Six Suspects (7 page)

'So will we now be judged by the media? You are a
lawyer yourself, Chief Minister Sahib. And the fundamental
rule of law is that the accused is innocent till proven guilty.
If ministers had to resign simply on the basis of being
charged, two-thirds of your Cabinet would be empty. So I
say let the case be proven against my son, then we shall see.'

'I have managed to persuade High Command to hold off
any action till the local elections. But that journalist Arun
Advani continues to cause trouble. Did you read his latest
column? He is alleging that you are trying to bribe the
judge. It is giving us very bad publicity.'

'Let him write what he wants. The good thing is none of
our voters know English. I was telling the Education
Minister that we should ban all English-medium schools in
the State. We should teach children only in Hindi. If we
take away the bamboo, how will the flute play?'
(
Laughter
.)

'And also Urdu. Don't forget our Muslim voters.'

'Yes, of course, Chief Minister Sahib. Urdu is equally
important. In fact, I am brushing up on my Urdu these days.
Iqbal Mian has been teaching me Ghalib's poetry. Would
you like to listen to a few couplets?'

'No . . . no. I have to go for the inauguration of a
primary school. Just remember, Jagannath, I have managed
to save you for now, but if Vicky is convicted even I won't
be able to do anything for you.'

'Don't worry. That eventuality will not arise.'

'See you at the Cabinet meeting tomorrow.'

'Yes. See you, Chief Minister Sahib. '

*

'Hello. Rukhsana?'

'I am not talking to you,
janaab
. I sent you five hundred
text messages. You didn't respond to even one. '

'
Arrey
, what can I do? The whole day I was busy in that
wretched State Development Council Meeting which the
Chief Minister is so fond of.'

'How can a meeting last a whole day?'

'It can if you have a room full of prize idiot bureaucrats,
each one droning for hours about roads and bridges and
schools and orphanages. Sometimes I feel it was a mistake
to go into politics. When I have to travel hundreds of
kilometres every day through dusty villages, when I have to
listen patiently to ignorant farmers wanting me to ensure
that the monsoon does not fail, when I have to sign endless
files about matters that don't concern me remotely, I realize
the price one has to pay for being in politics.'

'Then why don't you quit?'

'Easier said than done. Politics is a bitch, but it is like
government. You crib about it but you can't do without it
either.'

'And what about me? Can you do without me?'

'
Arrey
, you are my
nasha
, my addiction. Listen to this
couplet which I composed in your honour:
"
Although love's pangs may fatal be, there can be no way out
Without love too this heart would grieve, for want of things
to grieve about."'

'You have become quite a poet. Looks like my love has
made you a real Majnu.'

'Indeed . . . "
Love has made me good-for-nothing,
Otherwise a useful man I used to be
." '

'What can I say,
janaab
, today Urdu poetry is flowing
from your mouth like bullets from a gun.'

'Don't talk about bullets, darling. This is the story of my
life. The moment I try to become romantic somebody
brings up the subject of guns and spoils the mood.'

'I am sorry.'

'Forget it. Tell me, how was your day?'

'Good. I went to the beauty parlour. Got full waxing
done. Also facial. My body is like silk. You will find out
when you touch me.'

'I am dying for that. Sumitra will leave for Farrukhabad
on Friday. I will come to you on Saturday and stay the
night.'

'Why don't you divorce your wife? She is only causing
you grief.'

'My children are no better. I have a son who has had a
penchant for getting into trouble ever since he was a kid.
And a daughter who adamantly refuses to marry. With great
difficulty I have managed to get her engaged to an excellent
boy from our own caste, a Thakur belonging to the royal
family of Pratapgarh, but she keeps postponing the
marriage. Her favourite pastime is to chat with the sons and
daughters of the sweepers and washermen who live behind
our house. My biggest fear is that one day she will decide to
elope with some street loafer and grind our family's nose in
the dust.'

'Don't worry about something that might never
happen.'

'Guruji says the same. You and Guruji are the only
people who understand me.'

