The blood dripped slowly down and pooled into the keyboard. The letters surrounded by moats of congealing maroon liquid. It looked like a piece of contemporary art. One of those obscure prints, the ones collectors abroad rave over after a few decades. The constable recited the deceased details.
"Raman, age 27, unmarried, software engineer, own house and car."
It read like a matrimonial advertisement, answered by Death. Did death read the Sunday supplement? Sheila used to find them funny. Breakfast in bed with the Hindu Classifieds, him reading out the descriptions while Sheila giggled and snorted into her black coffee.
There was a cough and Senthil looked around to see the constables looking at each other. He must have smiled like a fool at the thought of Sheila. Very inappropriate when there was a corpse oozing liquids in front of him. He poked around the table, it was a standard computer table made out of plywood with a shelf for books or CD’s on top and a drawer at the bottom. Blood was everywhere. There was a new fangled, large and bloody pencil-sharpening knife on the floor between the chair legs and the head was hanging near the armpits.
There was a book next to the corpse's clenched hand. It looked like a journal.
“Wasn't it only girls who kept these, pottai payyan!” he thought with irritation, an addition to his theory about the emasculation of most men nowadays. It may have the clues leading to the killer, but obviously life wasn't that easy or fair.
He didn't have gloves and his wife would kill him, literally, if he soiled his handkerchief. He picked up the book; the blood had congealed a little so the pages were stuck. He opened it in the middle and it was filled with writing. His head ached badly as it often did these days without reason. The thoughts came streaming in, chaotic and shutting out every other sense, his fingertips and lips tingled. He touched his lips and tasted something salty and metallic. The tingling stopped, though the headache pounded on mercilessly. The constables looked at him in horror. He took out his pristine white handkerchief, wiped his mouth and concentrated on the angular writing covering the pages.
"She will accept me only if I suffer and pass over. The pain will cleanse my body before my soul is ready for her. She talks to me more and more, pining for the day when I will join her. Pleasure is pain is pleasure is pain is pleasure..."
Wonder if death has any daughters. Maybe he too has fallen under the "software engineer groom" craze. Was it arranged or did the daughter fall in love with the forbidden living flesh. Did Mr. Death disagree and then give in? Did Raman have any clue or did he also fall in love and readily give up his life to be with his love?”
The doctor came in interrupting his wildly careening thoughts, he turned green at the sight of the massacre.
Don’t they teach them with dead bodies at medical school? He must have paid for his seat and bunked all the classes, the rich bastard, thought Senthil spitefully.
“Suicidaa?” Senthil asked.
The doctor looked around for a bit, and nodded his head.
“He must have been mental, sawing his own head off like that, but the knife looks very sharp, one quick decisive stroke would have been enough.”
So it was a suicide, life wasn’t so bad after all. He could make it home for lunch. Maybe take a bit of extra time and pick up Sarah from school.
“Inspector, his amma appa”
With a sigh he got up and went to meet the parents who took one look inside and started screaming. He was going to miss lunch after all.
“Sorry madam, he left the crime scene and disappeared. The one where the guy committed suicide. He was mad; all that sitting in front of the computer must have done something to his brain. He wanted to join some dead girl; he sawed his own throat open. Can you imagine?” Sheila wished she hadn’t called. Senthil never talked about work at home, actually he never talked much nowadays.
“Ask him to call when he comes back” was all she could say.
“ Yes Madam” he replied.
Sheila looked around the room, it was a Saturday and there was no work to do. Sarah was at school for her piano lessons and she had a whole afternoon to herself. The suicide description had disturbed her. She wondered how Senthil coped. He had been a handsome, serious man before, but now he brooded all the time. Her friends found him extremely attractive. She was sure they would have tried to do something about it, only the fact that he wass downright morbid at times, stopped them He still loved her, she could see it in his eyes and he adored Sarah, but something was missing. Shaking her head to clear her thoughts she decided she could either take a nap or watch TV. Choosing the more mind numbing option out of the two, Sheila switched on the TV, to news about the gory suicide.
