Aaru Mani (6 o Clock)

Setting : A Bench.

Characters :

R – Old man. Conservatively dressed. 65+

G – Old man. Conservatively dressed. 65+

Peanut seller – 20 something. Trouser, ill-fitting shirt, basket.

Young couple – 20ish. Dressed in smart casuals.

A senior gentleman sits, gazing into nothing. No expression. Just sitting. Enter another senior gentleman. He walks up to the bench and sits down. He speaks.

R - Hello

G - Hmm (grunts an acknowledgement)

R - Konjam late aydichu (got a little late)

G - Hmm

R - Yenna? Kovamma? (What? Angry?)

G - No

R - Oh! So… the cold shoulder technique…ah?

G - Chi …

R - There was some tamasha at home. One old fellow … I mean ... another old fellow died.

G - Oh...

R - He was fine till yesterday. This morning also I spoke to him. Nothing… Then afternoon… gone. Just like that

G - Happens

R - What?

G - Death

R - Ah …yes. Kuduthu vechavan (lucky fellow)

G - Why?

R - I mean ... he is fine ... talking, walking and all… and then suddenly … gone. Avlothan (that’s it). Lucky fellow

G - Rubbish

R - Yenna Rubbish (what rubbish). You want a long suffering death, is it? Vyaadhi (illness)... Stroke… Bed sores… Nyabaga marudhi (memory loss), Alzheimers. Parkinsons or some other bloody English man’s name. Is that what you want?

G - No

R - Then what rubbish? Who wants to be a burden? Children bloody stressing over you, cursing your bloody frailty…grandchildren poking fun of your memory. Neighbours commenting. Then some bloody home nurse from some bloody village in Kerala wiping your bum and changing your diaper… all the time flashing ample cleavage…. Knowing you can’t do a thing…Nothing. Adhe… if I had been younger, would she have done that? No chance.

G - (sniggers)

R - Yenna… sirikirey?(why are you laughing) You think I was some bayandhangoli (wimp) is it?

G - Hmmmm

R - Dei… poda (Hey…buzz off). I have also… also….

G - What?

R - I haven’t been some bloody… eka pathni (one wife) type also… I mean I have also…

G - What?

R - Borrowed ‘saami padams’(blue films) and watched on VHS. When Padma was at her mother’s place.

G - (Laughs) VHS

R - Aammam (yes)… now the bloody kids think it is Voluntary Health Service.

G - VHS

R - Aammam

G - Watched…

R - Aammam… blue filum

G - Pathetic

R - Yaaru nana? Nee mattum yenna…(who me? what about you?) what have you done…

G - Nothing

R - Chumma (just) sits and bloody judges the whole world. As if you are some great gnani (knowledgeable person). Useless.

(both are silent for a while)

(A peanut seller floats by… R buys a small packet… eats some and keeps throwing some to the birds)

R - Sorry

G - (grunts)

R - Boring da…

G - What?

R - What,..What? Life. Nothing. Nothing to do. Nothing to live for. Padma is also gone. Grey. Everything is grey. Flat. Monotone.

G - True

R - Actually no… some small excitements are there.

G - What?

R - Hmmm?

G - Cleavage.

R - Chi… poda(buzz off)

G - (smiles) Then?

R - Adhi called…Germany lerundhu (from Germany). Got a promotion. Some fancy bloody pay increase. What’s the use? He’ll probably get me an A/C in my room… so what? His life is a waste.

G - Why?

R - Pondatti odi poitaa (wife ran away) with some German fellow. Left him holding a baby and me, here. Fellow can’t even control his wife naa yennatha control panna mudiyum? (if he can’t even control his wife, what can he control?) Company? No chance. Stupid Germans… what do they know? Nalla vella (good thing) … he is there… they think It's normal to have your wife run away. So they are giving him a promotion, see… he is just like (them) now. Pondati (wife) gone… babysitter in… next… affair with German babysitter… then living in… then baby… then she will run away… and he will drink more beer. And become boss of the company… 100% German.

G - (Laughs)

R - Don’t even wash their bums.

G - Still…he is your son da.

  (Pause)

R - They`ve got me to wear diapers…Kozhandhai maathiri (like a child). Che… disgrace. Diapers. Bloody diapers… on me.

