HELP

  

  

 

“Helping others is the way we help ourselves”

Oprah Winfrey

  

 

HELP

 

Velayudham entered the small kitchen-cum-dining room and saw what he had always seen. The tables with 4 seats were all taken up. He went to an unoccupied table and sat down for his lunch. No one invited him to join. No one made an attempt to pull the table and chair to expand the table to house 6 instead of 4. No one took a peek into what was in his lunch box, nor did they offer what they had brought in their lunch boxes. The ostracization was never blatant. There were the usual “hi”s and the acknowledgments through a nod or a simple eye contact. Velayudham was used to this cold treatment by now. Familiarity by itself does not reduce the hurt. His place of employment can be loosely labeled as “IT industry”. It is a small firm. Highly successful, driven by the relentless energy and the entrepreneurial spirit of its founder, Sarangapani, the CEO. It has eleven employees, including the CEO; Ten men, and one woman. All of them brahmins. Velayudham is the only employee who belongs to the Scheduled Tribe, a member of the Irular community, hailing from a village whose name would not even register  with most people.

It was the same in his school. He sat alone or among his tribe. It was unwritten but understood by all. Solitude became his constant companion, and he had grown accustomed to it. Most rules he followed in his village were never written down but were clear. There was a temple that he was never allowed to visit. Not that he ever wanted to. Poverty and social injustice make you an atheist faster than books and discussions. On the rare occasions a friend invited him home, he spent the time on the “Dhinnai” ( a space outside every home, under a slanting extended roof, but outside the main door); either playing with him or studying together. The grandmother never thought it insensitive to splash the dhinnai with a bucketful of water even before he left the premises. Early on in his life, Velayudham learned the lesson that knowledge gained through acquaintance was Teflon coated to stay immune to caste pollution.

Sarangapani never came to the common dining area and did not know about the discrimination that was blatantly being followed in his firm. Velayudham is now used to eating alone. Either the rest distributed themselves with no space for him to join, or someone came in, had a look, and suddenly remembered that they had something else to finish and went back when they saw that they would need to go to another table and sit alone or share the table with Velayudham. Left alone at your dining table is the smallest of the insults that Velayudham was exposed to all his life. Discrimination followed him like a faithful shadow throughout his conscious life. When he was young, he foolishly believed that money would solve all his problems. He did not know that the amount of money needed to make it happen would be at Bill Gates and Jeff Bozos level. True, money came and made his life easy. But the recognition and acceptance that he expected to follow from society never happened. He was always the “paraiyan” (a derogatory Tamil word that encompassed all untouchables into a single term) who made it.

“We are the new SC and ST,” said his friends who belonged to the upper caste when he entered the engineering college. Centuries of oppression, and years of privileges in the past were all irrelevant to these boys who believed in a distorted version of history that suited them. “You and your clan can get into the engineering stream with only 65% while “our people” are left out even after scoring 85%” was one grandiose statement used regularly. A few attempts to explain the background, the logic of empowerment, years of oppression, equality, the need for upliftment, and the requirement for seamless integration were all meaningless. “You can lecture all this and more. After all, you have access to gain these insights, thanks to the education that you gain now, at the expense of a more deserving Brahmin boy who sacrificed his future for you.” Some rabid ones made it even more gruesome with a flair for imagery. “At some point in your life, you will look back on the road you traveled. The bloodstains you will notice are from the Brahmin boys who bled so that you could walk”. The victim game was played out endlessly in various disguises. One thing was certain. There was not a single day when he was not reminded that he was enjoying a privilege that was not rightfully his: but plucked from a more deserving candidate. “You hit the birth lottery” was one unkindest cut of them all. He was so stunned that he did not even know how to react to everything so wrong in such a short statement. Solitude that was a shadow became a lover in these years.

It was his birthday. His wife Shanthi made some sweets (Mysorepak) at home and made individual packs for his colleagues. He never got to meet his boss regularly. There was not much need for it and also Sarangapani was a frequent traveler. That day, however, he was in office. Velayudham distributed the packs that his wife had sent with him for his colleagues, who all wished him heartily with a casual handshake or a friendly pat on his back, never a hug. Then he ventured into Sarangapani’s office. Sarangapani stood up, came around the table clasped his hands firmly, and asked him to sit down. He went back to his seat only after Velayudham was seated. Velayudham extended the small pack to him and sheepishly said “This is homemade. My wife made it last night. Today is my birthday”

Sarangapani’s face broke into a wide grin. He stood up so briskly, that he almost toppled his chair back. He rushed around the table, grasped his hand, pulled him up, and gave him a hug. Velayudham had no recollection of when someone outside his family hugged him. Still standing and talking he picked up the box from the table

“May I?” he asked.

“Of course, SP (that is how everyone addressed him in the office). It is for you “ stammered Velayudham.

“Wow! Mysorepak! My favorite. There is one thing I can never resist and that is sweets” saying this SP took a piece and tasted it. His face broke into a wider grin

“This is bliss. The last time I had a Mysorepak like this was when my grandmother made one when I was in school. Alas, my mother never got the exact skill needed to make like her. I have been consigned to readymade ones from the shops that are more useful as bricks in a building. Tell your wife that I am jealous. And also let me call HR and I will instruct them to include “Deliver one box of Mysorepak to SP each month” into your job description”

If SP was ecstatic with the sweet Velayudham was delirious with joy. He came back to his seat with a stupid grin and the grin never left his face throughout the rest of the day.

