The Illicit Happiness of Other People (29 page)

THE COMIC THAT IS titled
Epidemic
begins with the Revolutionary Leader standing alone on Marina Beach. The man is in a white fur cap and dark glasses, a white shirt and
white veshti. His feet are bare. There is a blank thought-bubble over his head. He looks silly and clueless, which he was when he ruled the state as a semi-literate film star who had become the hero of the poor even though he did not know how to solve the poverty of other people. He gave free lunches to schoolchildren, and made it legal for two people to ride on a bicycle, and did other such things. But Unni’s intention is not to make the great Leader look silly.
Epidemic
is much deeper than that. The comic acquires an eerie quality as it progresses. In the second panel, the Leader’s plump cylindrical mistress, Amma, in a dark green sari, appears beside him. She too is thinking, and she is sharing the same amoebic thought-bubble. The blank bubble, though, has now grown in size.

After the Leader died, which was a few months after Unni’s death, hundreds immolated themselves, apparently in grief. Amma got on to the open hearse of her departed lover, which inched through a sea of people. But that was no place for her – the mistress of a man is always in a very bad position, especially on his hearse. She was kicked by several men in full view and thrown off the vehicle. Later, she was molested on the floor of the legislative assembly and hit on the head with a mike. But there is something of the Leader inside her and the masses see it very clearly. She is ascending, she is going to be the next chief minister, and in revenge for everything that men have done to her, she often makes them stand in a long line and come to her one after the other and fall at her feet. And the men are happy to do that because, even though many people have tried to inherit the power of the Leader, it is Amma alone who has acquired it, and for some reason she alone is able to transmit it to the people.
Epidemic
is about mass movements as infestations.

As the comic progresses, more and more people are added behind the Leader and Amma – regular, nameless people, the
masses. All of them just stand and share the same empty thought-bubble, which grows larger in every frame.
Epidemic
ends with thousands of people massed on the beach, and all of them share one blank thought, which is now a giant white cloud over their heads.

Ousep goes through the comic again, this time very slowly. He hears the doorbell ring. Mariamma is not at home, so he decides not to open the door. It rings again, then several more times. Through the doorway of his room he sees Thoma walk across the hall, hears him open the door, and the sound of him running. The boy appears at the doorway and says, ‘He has come.’

The mountainous Afghan in the Pathani suit smiles. His face is almost the colour of blood from the heat and the walk up the stairway. He rolls his sleeves over his enormous arms, his thick powerful legs stand apart in combat stance. In the republic of small male thighs, this is a rare stud.

‘So fast, the door opened so fast,’ he says, looking down at the boy from his foreign heights. ‘Usually, it does not open until I almost break it down. Your wife sees through the peephole, I see through the peephole, all those games happen before the door opens. But today is different. Today is a good day. Maybe you have my money, then.’ Thoma tries to squeeze himself between the Pathan and the door frame and escape to the stairway outside, but the man grabs him. ‘Where are you going, hero?’ He begins to tickle Thoma, who giggles. He pokes the boy in the chest with his fat fingers. Then he holds the boy’s right arm in a fierce grip, and raises his gaze to Ousep. He begins to slowly twist the arm. Thoma’s body turns as if in a modern dance, and he now faces his father, his arm pinned to his back. Thoma thinks he is laughing, but his face is growing serious.

‘Do you have my money, Ousep?’ the Pathan says.

‘Next month,’ Ousep says.

The Pathan gives another twist to the boy’s arm.

‘I want my money,’ he says.

‘Come next month.’

‘Now.’

Thoma’s heels have left the ground and he is on his toes. There is a feeble smile on his face. His eyes keep darting to Mythili’s door. He is afraid the girl will open her door and see him like this.

The phone rings, which gives Ousep an elegant reason to wave his hand at the Pathan and say, ‘Come later.’ But the man wants to create trouble today. He gives one more twist to Thoma’s arm. The boy does not pretend to smile any more. The phone rings in a persistent way and Ousep cannot ignore it any longer. He goes to his room and picks up the receiver. He pulls the wire to its full extent, stares at the Pathan through the doorway, wags a finger at him and says, ‘Hello.’ The Afghan is perplexed but he twists Thoma’s arm some more.

‘Hello,’ Ousep says again.

‘I said you’ve been asking about me,’ the voice of a man says.

