Tamarind Seed - a Shankar Ganesh Mysterey
ISBN 978-81-907320-7-9
Pages 450
List Price Rs 300 INR
Expected publication December 2010
|
Tamarind Seed - a Shankar Ganesh MystereyISBN 978-81-907320-7-9Pages 450List Price Rs 300 INRExpected publication December 2010
|
Excerpts from the book for your reading pleasure. Matter copyrighted. (C) Dr L.Prakash. For permission to copy for review, or other uses, please email the author at drlprakash@gmail.com
1. Investigative Journalism
The railings shuddered, the iron wheels screeched, the overhead traction limbs sparked, the bogie rattled and the metal floor under their leg trembled in a mini earthquake as the third compartment of the suburban train lurched ahead almost wrenching them off their seats. With a shrill grind of metal rubbing over metal, the train picked up speed as it rode out of the station.
“Investigative Journalism is a two word phrase, but both words have an equal importance. You can not report unless you investigate. And obviously the best investigation work remains totally useless unless it is reported. The two go together like a saree and a blouse.”
Said the elder man, as the younger man nodded his already nodding head, bobbing like a Tanjavur Boomai! The older gentleman had big spectacles with heavyduty black plastic frame, perched carefully on his bulbous nose. The eyes behind the spectacles had a twinkle of mischief in them. The forehead was knitted in deep concentration. He was Mr.T.S.Ganesh, senior reporter of the “Truth” periodical, which occupied a special niche between the white and yellow journalistic endeavors in the city. About forty five years old, with dyed jet black hair and a sharp double pencil line moustache (also dyed black), he was reasonably fair complexioned by South Indian standards.
Four of his front incisors had been lost in an accident, and his dentist had replaced them with a mini denture containing the four front teeth. Over the years, his natural teeth had yellowed with natural use, while the artificial teeth shone brilliant ivory white. Each time Ganesh opened his mouth to speak, the teeth glistened rather oddly.
The younger man, who was sitting opposite to him, and nodding his head with a clockwork regularity, was Shiva Shankar who was an apprentice reporter with the same periodical. He was learning the ropes form Ganesh, and the two of them were traveling in the suburban broad gauge train which was heading towards Beach station.
Ganesh continued. “You need a keen observation, you need to keep your eyes, ears and nose open. Yes, especially your nose. A news man often smells a story with the nose”.
The dinkity dink of the running train produced a dinkety dink nod of Shiva Shankar’s head, as he wholeheartedly agreed with his boss. Ganesh swept his gaze across the compartment. He saw a young lady standing in the aisle, holding the roof handle, swinging with the rhythmic sway of the moving train. Looking at his assistant, the senior journalist said “Now look at this young lady standing there. Look at her. Observe her. And then tell me your observations about her. Remember! Observe well, before you open your mouth!”
It was like a school student getting his first practical assignment. Shankar took a deep breath, squinted his eye, and casually and gently turned towards the girl, to give her a sharp and penetrating look, like an investigative journalist should. He squeezed his eyes open and shut a few times. He had been prescribed glasses for distant vision. It was -75 for his right eye and -1.00 for his left eye.
Shankar’s vanity prevented him from wearing his spectacles and he was able to manage quite comfortably on most occasions. However with result oriented performances like these, he had to be doubly sure, that he did not commit any faux passé. His tired eyes squeezed into a sharp focus as he started his careful inspection of the subject.
2. The Dusky BeautyHis head shook. The train rattled. And he stared without staring. Looked at her carefully, without making it obvious that he was ogling at her. Twice her eyes caught his as she caught him starting, and he quickly averted his eye looking back at a poster printed or a pink paper which boasted about the therapeutic skills of one Dr. Rana, Sexologist.
She was not a bad looking babe after all. Tall, almost five feet nine inches, with a slim and lithe figure, she was stuff of which Miss Indias were made up of.
She was dark complexioned. Husky dusky but polished smooth. She was dressed in a cheap nylon half saree or a davani set as you called it in Tamil. Her petticoat was chocolate brown. The davani was half draped, around her petticoat and half over her shoulders and blouse, was a crème nylon thing with large brown flowers. Her pectoral projections stood to attention almost piercing the fabric of her blouse. Her right hand was raised above her head, holding the nylon buckle that hung from the overhead bar.
