Partha Sarathi MBA

"I am an MBA." He announced and laughed revealing his yellow teeth. He was standing in a corner, nursing a 90 of cheap whisky along with some beer. The veins were pronounced on his hands. He pulled the sleeves of his once off-white shirt yet again; it was an involuntary, nervous reaction I guess. I offered him a smoke. "I normally smoke Marlboro sir, but today I'll smoke my own Wills. Sorry eh?" He said. I shrugged and started talking to Sam. I ordered one more 60 of Old Monk rum.

"My name is Partha Sarathy." He continued. "Is that Godfather? Mario Puzo?"
I nodded in agreement and said "It is the latest in the series. This is not by Puzo though." He shook his head a hundred times and took the book from me. He pretended to seriously appraise the book and placed it on the wooden ledge that served as a place to set your drink down in Sapthagiri Wines. He finished his drink even before ours arrived. There was a bench along the wall and three guys occupied it. The leader of this group was already staring at Mr. Partha with adulation filled eyes.

"I helped this contractors get business worth Crores. Crores! And see what they have done to me. I told them that I didn't want a penny and walked off. Do you see this mobile phone? This is mine. I didn't even have money for the bus... I walked seven KM saar! Seven KM!"
He told his sad story. I was wary of him but Sam, as always, started his anthropo-neuro-psychological study, yet again. Sam introduced himself. Mr. Partha exclaimed, "So you are a doctor in Victoria? I know your chief... what's his name again?" Sam told him the Chief's name. "Ah yes! Same person. How is he? Don't tell him you met me here eh?" And he laughed that psychotic laugh again and said "I normally drink only in 3-star bars. But today..." He diverted his attention to me and said "...But today because of those bastards!" He tried to muffle his sobs. He wiped the tears with the sleeve of his dirty shirt.

I remained impassive. However, the trio on the bench were nonplussed and moved. The leader of the bench trio asked us in Kannada, "Yen aayithhu Saar? Ishtu Chennaga Ingleesh Maathadthaa idhaaney!" (or something to that effect) Sam explained to the bench trio about Mr. Partha and how his Contracting firm conned him of Crores. The leader of the trio immediately asked one of his gang members to stand up and make place for Mr. Partha.

Mr. Partha bummed a smoke from Leader as he sat down. He even spoke in broken Kannada. "I am an Iyengar sir. I can dictate 600 words a minute you know?" I nodded as I didn't know how the hell I should react to such a monumental statement. So I turned away and adjusted my position in that cubbyhole that was the bar behind Sapthagiri wines. I hardly had space to move my arm. With my back to Mr. Partha, I told Sam that we should be leaving. Sam nodded and he noticed that Mr. Partha was now putting a scheme on the trio. I lost interest, I mean I knew what his game was.

Mr. Partha called me after a few minutes. I turned around with a lot of difficulty. And he dropped his pitch on me.
"Don't mistake me..." He started, sipping on the whisky that he'd bummed from the trio who were sobbing now after listening to Mr. Partha's story.
"...I have to go to Chennai to meet my business partners." He paused as the Leader offered him some spicy Chicken.
"...I have to meet my partners in Chennai, and I left all my ATM cards in those bastards' office...can you give me 200 Rupees?" A brief silence ensued and it was broken by Manja, the waiter-boy, shouting out an order to the Counter: 'Half Khoday's rummu, ondhu packet Small illi!" I stared into Mr. Partha's eyes that were lodged in deep sockets. I smiled and said "If I had 200, why would I drink here?"

He chewed on it for a little while and said "Yes yes. How about 50? At least 20?" I said no. He shrugged as if he forgave me, started to say something, and decided against it. He returned his focus on the trio and started his pitch.

As I was leaving with Sam, he called out and said "Don't mistake me, ok?" I smiled and waved a bye to him. As I waited near the Counter to settle our bill, I could hear him swear at his Contracting firm and sob. I thought I also heard
"If not 500, at least 200? Yes, yes. I will transfer it online."
"..."
"Oh you don't have Internet okay! I'll give you a check, yes? Wonderful... Yeah just one more 60 for me sir... can't drink too much!"

Add to:del.icio.us| Digg| Reddit| StumbleUpon| Technorati

Golu

Mom always rued the fact that she did not have a girl child during Dassara. She thought if she had had a daughter, we could have had a Golu like all other poor Brahmin families (display of clay dolls mostly... of gods and their rides.)

Suren and I were primarily interested in visiting every damn house in Greamspet during Golu time. We came back with a lot of Sundal (baked, spiced peas seasoned with mustard seeds.) The Chetty homes made the best Sundal. They added tiny slices of Mango and grated Coconut in it. We ate so much Sundal that we farted perennially. Preeen! Puf! Plift! And, if when we got lucky "Bbbrrrooommmm!" But the deadliest of them all had no sound. It is the muted killer. Nisabdham, Praana Sankatam!

I guess when I was in Fourth class, mom decided to have a Golu. Daughter or not. If you are wondering why a mother with no daughters can't have a Golu... Well, the tradition is that the women invited each other to their respective Golus and gifted each other blouse bits along with Vermilion, Yellow Banana, and Beetel leaves. It is totally a girl thing. Anyway, that year we went shopping for dolls and bought lots of them. We dug some earth and sowed Ragi seeds. When they sprouted, we planted the farmer and his bulls on a ploughshare. It was a pretty neat idea. We also planned to decorate the Golu on the wooden display rack with serial lights but mom dumped the idea. I had just started playing with electricity and I was blowing the fuse at consistent intervals.

Mom warned us that we couldn't afford to unleash the muted killer farts and chase our guests away. So no Sundal in our own home for me and Suren. Mom's Golu was a smash hit. My dad burnt a few hundred Rupees grudgingly. We gave away a lot of blouse bits that time. We moved to Chennai next year and forget a Golu, we didn't have space for ourselves in our Chennai home. And of course the landlord banned Golus. He thought it was some sort of a Pagan routine. May he rot in hell. So the memory of Golu faded away. We grew up into handsome young men. Ok, I won't push it. We grew up and got busy with the vicissitudes of life. We got girls. We married. And now I have a feeling Suren's going to have a Golu next year. And guess what I am going to do next year? Yeah! You guessed it. Muted Killers at Suren's. Here we come!

Add to:del.icio.us| Digg| Reddit| StumbleUpon| Technorati