A woman was interviewing the parents, she was attractive. Short straight hair that she had pulled back with a clip, wide sensuous lips and nicely manicured fingers that held the microphone. The parents seemed devastated. They couldn’t answer most of the woman’s questions. She turned to the camera and said,
“This is Anupama reporting from the scene of the software suicide at Mylapore.”
‘Software suicide! What all these journalists do to make news catchy’, thought Sheila as she switched of the TV and decided she needed a nap after all.
--------------
Senthil watched the woman interview the parents. She was sexy in a very traditional way. Wide hips that curved into a nice firm looking butt.
She had finished with the parents and now turned to him, smooth skin, short hair, nice boobs and perfect lips. She seemed to read his thoughts and a frown appeared on her face. But she was a professional; she thrust the mic into his face and asked him a peppering of questions. He looked at her face more closely, said “No comments,” pushed the mic away and strode off. He could feel her angry stare between his shoulder blades
He walked back into the apartment and looked around, there were photos of some holy woman adorning almost all the rooms. Even the screensaver on his computer, that was now clean, had her snap. “Who is this?” he asked nobody in general.
"Ammaji, has an ashram on ECR. For the hi fi crowd. She studied abroad and then came back as a social worker and then slowly became a saint.”
The most lucrative profession in India, thought Senthil. He sat down at the table where there had been a corpse a few hours ago. Somebody had replaced the keyboard and the chair. A halfhearted cleaning had been done, the monitor still showed streaks. He switched it on, the drives were carefully organised, there was a work folder, an accounts folder, music, photos, movies, a hidden folder with porn. He opened a browser and found the guys email service, the email address was already there, and he just had to type in a password. He tried Ammaji, it opened.
"No imagination, these software types", he thought.
There were three unopened mails. The topmost one was from someone called Ramya, the subject read, 'Please dont do it'. There was nothing else in the mail.
monday, october 05, 2009
The policeman was such a letch! Anupama or Anu as she was universally called frowned, as she got onto her Scooty pep. Anshul, who was the photographer assigned to her, got on behind her and placed his hand on her waist. They had a short fling some time ago and though she had made it amply clear that she was no longer interested, he still did things that made her uncomfortable, like holding her waist.
This was the third software suicide she had covered in the city, two were in Mylapore itself. Something was wrong, all she had to do was find a common thread. Then even if it was the truth or not, she could give something to the boss. Facts were no longer relevant in today's news coverage, popular opinion and conjectures were more than enough. The public lapped it up. They had reached the office where the latest one had worked. Anshul got down pressing down on her hips a little more than necessary. The police had not arrived there yet, thank god for small favours.
Nobody at his office knew he was dead, after a few shocked looks the HR was summoned. Though Anu had brought in the news, she was unceremoniously shown the door as soon as the word "press" came out of her mouth. Anshul took some shots of the building and they went to the tea kadai on the opposite side of the road, hoping to catch some of the dead guy's colleagues. Luck favoured her this time and one guy stopped to talk as he smoked.
"Raman was a loner, very religious, he had photos of some religious woman all over his cubicle. He had a small circle of friends, they ate together, worked together and even went home at the same time. No socialising with anyone else at work."
The monologue interspersed with pauses for drawing on the cigarette stopped suddenly, Anu looked up to see the HR gesturing at the interviewee from across the road, he looked very angry. The guy hurried away and she was left alone at the tea shop. Turning to the guy behind the stove, she asked for a tea. The man's chest was visible through a stringy vest that was the same colour as the charred kettle. Having second thoughts about the tea, she asked him if he knew one of the office workers had committed suicide. He just shook his head, "his name was Raman", she prompted. "Never came here" was the answer.
Something was rankling somewhere at the back of her head, something she had missed. It would come back to her when she least expected it, till then all she could do was wait, while it itched like a scratch on a difficult to reach part of the body.
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Senthil closed the door of the taxi, it was an old model with a yellow roof. He had imagined them extinct, but here was one running in the heart of the city. The parents did not know any Ramya. Since it was a clear case of suicide, nothing more could be done. He just had to visit the software company where the dead guy worked. He decided to do it the next day. It was getting dark and the crows were making a din as they returned to their nests in the tree outside the apartment compound. He got into his jeep and drove to the station, then changed his mind and drove home. Sheila was happy to see him back early she suggested dinner at Creme Centre. Usually he would have made a fuss about the vegetarian restaurant but today, with the smell of blood still lingering in his nostrils, he decided that a nice, white, bland pasta would be welcome. Sarah kept chattering to him and at last he was able to relax.