Sweat had stained her armpit to a darker strain of brown. The saree was fluttering in the powerful breeze that was wafting into the train. Her midriff was bare and glistened with a microscopically thin film of sweat. And each time the train lurched and swayed, her mammary projections poked ahead as if defying all the laws of gravity!
Her hair was slightly below her shoulder, clumped with a reddish brown wool and nylon loop, which bound her hair below the nape of her neck. The hair in the front that had escaped the bondage by the wool nylon, flew as lazy whorls on her face. Occasionally with her left palm she would bush off the hair from her face. Her left hand also contained a fairly decent sized handbag and when she wiped the hair, the hand bag would obscure her face.
Shankar peeked at her face when either the handbag was not obscuring it, or when her eyes did not catch him. It was a nice oval symmetric face. Thick eye brows. Luscious dark black eyes. Smooth baby skin, rather blemishless. Nice even white teeth. Dainty lips, possibly a micrometer thick layer of lip gloss. Nice anatomical ears. Tiny ear studs, possibly gold.
Shankar was not satisfied with his observations, but Ganesh was looking at him intently through his glasses. He was worried about the inconsistencies. The Davani half saree was too cheap. The handbag too expensive. The ear rings too classy. The lip gloss too sophisticated. It was a curious mismatch.
3. ObservationsRealizing that he had completed his allotted time in the “Kaun Banega Crorepathi” contest, Shankar turned towards his boss and said, “A young girl, early twenties! Definitely not more than twenty five. Pretty in a rustic sort of a way. A gorgeous figure. Cheap nylon saree indicating that she belongs to lower middle class or even lower. And she is definitely not from the royalty or even the touchable upper class, because such people do not travel in suburban trains. All in all, an insignificant but pretty lower middle class girl traveling in a suburban train!”
Ganesh’s smile widened as he listened to his assistant’s description. “And?” he said. Shiva Shankar carried on, “And two inconsistencies! She has a poise and body language which is way above her lower middle class attire. And the purse she is holding in her hands! If am not mistaken, the brass reads Gucci. To my trained eye, it surely looks like the genuine article. So what bothers me is this designer purse, in the hands of a girl dressed in such clothes”
Ganesh nodded his head and gave a smile. “Young man! You are learning, but you have a long way to go!”
Taking a deep breath and steadying his glasses, he continued.
“I agree with your conclusions, but not with your reasons. The bag could be a present from a rich relative, may be a rich boyfriend. But I still firmly believe that she is not the lower middle class lass she pretends to be”.
“Look at her feet. See her soles, pink and soft, almost too delicate to slip into the cheap nylon slippers she is wearing. And look at her toes. So well pedicured. Look at the almost invisible pink shade of her nail polish! I am sure that her feet have seen the insides of a sophisticated beauty parlour!”
Shankar’s face widened in amazement as he heard his boss explain the apparent and obvious. He continued “Now look at her hands. The one clutching the overhead strap and the other clutching her Gucci handbag! Look at the manicure. Look at the shape of the nails. Look at the fingers! She as never done a hard day’s work in her life”.
“And now look carefully at her blouse. You can almost see her white bra through the blouse. Now look at it carefully. No, I am not asking you to be a voyeur. You can clearly see that it is a shoulderstrapless bra. Possibly with a whale bone prop to lift the breasts. Such bras come from Paris. They are frightfully expensive and would cost more than what she would earn in a month, if she was a lower middle class lass!”
4. InconsistenciesShiva Shankar’s head continued to bob up and down exactly like the Tanjore doll which had got as second brisk shake. Ganesh continued. “Thus we can conclude that this young lady is not what she appears to be. She is far more affluent, far more sophisticated and far more classy that she appears. And thus we can conclude for all practical purposes that she is disguised as lower middle class. Actually she is someone else”.
The train slowed down as it approached Park Town station. Ganesh and Shankar had to travel to the next station, but Ganesh was so intrigued by the situation that he addressed his colleague.