Not even when he spotted the watchman eating from one of the boxes when he left the office. So, what if he had forgotten the watchman. One of his colleagues (probably more than one) has corrected that oversight by dropping theirs with him.

It was one of the first shocks after he moved into a city. He expected a metropolis to be more inclusive and mature. The city did not take long to smash his misgivings. The neighbors who opened the doors wide for them when they went to introduce themselves failed to control their body language when the name was mentioned. The face revealed what their minds were thinking. The quick mind equated a name to a caste and to a strata of society and immediately arranged the social pyramid in which they sat above their new neighbors. After all, almost anyone will sit above an Irular community. Invitations for dinners were politely refused and in the regular gatherings in the society, the position of Velayudham and Shanthi was made clear without spelling it outright. The security guard who stood up and saluted every passing vehicle soon learned that the car that brought in Velayudham could be easily ignored. Should he go and challenge him? What would that achieve? Society has developed enough mechanisms to manage such situations. How do you fight a ghost? No one will confront you. No one will tell it openly. They will outright deny any of your allegations. Converting the victim to an unreasonable imaginative aggressor and the instigator to a victim of reverse casteism. If, how do you fight is a complexity too complex to unravel, then how long can you fight is already a lost battle even before it starts. It did not take them long to realize that solitude could also be experienced by a pair. The strange mathematics demonstrated that the solitude expressed by two individuals did not add up but multiplied in intensity. Isn’t this how this malady keeps growing. It is never in the open; always subtle and always vague, left to multiple interpretations. After all the upper caste has been practicing this art form for centuries.

“If you are free this Sunday, could you join us for lunch at my place?” asked Sarangapani when Velayudham and he were going down in the elevator at the end of the week, on a Friday.

“By you, I mean you and your wife”, he added. The mirrors on the three walls of the elevator reflected the surprise on Velayudham’s face.

“Certainly SP, any occasions? “

“None whatsoever. It just occurred to me that our families never met each other. Do I take that as yes for an answer” inquired Sarangapani with an impish smile.

“Any allergies? Any restrictions?”

“None SP”

“See you then on Sunday”

Velayudham and Shanthi were not used to being invited for lunch to a place that was not one of their relatives or one of their people. They had no idea what to bring along. They finally settled on a simple flower vase and a bouquet of lilies and orchids.

“Where is my Mysorepak?” screamed Malathi as she gave a bear hug to Shanthi. The flowers were immediately arranged in the vase and left on the table. Shanthi kept apologizing for not bringing the sweets. She had no idea that Velayudham had given it to Sarangapani or that the latter liked it or even took it home.

The couple made Velayudham and Shanthi feel at home without doing anything outwardly superficial or unnatural. Their living room was simple and beautiful. The main color theme was white and gray with dashes of bright red dotting unobtrusively. There was a huge floor-to-ceiling bookshelf that covered an entire wall. There was one section entirely devoted to Hannah Arendt and another to Walter Isaacson. There was a huge collection of Tamil writers – Jayakanthan, Sujatha, Perumal Murugan……

“I am a member of the Music Academy and SP never accompanies me to those concerts. He finds them boring. It would be lovely if you can accompany me. That is assuming you like Carnatic music”, said Malathi to Shanthi.

“I would love to. I have the same issue at home. My husband listens only to Jazz and it gives me a great headache”, smiled Shanthi.

Sarangapani’s eyes lit up. “Did you say, Jazz?!!, how lovely”

He stood up and selected a record of Herbie Mann and placed it on his Rega turntable.

Before switching it on, he sought the permission of Shanthi, who blushed with embarrassment and nodded.

“Let us go see our garden,” said Malathi as both the women escaped Memphis Underground while the men were already in a trance.

“There are still decent people left in this world,” said Shanthi to Velayudham that night before they went to sleep. Some people are so disillusioned that a mere act of normalcy amounts to a great act of benevolence.

A reciprocal invitation was accepted. Shanthi had a new friend and enjoyed those musical evenings. Professionally, nothing differed. Sarangapani never mixed personal relations with work. Velayudham was smart to keep it the same.

Books were exchanged. A few vinyls were gifted.

“I am often reminded of the similarities between our lives and a mythological one. Karna was the same. Shunned by society, never acknowledged; did not even possess the “entrance ticket” to arenas where he could show that he was no less than others. A Duryodhan came along and gave him the priceless gift of friendship. Treated him as his equal. For that Karna was loyal to him all his life, even dismissing a chance to join the Pandavas. He could have become the king of Hastinapur as the eldest Pandav child if he had shifted his loyalty. I wish I could do something like that to you. But what can I offer you other than my friendship” said Velayudham to Sarangapani one evening when the wives were away at the Music Academy.

Miles Davis was playing in the background.

“Well, you can” said the epitome of decency and a pillar of equality

“Shanthi”.