Books

A Week in Translations: Mohanaswamy

an excerpt from…

THE GORDIAN KNOT

The evening glow had faded into darkness, but the lights had not yet been switched on in the house. Although Mohanaswamy had come back from office at 5.30 p.m. as usual, he was not his usual self. He went straight to the puja room and squatted down in front of the idol of Lord Krishna. Restless and overwrought, he fixed his eyes on Krishna and engaged in a silent conversation with him while the Lord stood still in his wooden frame, with the flute at his lips and the familiar bewitching smile on his face.

Normally, after coming back from office, Mohanaswamy would switch on the radio. He would keep the pressure cooker on the stove and sweep the floors clean, eagerly awaiting Karthik’s arrival. ‘Where are you?’ he would send him an SMS and wait impatiently for the mobile phone to beep with a reply.

But today he was not in a mood to do any of that. Forlorn and heartbroken, he sat in front of Krishna for what seemed like hours, with his eyes closed.

On his way back home, he had bought half a kilo of ladies’ fingers from the market. Ladies’ finger curry, shallow-fried in oil and liberally sprinkled with chilli powder, was Karthik’s favourite. He savoured every bite of it. ‘You cook better than my mother,’ he would exclaim to Mohanaswamy, whose heart swelled with happiness.

Today also Mohanaswamy had planned to surprise Karthik by rustling up his favourite dish. But as soon as he reached home, Shobha aunty, Karthik’s distant relative, had called. Her husband worked for a reputed company in Bengaluru. They owned a big house at Vijayanagar. Karthik and Mohanaswamy lived in Malleshwaram. The couple knew Mohanaswamy well as he had accompanied Karthik to their house several times. During one of their visits, Mohanaswamy had given them some chatnipudi which he had prepared. Shobha aunty’s husband loved it so much that he pestered her to call Mohanaswamy and take down the recipe. Th is hadn’t gone down well with Shobha aunty, who found it ridiculous to call up a twenty-five-year-old man and ask for cooking advice. But she could not disobey her husband. So she called Mohanaswamy reluctantly.

Mohanaswamy knew that Shobha aunty was scared stiff of her husband. One evening, he had gone to her house alone to give her something. The main door was wide open. But lights were out. ‘Aunty…’ he called out as he fumbled into the dining hall. There she was, sitting at the dining table, sobbing her heart out. Bemused, Mohanaswamy went near her. Seeing him, she began weeping aloud.

‘What happened, Aunty?’ he asked in concern.

‘That bolimaga, the son a shaved widow, twisted my arm so badly. I can’t take the pain!’ she said, showing her right hand.

Then she began massaging her hurt arm gently with her left hand, smearing some oil on it. It took a while for Mohanaswamy to figure out whom she was referring to. On realizing that the ‘bolimaga’ was none other than her husband, he felt sad.

‘But why did he do that, Aunty?’ he asked in a low voice, softly touching her hand.

‘Aaah…!’ she withdrew her hand, screaming in pain. ‘He comes to me only when he wants my body. He doesn’t even care about my likes and dislikes in bed,’ she said harshly, spewing venom. Mohanaswamy sat with her for a while before returning home. He did not mention this to Karthik. The next time he met Shobha aunty, she seemed normal and spoke to him cheerfully, as if nothing had happened. Mohanaswamy felt relieved. However, the image of Shobha aunty sitting in darkness and massaging her hand loomed before his eyes frequently.

Today, after briefly explaining the chatnipudi recipe over the phone, Mohanaswamy got into a casual conversation. ‘So, how’s life, Aunty? What’s happening?’ he asked.

‘Everything’s fine, Mohana. As you know, we all have to pack and be ready for our Mumbai trip next week,’ she said effusively.

Mohanaswamy was bewildered. She had mentioned ‘we all’ and that confused him. He wasn’t sure whether he was included in this. ‘To Mumbai? Why, Aunty?’ he asked hesitantly.

‘You are asking me? Why, did your friend Karthik not tell you? Next week he is getting engaged! The ceremony is in Mumbai! How come you didn’t know about it?’ she said in a surprised tone.

Mohanaswamy’s world came crashing down. Was Karthik really getting engaged? ‘I don’t know, Aunty, Karthi did not tell me,’ he spoke with a choked voice, trying hard to compose himself.

‘Oh … he didn’t tell you? Perhaps he wanted to give you a surprise. He saw the girl four weeks ago and agreed to marry her. He has seen quite a few girls before, but hadn’t liked any of them. But this girl, she is so pretty, he said “yes” to her in the blink of an eye. She is very beautiful, has big wide eyes. And stylish too, becoming of a Mumbai girl. They speak Kannada at home. Her father is from Dharwad. But our Karthi – born and brought up in a village – has seen city life only recently. He is completely besotted with her. I worry that once they get married, she may twist him around her little finger. Anyway, they say that marriages are made in heaven, so we don’t really know who’s made for whom,’ she said with a sigh, finally ending her long speech.

Mohanaswamy feared he would end up weeping if he spoke further. He disconnected the phone immediately and texted her: ‘Aunty, signal is weak’. He switched off the mobile, threw it in a corner and then sat in front of the Krishna idol, shivering and crying.

It slowly began to dawn upon him why Karthik had become so secretive of late. He would stealthily step out of the house to make calls. He would even take his cellphone to the bathroom sometimes. When he came home late, he gave lame excuses about being caught up with work. Mohanaswamy had not suspected anything out of the ordinary. Now, as the truth behind his strange behaviour flashed across Mohanaswamy’s mind, he sat in utter disbelief. The tender ladies’ fingers that he had brought for Karthik lay forgotten on the floor in a corner.

The doorbell rang at 8.30 p.m. and Mohanaswamy felt somewhat relieved. It must be Karthik. ‘I know you will never deceive me, I know,’ he whispered into Krishna’s ears as he took the idol in his hand and kissed it passionately. Karthik rang the bell incessantly. Though he had a set of keys with him, he never carried them to office. Unlike Mohanaswamy, he didn’t believe in discipline. Real happiness lay in acting as per the need of the hour. But Mohanaswamy’s disposition was quite different. He would lose his peace of mind for the whole day if he put a little extra salt in the curry by mistake. For him, everything in the house should be in order. Th e bed should always be clean, without a single crease on the sheet. The bathroom should be spick and span, else he would lose a night’s sleep over it. Trousers, shirts and other clothes shouldn’t be seen hanging here and there. He promptly washed his and Karthik’s clothes, ironed them neatly and kept them in their place.

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