“Well young man, do you smell something?”
Shankar took a deep sniff and said “Well you are right sir. There is a faint odour of fish in the compartment. Surely some fish vendor would have carried her basket in this compartment sometime ago. My nose is able to discern the faint aroma!”
Ganesh gave out a huge laugh, which would have humiliated anyone else except a dedicated and devout shishya. He said in a mocking tone. “No young man! It is not the fish smell that I smell. The second lesson of investigative reporting is quite simple. Keep your eyes, ears and nose open. Catch the faint aroma of the story as it whafts out gently. My experience tells me that this young lady is indeed a character in a very intriguing story”.
As Ganesh completed his sentence, the train slowed down and came to a screeching halt at Park Town railway station. The girl peered out into the platform and in a few brisk steps got down. Ganesh looked at his assistant and gave him a sly wink. He then whispered,
“Well let us get down and follow the story!”
Before a perplexed Shankar could get up from his seat, Ganesh had grabbed his briefcase and jumped down from the train. Shankar picked up the newspaper that he was reading, quickly folded it, and followed his boss. He had just stepped out of the compartment, when the train gave a shrill whistle and eased out of the Park Town railway station. Shankar was surprised to see his boss turning to left, while their quarry had turned right. He briskly followed his boss and saw that the young lady in a brown floral davani was walking towards the end of the platform. Mr. Ganesh was purchasing a packet of cigerrates.
5. PursuitCollecting his cigerrate packet and change, Ganesh addressed Shankar. “Shankar! Keep an eye on her. It is always easy to follow a suspect, if there are two people behind her. You stay here and keep an eye. I shall follow her. If you feel that she is escaping my pursuit, you can join in the chase”.
With brisk steps, Ganesh started after her while he remained about a dozen steps behind her. Shankar stood close to the refreshment stall and looked at the high wall and electrified fence of the Madras Central Jail beyond the opposite platform of Poonga Nagar (Park Town) station. It was about four in the afternoon and he could see long shadows as his boss chased the girl in the lead.
He squinted his eye to stabilize his distant vision, and saw that the girl had got down and crossed the tracks to get to the opposite platform. Ganesh had just managed to reach the end of the platform when the next train thundered in and came to a halt. He saw Ganesh enter the train through the open door and climb down on the opposite side to cross the tracks. He could see Ganesh’s dyed jet black hair through the open doorway.
The moment Ganesh got down on the opposite side of the tracks, another train suddenly thundered from the opposite direction, leaving Ganesh in the narrow stretch between two trains. The two trains had obscured the vision of the opposite platform and the girl in brown flowers had almost disappeared from his eye.
Shankar did not want to stand idle and thus started walking in the opposite direction on his own platform. The train on his side started first, followed by the train on the opposite platform, and when both the trains had speed away, he saw Ganesh climbing on to the opposite platform. The girl had walked in his direction and the two of them were walking parallel on opposite platforms, with Ganesh following at a distance of about a hundred feet.
Shankar quickened his steps and reached the end of the platform and looked to both sides. He could see a red light to his left, while a green signal glowed at a distance to his right. Before any train could come, he quickly crossed the railway tracks, reaching the ground beyond the opposite platform. Surreptitiously glancing to his side, he realized that the girl was about twenty feet behind him and Ganesh was following a little behind.
Shankar gave a smile, as this was typical sandwich situation, where a target was boxed by two tails one ahead and the other behind.
6. The SlumsWhat happened next, took them both by surprise. Instead of walking towards Shankar, beyond which were the stairs to the overbridge, that would take her to the busy Poonamallee High Road, she suddenly turned to her left. She walked straight to the barbed wire fence that separated the railway property from the neighboring slums, and located a gap in it. She daintily lifted the thorned barbed wire, and bent down to skillfully negotiate her bare midriff, and then her legs, across the gap.
She never looked back, and swinging her bag started walking on the mud track that lead straight to the slums. Shankar turned and started walking quickly towards the gap in the barbed wire fence, which he reached almost the same time as Ganesh. He held the wire apart to allow his boss to get across, and then slipped through behind him.
