Rene 6/x

Rene wondered if his instincts were failing him. Ever since he met Jo, he had found himself staring at men more than he would at women, especially the younger ones.

He had told Jo that he suspected she was the reason.

‘No, darling. You have always had it in you,’ she said. ‘You just didn’t realize. Or you didn’t act on it.’

‘I can’t be the first man you have slept with. Even if I like to be called a “she,” I am like a man in bed. And that’s what you like,’ she stopped with a sigh.

‘You, Rene’, she continued, ‘like screwing men.’

That had turned him on and he had resumed his thrusts. On his way back home, to his wife and kids, he had thought of what Jo had said.

After his youthful days, when sex was just having fun regardless of who he was having it with, Rene had settled into being a ‘straight’ man. His wedding had seemingly cemented his status, and he only remembered having lusted after women like his wife. Maybe a somewhat younger, but still women.

And then one evening, on his way home, he’d run into Jo. She was trying her luck behind a series of parked long-distance trucks, looking for a driver to make out with.

She had teased him, ‘You, over there, yes you. Do you want some fun? I can make you squeal. Right behind his yellow truck.’

He had walked past trying to ignore him, and she had followed.

‘What, you look like a man who knows his way around women. Come show me.’

He turned around and smiled. He prided himself on being kind to everyone. And that’s when he saw Jo’s eyes and stopped. Something in them reminded me of his wife and the passion that was lost.

Rene followed Jo behind the truck and she had given him the best blowjob ever–that too, right beside screaming traffic, shielded by sacks of produce being shipped into the city.

The risk of being caught plus the pleasure of Jo’s masterful work was too tempting. He had made his special dish for the kids the next morning, and his wife had asked him if he had gotten a raise at work.

He responded, ‘No, just had a productive meeting with a client,’ wondering if she’d catch the innuendo at all, smiling at his wit.

‘Great,’ she had said. Then she simply walked across their crowded living and dining area and out the door, for another day of work.

In the evening, as he was making dinner, his children told him that they loved their lunches. His wife had not come back from work.

After dinner, he had told his children that he needed to meet a friend, and had left to meet Jo.

Two hours later, when he came back home, he found his wife snoring gently. He had crept into bed and gently spooned her. She briefly awakened and gave him a quizzical look, before going back to sleep.

Not good

I feel more like a failure than I have felt in a long time. I have been working on something for a few days. Today, I had to explain something that I had come up with to two people. It was shaky the first time, but it crumbled at the second attempt.

Since the second attempt, I have been trying to fix my idea. But I can’t seem to. Was it such a poor idea to begin with? Or did I just have a very bad day?

The impostor syndrome hits me like a wall of bricks. What value do I bring? How long do people take to start laughing after having talked to me? Seconds?

Right now, I feel tired and sleepy. I want the day to end. But I can’t go to bed, because I won’t be falling asleep anytime soon. I want to lose myself in something. Nothing dangerous. Just something that will take my mind away.

It is on such days that the painful memories of rejection and ridicule rise and start dancing in front of me. For example, three days ago, I was told something that I have heard a lot.

‘Stop doing [placeholder thing] . You’re not good at it.’

Sometime earlier in the day, I did something that jogged my memory. I tried to analyze it. Whichever way I looked at it, I didn’t feel like I deserved such harshness. But now it is the only tune that’s playing in my head.

Happy Thiruvonam

It was late in the evening at the office. I was in the dining area of the kitchen, washing a box that had guava in it. I was frustrated with what I had not accomplished that day. The day had been productive, but I had not been able to finish what I had wanted to.

(In Hindi)”Krissyn, right?”

I wasn’t sure I was being spoken to. I look up and I see a young man someone smiling at me.

(Me, in stuttering Hindi) “Actually, Kris. But call me Kay.”

“(In Hindi) I’m Sam from IT.”

I continue to be confused, showing a hint of irritation. These days I’m not quite sure how people recognize me at the office. Did they see me in one of those org-wide meetings that I occasionally take? Had they seen me talking to their teammates? Or did they watch a podcast that I was a part of?

I snap out of my trance.

(In English)”Hi, nice to meet you.”

We shake hands, still not smiling.

(In Hindi) “Actually, those updates that you post. About things about the industry and technology. Those are really great. Very useful. Where… how do you find them?”