'But you don't understand
me
. For months I have been
asking you to take me on a foreign trip, but you never
oblige.'

'
Arrey
, when there are so many pending issues to be
sorted out in this damned place, where is the time to think
of going abroad? This is the problem with you. You are
never content with what you have.'
(
Sob
.)

'
Jaaneman
, have I upset you? Look, I am giving you a
kiss.'

(
Kissing sound.
)

*

'Dad?'

'Yes, Vicky?'

'Is it all set?'

'Yes. But I have asked for judgment to be postponed till
15 February. That is when the inauspicious period will end,
according to Guruji.'

'So I need not worry?'

'Not as long as I am around. But have you ever thought
how much grief you've given me? How long can I keep
bailing you out of trouble?'

'That's what dads are for.'

'You are a real motherfucker; you know that, don't you,
Vicky?'

'Well, from a purely technical point of view, that would
be you, Dad, wouldn't it?'

'You bas—'

(
Disconnect
.)

TODAY IS the happiest day of my life. Even better than the day
Vince Young led Texas on a fifty-six-yard touchdown drive
against USC in the game's final minutes to give the Longhorns
their greatest ever victory in the Rose Bowl.

I am finally going to India. Land of maharajahs and mutton
curry. Home to elephants and kangaroos. And to the most beautiful
girl in the whole wide world. Sapna Singh, who will become
my wife in two weeks' time.

I really dig Indian weddings. Just rented that flick
Monsoon
Wedding
the other night. I love the way Indian girls dance and the
wild music simply drives me crazy.

My mother's a great believer in marriage. She's had four
already. But she wasn't too keen on my marrying an Indian.
'They're dirty, they're smelly, and they speak bad English!' was her
verdict, till I showed her Sapna's pictures. Since then she's been
broadcasting all over town that her son is all set to marry Miss
Universe.

Me and Mom are closer than ticks on a hound. We've been this
way ever since my pa ran off like he did, leaving Mom and me all
sad and alone, and so poor we didn't have a pot to piss in. After
he disappeared we had to sell the ranch and all the cattle and
move to a run-down old trailer, where we lived for six years till
Mom married that nice man from the Welfare Office and we
moved into his house on Cedar Drive. I really don't think much
of my pa. I wouldn't piss on him if he was on fire. But no point
getting all worked up. Not on the day I will finally meet Sapna.

How I met my dream girl is one heck of a story. I'm convinced
that all marriages are made in heaven. And it's God who decides
who will marry whom, and when. So he makes some guys, like my
old school mate Randy Earl, who have no trouble at all in scoring
with girls. And then he makes some, like me, who, well, have to
wait a bit longer, being shy and all. Guess I was just born that way.
Not that I am bad looking or ugly, like Johnny Scarface, my foreman.
His mom probably had to tie a porkchop around his neck so
the dog would play with him. I'm just your ordinary sort of guy.
Mr Joe Average. I'm five feet, seven inches tall, and Sandy, my-tenyear-
old niece, says that if my face was a little rounder, my nose a
bit smaller, my hair a shade darker, and my weight fifty pounds
lower, I'd look just like Michael J. Fox! But not to worry, I am
working on both my height and weight. I've been using KIMI, the
scientifically developed height-increasing device by Dr Kawata
which promises to make me three inches taller in just six months,
and I'm regularly taking the Chinese Miracle Slimming Powder
which I bought off the Home Shopping Network.

