David was a timid guy, so was his father. One should not assume that the reference to his father is inane, for it proves perfect inheritance of genes, unhealthy genes.
He would never ask you anything, no matter what you owe him. People never knew him as a timid guy; for he would always behave as if he was the last confident guy left in the world. He could well manage such an image by withdrawing from worldly affairs and posing himself as a calm and thoughtful gentleman, which he was not. Every other time when David seemed to be thinking, he would’ve thought of some way to get out of the situation at any cost. He didn’t mind spending some money if it could maintain his image intact.
He always wondered, “How a perfect gentleman should be? How could he maintain his image without losing money? May be they lost money at times, just like me, and they would never reveal, a perfect gentleman would never reveal…just like me.” and consoled himself reciting a popular adage “Everything comes with a price tag” and reflected “That is not a proverb, but an advertisement, whatever, it’s just the same, today’s advertisement is tomorrow’s adage” feeling very important at his own philosophy.
He feared any kind of discussions with a stranger, conscious of his appearance and a doubt of his own ability over the language he spoke made him succumb to a level of a mute spectator to everything that happened around him. He would not talk to anyone, even to a shop keeper; he would just mumble what he wanted or perhaps point at the item in the rack. He would avoid eye contact at any cost, just to look haughty and gentleman like.
It was Christmas; David was asked to buy vegetables and chicken for the special meal of the day. David had to agree at one point, and set out for the tough job as if he was assigned to climb Mt.Everest in one day.
He was handled a bag full of vegetables at the market by an old gentleman, with a thorny beard and a leaking nose. The old man treated him as if David was his own grandson, David was amazed and reflected, “Customer Satisfaction, very clever businessman” tightly clutching the heavy plastic bag handed to him.
David managed to obtain everything in the list without opening his mouth; he had prepared a list of items on a crumbled piece of paper, scribbling every inch of the paper, left with no space to log a half a kilo of cabbage. He was looking around to see if anyone was squinting at him, as if everybody were jobless and in queue to snatch the job of criticizing him.
Anxious about the Sunday crowd swarming around and mindful of the silly people gaping at him, (he believed so…) he forgot all about the cabbage business.
The vegetable man, wiped his leaky nose with his left wrist with a synchronized shrieking, and returned an old brown note, a ten rupee note; the balance after paying a hundred rupees.
On his way to the butcher, he was reminded of the missing cabbage. He did not wish to get back to the vegetable man. He believed that he would look like a fool, someone with a memory of …what? He did not know the name of the creature he had earlier associated with poor memory, rather did not remember the name of the creature. Such was his memory.
The case of memory was not as important as the business of half a kilo of cabbage. Presently, the Sunday crowd gathered around the market like busy bees around a Bee-hive.
By the time David reached the butcher’s shop on the dingy corner of the market, the crowd was slowly receding out of the shop. The bulky butcher, wearing a checked lungi and a sleeveless white vest sprayed all over with blood asked him, “How much?” in a villainous voice.
David had to think now, he was scared of making any mistake, and he could not bear people laughing at him. He never moved his lips but moved his index finger like a railway gate that one can find only at remote railway crossings.( To indicate a kilo of meat.) He did not look at the butcher, pretending as if he was the inspector of the pink colored meats hanged all around the dingy shop. There were no two meats alike, just like no two fingerprints could be similar. There was a smell of feather soaked in blood and wastes, a nauseating aroma that can well put off the strictest of non vegetarians.
Looking at a whitish meat hanging near the butcher, he wondered” What was the name of that goat? Was he black or white! I remember Michael Jackson now, this butcher is no decent man…He might even sell me dog-meat, a stray dog meat. I must be careful. Whatever, I’ll eat whatever he gives me, better than looking like a fool…”
It was only when the butcher asked him something in hindi, mistaking him to be a North Indian that David forced himself out of his day dream.
David did not know how to react; whether to accept his lack of knowledge in the national language or say a few words he’d picked from his hindi speaking friends. He knew very little, in fact just two words, “han’ and ‘nahi’, often uncertain about which meant yes and which no.
David understood two words from the butcher’s repeated threatening tone:biriyani ,chops. He concluded that butcher meant to make sure what kind of meat he wanted; to cook for biriyani or something else. Yet again, David would manage without talking. Now the train gate was his right hand, moving up and down perpendicular to this left hand (He meant to chop the meat, if you did not understand whatever I implied.)
“Hundred and ten rupees,” glared the butcher, still chopping the meat with his sharp silvery knife. “This fellow would cut whatever comes in front of his knife; he might cut me and ask if someone needed human biriyani or human chops… that wouldn’t taste good. I should give him the correct change or else…” David told himself.
He reached his purse at the back pocket, two hundred rupee notes and a brown ten rupee note of the vegetable man stared at him. He smiled at his good luck, had he bought that awful half a kilo of cabbage( which would cost at least ten rupees) he would’ve been chopped for the butcher’s dinner. He murmured, “Thank you Jesus.”
As soon as he took the ten rupee note out of his leather purse, he began to fret and fuss with his purse. He felt betrayed, for the note was brown, torn, and cello taped at the sides.
David had some time to think, till the butcher finished chopping his meats.
“Should I sneak away, What if he had people standing at the door to catch people like me? A camera at the door, I can’t go hiding…Damn with that ten rupee note.” thought David.
The butcher raised his eyebrow in a light manner and asked him, “ kya bhai?” handing him a black plastic bag weighing a kilo.
The first word David uttered in an hour long Everest climbing was, “No change…” in a submissive tone, as if his tongue was at his stomach.
“How much do you have?” asked the butcher
“Two hundred rupee notes”, replied David.
“I’ll take hundred, ten rupee concession for you.”
The butcher was smiling at David, and he reciprocated that with an even broader smile, feeling a sense of guilt at judging the butcher as bad man.
“Let that be my Christmas present for gentle man like you…” said the butcher cheerily.
“Thank you, uncle.” replied David, recalling an adage “Appearances are often deceptive” and corrected it to “Appearances are always deceptive.”