‘Who is this?’

‘Beta.’

‘Yes, I’ve been searching for you. The people at the Society of Amateur Cartoonists don’t seem to know where you live or even your phone number.’

Ousep wags a finger at the Pathan again. Thoma is beginning to struggle now, he lets out a sporting laugh and starts hitting the man’s powerful arm. The Pathan laughs.

‘I don’t like it,’ Beta says.

‘You don’t like what?’

‘I don’t like people searching for me. I will speak to you when I want to.’

‘Can we meet?’

‘I don’t want to meet you because I know I cannot help you.’

‘Do you know who can help?’

‘I have been speaking to someone who may be interested in talking to you. He does not like meeting people,’ Beta says.

‘Who is he?’

‘Alpha.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes, really. Alpha.’

‘Is he a cartoonist?’

‘Yes.’

‘When can I meet him?’

‘I’ll speak to him. I’ll ask him if he will meet you.’

‘Where does he live?’

‘I can’t tell you that right now. You have to wait.’

‘You say Alpha will help me?’

‘I don’t know how useful he will be. But he can lead you to the corpse.’

‘The corpse?’

‘Yes.’

‘The corpse is a cartoonist?’

‘I don’t know,’ Beta says, laughing.

‘Is the corpse male or female?’

‘Strange question. I never thought of it before. But I’ve never met the corpse. So I don’t know.’

‘What would the corpse tell me?’

‘The corpse would know what you want to know.’

Ousep hangs up and goes to the hall, distracted but ready for the confrontation. ‘Let the boy go,’ Ousep says.

‘We are just playing,’ the Pathan says. ‘Aren’t we just playing, boy?’

‘We’re playing,’ the boy says, giggling like a fool, ‘but I want to go now.’

‘Not that easy,’ the Pathan says.

The appearance of Mariamma startles everyone. Ousep feels a stab of shame. She looks carefully at the giant Pathan as if his face is really at the back of his head. She whispers to him, ‘Blade.’ Ousep, despite the circumstances, appreciates the literary beauty of her metaphor. That is what the moneylender is, he bleeds his prey through compound interest. ‘Blade,’ she says, and this time she is menacing and loud.

‘What are you doing to my boy?’ she says. There is a quiver in her tone and the Pathan knows it is not a good sign. Even Thoma senses it. He looks nervously at Mythili’s door, and his eyes plead for his mother to take it easy. He puts a finger on his lips. ‘Shh,’ he says.

‘Leave the boy alone,’ she says.

‘We are just playing,’ the Pathan says.

‘Do you hear me? I said leave the boy alone.’

‘There is no respect in your voice, madam. That’s not how women should be talking to men. I have three wives and a mother. None of them talks to me this way.’

‘Leave the boy.’

‘Ask your man to give me my money and I’ll be gone.’

‘You ask him. Twist that man’s hand. Not my son’s.’

‘Any hand that eats my fruit, I will twist.’

‘Is that true?’ she says. She is panting now. And the next time she says, ‘Is that true?’ the quiver in her voice is operatic. Thoma puts his finger on his lips and says, ‘Shh.’

‘Take it easy, madam,’ the Pathan says, ‘we are just playing.’

‘Let me play, too, then,’ she says.

‘Shh,’ Thoma says.

‘Let me play this game, Thoma,’ she says, and she sprints
inside the house, straight into the kitchen. She emerges with a broom in her hand and runs back to the doorway. She stands with the broom raised, ready to strike. Her chest heaves and her whole body bobs as if she is in a boat. She will hit him, Ousep knows.

The Pathan looks at her with fear masquerading as rage. He raises his hand slowly and points his index finger at her. He looks intently at the broom, which now begins to wag in the air. He lets the boy go, and Thoma runs away down the stairs – not that his life on the ground is going to be any better. The Pathan wags a finger at Ousep. ‘You meet me tomorrow,’ he says and goes away, looking back one last time to assess the woman standing at the door. She marches to the kitchen to update the lemon-yellow walls about what has just happened.

IT MUST BE ALPHA’S father. He holds the door as if he wants to shut it. ‘We are watching a film,’ he says.

‘Alpha asked me to come,’ Ousep says.

The man rebukes the doormat, ‘Who is Alpha?’

‘The cartoonist. This is the address given to me.’

