Scattered Fates by Ram Garikipati (ebook reader ink TXT) 📖

‘Maya, Maya, Maya…. welcome to Madras. Everything here is automated. You see this chip on the dashboard; it is a security access chip. Every resident here has one. It automatically unlocks the gates and screens passengers. Your snapshot is already in the database by now. No outsider can enter unauthorized. All the security guards are inside, monitoring everything outside.’

Preempting more queries, he mentioned that the building had six underground parking lots, as he steered the car to his allotted spot on B4. She decided not to ask more questions, lest she make a fool of herself. All the background research had not prepared her for this, maybe because the dial-up connections in Corea only allowed for text-based Internet surfing.

In fact, every time Naga pestered her for a Skype chat, she had to give some excuse, embarrassed to tell him that it is not possible from Corea. Only she knew the hell she had to go through to, just for scanning and sending him that photograph. She expected Dravida to be a little more modern than Corea, but the pace of development that she saw around her was unbelievable, and this was just in the initial few hours.

He first shock was when she got down from the airplane and walked into the expansive bright terminal with sweeping rooflines. The marvelous piece of infrastructure was very clean and neatly maintained with innumerable facilities. The Pyongyang international airport, by contrast seemed like a village bus station.

Her professors had not been very truthful either, and convinced her that Dravida was only marginally more developed than Corea and Hindustan.

What nonsense. It will certainly take another 20 years for Corea to reach this level of development.

The elevator sped up to the 26th floor, and she suddenly felt very light as the blood bounced softly into her lungs. Looking out of the glass enclosure, she was amazed at the sight of Madras at night.

The entire city seems to be filled with skyscrapers, glittering like jewels. This will surely be an experience to cherish.

‘Isn’t the sight amazing? All our big cities, Hyderabad, Bangalore and Cochin are similar. We will travel soon and you will know. In Hindustan, only Delhi has electricity. Of course, you have seen the latest cover of Economist.’

She knew what he was talking about. The Economist magazine that she borrowed from her professor had a midnight photo of the subcontinent taken from the skies. It clearly showed a glittering Dravida, and Pakistan with a black space in between, with just a few glowing lights in and around Delhi. Almost like a censor-strip that her country often placed on offending maps that placed parts of Corea as Chinese territory.

Her professor had argued that the pallbearer of the free market system had intentionally manipulated the image, and it was what she believed, but decided to keep quiet.

She watched as Naga punched in the security code to his door, and hoped he would not talk of antiquated steel locks in Hindustan. Luckily he did not.

‘Welcome to my abode, you can stay in the room over there. Don’t worry about the heat, this building is centrally air-conditioned,’ he said, pointing to the room on his right. ‘My room is to the left, as is my roommates, and this in front is the study-room. You will get total privacy.’

She surveyed the living room and was taken in by the neatness. Everything seemed to be in order, although minimalist. It was quite large, unlike Corean homes, where more importance was given to bedrooms.

An exquisite leather sofa was placed at the center, with a large flat black screen on the opposite wall, the likes of which she had never seen before.

Two bookshelves on either side of the screen gave out intellectual vibes. While one was filled with hardbound covers in English, the other was crowded with books in scripts that were alien to her.

‘What is that?’ She said pointing towards the screen.

‘Why, that’s my television, haven’t you seen an HDTV before? It is Dayanora’s latest model. A friend got me a steep discount,’ he replied. ‘I am sure you know that Dyanora Group is Dravida’s pride. It includes the world’s largest IT Company, second-largest shipbuilder, and 5th largest construction companies.’

‘I know, read about it in my class on Asian Tigers. The company has a powerful influence on your economic development, politics, media and culture, and has been a major driving force behind your growth, right?’ she said.

Naga flicked on the remote, as she gasped at the amazing true-life images on the screen. He kept jumping channels, until he came to CBS, Corea’s state broadcaster, whose staple offering was farming programs and news read by middle-aged women hitting menopause.

‘Yeah, sure, I changed my satellite provider for your sake, so that you can watch this Corean channel if you are ever homesick.’

‘Thanks, but that won’t be necessary. I want to watch Dollywood movies.’

‘The bathroom in your room is quite small. Hope you don’t mind.’

‘I am sure it is bigger than my entire house. There is only one small detail. I come from a very cold country and we use toilet paper. Hope there is enough stock.’

‘Don’t worry; we all use the bidet and toilet paper here in Dravida. Hindustan of course is underdeveloped and most of them shit on the streets. They have more temples than toilets,’ he mocked in triumph, yet again.

Maya did not respond. She still had time to retort back with smarter quips. Moreover, she was exhausted from the long journey and just wanted to hit the sack.

‘Hope you like your room. I have already put your luggage in the closet with the fresh towels and blankets. The toilet is equipped with all the stuff you may need.’

‘I hope I can now take a hot shower and sleep. I am really tired. Thanks for all the help Naga.’

‘You are welcome. Are you sure you don’t want anything to eat or drink? My fridge is well stocked, so is my bar, help yourself. We can chat tomorrow morning.’

‘Sure will. Goodnight. Please wake me up at 8,’ she said, closing the door behind her.