I remembered the post from the morning. It was on an org-wide channel about something related to prompt writing on generative AI chatbots. I had stolen precious time from my schedule for drafting it, thinking that I should do something that would be useful to someone. It was Thiruvonam after all.

I break a wide smile.

(In broken Hindi) “Oh, those I pick up when I am doing research on things at work. I’m so happy you find them useful.”

We both smile and we walk away.

My smile only gets wider on my way back to my desk. It stayed on my face all the way until I got stuck in traffic on my way home.

Happy Thiruvonam!

Rene 5/x

It was ten past eight and Rene realized he was getting late. He wasn’t even sure if what made him follow the young man out of the station had been something worth nurturing.

He followed the man down a couple of flights of staircases. He was a few meters behind in the crowd and could only make out the man by his backpack and the back of his head. Two-week-old haircut, he thought.

The man was looking down into his phone, he concluded. He wondered how people got around obstacles while starting at their phones. Was he talking to someone?

The place they exited was the wrong exit for Rene if he wanted to get home fast. He saw the man cross the street and join the line of people to get into the buses. Yes, he was talking on his phone.

Maybe his girlfriend. Or maybe a boyfriend. He probably has someone already.

He felt a wave of relief. Like someone gently nudging him back to what he needed to do.

The phone buzzed and it was his daughter. He rejected the call and walked back to his home.

Rene walked past the sea of people and sprawl of shops near the station. The noises of the city were drowning him; too overpowering and needing submission.

Triplets

A day and night out in the country.
Yet nothing seems to have changed.
A cry of need is left unanswered.

An umbrella lost, two bought.
Forgiveness is sought and given.
All the rain in the world pours in sputters.

Three books started and one ended.
The joy of new replaces what has left.
A scheme is being plotted, success unwarranted.

A dog, two cats, and three buffaloes.
A man, his wife, and their youngest daughter.
Protected by a flock of dinosaurs.

The sea is blue and green and grey.
The crowd is brusque but keen and gay.
A poor sketch chokes the gasp of self-esteem.

Snippets

Beautiful the sun is if there is something to shield us from its harshness, when there is a frame to transect it, only to let some of it through. A very little some of it through. For we are far, far away, farther than we can imagine realistically
——
The innocence of time may fool you. Take a moment. Do you hear the ticking? If not, do you sense the rhythms of the world around you blending in and out, coalescing and syncopating. That is it slipping past you, or it is you that is slipping past it. The latter more if you are a Tralfamadorian.
——
Surrounding you is motion even in absolute stillness. Brownish motion must exist to let you live, and you cannot see, even in the quietest of dungeons you can find. Even in the cold vacuum that lies between you and the sun, despite it you might realize, there is motion. There won’t be any if you freeze time, or if you stop moving relative to it.
——
Now imagine if color perception is an evolutionary aberration. I should have done my homework, I realize. But let’s imagine it is. Why would it? Why couldn’t we have simply sensed the different forms of the same energy using another attribute? Color has emotion and emotion makes us extant. But can’t we live in a grayscale world like how characters did in old movies?
—-
Would we be happier in a world without color?

Readings of a Reader

In his book Comedy, Comedy, Comedy, Drama, Bob Odenkirk says this about artists and creators in ever so many ways.

‘Keep at it, boys.’

You never know when success arrives at your doorstep. In fact, you may even not know that is sitting in your couch making out with you.


John Steinbeck, on the other hand, through his writing On The Road, has taken me hurtling onward with Sal Paradise and Dean Moriarty, who are now in Mexico, to the end of the book.

Dean continues to alienate me. I want to rescue Sal and take him to a better place in life. I am beat. Was that the purpose?

Yet, I marvel at the ways in which Dean and Sal are traveling across the North American continent and having these experiences. Is this a travelogue feigning as a literary piece of art?

I remember, not so long ago, having dreamed about a road trip (maybe more than one) with my friends from the State and Canada. I don’t have them anymore. They still exist, but I don’t qualify to be a friend of theirs.


I’m convinced that Mr. Biswas’s story, in The House for Mr. Biswas by the masterful V. S. Naipaul, is how life is for most people in the developing world. At least, in part, it was for me. And I’m a privileged, upper-caste Hindu who could make his living as a surgeon.

I read that the Nobel Academy nominated him because he brought out this side of the world, which other writers hadn’t. And because the story is not set in India, it doesn’t seem to irk the run-of-the-mill patriot.

