The Trip Above

What happens when you die? Is there really a fork in the road where they have a huge corporation office with hundreds of employees who check your past history at each level and evaluate whether you go to heaven or hell? Does Hell really have molten lava flowing below and Heaven have roads paved with sweet nectar? Honestly, it’s quite difficult to ride a cycle if the road is overflowing with gooey liquids.

I have never understood death. There is no understanding to it. But it leaves a void - a gaping hole in your family, or in your friends circle, but if not all this, certainly in your heart. A person’s death is not what haunts you. It’s their memories that do. Those little things and thoughts they left behind in your tiny tender heart that make you feel the pain and longing. There have been no deaths in my family in the past 23 years of my existence. But this year has been quite difficult on me.

Love does not have definitions. Maybe it has borders, but my grandmother certainly didn't know of one. She loved us all, equally. My mother should not read this post, but even if she does I doubt she’ll feel bad knowing that I said that my grandmother was the best cook in the house. My grandmother could make dishes that could send one of those lame apron-clad chefs on cookery shows scurrying for cover. But I can’t have any of those dishes anymore.

When I was around twelve, just like the other boys, I wanted all the chocolates and tennis balls that were available on the stands. But with my pocket money, I could have barely afforded a Melody chocolate a week without running into bankruptcy. So I used to slyly pocket some change off my grandmother’s purse once in a week. I thought I was too smart for her because she was seventy five already then and I thought she wouldn't have a clue. One day she came up to me, gave me a fifty rupee note and said that I might as well have just told her that I wanted chocolates, and added that I should maybe take care of my teeth. I didn't lay a finger on her purse ever since. And ever after, she regularly gave me money by herself. But I can’t get any of that anymore.

For the most part of my teenage life all the way until I turned 20, my grandmother and I shared a room. She used to sleep on one bed. I had another bed to myself but I always stayed up late because that was the time when insomnia was like low-waist jeans. I used to watch random sitcoms and movies with blaring noises throughout the night, but she never once complained. Sometimes she used to ask me to explain the story line of some sitcom and patiently listen to me describe the entire story. I never once bothered asking if I was disturbing her sleep. But I can’t ask her that anymore.

My brother-in-law got her a transistor radio from the United States. He was just going to get married to my sister and he had got pre-marriage gifts for the entire family and she got a transistor. She cherished the transistor and kept asking me to teach her how it worked. My cousin tried it once and because of some wrong voltage it stopped working. Every day after that she used to keep asking me to go repair the transistor so she can listen to music and I used to keep saying I will, but I never got around to it.

Then suddenly one day she got really sick and barely a week before my sister’s marriage she passed away. It just happened in a flash and it was so quick I couldn't even fathom the changes. So these days when my mom and dad are away, I absentmindedly ring the bell. Then I realize there’s nobody inside and hunt for my own keys. Sometimes when I’m sleeping and the power goes off, I immediately look into my neighboring bed to see if she’s sleeping fine. But there’s nobody there. Worse than all this, I look at the un-repaired transistor radio that stands on top of my cupboard and tears come streaming down my cheeks. I don’t think I understood love, paati. But you did. And you taught me quite fine. 

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Dei Mama!

In the normal terms, your mother needs to have a brother. In some countries like the US, your mother herself responds to that call, though 'Dei' does not seem entirely the right prefix to that word. But in Chennai, there is one person with no blood relation or the slightest hint of a resemblance whatsoever who can take that proud status. He stands regularly at signals and check posts, mostly with a tea in one hand (which was sponsored by a poor tea-kadai owner) and a light saber in the other.

This is a different light saber though. It gives two colors - Red and Green. And the chances of the light saber working are inversely proportional to the weight of our man's wallet. Oh, wait. There is also a job called Mama, but Naukri dot com does not support that job profile, so we'll skip that.

To me, there are two types of people who will do anything for money. The bankers in the US. They are on Wall Street. The next are our city's traffic constables. And they are on EVERY STREET! They use a bare minimum of statements to extract every last penny you have on you. With bellies big enough to hold triplets, it's amazing how quickly they are able to run right out of nowhere to the centre of the road and stop your bike.

They all have a pattern. Every traffic cop greets you with the same statement, in the exact same intonation. Sometimes I wonder if they get training on dialogue delivery.

'Eyy Nirthu Nirthu. Vandiya orangattu.' (Hey, stop stop. Pull up on the side.)

You have to pull up. If you don't, they'll pull out your keys. And if they do that, feel free to add an extra hundred bucks to the amount you will normally expect to hear.

'Licensu, Aar see, insoorance edu.' (Please show your licence, RC and Insurance papers)

By the end of that statement, they have already made a mental note of your attire, the cost of your bike/car, how fancy your mobile phone is and printed out a thorough alphabetically categorized report of your social status inside their head. Then when they realize your papers are intact, they move onto their next standard question. (If your papers are also not intact, then the conversation takes a completely different course, but that can wait.)

'Paatha padchavan maari keere. Neeye ipdi panlaama?' (You look well educated. Should you be doing this?)

Then he will look at the offence you have made and calculate the amount you need to pay, using his equation.

X = Government's actual fine + ( 100 * The number of the current week in the month) + (A random 100 bucks service tax)

For ex, if you have jumped a signal on the 21st of the month - the actual fine is 100. Another 300 for it being the third week of the month, followed by the random 100, bringing it to a grand total of 500.

'Sigunal jumbing, not stobing at stob line, vandi le oru rearview mirror seriya ille. 500 reebees.' (Jumping the signal, not stopping at the stop line and one rearview mirror is not correctly placed. 500 bucks.)

Then you beg. You give your entire family history ranging from your struggling father, ailing mother and your waiting-to-be-married sister and your very poor current financial status. Honestly, you could've given a lecture on why Stone Cold Steve Austin is the coolest wrestler in the World and he wouldn't know the difference. They don't listen to a word you say. Eventually it all comes down to the same question.

'Seri, evlo vechirke?' (Fine. How much do you have?)

And then you pull out your wallet and search. By then he's already peeped. So you lie saying you have only hundred. Smart mama says 'At least 300.' (Because he has already seen that you have Exactly 300.). And you eventually pay 300.

And thus, Mama successfully does what he does best -  Wipe out your wallet. Then, Just before you leave, he will say 'Next time intha maathiri offence ellam panna koodathu.' (Don't repeat such offences next time.) Which in turn, means we should do the remaining offences next time. But hey, all is well. Mama prevails. 

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