Zero Degree Read online

  If you can talk, why can’t I? You’re a shameless woman, just like your mother. You live here as my wife but you go around sleeping with every other man in town!

  Now that you know I’m shameless, get out of this house! If you have any sense of shame yourself, get out and never come back again!

  TO BURY OUR FATHERS

  Where, pray tell, have you hidden away that novel?

  And which novel, exactly, are you accusing me of hiding?

  To Bury Our Fathers.

  What? But that novel is mine; what possible reason could I have for hiding it away?

  I strongly suspect that you hid it in order to get some sort of revenge on me.

  And do you really suppose I have no better method of exacting revenge? You actually imagine that I would be petty enough to try to punish you by hiding a book?

  I searched the house high and low, but it was nowhere to be found. I have not an iota of doubt that you are the responsible party.

  I had asked you translate it for me. Why would I choose to hide it from you now?

  There’s no way for me to know the answer to that. All I know is that I most certainly put it down right here, and that it is most definitely no longer in the same place. Aside from you, there is nobody else around to move it. A simple deduction follows.

  You may say what you want about me, but please do not cast aspersions on my love for literature. I had that book mailed to me from a foreign country, and gave it to you to translate. I ask again, why would I want to hide it?

  So be it; I accept that you have not hidden it. You have simply stolen it. Give it back to me, or there will be consequences.

  How can I give you something which is not in my possession? You are just trying to find new ways to torture me.

  I won’t hear another word from you! You’ve sunk to the level of a common thief. I won’t have you in this house any longer. Begone, this instant!

  I won’t! I will move only when I find a new house!

  It makes no difference to me if you ever find a new house. You have to get out of here at once! Or else!

  ELECTRIC CREMATORIUM

  Gimme four thousand five hundred rupees.

  For what?

  What if you drop dead all of a sudden? Who’s gonna get rid of your stinkin’ corpse? I’m gonna hafta cover all those costs. Why should I pay out my own pocket?

  What? Why should I drop dead all of a sudden? Hey, why’re you worryin’ about my body when I’m dead anyway, you fuckin’ bitch?

  Hey listen up, you better keep all this fuckin’ bitch crap for some other fuckin’ bitch. I refuse to spend my own money for your funeral.

  Get your hairy-ass pussy outta here. If you don’t wanna spend money on me then call the city corporation to come and take me away in a garbage truck.

  Fat chance gettin’ me to deal with all that crap. You call up the electric crematorium, ask ’em how much they charge, and then gimme the goddamn money!

  You father-fucker! Why should I call and ask? Why should I give a shit about it anyway—I’ll be dead, right? The dogs and foxes can eat my body, for all I fuckin’ care!

  Who are you calling father-fucker, you bastard? You want a slap across the face with my slipper?

  ººººººººº

  Did you ask yet?

  About what?

  About the electric crematorium.

  Bitch! Why should I, you fuckin’ whore? Why should I?

  Who you callin’ a whore, dickless? Your mother’s a whore, and you’re a whore’s son. Get the fuck outta my house, you dog! You rabid mongrel stray! Get outta this house this second! Out!

  32

  AFTER SURYA SEPARATED from Nalini, he wrote a novel entitled Revolver Rita, in which he ripped her to shreds. A few womens’ groups that read the novel demanded that he be expelled from the country. It was around this time that he met Avanthika.

  AVA NTHIKA’S ST OR Y :

  An Abridged Version

  of Avanthika’s 324-Page Letter to Surya

  DEAR SURYA,

  Why I’m writing this letter—why I chose to write it to you—I’m really not sure. It’s just that from the moment I saw you, I felt that you would be a good friend to me.

  I wonder what you felt when you first saw me. Perhaps you thought to yourself, “Here is a woman with no worries, free as a wild sparrow.” But in fact, my life has been full of pain and sorrow. Were it not for my daughter, Nithya, I would have ended it long ago.

  There were nine of us siblings in all. I was the fifth. We were seven girls and two boys, of whom three died, and only six survived. So then I had a brother, two elder sisters, and two younger sisters.

