It is 11:30 at night. Roughly around this time CRK downs his 4th large. That is when he enters his zone. Like Rahul Dravid, he would leave every delivery even a fraction outside the offstump, if he were to get a chance. When CRK is in his zone, he starts telling stories, the kind of stuff you won’t hear anywhere else. His exploits in the jungles of Sathyamangalam, or his daring escape from Chambal, how he spent one night next to Priyanka’s room -- that is the closest he could get….
But that 4th large is critical. Everything hinges on that. The trick is in getting him to slow down and force him to savour his drink sip by sip. Don’t let him reach the 8th large, that is when he will start randomly breaking things because India signed the GATT agreement some 20 years ago or VP Singh lost power because Lutyens' Delhi ganged up against him, pretty much like it has ganged up against Prime Minister Narendra Modi and Arnab Goswami, or Deve Gowda cheated Ramakrishna Hegde, aided by Lalu Yadav and other sundry Yadavs, to become the Prime Minister…
CRK has his band of fans, from all age groups. Every night they gather at the temporary shed behind the local theka. Today is no different. Our man is in full flow.
“It happened a few years ago, don’t remember exactly when. A lot of my life is fuzzy,” said CRK, his eager audience anxiously waiting for him change gears. “That is the thing with Old Monk,” he said straying from the subject.
“Did it happen in Delhi?” I tried to bring him back to the present.
“What happened, when?”
“You were telling us a story about something that happened to you at sometime, probably in the past since Time Machine is still not a reality.”
“Do you know where you can find the most honest auto drivers in India?” he asked.
“Kozhikode,” said Sai, who I am not taking the trouble to tell you more about since he and I incidental to the story. We are what you are, the listeners.
CRK thought for a while and continued, “I don’t know where we can find honest auto drivers, but I have had some interesting experiences. One particular incident happened in Kochi, your home Kutty.”
“Shock us.”
“I had finished a bottle or two that night and was looking for more drinks. Should have been midnight or so, people were returning home after the second show. I asked them where I could get a bottle of anything.”
“You should have gone to the Kuzhiyil Bar on M G Road, Sir. Just tap on the shutters, someone will come from the adjoining building and give you whatever you need. Champagne, Scotch, rum, you will get just about anything there,” said Sai.
“Back then I didn’t have friends like you. My friends were all mother******s of the top order, they left me on the road once the drinks were over. They even finished the touchings.”
“My sympathies. Then what, did you get the drinks you were so desperate for?”
“That is when Velu came. He was an auto driver.”
‘Saar, what do you want?’
‘One bottle of rum, can you get it?’
‘You are in Kochi saar, I will get you an AK-47 if you want. I have better stuff than rum. Nalla onnaam tharam patta (first-rate arrack)’
‘Isn’t it banned? Will I lose my eyes or something?’
‘Twenty years experience in the business saar, never got it wrong. But if you don’t want it, I will get you nice brandy.’
‘No. I am game for patta. I trust you with my life, you can’t be any worse than that bastard Rao who sold out our country to the imperialist forces in the West.’
CRK took another sip, “Weren’t we right? Betraying VP Singh was the biggest tragedy that happened to India. We did to VP what we did to Tipu. We are the stupidest people in the world.”
“Sir, did Velu get the പട്ട, അത് പറ, ഇത് ഒരു മാതിരി ബാറിൽ പിടിച്ചിരുത്തി പാലും വെള്ളം തരണ പരിപാടി ആയല്ലോ,” Sai complained.
“He took me in his auto through the bylanes to more bylanes till we reached a ramshackle house, looked almost like a slum. By the way it is a shame you have slums in Kerala.”
“Back to the story, comrade.”
“Velu’s house, I am assuming it was his home, was next to the kaayal (backwaters). He put two chairs in the open. There we sat and drank arrack. A woman, he said it was his wife, brought us meen vattichathu (fish) and beef fry. Just picture it. All that good food, drinks, the boat in the backwaters far away, the breeze, the swaying coconut trees, the moon…”
“Did you get Velu’s number? Where can we find him,” asked Sai.
“Wait the story isn’t over.”
“What more will happen? You must have puked and gone to bed.”
“I don’t remember puking. But Velu was a generous host. He said
‘Saar it is too late for you to go. First bus is at 5 am, you will have to book a room somewhere. Why don’t you spend the night here? We have a spare room.’
‘It will be trouble for you, Velu.’
“Saying this, he took me inside, to a room. Just a bed and a table and nothing else. Or did I see an almirah there? I tried to close the door, but it didn’t have any lock.”
“Oh, the usual stuff, you got robbed,” I said.
“തോക്കിൽ കേറി വെടി വയ്ക്കാതെ സാറേ, he can do better than that,” said Sai.
“The next morning when I woke up I was naked. Sleeping next to me was the woman Velu said was his wife. She was very pretty unlike how I pictured her the previous night, and needless to say she was naked too. And then Velu entered the room, I didn’t know what to say.
‘What happened here, Velu? I don’t remember anything.’
[Silence]
‘I am really sorry. But I don’t think anything happened, I was dead drunk.’
[Silence]
‘Please don’t call the police.’
‘Hahahahaha’, Velu started laughing, ‘Saar, you are very naughty. You could have said this is what you wanted, we could have saved some time.’
‘Come on Velu, what happened?’
‘Whatever happens between a man and woman in a closed room.’
‘Stop this movie dialogue. I wasn’t in a position to do anything. I refuse to believe you.’
‘Enna saare, oru maathiri mayiru varthamaanam. You got what you wanted, now lecturing me.’
‘I don’t believe you, take me to the bus stand now.’
‘I will take you wherever you want to go, but pay up first. She is not in this profession for fun.’
“Velu took all the money I had and dropped me at the bus stop.”
“So, what happened inside the room,” asked Sai.
“I don’t think anything happened.”
“Come on, there must have been some signs. If the kumkum was smudged, it was fraud, they took the idea from films.”
“Nothing much happened there,” said CRK, and started drinking his 6th large very thoughtfully.
“But you sound uncertain,” I said.
****
PS: CRK died yesterday, he had cancer