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Anu reached home, took a bath and went into the kitchen. Her mother had made the dough for the chappatti and some dal. The mindless work of rolling and cooking the chapathis, took her mind off the suicides. She heard the door open and her mother came in with the smell of vibhuthi around her. Mother first went into the puja room and Anu could hear bottles being opened, the rustle of plastic among continuous murmurs from her mother's extremely pious lips. The irritation mounted as usual at the unnecessary antics her mom performed in the name of god. Mother was fanatically devoted. Mornings and evenings were spent at temples around their area. She attended every bhajan, talk or pilgrimage she could find and had a coterie of god men and god women who she believed in with a naivety that Anu sometimes found verged on pure stupidity. Today, with a martyred expression on her face, her mom came into the kitchen, sighed and launched a lecture on the sinful nature of the world and of her best friend in particular. She had not saved prasad for Anu's mom after the puja at the Anjeneyar temple. While Anu's mother went round the sanctum thrice, this woman hogged on the incredibly tasty puliyodharai they served at the temple, not saving even one morsel for her. Anu mechanically went on tossing the chapathis, waiting for the rant to end. She stopped finally, remembered something important and went into the puja room again, came out with a brochure in her hand.
"You never believe in these gifted saints, Anu but here is one you cannot make fun of. She is young, educated in the states and had a very nice job. She renounced all that to serve humanity. Look at the picture, what thejus in her face. And the intelligence and brilliance of her talk. I was mesmerized! I went up to her and poured out my troubles and you know what? She supported you. She wants to meet you actually. She said she loved meeting young driven people. She told me not to think marriage was the ultimate goal in a woman's life. What progressive thoughts. You will like her, just meet her once." she said and thrust the brochure into Anu's flour dusted hands and walked again into the puja room. Anu stared at the glossy brochure. It had an attractive woman’s photo in the front with the words
"Come to me children and find solace from all your sorrows, I shall point out the way to ultimate bliss and power. Ammaji"
It struck her suddenly, she smacked her forehead leaving a palm print of wheat flour. The common link between all the suicides!
Google maps was an incredible tool. As you zoomed, the little gold dot changed into a golden dome. You realised the vegetation was planted in a pattern. The website popped up in the description and Anu clicked on it. The room suddenly filled with the screech of a veena. Everybody looked up and Anu immediately reduced the volume on her machine.
"I'm sorry", she whispered to no one in particular.
The website was beautiful, the pictures of the ashram seemed like they were out of a brochure for a spa, not an ashram. Happy people dressed in white were walking around. Anu imagined a wardrobe full of whites and shivered at the thought of the washing horrors. She would have to go check it out tomorrow.
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Senthil woke up, saw Sheila was already up and he could smell coffee. It brought a happy smile until he remembered the suicide. The coffee was perfect so were the crisp dosas, but Senthil went through it like a chore, he just wanted to finish off the office visit and paper work for the suicide and forget about it.
The office was no help. He was shown the cubicle, which again had photos of the godwoman and nothing else. Walking out for a smoke, he saw a tea shop and decided to have a tea. The place was crowded at eleven in the morning. He overheard two guys talking about the murder. Pretending to lean against the door, he listened.
" Those freaks are going to hold a prayer meeting for him. You know I was in his adjacent cubicle when he joined. Was normal then. Those fanatics changed him. First he became a vegetarian, then he started fasting like crazy and now he is dead. Must be some imbalance due to lack of food."
Something struck Senthil, a few months back, another case. That was also suicide in a way. A woman had slowly starved herself to death. She was also part of some cult. He rushed to the station to check the FIR the parents had registered against the cult. The case never further. It was a clear case of mental illness of some sort leading to the starvation.