  My father worked at TVS. My mother was the principal of a school, but after the birth of my elder sister, she began to suffer from mental illness. There were three years between me and my elder sister. By the time I was born, my mother’s condition had gone from bad to worse.

  People tell me I was brought up by a dog. It was the house pet. If I wet the bed when I was a baby, the dog would bark to call my sister. If nobody responded it would drag my bed, with me on it, out to the others. It was like a circus dog—it performed all sorts of tricks in order to care for me. In addition to the dog, my neighbors, too, helped with my upbringing.

  I used to be a cute, chubby baby. Maybe that was why the neighbors came forward to care for me. Even now they call me Azhagi. I will tell you later how my good looks became my enemy.

  I never felt a mother’s affection. We grew up without knowing the warmth of a mother’s breast. My eldest sister Mythili, my akka, nine years older than me, was like a mother to me instead. Appa always preferred my sisters Geetha and Vatsala.

  I still remember how Geetha used to always hit me and shout at me. I don’t know why. I was in first standard then. Once we went on a school excursion to Mahabalipuram. Geetha told me not to come, but I was our class teacher’s pet, and she insisted. Throughout the trip Geetha found reasons to hit me.

  At the Mahabalipuram beach, Geetha surprised me from out of nowhere and pushed me into the surf. No one knew what to do. The waves were dragging me out to sea. Fortunately, I got stuck between some submerged rocks. I was rescued by a few fishermen. But by then I had swallowed a great deal of water. They told me that a fisherman had to take me by feet and twirl me around in the air to make me bring up the water. When I returned home, I told Akka what had happened, and she told Appa. But all Appa said was, “Who cares if the sea had taken her!”

  I couldn’t understand Appa, nor did I want to. Amma was getting worse. My younger sister Vatsala was a weak child, who did not learn to talk until she was three. Mythili Akka had to care for her too, which meant there was that much less love and affection for me.

  I was in fifth standard then. Early one morning, there was a huge commotion in the house. I didn’t understand what was going on. I usually slept with Akka. When I woke up, Akka was no longer by my side. I started to weep, and Geetha and Appa slapped me for crying.

  I learned that Mythili Akka had disappeared, never to return. Appa’s neglect and Geetha’s oppression were sure to increase. Already we were depending on the neighbors for our food. God knows how we made it through school. After Akka ran away, there was nobody left for me. Amma’s condition was worsening. If we even tried to go near her, she would chase us away. The neighbors began to treat us like beggars. If we went to their homes during meal time, they would drive us out. One day Vatsala and I went and cried to Amma that we were hungry. “Wait,” she said, “I’ll get you something to eat.” She went into the kitchen and returned with an arivaalmanai. Vatsala ran off, but I got caught. When I tried to escape, she caught hold of my long plait, pulled me towards her, and aimed the blade at my neck. Lucki
ly I ducked at the right moment; she was left with just the plait in her hand, and I fled.

  After Akka left, I slept alone. I used to cry for her. I used to have nightmares about Amma cutting off my head, or being drowned by monstrous waves, or being beaten by Appa, and I would jump awake with a start. Not just in my dreams: even in everyday life, from the moment I woke up until I went to sleep I was either beaten or berated. I’m sure you’ll run off with someone. You’re a slut. You’re a whore. And on and on. How can a father say such things to a young girl? It was only because I kept my inner child alive that I am able to survive in spite of this horrendous past. In my heart, I am still the girl in fifth standard, just abandoned by my Akka.

  Around this time, Appa showed my horoscope to an astrologer who declared that I was the reason the family was going through such a bad time. It’s difficult to write about what followed.

  Even under ordinary circumstances I was afraid of my father. He treated me worse than a slave. Geetha’s position had also become much stronger at home. Anna would take me with him everywhere he went, but once, he left me in Geetha’s care. She was playing with her friend, who wanted me to join too. Do you know what Geetha did to me? She dragged me to a metal dumpster and dashed my head against it. My forehead split open and I bled. She just went on playing with her friend. Luckily, the family doctor was passing by and saw me, took me to his house, treated me, and kept me there till Anna came back.

