Furry Fuss | Nirupama Sudarsh

Mrs Nair smiled coquettishly at her ostentatious reflection in the mirror, her chin pressed forward by her thumb and buttressed by the index finger, in sloppy imitation of heroines from the Hindi movies of the 60s and 70s. Her face was decked up in a combination of cosmetic floridity- eyes done heavily, lips painted a fiery red against wax like skin that diffused an orange glow. Adjusting her necklace and the pallu of her deep green silk saree, she straightened up and smiled radiantly at herself once again before answering the shrill cries of her 12 year old daughter Lulu.

“Amma…will you hurry up? We are already behind schedule by 20 minutes. If we don’t make a move now, we may have to give up all hopes of at least savoring some delightful paalada, let alone reaching on time for the muhurtham!”

Raghavan, the dull driver from Kasargod snickered at the adolescent’s food fetish that turned out to be unintended hilarity often. Mr Nair sitting to the left of the rural, dark, short, strongly communist driver, whom the polished Mrs Nair addressed as “Chauffer” and sometimes as“Raghav” in mock sophistication, glared at him. Raghavan hastily looked away in an unsuccessful attempt at covering up for his breach of ‘propriety’ that was often advocated by the lady of the house.

“Amma iss heerrre achaaa…” mumbled Lallu, the younger of the two siblings sloshing a toffee in his mouth, when he saw his mother finally come out of the house locking the door. Fruity saliva trickled down his cheek and then on to his chin.

“Eeww…!” yowled his sister just like she had seen the English lady on television squeal, on discovering a creepy centipede crawling up her skirt.

“Acchhaaa…Lulu is making fun of mmeee!!” whimpered 6 year old Lallu.

“For heaven’s sake will you two stop eating up my head? I’ve grown sick of this. I can no longer handle this. Dare utter one more word and I’m sending you both to boarding school…” hollered a ruffled Mrs Nair as she carefully got into the car, taking special care to avoid creasing her saree. Once inside she slammed the door shut that caused the frail Mr Nair to flutter. Raghavan keyed the engine to life and soon the car was out of the stoned pathway of their house.

“What do you mean ‘I have grown sick of this’? I have been the victim of this bickering over the last almost one hour. And how many times have I told you not to be so hard on the door. I don’t have to remind you every single day of my weak nerves, do I?” barked Mr Nair now turning back to face his wife expecting to elicit an apology from her. Mrs Nair was paying little attention. She was deeply absorbed in touching up her already made up face with tools from her mini make up kit.

Poor Mr Nair let out a sigh of hopelessness and turning forward, focused his attention on the swiftly moving trees, buses, shops, bill boards and electric posts outside.

“Raghav, the gift has been put on board, hasn’t it been?” enquired Mrs Nair slipping her make up kit into her vanity bag.

“Yes madam. It’s been safely put away in the boot. Pardon me for asking madam, but are you gifting them a painting? It was painfully heavy loading it. Certainly must be a grandiose object worth thousands of rupees. My guess is that it is one from your fine collection of Ravi Varma paintings. Is that so madam?” pried the inquisitive driver who liked to poke his nose into the domestic affairs of the Nairs. Vishu was not far off. He knew how to work his way up to win an extra few rupees for vishukainetam this year.

“I don’t see how it matters to you Raghav but since you ask, well, a painting it is indeed! Not a Ravi Varma work though. Every ragtag and bobtail in this state can think of no other artist but Ravi Varma. These people could do with some out of the box thinking. I wouldn’t be surprised if I was told that these country bumpkins haven’t even heard of the artistic movement called Renaissance introducing inimitables like Leonardo Da Vinci and Michelangelo to the world, revolutionizing Europe in the 14th century.” prattled Mrs Nair. Raghavan felt sorry for himself for having pried. All this was drivel to his ears. But he knew better than to interrupt his employer. So he feigned interest.

“So that means the painting has been done by one of the great men you just mentioned?”

“No Raghu. Those priceless objects are locked up in museums spread across Europe. Can you imagine that Malayalam artist, uh what’s his name? Ezhu..Ezhu..ah Ezhuthachan, the great Ezhuthachan’s painting falling into private hands? Be careful before you speak such blunders.”

“But madam, Ezhuthachan was a poet not an artist.” blurted out Raghavan regretting he had said that much to irk Mrs Nair.

“Well, maybe. But there was an artist too I’m sure. Doesn’t matter anyway. Coming back to the gift, I am giving them a Van Gogh painting. ‘Self Portrait with Bandaged Ear’. Not the original of course. But almost equally priceless I would say. I picked it up from Holland last summer. Cost me a small fortune. Never mind. It will serve as a symbol of my family’s affluence. Vincent Van Gogh! I’m sure Lily’s eyes would pop once she sees this.” chuckled an overwhelmed Mrs Nair little discouraged by her own ignorance.

