The coin - A short story (5)

I was looking at him intently for a minute. I pondered over what he said to me just now. Though he sounded like a hippy, the slight quiver in his voice suggested he had been wounded severely by the sudden turn of events in the evening of his career. He was earning a handsome remuneration along with the percentage commission from the buyers for optimum quality of the fabric and timely delivery. He lost everything over the little conversation he had with the MD and it seemed he was only justifying his predicament. I knew he did not have preferences in life. He had only an old ’86 Bajaj scooter he bought from a whole sale rice trader and wore cloths that he bought fifteen years earlier. He could be satisfied with a simple meal. But he had an uneducated wife who complained about anything he did for the family and two teenage daughters who liked to spent his money lavishly on beauty products. Through my former colleagues from the textile processing unit, I learnt that he wasn’t doing well financially off late. He took up some orders from tiny textile units, did the following up work for them thereby getting a small amount of money which could hardly satisfy his day to day needs, let alone his family requirements.

Seeing me sunk deep in thoughts, he said: ‘Of course, I struggled financially for a while. I even tried contacting you; sent you mails; tried calling your number many times. You wouldn’t budge. You were busy building up your new career, I guess.’

I was busy. I changed my career from being a quality control officer into an instructor in a reputed educational institution in Bangalore. The job paid more than decently. I was a changed man in about five years. I built my own house at my home town; I had my own cheverolet and a fat sum in my fixed deposits. When Rama Krishnan called I knew it was for a financial help and that was precisely why I tried avoiding him. One of my colleagues from the textile unit contacted me informing that Rama Krishnan might approach me to request for a huge some of money as he was trying to establish his own marketing firm. I could have helped, if not for the construction of my own house. But you can’t always justify your position, particularly with Rama Krishnan.

‘Your hands shiver a little.’ I said, observing an uneasy tenderness throughout his body.

‘Oh, yes.’ He said looking into his palms. ‘This is the time for me to jump into the dreamy ocean.’

‘I…I don’t understand.’

‘These days I take refuge at liquor. It serves me well. Making me forget this worthless world and transporting me into another dimension. Do you drink, Mahesh?’

‘Occasionally I do. Especially when there is a farewell party I sip a peg or two.’

‘It’s been four years, Mahesh, since I have taken to drinking. You know I am a much disciplined drunkard. A quarter a day, that’s all I need.’

I was shaken. Rama Krishnan was known for his clean character. He didn’t have any unwanted habit; not even munching beetle leaves and nuts. He was respected by one and all as a man with a vision.

‘What were you doing all these years, sir?’ I asked.

‘Well, I struggled initially to set up my own marketing firm. You could say I am still struggling; the only difference being I don’t give a damn to my day to day struggles these days. I have lost nearly seven hundred thousand, Mahesh. If you add my income for all these years, the sum may go up to one point two million. Never mind, with a stroke of a genius I can earn a sum of not less than a million this year. I have been in touch with a South African buyer. The bargain has started. He is willing to give me a container printing order. I may get a two per cent commission this time. I am optimistic.’

He was an adamant optimist, I knew. But this time it seemed that his plan was not only improbable but imaginary. I knew for certain that all the container printing orders from South Africa had been transferred to China. The Chinese could afford to process the order at the lowest price since they pay their laborers a diminutive wage. With Indian processors it had always been a problem filled affair. Optimum quality and timely delivery are two big important factors that satisfy a buyer. Indian processors are famous for their mishaps in the above areas. Employing child laborers for the work, failing to meet pollution control board standards and trying to cheat the Board of Central Excise are supplementary factors that make a buyer very infuriated. All these factors gathered for a long time to permanently erase container printing orders from Indian soil.

‘Your silence makes me think you pity me.’ Rama Krishnan said, not looking at me. ‘You don’t need to…’ he ceased to speak abruptly. He was looking at the dining hall in front of the Lakshmi Narasimha Temple. I turned to see what he was looking at. A group of devotees of Sabari pilgrimage crossed our view wearing black colored dhotis. The chant ‘Saranam Ayyappa’ rose deafeningly from the group. Little girls were busy lighting lamps at the boundary of the dining hall. There seemed a lot activity since the final pooja of the day was about to begin. It was time to go. I took out my mobile and switched it on. I looked back at Rama Krishnan. He was not looking at the bustle in the crowd. He was particularly staring at the water tap at the far side if the dining hall. I tried to find out what interested him. There he was- my tormentor, drinking water from the tap, oblivious to whatever happened around him. I felt the same stroke of awkwardness as before.

My mobile vibrated. It was Gayathri. I ignored. She could wait another fifteen minutes.

‘You see that beggar?’ Rama Krishnan asked. I answered him that I did. Rama Krishnan said he was from Andhra Pradesh. He came here three years ago. He had been a jewelry entrepreneur in his state; a millionaire undoubtedly. ‘He tried to take giant steps in the business; lost all his wealth due to a corporate crisis; his wife killed herself; he became insane. Ever since   he arrived here, he has been looking for his lost wealth in other people’s pockets’ Rama Krishnan laughed.

The watchman was pushing the beggar with a wooden stick. He was having a hard time in sending the beggar out of the temple. I looked back at Rama Krishnan. He appeared to have forgotten about the beggar. He continued to speak about his plans feverishly. He would marry her first daughter to a software programmer settled in the United States. By this time next year he would finish the construction of his house in his hometown, Trichy. He just needed a sum of thirty thousand to meet his present requirements. He didn’t ask me for that money. Somehow he would manage. He was really happy that I made such rapid progress in my life.

I was listening to him all the while wondering what part I have played in leading him to this present predicament. I ignored Gayathri twice during his talk.

   I had to ask for excuse from Rama Krishnan, for Gayathri was calling me for the fourth time.

‘Why did you keep your mobile switched off?’ she asked. I could sense irritation in her voice.

‘I wanted to have a peaceful conversation with him that’s why. What happened? Did you try calling me before?’

‘I have been trying your number incessantly. Where is the vehicle key? Do you have it with you? I did a complete search here.’

I rummaged in my pant pockets and found the key to the motorcycle in the right pocket.

The End.