Senthil sneezed as he raked through the records cupboard. Luckily the file was there among the debris of half torn ages and disintegrating files. The name and address of the woman who had committed suicide was there, no mention of the cult. He would have to drive all the way to Velachery, there was no phone number on the report. He sighed and walked towards the police jeep.
The apartment had been built recently; it looked new, even the paint in the parking area looked fresh. The mother opened the door, he told her he was from the police and wanted to ask about her daughter. She looked like an animal caught in the headlights. Tears sprang out and he had to say some nonsense about being sorry before she wiped her eyes and led him in. The sitting room was dominated by a large picture of the dead girl with a garland around it. The TV top was also cluttered with photos. There was a cloying smell of incense. "When did you move here" he asked. "90 days after she died", the tears appeared again at the statement. "We lived in Mylapore, I couldn't bear the sympathetic looks of our neighbours, some of them wanted to make her a saint, others thought she was mad. Ammaji understood my pain and paid the initial amount for this flat. She is god and mother for me" So without asking, Senthil knew his hunch was right. And as usual money had taken care of the complaint.
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Anu wouldn't mind spending the rest of her life here. Low white buildings and greenery wherever you looked. There were small streams and ponds dotting the landscape. Peacocks, dogs, cats and even a few donkeys roamed around. One volunteer had pointed out an animal shelter. That touched Anu's heart. She was always dismayed by the country's poor handling of animals. A light breeze passed through the leaves and brought with it distant sounds of chanting. She walked forward to the largest building with a golden dome and large pillars, according to the volunteer, it was the main meditation hall and where she could find Ammaji.
As she entered the cool, marble floored hall, she was struck by its sheer size. Living in the city where everything including houses were growing smaller and smaller, the high ceiling and vast echoing space was breathtaking. At one end on a dais sat a small figure in white. As she approached, the figure rose and smiled. It was as if through the crowd of people around her, Anu had been chosen for that beaming smile. For a moment Anu was filled with something nearing joy, and she couldn't help but smile back.
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Senthil watched as the journalist he had seen earlier walked towards the godwoman. "What a smile", he thought. It was the same with actors, politicians and these saints, an aura of power and attraction. Most people turned into fawning puppets, and all of them irrespective of their profession had these honey trap smiles. The journalist was no different, she looked like she was an awkward five years old. He walked forward and introduced himself to the assistant godman, a constant fixture among all the recent so called saints. A savant on the outside, acute businessman on the inside. The journalist was already talking to Ammaji, she seemed to have come out of the spell, and was asking something earnestly. Her esteem in Senthil's mind grew. He decided to interrupt the conversation. "Hello, is she asking you about the tendency for your followers to off themselves?" he asked. The journalist turned to him with irritation and Ammaji had a very interesting reaction indeed.
The second in command took over immediately. He was ushered off the stage and into an office that smelt pleasantly of sandalwood and roses. The guy assured him that Ammaji would be joining him shortly. The godwoman had handled the situation pleasantly after the initial look of fear had disappeared. She had turned to her second in command; the businessman disguised as a saint and raised an eyebrow. The guy smiled and had deftly manoeuvred Senthil away. The journalist had looked impressed too. He had given her a smile and allowed himself to be led to this room. A woman in a white sari appeared with a tray. It had tea and biscuits. She almost ran out of the room when he thanked her. The door opened as he was stuffing the fifth biscuit into his mouth, she waited politely for him to finish chewing and brushing off the crumbs before inquiring politely about his statement.
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Anu was frustrated and angry at herself. She was sure she had asked all the right questions but what Ammaji had answered amounted to nothing. She was polite and never seemed like she was evading anything yet all her answers had nothing related to what she was asking. Anu went back to her office and sulked in front of the computer. Anshul had taken off with another new reporter and had left her a note. She could almost hear the smirk as she read it. She typed out a 500 word report and sent it to her boss. She didn't care if anything came out of it or not. Ammaji had also invited her for a special sermon she was giving the next day. At that time she had nodded her head and accepted the invitation, now she wasn't so sure. A disciple had stopped her as she walked out. He was tall and thin with piercing eyes. A long beard covered the lower half of his face. He smiled and handed her a brochure. It was about the charitable activities done by the ashram. She stuffed it in her bag and thanked him. He was looking away by then to the next person he could hand out the brochure to.
