Matters of Mathematics | Saranyan B.V.

Chotram is the brother of my class-mate Munna and  a ‘stingy-pot’ to  boot. It seems he used to pride himself as the Shylock of modern times when it comes to being parsimonious. During our university days, Munna brought us back interesting anecdotes arising out of his behavioral trait, each time after spending his vacation in the native village in Burdwan district.  Munna usually spoofed the incidents while recounting, speckling them with rancor-less humor and a sense of deje vu. Later, we contributed to the sparkle, added, improvised, narrated and re-narrated till our hearts burst at the seem with laughter. Eventually, Chotram  became a mythical character living amidst us in the Hostel.
I had not met Chotram then and it mattered little to me who he was.
However, I  understood  Munna’s  anguish and in fact sympathized with his unhappy predicament, as Chotram was at that time the sole custodian of Munna’s moderate inheritance from the diseased parents and Munna had to wait until he turned eighteen in order to put his paws.
It looks like a long time ago.
When Chotram decided to migrate to Kolkotta, a good  four years ago and for whatever reasons, Munna had sought my intervention to help his brother settle down, since I lived in the great lumbering city as well. From then on, an uneasy and kind of cautious friendship had developed between us.
I quizzed myself often who is the better of the two, a miser or a stingy pot. A miser is of better character as his miserliness is uniformly poised towards all, including himself.  Whereas a penny-pincher stingy pot, tight-fisted normally, can splurge with callous liberty when it comes spending on himself. I would still prefer a stingy man over a miser nevertheless, as in my opinion spending in any form improves the economy of the nation.
During one of my visits to the Chotorams, he informed me unexpectedly, that they have adopted a pup. That was astonishing!
It seems that Chotorams came across the poor sod while helplessly attempting to cross the busy road leading to the airport  in DumDum. Apparently in search of the mother. Chotrams were certain and feared that the pup would get run over sooner or later. The couple straightaway resolved, more as a consequence of innate wisdom rather than one of charity, that a dog would serve to enhance the security of their mingy earnings stacked in thick-set safe of their dreary apartment. And that the dog would not consume much of food, being preposterously tiny.
The minute the pup heard us arrive, it ran into the drawing room and jumped with joy, showering blissful champagne kisses all over my face. Obviously the babe had got accustomed to its new home and filled every corner delightfully. It is not one of those breed dogs which costs a fortune, a simple cross-bred,  sired perhaps by an affluent Terrier upon a hapless street bitch, because the black pup had a tuft of thick hair protruding right above its snout like the horn of an Indian rhino.
A perfect street-mongrel with no inflated expectations, I mused, suited the sensibility of Chotram’s purse.
The pup, charming and energetic, nevertheless looked gaunt which made me infinitely sad. Some dogs have a way of looking devotedly at your face as if nothing else in the world mattered more than you. ‘Nattu’ gave me one of those looks, which made me take an instant liking to him.
In spite of Chotram being Chotram, Nattu gained weight at times, lost at times and gained weight again. And this cycle went on for some time.
It’s Munna’s turn now to listen to the dog-fairy anecdotes over long-distance calls in which we chattered and together did some good spoofing, laughing our guts out again like it in the collegiate days. Our wives wondered what had gone wrong with the two of us.
The last time we visited Chotorams, lamb briyani was obviously in the oven, the aroma was invigorating and I wondered if they would ever ask us to stay  for lunch, something which they refrained with indefatigable assiduousness.  I was sure that cashew paste and saffron strands were part of the salivating recipe!
Nattu sat by my feet, his neck sticking out towards my face, the way only a dog can. He looked terribly hungry and famished but whined no complaints. I felt sad again. Without thinking of the corollaries, I uttered, “Dada, the dog is fed regularly, is it not?”
I expected Chotram to take offense as the senseless words slipped out, but to my wonder he didn’t. I was relieved, and hoped instead, he would appreciate my sense of humor. Which he didn’t either.
What was iniquitously surprising was that Chotram took the question goddamn seriously! And he answered in all earnestness, in his boastful voice, “I give him ten pods of pedigree in the morning and ten in the evening.”
– even as I heard Mrs. Chotram hollering from the back of the kitchen, “Pedigree! Twenty  morning, twenty evening!”
Nattu’s excitement on hearing the loud voices of his masters made his round eyes elongate, they looked like two wine- grapes fashioned to stand vertically on a twin-stand candelabra.  Sweet! I bent and kissed Nattu’s forehead with all  affection  – because Nattu and I suffered the same joy of ignorance in  matters of mathematics!

Saranyan Bv is a poet and short story writer who entered the realm of literature due to a stupid error. But loves being there!