A cow suddenly strayed into the middle of the road. Raghavan swerved the steering vehemently to avoid ramming it. The passengers lunged forward as he turned the steering a full 90 degrees.

“Road rash,” muttered an annoyed Mr Nair who woke up with a start from a disrupted afternoon siesta.

Mrs Nair thought she heard a whine from behind. It sounded like an animal. But she brushed the thought away.

“Sorry sir, if I had not manoeuvred the car that way, that cow would have been beef by now.”

Lallu broke into a peal of hearty laughter.

“Cow into beef, he he hee…. beef.” giggled Lallu, fascinated by the driver’s timely wittiness.

He whooped with such belly aching laughter that he soon began to choke and cough violently. Lulu patted him hard on the back and Mrs Nair made him drink some water from the bottle she was carrying. This went on for a minute or two. In a while the cough subsided and he was once again breathing normally but a film of tears was visible in the wells of his swollen eyes.

“It’s ok Lallu kutta. Come to achan. It’s nothing. Stop crying monae.” Saying so, Mr Nair held out his hands towards his sobbing son.

“Achaa..achaa..I, I..want to hug… Meow. I want to hug..meooww.” he said snivelling, referring to his kitten. He was leaning against his father’s chest. But the warmth barely comforted him.

“Do you want him now? Can’t you wait till we reach Lily aunt’s house?”

“No I want him now.”

“What do you mean you want him now Lallu? You know he’s at home now. You’ll have to wait till we get back. Now be a good boy and go to sleep. Mamma will wake you up when we reach.” said Mrs Nair.

“Achaa you said Meow is coming with us. I want him now.”

“Of course. He is here with us. Raghavan pull the car along the roadside.”

Raghavan did as he was told and parked the car under the arching bows of a peepal tree on the left side of the road.

“What is happening here? Quit playing around with the kid. We don’t have all day to waste.” said an annoyed and puzzled Mrs Nair.

Mr Nair flung the door open and walked to the boot of the car not listening to his agitated wife. He lifted open the door and was greeted by the desperate cry of an overwhelmed kitten which at once plumbed onto the bare ground.

“Meow!!” cried out Lallu, running out of the car equally overwrought as his feline friend, and bending down on the ground to cuddle the furry mass.

Baffled by what was going on, Mrs Nair followed by her daughter and Raghavan got down from the car and walked to her husband. Seeing her son play with the kitten that was supposed to be at home now, she started yelling at her husband whom she held responsible for pampering the children.

“What in the world were you thinking when you put that wretched cat in the boot? It could have suffocated to death in there and imagine the racket Lallu would steer at home or much worse what if it had laid its accursed paws on my paint…?” She fell short of the remaining sentence as her eyes fell on her painting, now a lacerated canvas hanging in shreds of pastel gold and green.

Color drained from Mrs Nair’s face as she looked at the disturbingly distorted version of ‘Self Portrait with Bandaged Ear’.

There was acute silence for some time as father, mother, daughter and driver looked on in disbelief until Lallu spoke.

Furry fuss/Nirupama

“Achaa let’s not waste any more time. We need to get some milk for Meow. She is very tired. Paayasam will also do if we can’t find any milk.”

*****

Glossary

1. Pallu- the loose end of a saree

2. Paalada- a variety of paayasam (a delicacy) served for marriages and functions

3. Muhurtham- Auspicious hour of marriage

4. Kasargod- a northern district of Kerala

5. Vishukainetam- money received by children from parents and relatives and domestic helps from their employers keeping in tradition with the festival of Vishu

6. Ezhuthachan- Thunchaththu Ramanujan Ezhuthachan was an Indian, poet of Kerala from around the 16th century

7. Vishu-Hindu festival of Kerala

8. Monae- a term in Malayalam used by grownups to address young boys with affection

9. Nairs- a caste community belonging to Kerala

10. Kutta- a term in Malayalam used by grownups to address children with affection

11. Achan- Father

12. Amma-Mother

13. Paayasam- a delicacy served at marriages and other special occasions.

Nirupama Sudarsh is studying for her economics degree at the Symbiosis School of Economics at Pune in the second year. She belongs to Trichur district in Kerala. Her works have been previously published in the magazines Induswomanwriting, and Spark.

Nirupama Sudarsh is studying for her economics degree at the Symbiosis School of Economics at Pune in the second year. She belongs to Trichur district in Kerala. Her works have been previously published in the magazines Induswomanwriting, and Spark.