CLOSE ENCOUNTERS OF THE UNBELIEVABLE KIND--A PERFECT PAIR

CLOSE ENCOUNTERS OF THE UNBELIEVABLE KIND

A.V. DHANUSHKODI

Hamlet: “There are more things in heaven and earth Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy”. HAMLET, ACT I , SCENE V

EPISODE FOUR--- A PERFECT PAIR

Kalakshetra Colony in Besant Nagar is the ideal locality in Chennai for walkers, for whatever reason it may be: least polluted air, near-absence of motorised traffic, no noise pollution, and no dog menace. Even one of those factors should make it an enjoyable prescription, for a weak-hearted man like me, to walk in the mornings and the evenings, for not less than half an hour each, to keep myself as fit as a fiddle. It has always been a mystery to me how a fiddle keeps itself fit; not by taking morning and evening walks, I am sure. I wouldn’t mind taking lessons from a fiddle in being fit, if that would pre-empt taking morning and evening walks. Although the location is ideal for walking, not being a natural walker, I never used to enjoy walking, either in the morning or in the evening. In fact, any mechanical or repetitive physical action is abhorrent to my nature.

During my morning and evening walks, I would often cross the paths of a few such natural walkers, who would have taken off as easily as a sparrow, if only they had wings instead of arms: their arms would swing so far out. During my one round of walk along the perimeter streets of the colony, I would cross them at least thrice, a feat (or feet?) I could never dream of accomplishing: they would move at a speed, which could be described neither as walking nor as jogging. That is one extreme. At the other extreme are walkers who walk in their sleep: in other words, they would not have woken up yet, at least their eyes would still be closed. Yet they would walk, unerringly avoiding unseen (by them) obstacles such as stones, cyclists, and other walkers, but still greet those they recognize, through their seemingly unseeing eyes, as their friends and acquaintances. Perhaps they have a third eye tucked away somewhere. In between these extreme stools (moving stools obviously) fall others, including me.

There was one exception, however: the perfect pair, a couple of young man and woman, both tall by Indian standards, why, even by international standards, and very fair by Indian standards. By complexion, they looked neither Indian nor European, but by their features, definitely Indian. What was unbelievably odd about the pair was that they were lean exactly to the same degree, equally tall to the millimetre and, most unbelievable of all, a perfect replica of each other, like identical twins, but one of them a man and the other a woman, without any doubt. I wonder if identical twins can also be of different sexes? One could make the distinction with ease, because the woman almost always wore a sari, and the man a jubbah and pyjamas. There were rare occasions when both wore the same dress, I mean not the sari, but the jubbah and the pyjamas, when it became impossible to tell their sex, not even by their hair, which was of the same length and colour. And their gait was even more unbelievable, I would even say bizarre, because they seemed not to walk but glide on a conveyor belt. A mime artiste can accomplish that task with a sari but not wearing pyjamas, however wide and flowing they were, but the man of the pair did it every evening. I do not remember seeing them in the mornings. They never talked to each other, at least not when I was looking at them.

Whenever I crossed them, I would look at them and they would look at me. Every time, I would want to smile at them, but my wonderment at their appearance would paralyse me, with the exception of my mechanically moving legs, that I would have passed them by the time I took hold of myself and decided to smile. They, however, always had a semblance of a smile about to be born, and a look eager to be invited to smile. But, invariably, I would pass them without smiling or nodding, for the reason I have mentioned above, but I would catch myself smiling and shaking my head in utter amazement, unfailingly every time, and would resolve firmly that I would smile and nod to them the next evening, at whatever cost. But I failed without fail, every evening.

One evening, I took a firm resolution as I stepped out of my house, at least to nod to them, if not smile, to acknowledge that I had accepted them as my acquaintances. I also had a broad plan to shift gear, over a period of time, if things went smoothly, to the next stage of nodding and smiling and, after a passage of still some more time, to go to the third degree of saying, “Hello”, although I hated that word but could not think of any other less repugnant word.

Armed with such a firm resolution, I set out with firm steps that evening and took the same route, every step throbbing with the expectation of a pleasant and courteous confrontation with the perfect pair. When I arrived at the point where I usually crossed them, they were nowhere to be seen. I slowed down my steps, giving them a little more time to cross me, before I took a turn and lost them forever that evening. Still, they did not make their appearance. For a moment, I even seriously considered stopping before the turn to wait for them, but quickly concluded that that would be stretching a sentiment too far. Furthermore, they were not to be seen along the long stretch of the street I was about to turn away from. At last, in the final few steps I had on the street before taking the turn, I sadly gave up the resolution and turned into the narrow street I usually took, and….by God, they were bang in front of me, looking at me with a smile about to be born, expecting me to accept them. Before I could regain my mental balance, I bungled between them and crossed them, going red in the face. I was furious but helpless because I could blame neither them nor me. However, I resolved to be prepared for a repetition of such an event the next evening.