‘Goodnight.’

He heaved a sigh of relief, staring at the door for a few minutes. He had messed up by losing his temper, but hopefully Maya would not remember tomorrow.

‘She is smart and attractive. I have to control my emotions and should not mock her cultural ignorance,’ Naga thought, as he lumbered towards his room, a glass of scotch in hand, humming the Corean tune again.

Chapter 2: GAZING AT STARS

July 11, 1965, 9 pm

It was a hot and humid Sunday. The sun had been beating down harshly the entire day, and there was no respite, even as the wind tried cooling its temper and the moon slowly nudged it out of sight.

Lost in thoughts, Subbaiah sat depressed on a wooden bench, under a dim incandescent street light, near the entrance gates of Madras University, while close by, a couple of hundred students gathered around the impromptu stage that had been setup. The sky was more or less clear, except for a few playful clouds teasing the moon, while the stars winked along.

Unmindful of theses antics above, the students waited with bated breath for the arrival of their biggest star on land, supreme leader of the Dravida Munnetra Kazahagam.

It would not be long before Conjeevaram Natarajan Annadurai, fondly called Alaignar Anna, or simply Anna, would arrive to make a special announcement.

Subbaiah had the onerous task of organizing this meeting, and it was not easy. He had been asked to gather a few thousand students, but only around 100 had turned up so far.

It was not his fault. MGR’s latest blockbuster Aayirathil Oruvan, opposite a stunning new heroine Jayalalitha had just been released on Friday. The swashbuckling action-adventure pirate film had received a thunderous ovation, with youngsters flocking to theaters across Madras.

All his students had given glowing accounts of the movie. Although youngsters’ testimony on MGR movies could never be trusted, Subbaiah was quite tempted. He had made plans to see the late-night show with his wife, but then unexpectedly received summons from the party headquarters to organize a students meeting to be attended by Anna himself.

A year ago, disillusioned with the state government led by Minjur Bhaktavatsalam of the Indian National Congress, he had enrolled as a primary member with the minor opposition party DMK, which had won just 50 out of 206 seats in the previous elections.

Till seven months ago, he was only one of the countless faceless cadres who devoted themselves to their party ideology, expecting little in return. However, January 26th changed everything.

Thanks to Subbaiah, the organized force of Madras students held back the imposition of Hindi, while the remaining victims from across the other southern states played safe, enjoying the ringside view. With all the party honchos behind bars, it was up to Subbaiah to organize the student protests and spark the agitations that rattled Prime Minister Shastri.

After the matter was resolved, with an assurance from Shastri that English would continue as an associate language, Subbaiah’s role in galvanizing the students was duly noted, and he was made the Coordinator of Student Activities across the State. It was a direct order of Anna, he had been told. He was also invited to meet his leader personally next week, to discuss a more active role for him in the party.

Subbaiah hailed from neighboring Andhra State, a golti, as the locals called him, where the protests were not widespread, and guessed that the DMK wanted him to play a key role in popularizing the party in his home state. It would of course mean that he would either have to travel frequently or take up a job at Andhra University in Vishakhapatnam.

Now, nearly four months after all the drama and action, Anna’s sudden decision to address students of his university today puzzled him. He wondered whether there were any new developments that he was unaware of.

He read four newspapers every morning in the library, and also listened to BBC Overseas Service in the evening. There was no mention of any dramatic change in circumstances.

The Senate House loomed in front of him. Although the building incorporated many elements of the Byzantine style, and was considered to be the finest of its kind in India, it was of little interest to him now. The most important goal was to get thousands of students for Anna’s meeting.

‘Machchan’ he shouted, suddenly spotting Ganapathy walking at a brisk pace ahead.

Pudukottai Ganapathy Iyer, his closest friend, colleague and neighbor, like him, taught Economics at the University. However, unlike Subbaiah, never dabbled in politics, and was mostly indoors during the agitation. Nevertheless, he was Subbaiah’s close confidant, and a great intellectual punching bag.

‘Hello Subbaiah, what are you doing here on Sunday evening? Came for a stroll on Marina alone?’ he asked, pointing towards the long stretch of beach that embraced the road in front.

‘Anna is arriving soon, and this is my first big event. He wants to meet students, but most of them are at Shanthi Talkies.’

‘Aayirathil Oruvan? Saw it yesterday. Great fights thalaivar! That new girl is also too good. Why does Anna want to meet students now? I thought he gave up the agitation 3 months ago.’

‘I have no idea. I was given the order and am just carrying it out.’

‘You know Subbaiah, I am your well wisher. I once again plead with you… these politicians are playing a dangerous and selfish game. They want to divide India for their personal gains. Do not fall into their trap.’

‘Ganapathy, I know your feelings and you know that is not true. My party dropped the secessionist demand two years ago. This meeting has nothing to do with Hindi, anti-Brahmanism or Dravida Nadu. Please don’t argue, and just help me now.’

That was not necessarily true. There was a growing movement in Madras State against the Tamil Brahmins who were held responsible for direct or indirect oppression of lower-caste people, who made up a majority of the population. The ‘self-respect movement,’ was started decades before India’s independence