G - Relax

R - What bloody relax? On me bloody. I was senior manager da. Never missed a day at work. Never… what do you bloody know? You sit here like some know it all and say relax… why? Because you are just a faded, useless, old bloody actor. Nobody even recognizes you. Your wife is gone… dead or not who knows? Probably still screwing around with someone in hell. And after all the screwing around you must have done... bloody, poetic justice. Relax aan… yenna relax? ( relax…what bloody relax?) Do you know what it feels like… bloody wearing a diaper… do you… do you… how would you know… are you bloody wearing one?

G - (Pause) Yes

(R is silent. G stares into space)

R - Sorry I don’t know… sometimes… I just don’t know… I mean… why I act like… sorry. Yenna aachu? (what happened?)

G - Cancer

R - Shit

G - Colon

R - Shit

G - (smiles) Happens

R - No… (smiles) not like that

G - True (smiling)

R - Nadigan da nee…(Bloody actor)

G - Theriyum (silence) (I know)

R - I forget.

G - What?

R - Many things.

G - Like?

R - I don’t know. Names. Incidents. Where I keep things. Sometimes I think If I didn’t have a photo of Adhi… I might forget who he is. I stare at his picture sometimes… blank… until I remember. I am scared. Scared of forgetting. Scared I will become like so many others in the home. Scared that Adhi might forget me. Scared that I may forget him… Padma. I am scared da.

G - (pats his knee)

R - They treat you like cattle

G - Who?

R - The home people. Like we don’t matter at all… just give them food, clean their room, give their medicines, wipe their bum, change their diaper and let them exist… let their kids pay the home fat sums of money and let the old farts totter through each passing day… till they die.

G - Hmmm (Like he agrees)

R - Then a few phone calls… a well-greased palm fills out the death certificate… a rusted van takes you away… no time to wait for the children. Maybe, they had already arranged it this way… a handful of other old hags... thinking who’s next… or staring blankly, wondering who they were, in the first place. That’s it…more diapers in the store room. Another room empty… ready for the next in line. Ingaiyum (here too) line. Line. Line.

G - True

R - There’s only one thing I remember for sure

G - What?

R - This. 6pm. Park bench. You. There is comfort in this routine. Nothing changes.

G - Nothing

R - Same place. Same time. Everyday.

G - Everyday

R - Funny. I don’t even know your name, not that it makes a difference. I’ll probably forget it… but... chumma … for the heck of it… I am Ramachandran

G - Gautham

R - Gautham

G - Gautham

R - Have I told you my name before?

G - Yes

R - And you have told me yours…

G - Yes

R - (sighs) See… I’ll probably tell you may name again tomorrow

G - Probably

R - And you’ll tell me yours… again

G - Probably

R - Again and again… no use. (pause)

R - Did I tell you… this old fellow died today... just like that, phut.

G - Hmmm..

R - Gone. Kuduthu vechavan (lucky fellow). (Getting up) Time up. Appo (then)... tomorrow?

G - Tomorrow

R - Varen…(see you)

G - Bye.

(Both Exit. Stage left and right. Lights out.)

(Lights on. G sits alone on the bench. Different costume. The peanut seller comes by…G buys a packet and scatters some peanuts around. He places a hanky next to him, like he’s reserving a place. A young couple walks up to the bench.)

Young man - Uncle... is someone coming here?

G - (looks at him for a while, looks around, as if searching for someone…looks at his watch… looks around, a little anxiously…hesitates…looks at his watch again). Yes, like everyday. At 6, aaru mani.

Young man - Uncle... I've seen you everdaeveryday here...f for the last 4 months or so. Nobody comes. Nobody ever has.

G - (Gets up slowly, looking perplexed. Looks at his watch. Looks around. Then slowly begins to walk away. He stops. Looks back at the young man) Ummmm...son, what's your name?

Young man - Ramachandran. Iv've told you before.

(G looks long at the young man.)

Lights Out.

Section 376(d)

‘Help me’.

‘Please’.

‘Sir’.

‘Madam’.

‘Please’.

But you just walk on by. I’m not worthy of your attention. Just another piece of ‘living garbage’. A sore spot in your pristine world. Roadside scum.

Pause a moment.

Please.

Think.

Is it my fault? My fault, that I was born homeless? Paisa less?

My mum was like ‘that’ too.

Is it any wonder then, I own nothing? Not a home. A piece of land. A bank account. Money. A PAN number. An Aadhaar card.

Not even a shred of clothing, I can call my own.

Nothing.

But my mother loved me. As long as she was with me.

Until…they took her away.

Away.

To ‘that’ place.

I don’t know where ‘that’ place is…but it’s a place you never come back from. Others told me.

I missed her. But I survived. Learnt to survive, is more like it. It is not easy. But you learn.

