Being quite the coward, it was impossible that I would have defied a court summons, right? The truth is, I never received the summons. How do you explain that to the police? They were from another State and they didn’t understand Tamil. Worse still, English was totally alien to them. 

I told the policemen, ‘Charu Nivedita is my chittappa (the younger brother of father), and he has stepped out briefly. Please have a cup of tea somewhere and come back soon; I’ll call him on the phone.’ 

Surely the most innocent cops I have ever seen! While they went for their tea, I escaped and sought refuge with a wealthy friend. Subsequently, my lawyer intervened, informing the court that I hadn’t received the summons and asked the court to resend it. 

I requested my journalist friend to publish the news that a criminal case had been filed against me. He went on to publish it and the samyar filed a case against him too and dragged him to court. 

Unfortunately, luck wasn’t on my side. If only that samyar hadn’t sued me and had instead, threatened my life, my name might have appeared in the New Yorker. But, such things never happen in my life. The Communists don’t like me, and the right wing hates me. My fellow writers consider me as their die hard rival, I find myself destined to be a one-man army until the end. 

A friend asked, “Why are you terrified of that samyar and his court case against you? Just go to jail, and we’ll get a new, different novel from you.” Tempting as it was, I lost heart when I read “The Neighborhood” by my favorite author, Mario Vargas Llosa. If I hadn’t read it, I would not have feared jail. 

In that novel, a wealthy millionaire finds himself behind bars for some unexpected reason. Life in prison is in stark contrast to his life of luxury. On the first day in prison, a thug orders him to suck his dick. One can only imagine the shock and emotions that flood the millionaire at that moment. 

He hesitates, trembling. Then, the thug speaks, “Can’t you see I’m giving you a chance to save your life, you fool? I have taken a liking to you, which is why I asked you to suck me off. Otherwise, let me make it clear, everyone here will tear your ass off, leaving you battered and bloody. That’s not something you’d want. Not only that. Many of these sons of bitches here have AIDS. Even if you get out on bail tomorrow, you might soon turn into an AIDS patient, you understand? Give me a good one before I change my mind. If you do it, no one will dare to approach you, thinking you’re my man.” 

Around the age of thirty-five, I had endured two hard years living as a catamite. However, that was a phase. Can one endure the same in prison? During my life as a catamite, I had the freedom to get out of it, but that would not be possible in prison, right? Moreover, isn’t “space” as crucial as “time” in human life? 

Well, the story has taken a turn. We began with my Periyappa. But why did I bring up Periyappa? Ah, I remember the reason now. Periyappa was living in a village situated 100 km from Thanjavur. He lived with another woman. When he visited Periyamma’s house, he mercilessly beat the boy born to him and Periyamma. You would think he was beating an animal. He wouldn’t touch the other kids- the ones born to Periyamma and her sister’s son. No one knew why he was thrashing his own son that way. He visited them every month, stayed for two days, and on the third day, he beat the boy and departed – a ritual-like pattern had emerged. 

At one point, when my brother had grown into a man, he retaliated and struck his father. Since then, Periyappa stopped talking to his son. The beatings too, in that monthly prison, came to an end. 

I share all this, folks, because my mother and father raised me like an emperor in a society full of such fathers! 

My parents believed that I was a prodigy, but by the age of seventeen, I realized I wasn’t. I held the top position in school until I was sixteen, but when I entered pre-university, I became a “last bencher”- a mediocre student. The primary reason was English; it wasn’t taught properly in school. Our family friend and my father’s teacher Swami urged me to join the ‘first group’ in pre-university because I was known to be the smartest boy in town. 

The first group studied Maths, Physics, and Chemistry, while the second group studied Biology, Physics, and Chemistry. They were the group of students aspiring to enter the engineering and medical fields. However, I was not interested in those fields. The third group studied Arts, comprising of subjects like History, Tamil, Sociology, etc. It was often deemed to be the refuge of the good-for-nothings, but interestingly, those who pursued Arts in pre-university, later became professors! 

Everything was new to me in college. Having grown up in a loving and wonderful community during my school days, it felt like I had been parachuted into a wild jungle. 

Once, the chemistry professor flung my record notebook across the room, for a small mistake. I should have kept quiet. If you refused to endure such humiliation, it would end with a slap on the cheek. 

If he gave me a zero in internal assessment and jeopardized my future, or if he told the principal to mark my conduct as ‘satisfactory’ on the certificate, it would mean that the academic path was shut to me for the rest of my life. Not even the word “bad”, just a ‘satisfactory’ in the Conduct Certificate can severely limit a student’s future prospects, making it difficult for him to find admission in any college. Any chance of a professional career would end. The only option was to work in a grocery store and pack parcels. Consequently, all science group students were compliant even if the professors, like prison bullies, demanded that they suck them off. On the other hand, the Arts students were full of confidence, as if they were born to rule the world. They faced no issues with their record notebooks because they did not have any.   

Another reason why I hated college was that I was so used to our teachers in school treating us like their own wards. Allow me to illustrate with an example. During a period of time, there was a financial crisis and my school was unable leading to pay teachers a monthly salary. The committee members had failed to make their monthly donation, resulting in a backlog of three months’ salary. 

There was a philanthropist in Nagore named Jabbar Maraikayar. One day, Natesa Iyer, our headmaster who wore only an angawasthra and never a shirt, went to Jabbar Maraikayar’s house, explained the situation, and requested financial assistance. Maraikayar listened to the matter and provided the needed funds. Our school expanded with contributions from such sources, and Natesa Iyer’s sacrifice was ingrained in every brick of our school. 

All the teachers in the school were brahmins, except one. His name was Seeni Shanmugam, the lone Tamil teacher. All the teachers, being Brahmins, abstained from drinking and eating meat. This abstinence was regarded highly of in our society, then. However, Seeni Shanmugam was an exception. He not only drank but also played cards regularly in a gambling club. If there is a reason why even my adversaries commend the Tamil I write today, the love and affection that Seeni Shanmugam showered on me, was a defining one.

By Charu Nivedita