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  —in which thirty-six bodies of young men were found, riddled with bullet wounds or half-burned. The police reported that the Death Squad was responsible for this massacre—forty-five kilometers from there, twenty-seven bodies were removed from a stack of burning car tyres. The villagers said that these murders had occurred during curfew. Eighteen badly burned bodies were found in the fields. During his Switzerland tour, at a press meet at the airport, the Foreign Minister declared however that the military had absolutely no connection with any Death Squad involved in the massacre of young men. He also promised that when he returned to the homeland after twenty-seven days, he would order the army to take action against those responsible for these strange murders. I spoke to the young girl picking up shattered glass on the street near the gutter. She was from Chennai. She spoke Hindi fluently. She could find no employment in Chennai. She was now living with herunclein Patpar Ganj. Sheearned eighteen paisa per kilo of broken glass shards and ninety paisa per kilo of scraps of tin. [Lady Reader, remember that Misra is writing this in the 1980s.] Those mountains resembled bald heads. Anjum says there are eighteen thousand bonded laborers. Their daily wage is a mere Rs. 1.80. What the bosses say goes. The youngsters among the bonded laborers were identified as guerilla rebels by the police and around 2700 of them were shot down. Swamis clad in loincloths roam these hills, considering them to be the hills of Shiva. I came to Karim Nagar district with Anjum. If ninety beedi leaves are rolled into a bundle the wage is ninety paisa. Arrey baapre! The Patwaris grab poromboke land away from the villagers. When the villagers protest, the police are called, false charges are filed, and the village women are raped. Of course, if I continue to write like this you will call it newspaper reportage. But you celebrate an American who does the same as a writer of New Journalism. What can I do? A daily wager was gunned down. Nine shots were heard. The body had nine gunshot wounds. The police reported that when he grabbed a rifle away from a policeman and tried to shoot them, the other police had to gun him down. But in reality he was dragged out of his house and shot down in full view of his neighbors on the street, in broad daylight. If I claim that this is true they will call me a naxalite and eliminate me. But when a feudal lord was shot in Huzarabad, 270 were arrested, of whom 63 were indicted.

  How about that kabadi sequence that Ravi Ragul and Vinodhini play in Aatha Un Koyilile? When I saw that, I wanted to join the game! This is a perfect example of what a good film scene should be like; it should make us want to identify with it. Ammu is the pet of Kalasri, who was featured in En Pottukku Sondhakaaran (ah! what a film), Ponnuketha Mannu, Ponnuketha Purushan, and En Purushan Thaan Enakku Mattum Thaan. This is what Kalasri says about her Ammu:

  I hate pigs. My friend Priyasri rears pedigreed pigs, and that’s why I never go to her house. Recently, my mother brought me a piglet and told me, ‘Kala, keep her.’ Since then she has been my house pet. When she was still very young, she refused to eat anything solid, and wanted only a liquid diet. So I would carry her in my arms and feed her milk from a bottle. She would feed well. What I loved most of all was her beautiful (anus) mouth. Even though her entire body was black, the (anus) mouth would sparkle like a pink cherry. Only when Ammu was in a bad mood would she eat carrots and cabbage. When you carry other animals, you have to support their whole body. But Ammu would let you carry her by her ears. Ammu was very special. She used to leap into my arms. When I ate, she would stand and sniff at me behind my chair. Every Friday, I would wash her down with a wet rag. But I forgot to tell you this: in front of my bungalow was this slum, which was the source of my problem. Because the people who live in the slums have no understanding of sanitation, they shit and piss in the streets. Listen to this, no… On that day Ammu slipped out without my knowledge and ate some of the shit. I fired the careless watchman that very same day. I even attempted to commit suicide by swallowing sleeping pills. I was saved, though, as the pills turned out to be vitamin pills. If they hadn’t been, you would not be able to speak to your favorite star Kalasri today.

  The following is the response of Neelasri, Kalasri’s co-actress, to her interview:

  Kalasri’s claims about Ammu’s diet are pure fabrication. I know for a fact that Ammu’s favorite food is shit. That’s why Kalasri does not have a flush-out latrine in her house. Ammu is the reason that Kalasri’s manually-cleared latrine is cleaner than our Western toilet. I think she has admitted to this in her interview without realizing it. Just read what she has said. ‘When I ate, she would stand and sniff at me behind my chair.’

  When asked what Kalasri could have meant by “sniff at me behind,” Neelasri’s eyes burned with indignation. This is Kalasri’s rejoinder to Neelasri: She’s just jealous of my success, and has therefore spread poisonous gossip about me and my Ammu. What good are people who wag their tongues so

  irresponsibly about helpless beings? she demanded, and the tears in her eyes were real, not produced with the help of glycerin.

  Reflection

  THERE HAS BEEN A MISTAKE, Genesis. In my enthusiasm to put the novel together, the chapters have become shuffled. Now that I think about it, I might have had some ulterior motive. Perhaps my hatred for Muniyandi and my love for Misra are responsible; perhaps I’ve subconsciously moved Misra ahead and shoved Muniyandi to the background. What should have come later came in the beginning, and pushed what should have been the beginning into the future. How do I escape from this confusion of time? Costa Rica’s María Fernández de Tinoco says the past is getting erased; written words are rubbed out again and again and reduced to nothingness. Like ink on a blotting paper, the past dissipates from the pages of my memory. I return to the nothingness with no recollections. The past has pushed me aside and gone into hiding.