Anand Mahindra is definitely not one by any standard, but even he can’t stand someone pointing out that the vast majority of the population in rural India is struggling to make a life out of their living.


I have Klara And The Sun by Kazuo Ishiguro and All The Pretty Horses by Cormac McCarthy to start. That might be this weekend.

Maybe a Malayalam book (not sure which) and And Another Thing… by Eoin Colfer too (it’s the sixth book in the famous Hitchhiker’s Guide To the Galaxy trilogy; yes, you read it right).

I also have to figure out a way to finish Ulysses‘ first reading with that of the Patrick Hastings guide. Those have been on the back burner for a while.

Rene 4/x

Rene realized that he was still staring at the young man sitting across from him when he heard Jo repeat herself, ‘Come over tonight, no?’

‘I can’t. No one’s at home and the kids are alone.’

‘Oh. Where’s wifey?’

‘Off to meet her friends.’

‘Like me? I mean, for you, like me.’

‘No. School friends.’

‘How do you know she’s not playing around?’

‘I don’t. At least I don’t think she would want to.’

‘But you are. You are in love with me.’

‘No, I’m not in love with you. I have told you that love is something way deeper. Something that takes time.’

Rene had considered this the last time Jo had blurted it out. He felt something more in them, but he was sure it wasn’t love. He had been in love twice before marrying, and never since. This didn’t feel like the first two times. Besides, committing so early was foolish, considering he had a family and a job that required him to not be sleeping around with transgenders.

‘So are you saying that you don’t love me.’

‘This is not the right time to get into this.’

‘But I miss you. I want you. In me.’

‘I want that too, but not tonight,’ and after a short pause, added ‘Sweetie.’

He heard a soft, voiced kiss at the other end.

‘Listen, I need to hang up. The train’s reaching my station.’

It wasn’t. Two more stations to go, but he had noticed the young man walk up to the door, preparing to alight. The train was almost empty, but it might get crowded at his station, he thought.

‘Okay, come over tomorrow? Morning? Before work?’

‘No, no, no. I have to be there early, sweetie. I have a tough day tomorrow. I have to… pick up something from the office before I start my shift.’

Rene didn’t know why he was lying. Well, at least there was some truth in there. His client’s address is what he needed to pick up. The train had just stopped at the station before his.

‘Okay, the evening then? Please?’

‘Okay. Around 7?’

‘No, I want it longer.’

He was getting excited. The man was looking into his phone lazily. The train’s movements made him lurch and as he adjusted himself, Rene could make out the curves of his flanks.

‘You know I’m turning 59 next month,’ he said to Jo.

‘So what? I have had older. 80 something. We did it like bunnies.’

‘Okay, tomorrow evening. Got to go. Bye, sweetie.’

‘Bye. Miss you.’

Rene walked toward the man. Or was it the boy? He stood behind him to the left, and asked, ‘What station’s coming up?’

The man took a moment to look up from his phone. ‘It’s on the display. Up there.’

Rene glanced at the display and nodded. ‘You new here? In the city?’

‘I’m sorry?’

‘Are you visiting? Or do you live here?’

‘Where?’

‘In the city, I mean.’

‘Oh, I have been here a few months.’ He smiled a little and added, ‘and you?’

‘Hmm… I’m not new, but I get confused with the new things. New to the Metro.’

‘Oh, it’s just great. AC and all. Less crowded. But that’s about to change.’

It took a moment for Rene to get it. The train was pulling into his station.

The man continued, ‘If you are getting out, stay behind me. It gets real crowded here.’

Rene smiled. The doors were opening and Rene moved in behind the man and they both stepped out. There was a brief moment of contact, between Rene’s belly and the curve of the man’s back.

The man looked back at him, showed him a hint of a smile, and walked away. His teeth needed some dental work and had tobacco stains.

Rene waited a moment before following him.

Rene 3/x

He took a deep breath, gaining the strength to speak, and answered the call. He wished he was cuddling his kids instead of answering client calls after work, which never seemed to end.

‘Hello, this is Mrs. Rodrigues speaking.’

‘Yes, ma’am. I was about to call you.’

This was the sort of lying that he felt comfortable doing.

‘I have another email. Asking me to pay. I have explained to you clearly what happened and what I expect from you and your company. I want you to stop harassing me.’