  I loved poetry, painting, and singing. I even got a chance to sing on the radio. Geetha gave me a thrashing for that. My sisters and I went to the same school. They would often play truant, but I would be reprimanded for it. I was a very timid girl. Only when I was in eighth standard did I come to know that Mythili Akka had gotten married to a man, and that now she had died. Perhaps because I resembled her, Appa hated me all the more. In spite of all this, I stood first in my class in both studies and sports.

  Thinking of sports brings up other memories. Especially Vasumathi, my neighbor. We resembled each other a lot. I will never forget the days I spent with her.

  Those were the days when we roamed free like birds. Krishna Nagar was a three kilometer walk down a mud path from the main road between Pallavaram and Pamal.

  There were not many houses there in those days. The area was covered with fertile fields and orchards. At six in the evening, the jackals would begin their howls.

  One evening, we played late, until after it had become very dark. On the way back home, we were chased by two jackals. Not knowing what to do, Geetha, Anna, Vasumathi and I ran into the Pillayar temple and hid behind the idol. Vasumathi’s father came after a very long time and took us back home.

  There are no fields, orchards, or streams left in that place anymore. The whole area has been leveled and built up. It is surprising how industrially developed it has become today, in such a short span of time.

  The time I spent playing with Vasumathi was my only solace from the abuse I had to face at home. We would make tiny vessels out of wet mud, dry them, and then cook in them. I remember one evening when Vasumathi took some sugar, rice and dhal from her house without her mother’s knowledge. Do you know how old I was then? Just ten or eleven.

  We would walk from Krishna Nagar to our school along a mud track. There was a madwoman, Kaathaayi, who lived there. I wonder why it is that only humans go mad. Or do animals go mad too? You tell me, Surya. My mother, my friend Vasumathi—yes, she, too, went mad; I’ll tell you about that a little later—those two boys in her married home… I, too, would have joined the list of lunatics, but for the mercy of God, who sent you to me.

  I wondered who gave Kaathaayi her name. Where were they now? Did she have any relatives at all? Why did she roam around naked? Whenever someone called out her name, she would look around; I still remember the fear in her eyes. If a boy aimed a stone at her—because she was naked—that was it! She would make strange growling noises and come charging up to hit him.

  Vasumathi and I, along with seven of our friends, used to fly around on our bicycles. We would play hide-and-seek, tucking up our skirts to jump over even the tallest walls.

  The monsoon season was endless fun. The lake would fill up to the rim; the dam would be opened to save the town from a flood in case of more rain. What beautiful fish came along with the gushing water! We would catch them and drop them into wells, then check them at high noon to see if they were still alive, if they had grown any bigger. We would throw down puffed rice and watch them eat it. We would sit along the lakeshore in the evenings and chat. The banks would be full of December shrubs. We would gather the flowers, make a string of them, and divide it into equal lengths among us. There was a canal next to my house where we learned to swim. We would challenge each other to see how long we could stay underwater.

  We would keep on playing even after we were soaked by the rain. We would go swimming in the canal. Vasumathi’s mother would yell at us. “What do you think you are, senseless buffaloes? You’re acting like boys. Keep on like that, and your ears will fall off.”

  There was an open well in the panchayat office compound. Once, after the rains, when we had gone to check the level of water in the well, Vasumathi fell in. Anna jumped in and saved her.

  We would catch dragonflies and make them carry small stones, or tie strings on their tails and watch them fly around. During summer breaks it was butterflies. We would fill bottles with them. We would catch baby squirrels and keep them as pets. I kept one baby squirrel for a long time. How soft its fur was! It used to sit on my shoulder. It loved milk. I would dribble milk drop-by-drop into its mouth with my fingers, and watch it drink. One day Appa saw me with it on my shoulder, grabbed it by the tail and flung it away. He beat me as well. After Appa left, I fed the baby squirrel with water. It began to play again, as usual; I wasn’t too badly hurt either, thank God. After that I gave the squirrel to Vasumathi. Vasumathi’s parents didn’t object; they doted on her.