‘Would you be interested in the name his dumb father gave him?’

‘I apologize,’ Ousep says. ‘I know him only as Alpha. What is the name you gave him?’

The man leaves the door open and goes in. Ousep follows him. The small flat is dim and has the odour of a burp. The man knocks on a door and says, ‘Someone has come to see you.’ He goes back to his chair and gapes at the TV. His wife, sitting with her legs folded on the sofa, rocks on her haunches for a moment, as if she is lulling an invisible baby to sleep. The man points to a chair without looking at Ousep.

Ousep sits with the strangers and watches the film as he waits for Alpha to emerge. It is an old Tamil film, which was revolutionary for its time. He forgets its name but he has seen it before.

It is about a beautiful innocent girl. She does not see men as predators, and is very friendly with them, especially the men on her lane. She plays volleyball with them, even kabaddi, she wrestles with them, she goes to their homes, their rooms. Her sari is always falling off her chest, because she is innocent, and the men are often dramatically stunned by her gaping blouse. One day, she turns sad and mature, she becomes very ladylike. The reason for the sudden transformation is that she has become pregnant. She does not know how that has happened. As an innocent girl, she has only recently learned about the whole plumbing of pregnancy. Her parents, who believe her tale, set out to find out which of her half a dozen close male friends on the lane has impregnated their daughter – those men alone had the opportunity. The parents suspect the girl was made unconscious by one of the men and plucked. Every man they investigate turns out to be a good person, a decent, clean-shaven man with strong ideals, who quotes Tamil poetry, who confesses that there were several situations when he was tempted and did very nearly take advantage of the girl but that he did not commit the crime. In the end, the mystery remains unsolved.

The suggestion of the plot is that one of the men is lying, or even that all of them probably slept with her. And the moral of the story is that women should never trust men, even men who appear to be good people in plain sight. Who can argue with that?

‘So you’re the father of Unni Chacko,’ the sullen voice says. Alpha is a tall, slender boy with long hair and a full black beard. He is in tired jeans and a T-shirt that has OM written on it. He looks a lot like Beta, he has the same restive eyes expressing
general contempt, but Alpha is much thinner. ‘Look at these people,’ he says, pointing to his parents. ‘Hypnotized by a box that has moving images. Look at these idiots. These two idiots. Look at them. Like drugged animals.’

The man and wife do not react. They stare at the TV. It is as if their son introduces them this way to a visitor every day. The man looks sideways at Ousep for a moment. The woman rocks briefly. Beyond this they show nothing. Ousep feels an uncontrollable urge to laugh. Look, Thoma, another unhappy home.

‘If you want to talk to me, come inside,’ Alpha says. He throws a final look at his parents. ‘Morons,’ he says.

Alpha’s room has four visible objects – a cot, a cupboard, a table and a chair. There is nothing else. The walls are bare and his table clean. Ousep studies the boy with overt interest, and the boy appears to be doing the same with Ousep.

‘Do you believe in God?’ the boy asks.

‘No. What about you?’

‘Unni was a Hindu, do you know that?’

‘Yes, I’ve heard.’

Alpha pats his chest with a tight fist. ‘Hindu,’ he says. ‘A Hindu understands things that others don’t.’

‘What does he understand?’

‘He understands that everything is a hint.’

‘A hint at what?’

‘At more hints, Mr Chacko, and more hints.’

‘What does it lead to?’

‘You’ve started with questions, which is a good thing. It is good,’ the boy says, ‘I was about to tell you that we cannot have a conversation. You must ask me questions. I will answer those questions.’

‘All right. You, too, can ask me questions.’

‘I may not have any questions for you. You are the seeker. What are you, Mr Chacko? You are the seeker. Do not chat. Ask me questions.’

‘What do you do?’ Ousep asks.

‘I do nothing,’ Alpha says.

‘You must do something with your time?’

Alpha points to a shut drawer. ‘A graphic novel,’ he says, ‘I am working on a graphic novel.’

‘That is very ambitious.’

‘No.’

‘As you say, Alpha. What is the story of your graphic novel?’

‘Why do you want to know the story?’

‘I am curious.’

‘Is it important to you that I tell you the story?’

‘No. But I would really like to know the story. What is it called?’

‘
Anti-story
.’

‘That is the name of the graphic novel?’