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THE VISITOR WITHOUT APPOINTMENT by Ram Varma
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THE VISITOR WITHOUT APPOINTMENT by RAM VARMA
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| Article Posted: 03/05/2013 |
| Article Views: 617 |
| Articles Written: 1 |
| Word Count: 1491 |
| Article Votes: 0 |
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THE VISITOR WITHOUT APPOINTMENT |
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Art and Culture,Humor,Writing
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I woke up hearing the telephone ringing in the drawing room below. The wall-clock is so hung on the wall right over my feet that I could read the time without straining my neck. Time is 6:20am. Already I am late by 35 minutes. Everyday I get up at 5:45am. No alarm is required. Right from the dawn of memory, this has been the habit. Retire to bed exactly at 10:30pm. Half an hour is spent on light reading – magazines and novels. The bedroom lamp is switched off at eleven. The publishers of my autobiography had asked for a pre-publication write-up three or four years ago. What is the secret of your success in life? It seems that they along with the readers enjoyed my one word answer : Punctuality. What happened to the punctuality today? Is the clock running fast? No possibility. It was presented to me during my last trip to Japan. Japanese goods are reliable. Heard the voice of the servant below. Master is not yet awake... 7 O’ Clock? If appointment is given at 7, he should certainly see you.... No appointment is given, isn’t? then, can’t help it... to speak to him? He speaks on the telephone only after 8am... Right, call at 8am. He put down the telephone. Now he will come up and slowly open the door. If I am awake, he will take out the muffler and walking-stick and keep the door ajar. After getting up at 5:45am, I go for a walk till 6:30am. My morning walk. The muffler if wound properly around the neck covering the ears, gives protection from cold wind. Walk is the best exercise. Hands, legs, lungs and each and every muscle of the body get worked up. In the early days, acquaintances used to accompany me to get themselves engaged in conversation. Since that was the only opportunity to give exercise to my mind and body, I had to tell them rather bluntly, “I am sorry. Come home to talk. If not, come to my office. Since I am always busy, fix an appointment. Then you don’t have to waste time.” Tried to get up. This is funny! Can’t raise the head; can’t move the body; as if a mysterious power has put on the brake to the movements of all my limbs. Should this condition continue, certain changes would have to be made in today’s programmes. Appointments between 8 and 8:30 should be cancelled. That doesn’t matter. The first callers are representatives from the Training College Students’ Union. May be they are coming to request me to inaugurate their annual day. Let them come to the office. The second visitors are officers of a Calcutta based company. They can be given time tomorrow. No problem. They have to get certain matters cleared at the government level. They will patiently wait. But I must go at 9am and inaugurate the symposium on Manipravalam at the town hall. I have already learnt by heart, for the occasion, a few lines from the masterpiece selected by the Malayalam professor. Speech in English with proper mixing of quotations from Manipravalam should be very effective. Moreover, the listeners get an opportunity to hear the views of an outsider. That is what they went also. Then an appointment can be fixed up with the doctor at 8am. To press the calling bell attached to the cot, the hand has to be raised. Very surprisingly, my hand doesn’t move. Bedroom door is opened. The servant’s head is visible. Seeing me lying with open eyes, he took the muffler and walking-stick and went out. Wanted to shout. Old boy! I cannot move my hand. The servant is middle aged. He has been with me for the last twenty five years. Even then, he is afraid of me; never asks anything. Old boy! I tried to shout out. Oh! It is a new experience. My voice is stifled. My God! Tried to close my eyes; but couldn’t As if the trail of the dream I had seen at the time of waking continued to haunt me, fear seemed to slowly devour me. I was in the midst of a dream when woke up. I was crossing the river Ganga swimming. I could see, above the tiny waves, the distant river bank. The propeller of the boat that follows me cramps my hands and legs. When trying to thrust forward gathering all my strength, the distance to the other bank of the river, instead of shrinking, seems to grow longer and longer. Suddenly someone caught hold of my legs and pulled down. First I wanted to shout out, Ayyo! but would not. I know that when going deep down, the pressure increases and pushes the body up. Hence, closing the eyes and holding the breath, I waited for that moment. Heard the sound of opening the door below. She must have come. Possible that she returned early today from the temple. There is Archana my wife. She is fully engaged in the morning and evening. Has he not returned from the morning walk? It is already past 7am now. The servant said: ‘He is awake but not got up yet’. First she will be shocked. That is her nature. But I am still scared. The feeling that I have not been able to effect any change in her character even after being with her for so long a time, creates in me a sense of defeat. She doesn’t utter a word against whatever advice I give her. She obediently listens to everything but does exactly what she feels like doing. The door that leads to this room from hers is opened. As my head could not be moved, I observingly sensed the smell of sandal paste and jasmine coming nearer and nearer. ‘Here is prasadam’. I don’t somehow, feel well. There is no necessity to call a doctor don’t worry. Wanted to tell her so much. But how could I without moving my tongue? ‘What happened today” Are you not getting up? Haven’t you given someone appointment at 8am? She shook my shoulder and said: ‘Wake up’. Suddenly her expression changed. First, an astonished countenance; then anxiety. Then she violently shook my shoulders calling out: ‘Ayyo! Why don’t you talk? Why? Why?’ When she began to shake my head keeping her palms on my cheeks, I desired tranquility; never mind; call a doctor. I must go at 9am. There is a meeting. Manipravalam. You may also get ready. The servant came up running. Then there was utter chaos. The sound of the telephone ringing. Screeching of cars. Her heart-rending cries. Men and women of the neighbourhood start rushing in. There is nuisance in the room. Krishna Das was the first doctor to come. He is a brilliant youngster. When he was upset failing to secure a seat for MD, the letter that I gave helped him. He is grateful even now. The doctor examined my pulse and then looking around, said in a low tone: ‘Must have been heart attack. It is nearly one hour now.’ Cries; mass cries. Everyone cries; the doctor too. Dead? My God! I am dead! How? Impossible, doctor! I just cannot die like that. If it is inevitable, I may postpone one or two appointments; nothing more. No, no. It is absolutely impossible to postpone my lecture on Manipravala literature at 9am and my presiding over the religious conference at the temple in the evening. Moreover, I have to reply today the secret letter received from the Government of India enquiring whether I would accept the award of Padma Shree if conferred upon. It is kept pending for three days. An attempt is being made through another person to convert Padma Shree to Padma Bhushan. The result is expected today. Then I have to draft my reply. If the strings are properly pulled, there lies an opportunity to even become the Governor. Then, day after tomorrow, there is the photo-interview granted to the Bombay-based journal. Next week, to be in the delegation to Iran.... My God! I have no time to die now. Moreover, doctor, tell death that he has not taken any prior appointment to visit me now. Ram Varma is the author of the English version of Cricket-Indo : The Story of an Indo-Pak One-Day Cricket Turf War. A fisheries consultant and fisheries journalist, he has been closely associated with the Indian seafood industry for more than 30 years. He enjoys cartooning and translating short stories from Malayalam into English.His award-winning translations have been utilized by the Kerala Literary Academy and in popular magazines and he was awarded the second place prize by the British Council in a competition for short story translation from South Indian languages into English. His business interests take him from India to the UAE. He and his wife have two daughters, two granddaughters and one grandson. His web site is http://sbpra/ramvarma
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