A slight tearing noice and a sharp razor blade like scratch, told him that his brand new Van Hausen shirt hand been caught in the barbed wire. He rubbed his back as he hobbled behind Ganesh who had fixed the receeding form of the crème saree with brown flowers. His hand came back after having felt the torn edges of his new shirt and then his sweaty and sticky back. He saw the red of the blood that had stuck to his finger tip and mumbled.
“God know how rusty the wire is! I must get a tetanus shot tomorrow”
The girl in the meanwhile had continued straight ahead, till she reached to edge of the slum. He saw Ganesh’s head shaking from side to side, as he followed her and beyond him, saw her buttocks sway, the two chocolate brown flowers swishing from side to side. Shankar murmured again, “God know where they find brown flowers. I have seen red flowers, pink flowers, yellow flowers, blue flowers, and even green flowers. But I have never seen or heard of brown flowers”.
His progress had got him beside Ganesh, and the two of them saw her enter the second left between a waste bin and a tatty hut. The floor was strewn with litter, plastic packets, shit and garbage. Flies were buzzing around mounds of excreta laid out in geometric precision. Shiva Shankar whispered to Ganesh, that the area seemed to be a bit seedy. If they followed her into the slum, they might be accosted by local residents. In their neat dress, they looked out of place in the surroundings. The two of them decided to wait under a tree.
7. Canabis IndicaGanesh lit up a cigerrate and offered one to Shiva Shankar. The latter, who was a casual smoker, refused the smoke and continued to rub his hand on his back, caressing the linear scar that the barbed wire had scored. As the two watched, the girl walked into the street and disappeared. From their point of observation, they could see that the gully was a dead end. A lot of naked street urchins were playing in the dirt and grime. And then they could catch a glimpse of the girl entering a hut to her left.
Shiva looked up to his teacher and asked. “Sir, how long should we wait? Do you think that we will get a story out of this woman? What is it, that makes her so special except for some inconsistencies in her attire? Is it worthwhile wasting our time like this?”
Ganesh said “Well young man! Persistence and Perseverance are the next two lessons in Investigative Journalism. Not all the leads that are investigated lead to results. Be patient, I shall give her an hour. If she does not come out by then, we can always walk back to Park Town railway station, and be on our way!”
He tossed his half smoked cigerrate and ground the butt under this foot. Just then, he saw a well dressed man in a new motorcycle roar on the dirt road driving fast towards them.
The motorcycle rider drove past them, and came to a screeching halt at the dustbin, besides which lay the narrow bylane into which she had disappeared. He did not bother to get down from his bike, but tossed a folded currency note to an old lady who was sitting on the dirty ground, and had some green mangoes and unripe guavas laid out on a blue plastic sheet besides her. The hag tucked the currency note in to the folds of her blouse, and from a tin box besides her, took out a small packet which she tossed to him.
From a distance, neither Shankar nor Ganesh, could see what was thrown. The object, whatever it was, looked slightly smaller than a cigerrate box. It was wrapped in a newspaper and fell on the seat of the scooter. In one quick movement, the young man placed the packet in to his shirt pocket, kick started his bike, and turned it around. With a loud noice, and milky smoke from the exhaust, the motorcycle drove past them.
Ganesh looked at Shankar and smiled. He said “Ganja! Canabis Indica! I am quire sure that the ancient lady selling guavas and mangoes is a dealer. If we raid her tin box, we will surely find a lot more packets of the stuff”.
“Why don’t we complain to the police? We can bust this racket!” said Shankar with enthusiasm in his voice.
“No! This one is a really small fry. And obviously, she would be paying protection to the beat constable. Let us not loose track of the purpose of our being here. We have another forty minutes to wait!”
8. The Yellow T-ShirtActually, they had to wait for only twenty six minutes. It was still bright and sunny, and despite being close to five in the evening, the sun almost abraded them with it's harshness. Shankar’s back was to the sun, which was causing him to sweat, and the salty sweat was trickling in, burning and annoying him.