  Still, I think a moment may come when I will be able to capture the past. That moment may arrive at any time, Genny—perhaps even as you are reading this sentence. And at that instant only you and this text will remain; I, who wrote it at time zero, will no longer be there. The silent space of death will have sucked me in. I will have sunk into the bottomless pit of the past. The words will cease to be mine, and will belong only to the text. My own “I” will be erased, and the “I” of the text will be all that remains of my existence. At that moment, the text will seem as if it exists in a present—but it will only seem so. The residue of the past—

  No, that’s not fair to Aarthi.

  Genny, go and touch the stretch marks on Aarthi’s

  stomach. I want to kiss your fingertips while they linger there, caressing the roots of time.

  4

  ◙ DO YOU THINK it is necessary to read the Latin American novels mentioned in this novel?

  Yes [ ]No [ ]

  ◙ Do you believe this will be an important Tamil novel?

  Yes [ ]No [ ]

  (Note: You can wait to answer these questions until after you have finished reading the book.)

  ◙ Should the author be punished?

  Yes [ ]No [ ]

  ◙ If yes, how should he be punished?

  Expelled from the country[ ]

  Hands chopped off[ ]

  Novel banned[ ]

  ◙ Do you think the novel is original?

  Yes [ ]No [ ]

  ◙ If no, which of the following authors has he plagiarized?

  Jerzy Kosinski[ ]

  Georges Perec[ ]

  Donald Barthelme[ ]

  Ronald Sukenik[ ]

  Italo Calvino[ ]

  ◙ Muniyandi says it is not worth reading this novel without first reading Masoch and Marquis de Sade. Do you agree?

  Yes [ ]No [ ]

  ◙ Who said the following: “I am always thinking about women. But sex is a private matter. I do not write about sex. Sex can be described in dirty words. I do not like dirty words.”

  Ezra Pound[ ]

  Jorge Luis Borges[ ]

  Julio Cortázar
[ ]

  ◙ How many times do you masturbate in a month?

  Nine times[ ]

  More than nine times[ ]

  ◙ Who do you fantasize about when you masturbate?

  Film star[ ]

  Politician[ ]

  God[ ]

  Beast[ ]

  ◙ If beast, which of the following?

  Alien beast[ ]

  Serpent[ ]

  Donkey[ ]

  Camel[ ]

  Bull[ ]

  Dog[ ]

  Dolphin[ ]

  Rooster[ ]

  Policeman[ ]

  ◙ What do you use to masturbate?

  Vibrator[ ]

  Pillow[ ]

  Test-tube[ ]

  Banana[ ]

  Cucumber[ ]

  Brinjal[ ]

  Finger[ ]

  Pen[ ]

  Lathi[ ]

  ◙ Have you ever had an orgasm while listening to a percussion instrument?

  Yes [ ]No [ ]

  ◙ Is there any relation between this novel and these questions?

  Yes [ ]No [ ]

  ◙ Have you ever had an abortion?

  Yes [ ]No [ ]

  ◙ Do you support abortion?

  Yes [ ]No [ ]

  ◙ Have you ever had an orgasm while swinging on a swing?

  Yes [ ]No [ ]

  ◙ Have you ever had an orgasm while bathing in a waterfall?

  Yes [ ]No [ ]

  5

  UNSURE OF WHAT FATE they might meet at Muniyandi’s hands the words rose up in revolt and lured by the fragrance of the juice of progeny splattered around Muniyandi’s bed they slowly approached it tasted it became intoxicated by it then entered Muniyandi’s body through his nine orifices and merged with him so that from then on it was the words that were in control of Muniyandi and not the other way round and even though of course from the outside it might seem as though he wrote these notes in reality the words themselves wrote this novel as is borne out by the fact that the characters attempted to kill the author and in the mayhem that followed the attack a sole character kept protesting with loud cries the author is not dead the author is not dead and when the other characters demanded that he prove it he replied he is merely hiding behind a different name but none of the other characters believed him and they went away happily saying it does not matter anymore what Muniyandi was planning to write about us it sure is a

  good thing that in the first few pages of this novel he was

  murdered so that now we can write our own futures as we

  wish them to be but the lonely character who was sure that Muniyandi was still alive went off searching for him first to Brazil then to Argentina then to the continent of Africa for some time where he lived among the Efé ate elephant meat and kept a journal until he finally realized that Muniyandi was hiding in the character of Nano if the author who created me is dead then I am dead I have a question about my existence can we create our own existence do I have the necessary skills to do it we are condemned to live in this world in these pages in this verbal universe up to the 999th page some of us may not see the 999th page may die before the end of this world before the 999th page what then is it the end of the world is it the end of our life no can’t be no no it continues in another book no it is suspended it continues in another world.