Anyway, Mom was getting seriously worried about me turning
twenty-eight and still being a bachelor and had begun wondering
whether I might be gay, till the folks at International PenPals fixed
all that. In return for a nominal membership fee of $39.99
(payable in four instalments of $9.99 each), they gave me the
addresses of seven beautiful girls who wanted to become friends
with me. Now that's what I call too much of a good thing. I mean,
try juggling seven girlfriends all at once. The girls were from all
over the world, including places I didn't even know existed. In
ABC order, I had Alifa from Afghanistan, Florese from East Timor,
Jennifer from Fiji, Laila from Iran, Lolita from Latvia, Raghad
from Kosovo and Sapna from India. I wrote to all of them, introducing
myself and asking them to reply. And they wrote back,
each and every one of them. There was one problem, though.
Three of them didn't know good English. I mean it's kind of difficult
to carry on a decent conversation when you receive a letter
which says, 'Daer Larry, Braenbooking a hello you too. Mares
fioggicku. I wanna lioxi plean. Amerika goot place for a leev. Loov
you.' Some of the letters were, well, too perplexing. The girls from
Afghanistan, East Timor and Iran just talked about the political
problems in their countries. And the one from Fiji asked for my
credit-card number in the very first letter. Now that I thought was
being too upfront. The girl from Latvia was more modest. 'Hello
Larry. I'm Lolita,' she wrote. 'I am sixteen years old. I want to be
friends with you. Call me on 011-371-7521111.' I thought she
was a bit young for me, but you can't tell how deep a well is just
by measuring the length of the pump handle. So I called Lolita up.
I think she must have a bad case of asthma, because all I got was
heavy breathing for, like, five minutes and I freaked out when I got
my phone bill and found that the call had cost me $57.49. So that
was the end of my friendship with Lolita. Eventually I was left
only with the girl from India, Sapna Singh. She wrote me the most
wonderful letter, telling me of her brave struggle against cruelty
and oppression. She was so poor she didn't even have a telephone.
It brought tears to my eyes, made me remember my own struggle
to become the best hi-lo driver in Texas. I replied, she replied
back. Two months later we exchanged pictures. Till then I had
considered Tina Gabaldon, Miss Hooters International 2003, to be
the best-looking filly in the field. But one look at Sapna's photo
and I knew I had been wrong. She was the most beautiful girl in
the universe and I fell head over heels in love with her.

Gathering all the courage I could muster, I proposed to her in
June this year. Amazingly, she accepted, making me happier than
a rooster in a hen house. I began learning Hindi. She began learning
how to make chocolate brownies, my favourite dessert. We
fixed a date for the wedding in India. She requested five grand to
make the preparations. I was broke as a church mouse, but I
begged and scrimped and saved and wired her the money. Three
weeks ago she sent me our wedding card. And now I'm off to New
Delhi to marry the woman of my dreams.

'Hi y'all! Howdy!' I greeted the two pretty air hostesses who
welcomed me on to the United Airlines plane that was taking me
to India. The aircraft was huge, almost as big as the Starplex
Cinema in Waco. Another tall air hostess directed me to my seat,
116B. It was one of the best seats in the plane, right at the end,
and very conveniently located too, bang next to the john.

I put my bag underneath my feet and settled down. Today
really seemed to be my lucky day. I was in the middle seat, flanked
by a blonde sitting next to the window and a dark, Indian-looking
guy wearing a red Hilfiger T-shirt and a Dodgers baseball cap.

The blonde was reading a magazine called
Time
. 'Excuse me,
Ma'am.' I doffed my hat and tapped her arm. 'Where are you
headed to?'

She shrank away from me like I had the chickenpox and gave
me a look which would make a porcupine seem cuddly. I turned
to the youth on my left, who seemed more friendly.

'So how's yer momma and them?' I asked him.

He looked at me like a calf at a new gate. 'Excuse me, what did
you say?'

Quite clearly the guy wasn't from Texas.
'
Aap kehse hain?
' I asked in my best Hindi.

'I am fine,' he replied in English.

'
Kya aap bhi India jaa rahe hain?
'

'Hey man, why are you talking to me in that strange lingo? I
don't speak Hindi.'

'But . . . but you are Indian!' I blurted out.

'Correction, dude. I'm American,' he said and whipped out a
blue passport from his front pocket. 'See the bald eagle on the
cover? That's American, man.'

'Oh!' I said and fell silent.

Before the plane took off, the air hostess did some hand
exercises and made us watch a safety video. I was busy memorizing
the instructions given on the card in the seat pocket, but none
of the other passengers seemed to be bothered about what would
happen to them if the plane fell into the water. And before I knew
it, we were flying.