They saw the brown bag first. Neither of them had recognized the smartly dressed girl in a tight skin hugging jeans and a violet tube top, who had walked out of the street, swinging the Gucci leather bag. The rubber banded hair had been let loose and was spread around like a river in floods. Her pointed and geometric breasts were pushing out through her pullover. Her freshly madeup face, was looking totally different to that of the nylon davani girl who had entered the slums.
If it was not for the bulky and shiny hand bag, they might have even missed her, because she looked like a different person altogether. Ganesh whispered to Shankar.
“Your torn shirt and streaky back will attract attention from all and sundry. Get back to the suburban railway station, and try changing your shirt. I will follow her. In case she returns back to the station, you can join me in following her. In case we miss each other, call me on my mobile!”
Shankar nodded and started to turn around towards the station. “Communication! That is the next important aspect of Investigative Journalism. Now that both of us are mobile phone enabled, we will not loose track of each other. Get along now and keep in touch!”.
It took ten minutes for Shankar to cross the tracks and get back to the platform of Park Town station. He was feeling extremely self conscious, that his shirt was torn. He felt as if the whole world was looking at him and making fun of him.
“There goes Shiva Shankar! Apprentice Investigative Journalist! And look at his torn shirt! Ha! Ha!” His head bent low, and with a briskness to his gait, he walked out of the exit gate that led to the wide street, that connected the station to the busy Poonamallee High Road.
No! The street was no longer wide. It had been encroached on both sides with vendors. Women with baskets full of Jasmine flowers. Men with cigerrates, tobacco products and knicknacks. Vendors with plastic toys and artificial jewelry. Wooden trolleys with Parker pens (made in Ambala) Rayban sun glasses (Made in China) pen shaped FM radios (made in Taiwan) fancy plastic key chains (made in Korea), and other plastic puzzles and novelities (made in Ulhasnagar) crowded both sides of the road.
He saw a vendor with a large number of coloured shirts stacked on a wooden barrow. He choose a yellow crocodile T-Shirt (made in Thailand) and stood for a few moments looking at it. He then gazed to both sides to locate a public toilet, where he could change his shirt.
He saw a huge crowd of travellers busily commuting, in both directions. Men and women, boys and girls. Dogs and cats (yes cats! in search of scraps thrown from the road side eatry). But he did not see anything that remotely resembled a toilet. Of course, one of the walls in the corner had piss strains all over it, but it hardly provided him the privacy that he sought.
A flash of blue caught his eye. He glanced up from the yellow T-shirt that he was holding, and saw that the girl was coming out of the platform, swinging her Gucci bag. She was just at the station main gate and would take some more time to reach him. Very rapidly he undid his shirt buttons. In one quick motion he removed his shirt. He closed his eyes to avoid making eye contact with anyone while he changed.
The T-shirt fit him like a glove, producing tiny bulges at his biceps and pectorals. He quickly folded his torn shirt and stuffed it into the packet which had originally contained the new T-Shirt, and then the girl crossed him. He continued to stare behind her and then he saw Ganesh’s spectacled form coming out of the railway station. His mobile phone started ringing.
9. Hostile Auto DriverGanesh got closer to the tree and puffed with an apparent disinterest, the next cigerrate that he had lit. The girl crossed him from the opposite side of the street and he was extremely careful not to the look at her face directly. He kept about twenty paces behind her, and followed her over the tracks, back over the platform and outside the exit door of the station.
He saw a massive crowd surging ahead of him. He glanced around to see if he could spot his assistant, but it was too crowded and everyone seemed to be moving at the same time. He picked up his mobile and speed dialed Shiva Shankar.
“Young man! Where are you? Changed you shirt?”
“Yes sir! I am outside the railway station and I can see you at the main gate. Our suspect has just passed me on her way towards Poonamalle High Road”
“Hmm! I still can’t see you. However you start following her. If she hires an auto, take another, and follow her. I am behind you”.
“Yes! Yes! I can see you now. Don’t waste too much time talking to me. Go ahead and start following her”.
“Yes sir! I am on my way! And please keep in touch on the mobile” As he walked briskly pushing his way through the crowd, he could see the blue jeans in front of him. The jeans were indeed skin hugging, and he could see her buttocks bounce as two taut water melons.