  6

  LAST YEAR JALAJASHRI was presented with the award for Best Actress by the President of the nation for her role in a Telugu film the leader of the terrorist party was assassinated by his own party’s top cadres Jalajashri also won an award from the Andhra Pradesh Government he was arrested on Sunday and brought to the capital where he was killed Puratchithilakam the film in which she acted has been selected as the best film of the year this was officially announced by the state on Monday the film was also dubbed in Tamil and released under the title Puratchithilakam I.P.S. it became a mega hit in Tamil Nadu the action force that led the search party arrested the thirty-six year old leader his wife and his children the Foreign Secretary’s report said that the army chief claims that he still remains the superstar in spite of being only thirty-six years of age on the other hand we shouldn’t forget that she was first introduced in Tamil movies by Kambar Maindhan the movement’s leader has been involved in several acts of aggression against the state and is well known to the people of Tamil Nadu Kambar Maindhan’s introduction was brought to the capitol for security reasons and interrogated there history tells us that no interrogation has ever failed pledging to eschew violence and espouse ahimsa Radhika Rathi Radha Revathi Ranjini Rekha Renuka Ragini Rajeshwari Rajakumari Rajanala Rajyasri RAW RAW the list of RAWs is endless he came forward to appeal to the youth through the film Pullukul Kal this request was put forth self-interestedly and although we know it went unnoticed in Tamil Nadu the Foreign Secretary says it was recorded on video after which a squadron of both army soldiers and policemen by Puratchithilakam I.P.S. she has become the most popular investigative team to the most secret points of the movement Sridevi and Jayaprada the superstars of yesteryear the movement leader agreed to take to his armory the chief spot that was the centre for both the movement and its armory were renowned character actors that informed his politburo member to remove the important files and information after Jayasudha Sridevi and Jayapradha moved on to the Hindi film world for greater glamour and submitted to the investigative team Radha Banupriya and the various other leaders who would not accept the move unexpectedly for character roles Jayasudha suddenly pulled out the gun was the situation today and these women shot down and the various leaders are wanted by the army be it glamour sex or heroic performance and is shot dead after which an emergency whatever the role under heavy security those elder leaders’ bodies swimming in success is Jalajashri were cremated reported the foreign secretary the leader of the movement Jalajashri to receive her award assassination there should be an extensive investigation ordered the Police Inspector General, and left.

  7

  THE WORD IS WRITING itself with other words.

  He’s copulating with his own shadow. Here, smell my word. Can you smell my blood in it? Can you taste it?

  Can you put forth the whole of your experience, without censoring anything?

  Will you offer me your sizzling poem that you have tucked away?

  She wants to record your life. Just a few passages of it.

  I shivered, and I transformed my shivering into a kiss for you.

  You shivered as well, and you said your shivers were your poems.

  Many laborers gave up their lives in protest against Draco’s 9th century A.D. law making the stealing of grapes punishable by death.

  Words swim about meaninglessly, like empty vessels bobbing in the water.

  I ache for your touch.

  A solider, assigned to guard a ruined fort on a lonely island, is slowly losing his mind.

  Girls bunk school and gather Coral Jasmines.

  The word dies, even as it is being written.

  The poet dies, even as he is ignored by the multitude.

  Neruda is visiting the ruins of the Inca capital, Machu Pichu, in the Andes mountains above Cusco, Peru.

  Rilke asks, My soul, dressed in silence, rises up and stands alone before you. Can’t you see?

  I’m writing. What else can I do besides write? I’m dying. What else can I do besides die? Etc. etc.

  Evil is hidden inside good. Good is hidden inside evil.

  Writing is not about life, writing is just about writing.

  Neither nature nor art means anything apart from itself. They simply are. Why couldn’t I have written that, instead of Robbe-Grillet?

  We no longer look at the world with the eyes of a confessor, of a doctor, or of God himself (all significant hypotheses of the classical novelist), but with the
eyes of a man walking in his city with no other horizon than the scene before him, no other power than that of his own eyes. How can I make any sense of Roland Barthes?

  He is sitting alone on Mount Road. Sunday evening. Lacking human company. Confused about where to head next. Go back to the room and read? It’s difficult to decide. He watches the smoke rings as he exhales.

  How many slaves are buried under the Great Wall of China?

  A man and a woman are writing a poem together with their blood.

  It is impossible to write with words. They slip away even as I write them down. If I manage to catch them, they melt.

  Hands extend from an asylum window.

  A beggar sleeps under a neem tree on a river bank.

  A tiny feather brushes against an earlobe.

  A magician threads an elephant through the eye of a needle.

  A silence hangs over Connaught Place Ring Road on an autumn morning.

  A reader asks: “Why do all actresses have pet dogs?” The editor responds with: “Because the actresses’ husbands’ tongues are not long enough.”

  On the island of Lesbos, Sappho is writing down the first ever poem of lesbians.

  An editor of a popular journal cuts the word asshole from the short story a writer sent in.

  “Erase the difference between me and you,” says Cixous.

  A fat actress, with a stomach like a pumpkin, hands like gourds, and thighs like the two halves of a split pig, is advertising soap products on the television.