The next evening, I took my usual route, fully prepared for a sudden head-on encounter, anytime anywhere along the route. I walked with resolute steps and reached the spot where I usually crossed them, but I could not see them until the end of that street; therefore, I concluded that I might confront them suddenly as I turned into the narrow street, just as I did the previous evening. So I turned into that narrow street fully prepared, but could not see them anywhere on it until the end, where it took another turn. I was a little disappointed that my alertness came to nothing, but I was, at the same time, happy that I could at least relax until I reached the end of that street. I relaxed.

At that very moment, they both breezed past me from behind, one on my left and the other on my right. It was all too sudden, that I froze on the spot and stared in complete consternation at their receding forms. I must have stood riveted to the spot for a few moments, in which they had almost reached the end of that street. I pulled myself out of my paralysis and almost ran after them as I saw them take the right turn at the end of it. I was confident of catching up with them in a few moments, although I was not too sure, what I would do with them when I did.

When I reached the end of the street where they had taken the right turn, I looked to my right. The street was empty except for an old woman who was walking towards me. It was a pretty long street, and I was sure they could not have reached its end and taken another turn within the short time, when I reached the spot from where I could see the whole stretch of that street. I was sure they had gone into one of the houses in that street. Should I find out which house they had gone into? Even if I did, what would I do next? Would I go into the house and say, “Hi, how are you? I have come in uninvited, but I want you to know that I merely wanted to say ‘Hello’ to you both,” and walk out? The thought was ridiculous, but I decided that I should at least know where they lived.

The old woman was passing me at that moment. I called out to her and she stopped and looked up at me, straining her eyes.

“Paati, did you see a young couple pass this way, a few minutes ago?” I inquired.

I could see that she had difficulty in seeing  even me, within a few feet away from her. She shook her head ruefully and replied, “I can’t see well in the evenings. I’m helpless. Even the doctors can do nothing about it.” Without waiting for my reaction, she resumed her walk. I, however, was determined to find out where the couple lived in that street.

I started to walk again, this time slowly, peering at the houses on the left and on the right, even through the open doors and windows, hoping to catch a glimpse of them, but unsuccessfully. I must have reached almost the end of the street and gave up hope of finding them, when I saw him, a watchman, sitting on a wooden stool at the gate of a house on my left.

I have seen him often during my walks and even greeted him sometimes with a smile and a casual gesture of my hand, but never spoken to him. He appeared to be a good-natured man in his forties, whose face showed the marks of a hard life and a feeling of hopelessness for a better life. That evening he was smoking a beedi, sunk in thought.

I shook him out of his reverie, when I stopped in front of him and called out, “Watchman!” I didn’t know his name. He stood up hurriedly, hid the beedi behind him, and saluted awkwardly with his left hand. He need not have reacted to my greeting with so much respect, but the familiarity that had developed between us over a considerable length of time during my walks, even if it was a mere nod of the head or a light gesture of the hand or a faint smile, must have resulted in the respect that I really did not deserve.

I gestured to him to sit and relax, but he didn’t. He continued to stand, with his beedi smouldering behind him, the smoke curling out in a long trail, looking more like an animated tail than a trail. I thought I should leave him alone, before the beedi burned his fingers; therefore, I came to the point without further delay.

“Watchman, passing this way, I have seen you often, but never got to know you. What’s your name?”

“Ravindranath”. The name was incongruous.

“Ravi”, it was an instinctive abbreviation and it sounded more congruous, “Did you see a man and a woman pass by this way?” I asked.

“When, Sir?” he asked, in return.

“Just now,” I replied.

“Just now?” An instinctive interrogative echo, as he scratched his head.

“Yes.”

“Just now an old woman went this way,” he pointed out.

“I mean that way,” I pointed out.

He thought seriously for a while, before shaking his head to mean “no”.

He could have dozed off, hence failed to see them pass. He would not admit it though, being a watchman. He must have lit the beedi, after waking up, to ward off sleep. I decided not to bother him anymore. However, there was one question, which had been on my mind for quite some time.

“Who lives here?” I questioned him, pointing to the house he was guarding.

“My wife and I,” he replied, pointing to the open garage at the rear end of the premises, where I could see in the fading light, pots and pans and clothes, “now she has gone out to buy a few provisions.”

“I didn’t mean that. Who lives in the house?” I asked, pointing to the locked house.

“Nobody,” he replied and let out a sharp cry, dropping the burning butt of the beedi, which had obviously burnt his fingers. He stamped on the butt. I felt sorry that I had wasted his precious beedi.

“I see,” I said thoughtfully. “Is it to be let out for rent?” I wanted to know.

“I don’t know,” he replied hesitantly, “but you may take a look, if you like. I have the keys.” He smiled. He was either being polite or was angling to make a few bucks.

I was amenable, but said, “Not now. I’ll come tomorrow morning at 6, when I pass this way as usual.” I thrust a ten-rupee note into his reluctant hand and walked on.

* * *

The next morning I started around 5.30 and took the usual route. Having failed twice in my attempts to strike an amiable note with the perfect pair, I decided that morning to relax: sooner or later, I was bound to get to know them. In any case, they never made their appearance in the mornings. With that decision, I began to enjoy my walk as before, taking in the ambience, the air, the myriad scents and fragrances that came floating with the cool breeze and, of course, observing the other walkers.