  During the summer holidays, we would hunt for plants, and bring them home and turn our homes into lovely gardens.

  We could proudly claim that we had climbed every tree in the area. Whenever any fruits came into season, people used to fear us even more than the monkeys. We would sit on the trees and eat mangoes with salt and chili powder, and then run away before the owners woke up.

  Once, we got caught at a neighbor’s house. There was a tree there with wonderfully juicy mangoes. There was a huge wall between our houses; Anna and I would climb over the wall and pick the mangoes. When the neighbor noticed that the mangoes were missing, they fixed shards of glass into the top of the wall with cement. We picked them off, but one shard that we’d missed cut into my leg as we were climbing over the wall. My thigh was soaked with blood, but I felt no pain. I still have a long scar from my thigh to my foot.

  The woman who lived next door was very upset about the disappearing pieces of glass. We would sit with her as she grumbled about it. She worried that if the thieves could pick out the glass pieces, they might also have knives to stab her with. We would just laugh to ourselves.

  It wasn’t only mango trees. We even climbed the towering palms. With sickles tucked in our skirts we would clamber up a palmyra tree to pick the cluster of nungoos and suck out the soft middle. Once, on a palmyra tree, I was bitten by a fire ant, and started bleeding. I climbed down the tree in great pain and ran to Vasumathi’s mother, who scalded my wound and burned the fire ant to ash.

  I was a very good student. I used to write poetry. Because I was so scared of Appa, I used to write only when he was away. When I was in the tenth standard, Geetha fell in love with a boy from the next street. That boy started coming home every day. I would ignore them, and concentrate on my poetry. But someone told Appa about the boy, and he walloped me because I had known about it and hidden it from him.

  At that time Anna was doing his higher studies, staying with my uncle in Bangalore. It was around that time that I attained puber
ty. When the same thing happened to Geetha, Appa held a big celebration, but for me he didn’t even do as much as buy a new dress. Whenever he did buy new clothes, for Geetha, Anna, and Vatsala, he would get me something awful, not even as good as what he would buy for the maidservant.

  Anita, my youngest sister, was born when I was in the seventh standard. She was Amma’s ninth child. Five of us were born after she became mentally unstable; I was the first of those, and Anita was the last.

  Geetha enrolled in Meenakshi College for pre-university. That boy she loved kept coming home.

  Once, when I was thirteen, she dropped me at the Pallavaram railway station and disappeared for the whole day. I waited there for her until evening, missing school entirely. Finally the station master sent me home. Geetha had still not turned up. When I told Appa what had happened, I got another beating, as usual. After looking for her for a long time, they finally found her at that boy’s house.

  After that, Appa moved us from Krishna Nagar to Arumbakkam. He also declared that he was not going to pay for my schooling anymore; I would have to get by on my own. He enrolled Vatsala in Seva Sadan School in Chetpet. I had to throw a big tantrum in front of Amma, showing her my mark sheet, in order to get myself enrolled in the same school. But at the end of the year, I got the highest grade in my class on the final examination.

  Generally speaking, fathers want their children to study hard, and do well in their lives. Somehow, my luck was different. I had to work constantly, or else I was beaten. Because of this I never touched my schoolwork when Appa was around. He once caught me studying for my final exam and burned all my school books. Even then, trusting to my memory, I managed to come in first in the class.

  Anna had come home from Bangalore for the holidays. One day I found a strange thing on the table, something like a balloon. I was playing with it when Anna and Appa returned. Appa saw me playing with the balloon, and began smacking me around. Then Anna started yelling at Appa: “You’re fifty-five years old, your wife has gone mad, and still you need your sex? How dare you beat up a young kid because of that?” As soon as Anna had spoken the whole house went berserk.