Scattered Fates, Ram Garikipati [black male authors TXT] 📗

‘Really? My wedding gift two years ago, my nephew clicked a few photos during my wedding, but I could never use it. I think around four more photos can be taken on this roll.’

‘My father has a Rolleiflex back home. It is a professional camera and I learnt how to use when I was a kid. The top lens is used to compose and focus the image, ground glass screen and the lower lens takes the photo.’

‘Good you can take some for us. Malathi, can both of you come out of the kitchen please?’ Subbaiah shouted out to his wife.

What's the matter?’ she asked coming out with Vijaylaxmi, Ganapathy's wife. ‘Oh, your Corean student has come?’

‘Moon this is my wife, and that is Mrs. Ganapathy.’

They both look like traditional housewives.

‘Hello mam's.’

‘Namaskaram, Subbaiahgaru told me about you,’ Malathi replied bringing her palms together.

She never addressed her husband by just the first name in front of strangers, and always added the honorific 'garu' at the end.

‘He will take our photo. You have always wanted to go to the studio, but Ganapathy offered to loan his camera,’ Subbaiah told her.

Moon turned over the camera in his hands, trying to make out if it was the same model that his father had. It was.

A couple of minutes later, he had taken three photographs in the same location below the huge painting that was hanging on the wall.

The first was of Subbaiah and Malathi, the second of Ganapathy and Vijayalaxmi, and the last one of all the four together.

‘You know it is very expensive to develop the photos, I will go to Guindy to the discount studio there, we should get the photos in one week,’ Ganapathy said.

‘One more photo can be taken in this roll, I think we should also have one of all the three men together,’ Subbaiah, said feeling sorry for Moon.

‘Malathi can you take one for us?’

‘I don't know how to operate it,’ she protested.

‘Moon will show you, you just have to keep the camera steady and click that button.’

A brief lesson later, she nervously clicked the camera, as the three stood together below the same painting- Subbaiah in the center, flanked by Ganapathy and Moon.

What an ugly painting.

‘Sir, whose painting is that?’

‘That one was my wedding gift from a student in Bombay. It is called Maiden Flight and the artist is someone called Hussain.’

‘Are you interested in art?’

‘No, I have no idea. My student said that someday it will be worth a lot of money. It was his guru dakshina. Hussain is apparently very popular, although I cannot understand what is so great about this painting.’

‘Subbaiah, just because you cannot understand it, does not mean it is junk. Everything in life has a hidden value, which we appreciate only after others like it,’ Ganapathy said laughing.

'Like Malathi's cooking?’

‘Exactly! You may be bored of her cooking, but her sambar is out of this world. Why don't we have dinner? It is getting late, and Moon must be hungry.’

#

Moon enjoyed the dinner and was pleasantly surprised that Andhra food could be so spicy, yet tasty. Corean food was supposed to be one of the spiciest in the world, but clearly, tonight’s food was far ahead.

It is the first time I have enjoyed Indian vegetarian food.

The dinner conversation was slightly boring for the ladies, and they retreated indoors, but all the three men were hooked. It centered on the civil rights movement in America, and the Nobel Peace Prize that had been awarded to Martin Luther King Jr. the previous year. They also speculated on the next recipient, which was to be announced in a couple of months time.

‘Isn't it strange that Gandhi was never awarded the prize?’ Ganapathy asked.

‘I am not surprised, it is decided by white people who don't care for the rest of the world. It is just a way to further Norway's foreign policy and economic interests.’

‘I wonder how long it will take before people from other developing countries are acknowledged?’

‘I will tell you. When we become economically strong, and the white race wants to sell their goods to us, or they want to change a government.’

‘Subbaiah, why are you so negative?’

‘Not negative, da. Speaking the truth, which is obvious. It is just like the Brahmins controlling India, or the North Indians getting all the opportunities in our country.’

‘Hey, I am a Brahmin, and you are the head of department. You control my career.’

‘Don't simplify the argument and look at the broad picture. You know I don't care for your caste, you are my friend.’

‘Then stop saying things that hurt me.’

‘OK, sorry, I just got carried away. It is so frustrating, this silence from Delhi.’

‘I don't think there will be any announcement.’

‘I hope not.’

Trying to change the uncomfortable conversation, Moon intervened.

‘Sir, why is there no Nobel Prize for Economics?’

‘Because economics is more of a philosophy and not an actual science,’ Subbaiah replied.

‘I disagree. Economics is a social science that analyzes production, distribution, and consumption. We try to explain how economic agents behave or interact and how economies work,’ Ganapathy jutted in.

‘That is true, but we cannot analyze the results in a lab. The Nobel prize is given for disciplines that show concrete results.’

The discussion became heated, but at least it steered clear of the caste system in India. They could not reach a consensus and finally had to be pulled away by their respective wives, as the clock ticked away.

Strolling back to the hostel, Moon hoped that Vinay was fast asleep, he just wanted to change his attire and dash over to Andys'.

‘So how was the Chinese food?’ Vinay asked as he entered the dark room.

‘Delicious. I thought you were asleep.’

‘I am trying to sleep. Have a tummy upset, ate too much dal.’