From sadness. From hurt. From humiliation. From pain. From loneliness. From anger. From fear.

I know, you’re wondering why there’s no mention of happiness or laughter. Happiness teaches you nothing.

NOTHING.

As for laughter…it’s a disguise I wear with unease.

The streets have been my home. My school. My playground. And life has been my teacher.

You have seen me.

Often.

Perhaps, every day.

But I don’t register. Make a mark or effect a blip in the serene graph of your placid existence.

Even today. Even as I lie, in full view. About to bring a new life, or lives, into this…my cruel world.

How could I even hope that you would notice me?

Me?

I have come begging to your doorstep…no…gate…many a time. Sometimes you throw a packet of leftovers my way…remnants from a dinner, 3 nights ago.

Sometimes you shout, threaten, shoo me away…do I ever complain…did I? No.

There’s always another house…another garbage bin…another ray of aching hope.

Funny.

Some of you actually pretend to care for me.

Us.

My creed.

My caste.

My breed.

My ‘kind’.

Make us come running to receive a packet of food, laid down carelessly, callously, on a pavement. Picked out gingerly from the cardboard box, in the trunk of your fancy car. You even take ‘selfies’, pose for photographs, with ‘us’ around. Always careful to maintain that ‘gap’.

You get articles published, about your ‘sterling’ work. Have it published on Page 3… (now, the cover for the food packet you laid out on the pavement).

Oh yes! You’ve been feted by your peers and fellow ‘society’ folks. Your selfless dedication has been recognised over clinking flute glasses of Champagne.

Ha!

Where were you? Where were you, when I needed you the most?

Where?

It was not that long ago. Do you remember?

I do.

I’d strayed down a side street. Into an area, new to me. An area that held the promise of food. Sustenance.

I was hungry. Careless. Foolish. I’d forgotten that every area, every street, has its own ‘boss’. ‘Dada’ (thug). ‘Don’. Predator.

“He” was there.

I saw him. Just as I looked up from a packet of stale ‘Biryani’.

He had this…horrid, frightening, cold gaze. Steady…as a rock. Unblinking.

There were 4 others with him.

They fanned out and surrounded me.

And then he began.

Raping me.

While his ‘gang’ watched.

Their eyes filled with lust.

Their entire being drunk with power and my helplessness.

I shouted.

I screamed.

I wept.

I scratched

I bit.

I hit.

I tried.

I tried.

But he didn’t stop.

And then it was their turn. The gang.

One by one.

One after another.

Until I could scream and fight no more.

Until I was bleeding.

This…all this… in a public place. In full view of the passers-by who used this street.

You… yes, you passed me too. In the back seat of your car, ears glued to the mobile phone. Giggling and laughing. I could hear you.

I looked at you. I couldn’t speak. Not a sound escaped my lips. My tongue was dry. My eyes had no tears left to shed.

Sure. You looked at me. A glance. A ‘disinterested’ glance. And then you looked away.

‘It’s me’- I tried to say- ‘Meena. You called me that. You know me. Help me please!’

But I couldn’t.

I was just another disgusting creature for you… “immoral” too perhaps.

I tried to get away. Believe me…I tried. But even in my dreams---- I could not.

For 5 days it continued.

Night and day

 Repeatedly.

Sometimes I’d manage to get a bite to eat, drink a sip of water from a nearby bin. Sometimes… these moments of respite made me believe it had ended.

It was over.

Finally.

But no----- they were always around.

Always.

5 days… 5 days later… they left me.

Suddenly.

Bleeding and sore.

N0---- don’t pretend.

Please.

You saw me.

You and some of your kind.’

And you looked away.

Drove away.

Walked away.

There was nobody who would take up my case.

Nobody who cared about my plight.

I didn’t warrant a Page 3 article or a photograph now.

As for the do-gooders- ‘It’s only natural that this happened to her’, they say, as they stroll past me.

The pain is more intense now. Soon a new life will come into the world.

My world of Penury.

Homelessness.

Fear.

Anxiety.

Hunger.

Humiliation.

Pain.

What should I tell my little ones? What should I tell them about the world?

Did I…No… do I deserve what happened to me?

Sure. You think I am dirty, filthy, disgusting.

Immoral.

Well… You have the right to your opinion.

‘This’ is what happened to me.

Me.

‘This’ is what I am.

‘This’ is who I will be.

Always.

I am a female street dog.

But…even after all I have gone through…

You still call me a Bitch!

ME?!

A bitch.