‘Ma’am, I am just returning from the office. We’ve taken a look at the bank records. We haven’t received it. And this is not the first time this is happening. Your payment is due and we need to you do it as soon as possible.’

He was expecting Mrs. Rodrigues to cut him off halfway through his explanation, but she was unlike others. She was patient. She was polite.

He wondered where she was. Is she looking out through the window at her lawn, or is she sitting at a cramped table staring at the grime on her old flat?

Since he was assigned the follow-up in this case, he had the opportunity to research her personal details. He withheld, as he should, until the third week. The first few conversations were very different from what he was used to having. So he looked. Both on the company records as well as on social media. The only photograph he found was an old-looking, scanned passport-sized photograph. She did not exist on social media. At least as far as his search led.

‘I don’t know what else to do. I have no way of paying you again. I would expect you to help me sort this out.’

‘Of course, yes. But we have done what we could, and everything points to your bank not showing records of your transaction.’

‘Then why is my account short of that money?’

‘Ma’am, I can’t… well, all I can tell you is that there is nothing that we can do.’

This time, he listened to the silence. No heavy breathing, not a sigh. Nothing in the background. Must not be in the city. Or maybe noise-cancellation? His curiosity was consuming his professionalism fast. He decided to note down her address the next time he was in the office.

‘Mr. Fredericks, that’s your name, right?’

He did not remember telling her his name. His name was not mentioned in the emails or communications that were sent to her. Was she snooping on him?

‘Yes… yes, that’s me. But you can call me…’

‘I would rather not make things personal here. You are married, Mr. Fredericks? You sound like you are.’

‘Yes, I’m married, but why would that matter?’

‘It does. Marriage hardens you and it makes you realize what it takes to build something. All the sacrifice that it…’

‘I’m sorry, Ma’am,’ he cut her off, instantly regretting it. He was not sure if he should apologize for that.

‘As I was saying, you are the sort of man would I think would understand how difficult it is when you don’t have control on ensuring that your family is safe.’

This time he said nothing. He wasn’t sure if the stress was intentional.

‘Are you on the line still, Mr. Fredericks?’

‘Yes, I am,’ he added quickly as shifted his weight.

‘So I presume you heard what I said. I need you to help me.’

He looked at the LED display showing that his train was a minute away. Not a good time to get into a difficult conversation.’

‘Let me see what I can do, Ma’am. But I can only do what I can do.’

‘Of course, and that’s what I expect,’ she said as he watched the train come in. It was empty with vacant seats. He couldn’t understand how two rail systems, separated by a kilometer or so, could be so different.

‘All right. I need to go now, Ma’am.’

‘Good evening, Mr. Fredericks,’ and she hung up. Not too fast, but measured, as if she knew that he would realize the shift in the power balance between them. She was masterfully wrestling it away from him.

As he settled into a seat, he noticed the young, dark man sitting across. His eyes reminded him of Jo’s. He tried imagining Jo without make-up. In regular man-clothes. He couldn’t as she crystallized in her usual outfit. Tank top, pink lipstick, eyeliner, fishnet stockings, the swagger. He missed her. She made him feel alive, just like how his wife didn’t. He loved his wife and kids, but he needed something only Jo could give.

The train had already passed several stations, and yet it was more or less empty. Soon he would be arriving at the station where he needed to switch.

The phone buzzed again. It was Jo.

Rene 2/x

‘Papa?’
‘Yes, little devil’
‘I’m hungry.’
‘I know, I know. You are always.’
‘Are you coming home?’
‘Yes, yes. On the train. On the Metro actually.’
‘What’s a Metro, Papa?
‘It’s like the train, kiddo, but with AC. Remember those bridges I showed you? Near the place where we catch buses to go to your Mama’s home beyond the hills? Those were for the Metro.’
‘Are you near?’
‘Yes.’
Rene looked at his watch. It was past eight, and he didn’t know how long it would take. But he still went with his hunch.
‘I’ll be another 15 min or so.’
‘Okay.’
His phone buzzed and he saw his client’s contact flashing.
‘I’m getting another call, sweetie. Let me hang up.’
‘Okay Papa. Come soon.’
‘Sure sweetie.’ He felt discomfited by the word. This was what his lover wanted him to call him. He realized that he needed to separate his family from his affairs more carefully.
He said, ‘Love you,’ and answered her client’s call on the fifth buzz.