The air hostess returned after a while, trundling a metal buggy
loaded with bottles and cans.

'What would you like to drink, Sir?' she asked me sweetly.

'Coke, please,' I told her.

'I am sorry, Sir. We seem to have run out of Coke. Will Pepsi
do?'

'Yeah,' I nodded. 'That's Coke too. How much?'

'It's free, Sir,' she said and smiled.

The Indian looked at me curiously. 'Are you flying for the first
time?' he asked.

'Yeah,' I replied and extended my hand. 'We've howdied but
we ain't shook yet. Hi, I'm Larry Page.'

'Larry Page?' He seemed impressed. 'You know you have the
same name as the inventor of Google.'

'Yeah, everyone keeps telling me that. Isn't Google something
to do with computers?'

'Correct. It's a search engine for the internet.'

'Johnny Scarface, my foreman, is always on his computer. But
I know as much about the internet as a pig knows about playing
the piano.'

'Not to worry,' he said and grasped my hand. 'Glad to meet
you, Larry. My name's Lalatendu Bidyadhar Prasad Mohapatra,
Biddy for short.'

'What do you do, Biddy? You look like a college student.'

'Yeah. I'm a sophomore at the University of Illinois, planning
a double major in microelectronics and nanotechnology. And what
do you do?'

'I'm your friendly forklift operator at the Walmart Supercenter
in Round Rock, Texas. That's the one off I-35, Exit 251. Any time
you happen to pass by, stop in and holler at me. I'd appreciate it.
Might even get you a five per cent discount.'

That broke the ice between us. Ten seconds later we were talking
like old buddies at a school reunion. Biddy began telling me all
about some project that he was doing with some stuff called
super-cooled conductors. Before I knew it, I was telling him everything
about my trip to India and about Sapna.

'Your fiancée sounds like a real nice Indian girl,' he said.

'Would you like to see some of her pictures?' I asked him.

'Yeah. Sure.'

I took out my bag and carefully removed the brown folder full
of large colour glossies of Sapna in a whole lot of dresses. I
watched Biddy's face as he flipped through the photos. His eyes
seemed to pop out, just as I expected.

'This is Sapna Singh, you said?' he asked me after a long time.

'Yeah.'

'And you've actually met her?'

'No. But she'll be waiting for me at New Delhi airport.'

'She took five thousand dollars off you for the wedding?'

'Yeah. It was necessary. She's not from a rich family.'

'And you think you're going to marry this girl?'

'Of course. Two weeks from today, on 15 October. All
preparations have been made, including a nice white horse! I tell
you, Biddy, I just can't believe my luck.'

He twisted his lips. 'I'm sorry to say, dude, but you've been
had.'

'What do you mean?'

'I mean this girl whose glossies you showed me is not Sapna
Singh, cannot be Sapna Singh.'

'But why?' I asked, perplexed. 'Do you know her?'

'Every Indian knows her. These photos are of the famous
actress Shabnam Saxena. I even have her poster in my dorm.'

'No, no. This is my fiancée. That chick Shabnam probably
looks like Sapna.'

Biddy gave me the look Johnny Scarface gives me when I ask
for a raise.

'There . . . there must be some mistake,' I tried again.

'There is no mistake,' Biddy said firmly. 'These photos are of
Shabnam Saxena. In fact I'm certain that one of the photos is a
still from
International Moll
, a big hit starring Shabnam. Don't
mind my using one of our Indian proverbs, Larry, but as we say:
Nai na dekhunu langala
. You shouldn't get ready to take a bath
before seeing the river.'

The plane suddenly felt like it was diving straight to the
ground. I became dizzy and gripped the armrest tightly.

I snatched the folder back from Biddy. 'What you've been
telling me is just a bunch of bunk. You're more full of shit than a
constipated elephant!' I declared and didn't talk to him for the
rest of the flight.

Deep inside me, I felt like crying.