A Burning(53)

Some days, however, it feels like time is all I have. It is cool here, where the sun never comes, even on the hottest days. I crouch on my mat, arms naked and cold like a plucked chicken. In one corner, a low wall separates the room from the toilet, which is a hole in the ground from which dark cockroaches emerge, their whiskers feeling. The first time I see one, I whack it with my slipper.

    Now I flick one and another away with my fingers. It is a game of carrom. More fun when the carrom disks, tossed into the drain, come back for another round.

Night begins early, and has no end. When I am certain the sun will never show its face again, I lie down on the mat, and will myself to dream of a tunnel, scraped with nothing more than my fingernails, a tunnel which sets me loose in a village far from here.





PT SIR


WEEKS LATER, IN AN electronics shop, an employee with a lanyard around his collar sets a large box on the ground. PT Sir and his wife look expectantly at the box. Around them, a wall of televisions plays a football game. In the next section, customers stand thoughtfully before rows of refrigerators. PT Sir’s wife has marveled at the fridges with two doors, the fridges which can create and deposit ice cubes, the fridges which have sensors which tell you when the door is left open.

“Technology,” PT Sir has told her, “keeps moving forward.”

“Demand for tandoor is a bit low,” explains the salesman now. “It is such a specialized oven, for serious chefs. So we stock only one brand, the top brand.”

PT Sir’s wife looks at the box, and smiles, her teeth bright on her face, her hands playing with the thin end of her oiled plait, like a child.

“It has an aluminum tray and toughened front glass window,” continues the employee, a young man, removing the foam and plastic from the box. “Fully modern look. Right now there is a special offer where you get kebab skewers free with this! And best of all, efficient electricity consumption, sir, your bill won’t increase at all!”

    With the packaging removed, what sits on the ground is a low black cube.

“Madam,” the salesman continues, holding the lanyard to his chest with one hand, “I will tell you the best advantage of this brand is—it cooks fast! If you try to make a chicken kebab in the oven, it may take almost an hour. But here, it is done in fifteen to twenty minutes. And completely authentic clay-oven taste!”

“Hmm,” says PT Sir’s wife. “What about pizza?”

“Pizza like foreign, madam, you will think you are in London—”

“That is all okay,” interrupts PT Sir, “but tell us the real information. How much is it?”

The employee laughs. “Sir, once you eat the five-star food from this tandoor, you will see it’s saving you money. Your favorite restaurant is at home!”

PT Sir waits. His wife waits. Somewhere, in a section they can’t see, a salesperson demonstrates the capacity of a speaker, and a deep bass booms in their ribs.

“Okay,” the employee begins, pulling out a calculator, “let’s see. This model comes to five thousand seven hundred rupees.”

“Why that much?” says PT Sir. “We were looking at other models on the online shops, maximum four thousand.”

    “Online shops,” says the employee, “will ship you a bad part, or a defective secondhand machine. The stories we hear from customers, you don’t want to know. Here you have a three-year warranty. My name is Anant, sir, call me anytime, I work here six days a week.”

PT Sir’s wife turns to him. “This is a good brand,” she whispers. “Top of the line. They use it on TV also. Don’t be stingy.”

The employee stands respectfully at a distance, and looks at his phone.

“If we’re buying,” says PT Sir’s wife, “we should buy the best. Especially now you are earning double income…” She smiles.

“Not double,” protests PT Sir.

“Almost double. Isn’t the party giving you—”

“Shh!” says PT Sir. A flake of anger catches on his tongue. He swallows. His mouth is too dry, and then—he can feel saliva filling his mouth, as it did while he watched the beef-eater murdered. Not a person knows—other than his wife, and Bimala Pal, and a few trusted party men.

“Be calm,” his wife says. “So much tension is not good for your health. Anyway, you’re a true party man now. Isn’t this what you wanted? Aren’t you proud?”

He notes in her words both reward and punishment. But she touches his arm gently, and her presence soothes him. They buy the tandoor. Paying for the tandoor in a sheaf of cash, he feels rich. He feels powerful in how casually he decides that he will buy it, that he will pay the full amount right away. Monthly installments are for the common man. He? He has ascended.



* * *



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REWARDED FOR HIS LOYALTY, now with a salary from the party, PT Sir spends evenings and weekends traveling to districts across the state, doing events for teachers, students, and parents. In Shojarugram, he sees banners with his face on it and, in Bengali, Welcome to the headmaster of our village!

“I got a promotion,” he jokes with the driver.

The driver gives him a smile in the rearview mirror. “To the rural people, your visit is the biggest event of this month, maybe!”