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"I do not personally know any of these poor children, but they will be in my prayers." To give her due credit, Senthil noted that she looked disturbed. "If you need any other help please don't hesitate. We teach the joy and importance of living here, If these children had really understood my teachings, they would have not taken this drastic step. I wish I could have reached them before this happened" The second in command whom everybody addressed as Swamiji then took over. "It is a coincidence, with Laxmi, the girl who starved to death, we had no idea until we heard the news from another disciple. If we did, we would have stopped her. We encourage abstinence not self-harm. Raman, we do not have any idea. It must be a sad coincidence. Please understand we are an organisation aimed at helping humanity. Please let us know if you need anything else" It was a clear dismissal and Senthil walked out.
There was a larger crowd in the hall now. A lot of disciples were gathered below the podium. There was some argument going on but Senthil was too far to hear anything. Swamiji was hurrying towards the gathering with a frown on his face. He said something sharp and the crowd dispersed. A single disciple was left. He had a long flowing beard and was tall and thin. Swamiji stopped in front of him and said something. The conversation was a tense one. The disciple did not reply, just turned and walked away.
tuesday, september 15, 2009
Sheila was waiting impatiently for Senthil to return. Sarah had gone to her friends house and they had tickets for a movie. She had almost given up when Senthil walked in. He seemed to be in a happy mood.
The movie was a total disaster, but having Senthil sit next to her for 3 hours without interruptions was at treat by itself. Senthil had dozed off in between and once she even had to pinch him to stop snoring loudly. During the interval, she had seen him catch the eye of an attractive girl who looked very familiar and smirked. The girl had turned away and walked off. Sheila wondered how the girl knew a police man. Then it struck her, the girl was a reporter in one of the channels. She had reported about a few suicides in Mylapore.
Senthil had no idea what was going on the screen. A policeman in half pants seemed to be providing some comic relief. These days policemen in the movies were either corrupt or funny. Not far from the truth, he thought. The reporter girl seemed to be laughing at the jokes. He wondered what information she had got from the godwoman. If only he had started off better with her. He could accidentally bump into her when they got out, but then he had not made a very good first impression.
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Anu was enjoying the movie, even Anshul's wandering hands were only a minor nuisance. He soon shifted his attention to his latest partner sitting on the other side. The whole office had booked bulk tickets for the show and for once her mother had not objected to a late night movie. She was too busy making preparations for another one of her pilgrimages. The movie was over and she was walking towards her bike after making it clear to Anshul that she wasn't interested in going home with him, when a guy blocked her path. It was the policeman in charge of the suicides. The guy had smirked at her during the interval and she had ignored him. Now she would have handle him. She looked up to see a woman standing beside him. She looked decent and nice, what was she doing with this wierdo? He looked different; the macho man look had been wiped off. It may have been a face he put up for his day job. He looked uncomfortable too. He cleared his throat and first introduced the woman, it was his wife. Atleast he had better manners, when he was with her. Or maybe he was just using his wife to make her comfortable for whatever it was he wanted.
"How dare he!"
Anu fumed as she drove out. She realized he wanted information. And he was using his wife as a softening ploy. She drove home and curled up on the bed without even washing off her makeup. The encounter had drained her. She had been polite, said no, thank you and walked off, but inside she was seething. A policeman should do his job, not wait for others to do the job and then demand it from them. She was tired and everything that had gone wrong in the past years came rushing back. Life shouldn't be such a struggle, she thought as tears of self-pity welled in her eyes. She let herself go, a few moments of indulgence were essential, a way to water down the frustrations of everyday life, as long as she did not let it overwhelm her or went on a depression spree for too long. A good cry later, she got up, had a long bath and slept peacefully.