“Your dress is so tight that you could be surely arrested for obscenity” he mumbled, as he walked behind her. He saw her reach the busy Poonamallee High Road, and take a left turn opposite to Central Railway Station. She found an empty auto parked a little ahead, adjacent to the footpath. He saw her speak something to the auto driver, and then get into the rear of the auto.
He squinted his eye to get his distant vision to focus. “I must leave this false modesty and start wearing my spectacles” He mumbled as he read the registration number of the auto, TN 01 K 9099. At least his memory was a lot better than his eyesight. As he watched, the auto rattled off into the Poonamallee High Road.
He quickened his steps, and saw another auto parked besides the footpath. Shankar got into the rear of the auto and barked a gruff command. “Quick! Follow that auto in the front!”.
His auto driver was dressed in a chequred lungi with a brown half shirt. The front buttons of his shirt were all open and displayed his dirty yellow vest, with tobacco stains on it. His face was swollen and edematous, reminding him of the pig like faces that he saw in a cartoon strip. His eyes were bloodshot, and a faint fruity odour bellowing out of his breath, clearly indicated that he was well fortified on his afternoon quota of ethyl alcohol, possibly in the form of a cheap local brew, sold in multiples of a hundred mililiters.
He gazed at Shankar with incomprehension and then slurred back.
“What do you mean follow the auto? You seem to be seeing too many English movies. Tell me your destination and it will cost you twenty rupees extra over the meter. And please don’t waste your time and mine!”.
Shankar was worried as he saw the auto in the front speed up and blend with the busy traffic. He told himself that it was easy for his boss to order him to follow young girls in skin hugging jeans, but he was never told about the uncooperative and hostile attitude of the auto drivers.
He stared dumbfounded, looking alternatively at the bloody eyed auto driver and then at the quickly receeding autorickshaw. Shaking his head is disgust, he got down from the auto.
He was about to pull out his mobile phone to call his boss for further advice, when he saw an auto speed bye. His mouth opened with amazement as he saw Ganesh in the auto chasing the other auto.
10. Auto ChaseAs Ganesh completed his call, he could see the yellow T-Shirt of his assistant ahead of him. He could also see the girl in blue, taking a left turn at the main road. He increased his strides and half walking and half running, got to the main road and took a left turn in persuit. He saw the girl get into an auto which started off almost immediately. He saw Shiva Shankar get into another auto.
Ganesh observed an empty auto traveling in the same direction. He waved his hand and it turned towards him and came to a gradual halt. He got in and in one quick movement removed a crisp hundred rupee note. Handing into the auto driver, he said in a soft voice.
“I wonder if you can help me. It is my niece in the auto in front. I think that she has fallen into bad company. I need to follow her and find out where she is going. I shall be extremely glad if you could help me by chasing her!”
The auto driver was young man who nodded his head and pulled the lever which started his vehicle. He could see the girl’s auto 9099, at a distance, and his auto followed in a hot persuit.
He saw his assistant in some sort of an argument with another auto driver. He quickly dialed Shankar’s number.
“Sir! It is Shankar!”
“You idiot! I know that it is you! I have called your number isn’t it? What are you doing there wasting your time? I had asked you to follow the girl. Fortunately I have her in sight. If I had depended on you, I would have surely lost her!”
“Extremely sorry sir! The auto driver was totally uncooperative. What should I do now?”
“Well, we can not depend on public transport to chase this babe. You better get your motorcycle!”
“But sir, my bike is at my uncle’s place in T.Nagar”
“So what? Take an auto to T.Nagar. Once you collect your bike, give me a call and I shall tell you where to reach!”
“Understood sir! Thank you sir! I shall call you the moment things are ready sir!”
Replacing the phone into this pocket, Ganesh observed the auto in the front, as it took a left turn at the Ega bridge. His auto driver was quite smart, and weaved his vehicle between the taut and busy evening traffic with ease. He inched close to the auto in the lead, and was almost touching its bumper, while it took a turn into the busy Nungambakkam High Road. “I hope this does not turn out into a wild goose chase”, Murmered Ganesh as he saw the auto in the lead stop.