Dal had the capacity to induce farts at a phenomenal rate. A favorite dish of North Indian vegetarians, it was the secret to the huge belly and obnoxious smell that Vinay carried around.

‘Dal that ttong worse than sambar? Have to escape fast,’ Moon thought.

‘By the way, I heard Indira made some announcement on the radio tonight. I told you she should be the prime minster, she will take us to great heights, India will become a superpower,’ Vinay said.

‘Do you know what she said?’

‘No, I heard some students talking when I went to the mess. I wanted to ask them, but they were from the lower caste and I did not want to pollute myself. I asked a Tamil Brahmin on the way back from dinner, but he just glared at me.’

‘Too bad… hey, what happened to all the bottles? You threw them out?’

‘No, your friend Andy and some other chinkies were here to take all the herbal medicine.’

This time Moon decided he had to confront Vinay.

‘You do know that chinki is a racist word?’

‘Of course not, it is just a funny word for the Chinese and the Northeasterners. Everyone uses it, just like kaalia for Africans.’

‘Is everyone in North India like you?’

‘What do you mean?

Racist, prejudiced and hollow inside.

‘Nothing,’ Moon said, ‘I'm going to meet Andy. Maybe he knows what the Prime Minister said.’

He was mistaken. Andy and friends were in a deep slumber having had a heady cocktail of zutho and ganja, strumming the guitar to their favorite Beatles' numbers, getting stoned. They even forgot to latch the door from inside.

Moon was not surprised with the trashy condition of the room.

At least it doesn't smell like Vinay.

He surveyed it, pushed the empty zutho bottles to a side with his legs, and slowly lay down next to two other friends on the floor. One other friend was sharing Andy's bed. All of them had a smile on their faces, dreaming of something exotic, no doubt.

I have to wait until morning to find out what the Prime Minister said. Even Professor Subbaiah seemed unaware of the announcement.

‘I wonder what is in store?’ he thought, as he tossed and turned, till his mind was clouded with dreams that he would hardly recollect the next day.

Chapter 7: BONDS OF LANGUAGE

Naga was frustrated. It was nearly a week since the library encounter, and he still could not recall where he had seen Ganapathy before. He made daily visits to the library and the Anna memorial with Maya but the old man was nowhere to be seen.

Meanwhile, Maya was adjusting well, spending a considerable time at the Madras Archives. She also met some professors at the Madras Institute of Development Studies and Madras School of Economics, who gave her valuable inputs. In the evenings, they met his other friends in the city. Mathew and Ruby remained her favorite couple, and she bonded well with them.

Naga and Maya had grown closer together over the past seven days, but nothing physical. He admired her, stealing glances of her curvaceous body, having passionate dreams every night. Each passing day, she looked more desirable but he was afraid to make the first move. His roommate would be back soon and time was running out.

Maya still found the local food unpalatable, although Naga had taken her to all the popular restaurants in the city. At home he tried cooking exotic dishes that turned out to be major flops. He realized she missed her home food and made a mental note to visit Corea Town soon.

Have been putting it off for too long.

Today was Monday and he had to return back to work after a week, having made plans to keep Maya busy till the evening. First, there was the conference on 'Dravidian Culture' organized by the Dravidian Institute of Technology, for which he had registered her participation. After that, Ruby promised to pick her up and go shopping at Spencer’s Plaza. By the time they finished, he would be ready to join them for dinner on Mount Road.

The conference was a sort of revelation for Maya. There were a lot of interesting presentations, and she hoped to take a deeper look at the seminar booklet later.

It was definitely a goldmine for her research, as she got a deep insight into various aspects of the Dravidian culture, and managed to meet a lot of professors to exchange notes. They were very helpful, but she suspected they were a little too biased against the so-called Aryans.

The underlying theme seemed to be that the Aryans arrived in North India somewhere from Iran and southern Russia at around 1500 BC and conquered the indigenous Dravidian people. They were ruthless, disregarded the local cultures, and began taking control over regions, pushing the local people southwards. The caste system was established during this period to subjugate the darker skinned Dravidians.

Almost all the participants agreed that the Hindu religious stories about the many wars between gods and the dark skinned demons actually referred to Aryans and Dravidians. As far as they were concerned, it was just one aspect of cultural imperialism that justified their civil war.

In fact, a professor from Kerala pointed out that some Hindu gods were Dravidian and other gods Aryan. In particular, Shiva is a Dravidian god and not a Vedic god because he is not prominent in the Rig Veda, the oldest Vedic text. Some hold that Shaivism is a South Indian religion and the Vedic religion is North Indian. He received the loudest applause.

In the afternoon session on languages, she learned that Aryan languages like Hindi had been heavily influenced by Sanskrit, unlike the Dravidian languages. Their ways of developing words and grammar are also different.

She was surprised to know that the Dravidian family of languages comprises 27 languages spread across the entire subcontinent, while she was under the impression that there were just four. But, what absolutely took her by shock was a presentation on the similarities between Dravidian and other world languages.

Professor Robert Cadwell from Harvard University hypothesized that Dravido-Corean languages are a language family that links Tamil to Corean, the similarities were first noted by French missionaries who traveled between the two regions.

‘Some scholars believe Corean to be a language isolate. Others believe that the language and people from the South Pacific region