The next morning after coffee, Anu was raring to go. She went over what she had till now. Two suicides in a span of a month. Both devotees of the same god woman, both living in Mylapore. First she needed to see if anyone else had committed suicide. The Mylapore police station would have a record of all suicides in the area. She needed to go check, but she knew that unless she knew somebody in the dept, she couldn't get her hands on it. She could also check her paper’s archives but some deaths were never reported in the paper so she needed access to the police station records anyway. Her paper had recently published some derogatory articles about the police so without much hope she drove to the station anyways and tried asking. The constable rudely refused after seeing her press card. She walked out wondering what to do next; it was essential she know if any other suspicious deaths had occurred. She had milked out the last clues from the two she knew off. She needed something new. Her only option was Senthil the creep.
...................................................
Senthil watched as Anu walked off, she was obviously pissed, but polite enough not to show it in front of Sheila. Sheila had that affect on people; everybody was nice around her, as if she was a fragile piece of glass that would shatter at the sight of anything loud or wrong.
"She doesn't like you at all” was all Sheila had to say about it.
The next day he went to the station and tried to finish some of the small chores he had. The suicides were almost out of his mind. There was nothing else he could look into. A prosperous looking businessman came in to file a report of cheating against his supplier. The whole morning was spent pleasing him. His mobile phone had been ringing every half an hour, the call from an unknown number. He ignored it till lunchtime. The businessman had offered to take him out for lunch, he had politely declined. He needed some time alone. A constable was going around asking if anybody wanted to buy lunch since he was going anyways. Senthil asked him to buy a non-veg meal. The food arrived piping hot and as he spread the banana leaf on his table and poured out the fragrant mutton gravy, he was back to the good mood that he was in the morning. Sheila had packed some curd rice and beans, which he guiltily fed to the mangy dog that wandered around their station. Even the dog didn't want the beans. After lunch and a great cigarette, he dialed the number and was surprised to hear the reporters voice at the other end. She wanted the list of suicides that happened in Mylapore, Senthil was a little pissed with himself for not having thought of it first, then he agreed to meet her at the Mylapore station.
The constable pulled him aside at the station and asked him whether he knew which paper she was from. He winked and consoled the guy. "There is always a time for revenge, now I need her so let her think we have forgotten it. Besides, she didn't write the article." The guy went inside the records room to check. Anu looked at him and smiled, "I actually did write the article, but put staff correspondent because I knew the article would hurt. And nobody wants to piss of the police" He just shrugged and let it go. He had read the article; it was well written, though a bit exaggerated. Ordinary people didn't understand that sometimes a bit of force and fear is needed to police a public that often laughed at or was apathetic towards law and order. Or maybe he was wrong, but now wasn't the time to debate the morality of the Chennai police. The constable returned with a register and slammed it down on the table. He then gestured to them to go ahead. Anu eagerly started, the list was huge, he excused himself and asked the constable if he wanted to come out for a tea and cigarette, the guy finally smiled and they walked out.
Anu’s heart sank as she saw the thickness of the register and the Tamil script. Speed reading would be a tough job in Tamil and the crazy handwriting wouldn’t help either. Though she had learnt Tamil in school, it was because she was forced to, not out of choice. Something that she regretted now, there was a little more freedom among the Tamil Newspapers than the English ones, and a lot more readership. She decided to scroll down the age, numbers would be easier. The very young and the very old couldn’t be part of the suicides. She was shocked by the number of kids between 12 and 18 who had committed suicide. A germ of a story came up in her mind, but she shook her head and decided to shelve it until after this one was over. Occupation was also a good marker. She couldn’t mark the ledger and so she tore strips of paper and bookmarked the pages with suicides that fit into the category. It took her a solid hour and at the end of it she had only 3 names in the area covered by the police station - Mylapore. 2 were the ones she already knew and one was another girl. 23 years old, HR associate in a multinational car manufacturing company. Senthil walked in right then with the constable. He was reeking of cigarettes. Without asking he opened the register to the marked pages and scanned the names. Anu’s irritation was mounting, but he had helped her so she kept her mouth shut and her body from cringing away from him.
‘Good good’ Senthil looked at Anu and smiled. There was a larger database online, but he wasn’t going to tell her that. Let her feel thankful, it might turn useful some other time. She thanked him and left. Senthil walked into the inside room where the old computer was kept and turned it on. It would take atleast 5 minutes for the computer to turn on and then get connected to the database. Time for another cigarette.