When I took a turn into the street where the locked house was located and approached it, I noticed that it was deserted. Even the watchman’s stool was empty at the gate. I approached the house, but the watchman was nowhere to be seen within the compound. It was six on my watch.

I called out for the watchman a few times, but there was no answer. From where I stood, I could see that neither he nor his wife was in the open garage. Perhaps they were both behind the house, attending to some work in the garden, or had gone out to buy some provisions. I looked at the closed gate: it was not chained and locked, so that anyone could push it open and enter the grounds. If both had gone out, they would not have left the gate open for anyone to enter; therefore, at least one of them must be in, I surmised.

I hesitantly opened the gate and closed it behind me. Then I slowly walked to the open garage, stood before it and looked around. There was nothing unusual in the garage, just a few old pots and pans, and some clothes hanging from a diagonally stretched line. From there, I could see the ground behind the house, and I was a little surprised that it was in a state of gross neglect, covered with weeds and wild grass and plants all over. With the watchman and his wife living there, I had imagined that between them, they would have, at least, maintained the premises clean, if not assiduously cultivated a garden.

After a moment’s indecision, I began to walk towards the other side of the house, carefully avoiding the thorny bushes, some plastic bags and water bottles, and a few dried up cocoanuts. I noticed that all the rear windows were closed. When I reached the other end, I turned and walked along the side of the house. Understandably, the windows that side were also closed. I saw a tap and a water-motor next to it. I opened the tap to clean my feet, but nothing came out of it; no wonder, as no one lived in the house. I resumed my walk and came to the front of the house.

I stood in front of the house and wondered what I should do next. There was nothing left for me to do, but come again the next morning at the same time.

I turned and took a step toward the gate, when I caught a glimpse of the main door of the house. The double door was fully open and the lights were on within. I was taken aback. I was sure the door was closed and a padlock was hanging on it, when I opened the gate and entered the compound. I looked at the gate. It was closed; a chain and a padlock were hanging around the latch.

I froze, as all my blood drained from my head. I stared at the open main door, only for a few seconds, when from within the house came Ravi, the watchman. God, I started to breathe again. It should have been obvious to me, what had happened. While I was behind the house, Ravi had come back from wherever he had gone, opened the door and was waiting within the house for me.

Approaching me, he greeted me breezily, “Sir, I have been waiting for you in the house. We had to go out to buy some provisions in the shop round the corner. My wife is sweeping the rooms. By the way, how did you come in Sir? I locked the gate, when we came back.” He appeared a little puzzled.

Greatly relieved, I laughed heartily. “Ravi, I came in before you came back. You shouldn’t have left the gate open. Anybody could have walked in and walked out with anything.”

“There’s nothing here worth taking, Sir. Come in, come in. Inside, it is all so dirty and dusty. I hope you don’t mind? My wife is just now cleaning all the rooms.” I followed him.

The drawing room was quite spacious. Seeing me, Ravi’s wife dropped the broom and greeted me. From there, he took me into the next room, the dining room, which was equally spacious, beyond which was the kitchen. Those rooms were on one side of the house and on the other side were two bedrooms. He took me into one of them, with an attached bathroom. The bedroom had just enough space to accommodate a double-cot and a dressing table. Coming out of it, I was about to enter the adjoining bedroom, when Ravi stopped me.

“Sir, please don’t go into that bedroom.”

“Why? Doesn’t matter if it is dirty. I don’t mind,” I said.

“Not that Sir, it is not to be let out, that’s why,” he explained.

“Well, let me see it anyway. I need two bedrooms. I like the house. I’ll talk to the owner. If he is willing to let me use both the bedrooms, I’ll take the house, otherwise no,” so saying, I entered the bedroom. Ravi followed me with his wife, helplessly muttering objections.

The bedroom was big and very well decorated. In the centre, was a double-cot with mattresses and sheets and pillows. There was a dressing table, a bookrack with shelves packed with books almost up to the ceiling. The room was filled with some unidentifiable pleasant fragrance, despite the thin veil of dust, which had settled on every object. I liked the room instantly and decided to rent the house.

Then I noticed on one of the walls a large life-size framed canvas, covered fully with a silk curtain. Dust had thickly settled on the curtain as well. I touched the curtain to open it, when I heard Ravi shout from behind me.

“Sir, please don’t open the curtain!”

By then I had already almost fully opened the curtain and I was in for a big surprise. The canvas was empty, pristine white! It took me a few seconds to gather myself together to realize that it was a practical joke! But was Ravi capable of playing such a practical joke on me?

I turned around asking, “What Ravi, is this some kind of a big joke you are playing on me?”

This time, I was in for a bigger surprise. Ravi and his wife were not there behind me. How could they have vanished into thin air in a second?

I thought I saw, from the corner of my eye, something moving near the canvas.

I jerked my head back to the canvas and, on it, I saw life-size painted portraits of the perfect pair, holding hands and broadly smiling at me at last!

A.V. Dhanushkodi

November 2009