return the card, the doors of the bus closed gently and departed from the wobbly man. A bunch of workers heading home, turned around and whispered among themselves, taken aback by his bleeding mouth, as Hans Gosling wobbled past them, waving for a taxi.
***
Two weeks had rolled by since his dismissal. Ramu was still looking out for a job. One lazy Sunday evening, having nothing else to do, Sita sat fiddling with the TV remote distractedly. Ramu, who sat beside her, was lost in deep thought. Latchu, who sat on the floor was dividing his attention equally between the televison and his lecture notes.
“For this Akshaya Triti, where will you buy your gold?” asked a model from within the television, baring all her teeth. Sita sighed and switched the channel.
Ramu sprang up suddenly, shaken from his reverie. “I’ll just be back.”
“It’s ok dear. Why waste money unnecessarily? Now is perhaps not the right time to spend on gold.”
“Who said anything about gold? I am gonna get some takeaway for dinner. What do you want?” Ramu was already buttoning up his shirt.
“Oh…” said Sita, “Nothing.” She switched the channel again.
“One Nasi Goreng for me brother.”
Ramu showed a thumbs-up and stepped out, locking the outer grill gate, and pressed the lift button. As he did so, the light in the corridor began to flicker.
***
“So what do you say to this Mr. Beeru? Should we or should we not invest in coal?”
The conference room went silent. Ten men wearing black coats turned their gaze towards Beeru. But, Beeru was grinning at an empty chair beside him.
“Mr.Beeru?” pressed the gentleman, who had first asked the question. Beeru had been staring at the empty chair, ever since the meeting began. He was beginning to feel uneasy about it, “What do you say Mr.Beeru?”
“What do I have to say?”, Beeru shrugged, “Let’s ask Mr.Ramu. What do you think Mr.Ramu?”
Beeru addressed the last question to a pair of rubber slippers on the empty chair. Murmurs began spreading through the horde of coats. “Who is he talking to?” “Is that slippers on the chair?”
Khan, who stood at the entrance of the conference room, grinned and murmured into the ear of a nearby attendant, “I tell you right? After he fall that day, our boss go nuts!”
***
“And that’s how our film meets your goals of racial harmony and promotes Singaporean identity. In fact, the other thing to note in our plot is that each of the kids is from a different race. And they unite to solve the mystery in their HDB apartment. But, that will be subtle, and stay as a backdrop…”
“Umm sorry to interrupt you Mister… Mister Mike right?”, the panelist cleared his throat as he began, “You’ve actually just mentioned the problem with your script.”
Mickey was a bit taken aback. He didn’t mind being called Mike. He had thought so far that his telemovie pitch was going fine, from the vigorous nods that the spectacled lady, seated next to the main panelist had given.
“There’s a problem?” asked Mickey, looking to the spectacled lady as well. She nodded.
“Yes” the main panelist emphasized and after a pause, “We feel your script is too sophisticated for our audience.”
“Oh” Mickey’s tongue was stuck in his mouth. His fingers fidgeted with his laptop unconsciously.
“You see, we prefer to keep the telemovie simple. Let me give you a tip”, continued the main panelist, “Go home and narrate your story to your wife and kids. Then come back to me and tell me if they’d like to see it as a film.”
“But… but… We do have all your requirements woven into the plot” Mickey gave an appealing look to the spectacled lady, “The promoting national interest part is there. The fostering an informed society, the…”
“Mr.Mike, that’s the other thing. Actually Ms.Priscilla doesn’t understand English.”
Mickey stared at the main panelist and back at the spectacled lady. She nodded again.
“And I’ve presented for the last 20 minutes to her in English?”
“Yes, Mr.Mike. That’s exactly what you’ve done”, the main panelist smiled wide, and pointed to the door.
***
“Hey Latchu! It’s been more than an hour since your brother left. Can you check where he is? Getting takeaway can’t take this long…”
“He isn’t a kid. He will be back.”
“Something feels wrong...”
Latchu detached himself from his lecture notes and walked out immediately.
“Lock the door from inside. A couple of theft alert boards have been placed around our block.”
Sita nodded.
Within five minutes of Latchu leaving, Sita heard someone approaching. She went to the door, thinking it might be Ramu.
“Hello ma’am! Delivery!”, announced a man wearing a helmet. He wore a yellow uniform and was carrying a huge black bag in his hand. The light in the corridor flickered incessantly behind him.
“But I did not order anything”, said Sita.
The delivery guy grinned. The sparkle of his teeth was clearly visible through the helmet.
***
“Sita shall be pleased to see this!”
Ramu showed the gold ring to Latchu. It had the image of a deer carved on it. “I’d completely forgotten that I had given it to a friend. Just remembered after seeing that ad.”
“Will last us a few months”, remarked Latchu, gauging its weight in his palm.
Wanting to surprise his wife, Ramu reached his house and found the grill gate open.
“Sita? Sita?!”
The house was empty.
***
To be continued...
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