XXII The bell

Mr. James Mohandas Jesudasan, Danny’s father, was deeply immersed expounding some of his pet political views with some of the guest gathered at his small single bedroom apartment,  they were all sitting on a row of old, rusty aluminium chair that he had picked from the second hand flea market that often came up near the Mettiguda Church, every Sunday. Daniel’s mother Sarasuamma had put some boiled peanuts and some other fried stuff on a small table close by.

He was lean, short, a bit shabbily dressed and was approaching to be 35, he still looked young, was still very idealistic and an extremely well read man for his age.  Mr. Jesudasan held views that were considered radical for his modest, middle class background – the Indian middle class in the eighties was hugely different from the idea of an American middle class, the Indian middle class was still largely a class that could hardly afford anything good in life, they struggled most of their life and retired poorer even after putting 30 or 40 years of real hard work – the pious Christians around Mettiguda thought that Mr. Jesudasan was an atheist and spoke the language of the anti Christ, since he hardly attended the Sunday mass and often argued with the parish. But he was also known to be a man with a huge heart and tremendous generosity – qualities that were also a part of Daniel when he grew up.

To a certain extent the society’s feelings about Mohandas wasn’t far from the truth, he wasn’t really religious and had no reservations to air his views on the holy bible freely, most of the times they weren’t very holy or pleasant for the more devout – but they had to grudgingly give in to one fact - Jesudasan knew more details about the Genesis or the Bible or even many aspects of the Hindu scriptures and Buddhist philosophy than most people living in Mettiguda. Jesudasan could fluently speak in 7-8 native Indian languages and was quite an authority of English language and literature - but Sarsuamma felt his English grammar sometimes sucked, but, James often blamed it on lethologica.  

Mr. Jesudasan’s source of knowledge did not just come from being a graduate of Literature at the Govt. Victotia College, Palakkad, in the state of Kerala, he was also a fiery Student leader espousing the ideas of Karl Marx, it had also been honed by being exposed to friends he had who were hippies and roadies with whom he had spent large amounts of time before he had been married , Danny had heard vague information about his father having run away to the Rajneesh Ashram at Poona when he was a little younger – just when he had miserably flunked in his 12^th grade – and stayed away from his ancestral house in Palakkad for over 4-5 years.

His true source, his fountainhead of sorts, was his wife Sarsuamma.

Mohan and Sarsuamma in fact met in Pune before they got married. 

She was a student of Contemporary Eastern philosophy, they often met and discussed Jiddu, UG, Aurobindo and Tagore at length. Of course they fell in love even if they weren’t sure if it was just their knowledge they admired or the fierce sexual energy they shared or the love of world cinema that they enjoyed at the film institute, Pune or the fact that both could play the guitar ( in fact Mohan could play several other instruments, he was a trained carnatic music vocalist ) and shared their love of music that ranged from the Indian classical , bollywood, tamil, Malayalam, Western Classical and rock music – Danny would later think that they had more than one reason to fall in love and equally enough reasons to slug it out, the violence that they sometimes displayed also seemed to express a sense of hatred so deep, it could only come out of people lost in love, a love of everything that they believed in , everything they stood for.  

Mohan was currently also pursuing his Masters in World History and Comparative literature from the local Osmania University, through evening classes. Most of the friends Mohan, as his wife called him, invited home were from his academic fields, Mr. Jesudasan did have friends in the railways, where he was employed, but they were hardly invited home. Sarsu, as Mohan called her, was also pursuing her Phd., Danny wasn’t sure what her thesis was, but it had something to do with a differentiation between Western and Eastern political thought, she had already completed her Mphil. in Political Science from Pune University.

Mr. Jesudasan was also a short tempered, volatile man capable of sudden bursts of extreme temper that would have him using his vocal chords with such ferocity and native filth that the entire apartment block feared him, everytime they crossed him walking up or down the apartment staircase. Mohan's anger would be known to the entire apartment block once he started his old Fiat Millicento, gifted to him by his brother , a Lt.Colonel in the army. 

James was the only man who had a car in Mettiguda railway quarters, those days. The car often needed 8 people to push and start it. The car incidentally also had a music system and an innovation to carry bicycles and stuff. 

Sarusamma was loved by the whole apartment, they even admired her when she smoked once a while. She was one of those few, in fact the only who wore blue faded jeans, thin cotton top, cut her hair short and could walk with any man who was her friend, with the least amount of consciousness.  

Sundays were always special for the group , that was the day when a select group of Mohan’s friends met to discuss some play they were collaborating on or simply discuss matters of art, philosophy or literature. Once a while the discussion involved whisky and rum.

“What we have today that we call a country is what we in our literary terms would call a mixture of Dickensian England and Kafkan despotism. Then he stood up and gestured with his fingers back there pointing to his backyard, were we have the not so privileged living in conditions so appalling and embarrassing it is as ugly as the roguish New York of the 19^th century. Our country is abound with the Jekylls and Hydes and Fagins and Olivers manipulated by hundreds of thousands of murderous, barbaric feudal megalomaniacs hiding behind masks of Gandhian khadi and pseudo socialism that they thrust on a near zombie land” – said Mr. Jesudasan as friends of his just smiled and nodded in consent. But Sarsuamma who was in the kitchen wasn’t taking it so easy, she came out, with her apron, knee length skirt, hands stuck with dough and wheat chaff, her hair dishevelled, a roti roller in one of her hand and bare foot.  

She was charged when she stepped out of the kitchen and faced the hall where all the men were seated, with no hesitation, she threw her view to the group sitting in the hall “We are the people to be blamed for what this country has turned out to be , We’ve betrayed this country , all of you, and me, (she included) are as good as the dogs, bitches and pigs of Mettiguda. India and Indians have chosen to plunge into a space where indignity is but a fact of life - to openly defecate around Parliament and then war over who would get to eat the shit – and we sit around our homes and discuss Hume, Locke, Marx, Gandhi , Botha and Mandela when what is needed is you going to the streets, going to the village, the mandals, the rural hinterlands of India and building India’s democracy”.  

Sarsu stopped, seeing one of her friends from Pune , Arvind, a young politician belonging to the CPI ( ML) who was also in the group standing up to put in his rejoinder to what She had said – Sarsu, listen its not easy as you think, the situation in the country is such that we can’t just walk out there and do what you say we’ve to do, the system out there has a huge vested interest not to allow such things, you will be termed anti national and killed in no time!” – he shrugged his shoulders, looked at her in all honesty and sat down.

Sarsu was not convinced, She said “Shame on you Arvind, coming from you its painful, We’ve allowed clans and dynasties to re-emerge, allowed our governance learn the art to stifle life, stifle voices and find joy in making sure the life at the bottom of the well was hell” and all we do is bring forward our fear of death ?

Just then the whole group were suddenly stopped short of their dialectic. They heard a urgent knock on their door and the door bell too rang with urgency.