Zero Degree Read online

  Just wait. There are worse things in store for you.

  What a witch you are!

  You’re no better. You said all kinds of awful things to my friend.

  Thank God she hasn’t asked me anything about it yet.

  Don’t worry, she won’t.

  Why not?

  I haven’t said anything awful to her.

  What? You didn’t? But you said…

  I lied. She did answer the call. But do you really think I could mistake her “Mmm” for yours?

  Do you know what I would do to you if you were here right now?

  What?

  I’d beat you, pinch you, knock you on the head…

  But darling, that’s not punishment. Those would be wonderful gifts from my sweetheart.

  Gifts, huh? We’ll see what you think when you get them. So what else did you write? What have you been reading?

  I haven’t read anything for a few days.

  Why not?

  I’m too horny.

  Oh come on. Life doesn’t revolve around those few minutes.

  There’s so much more to life than that.

  What few minutes? I need a minimum of ninety minutes.

  Does that include foreplay?

  And after-play, too. No, I mean, not including any of that. Ninety minutes, minimum. A hundred eighty, maximum.

  Oh God! Are you even human?

  Nope. I’m a beast.

  Come on, be serious, tell me the truth. Wouldn’t you get bored? Is it some kind of piston, some machine you’ve got?

  No. You’re making the same mistake as all the other Indian middle-class women. That’s why I’ve been thinking recently of giving up writing and becoming a sexologist. Nobody seems to fully understand the sheer number of different possible positions. First, her underneath and him on top, with her legs on his shoulders. A few minutes in that position. Just as she comes, he changes position. Now he lifts her up so that she’s riding him. She comes again. He’s still in control. Now they sit opposite each other. She’s on his thighs. His thrusts are slamming into her inner walls, bang bang bang. She’s tired. They rest a while and wash themselves off. The cool water shrinks his organ. Now she tastes it, moves it to the left and then the right of her mouth. Don’t bite too hard, he begs, don’t bite too hard. The organ rears up like a snake. She tries to take the full thing into her mouth. When it hits the bottom of her throat, she chokes for a second, takes it out of her mouth, and licks it all over. Then she takes just the head into her mouth and sucks it. Suddenly, when she’s least expecting it, he flips her over to bury his face in between her thighs, thrusts his tongue into her secret place, rubs the long curve of her clitoris. Then he makes her kneel, takes her from behind. They go on like this, fucking, changing position constantly. Finally he gets on top of her to send his life juice inside her.

  Chee! You’re horrible. She’d be completely tired and bored by the end of all that, don’t you think? I think they should both take it slow and steady from the beginning and climax together. Then they should rest. That’s the proper method. Like reading a good poem. Or like smelling a flower. Or like listening to what can I do to make you love me what can I do to make you feel me? Like listening to a saxophone. Like the first touch…

  If you say so, Monica. You may be right.

  ººººººººº

  Say something.

  What should I say?

  Anything.

  I don’t feel like talking now.

  Why’d you call me then?

  I wanted to talk to you.

  Then talk.

  I forgot what I wanted to say the moment I heard your voice.

  Tell me a dirty joke.

  I can’t think of any.

  Think hard. I want to hear you tell me a dirty joke.

  Maybe I’ll think of some while we’re talking. What are you studying now?

  M. Com.

  Do you talk about sex with your girlfriends?

  Mm-mm.

  Really?

  Really.

  …

  I don’t think girls like to tell sex jokes.

  I know lots of women who tell them. All kinds of hardcore jokes.

  Really?

  Yes. Can I tell you a joke now?

  Mmm.

  A poor farmer goes with a cow and a calf to sell. On his way he is waylaid by bandits who take his cow, strip him naked, tie him up to a tree and leave the calf behind. Nobody comes through the forest for a long time. Finally some villagers pass that way and find the man and untie him from the tree. At once he begins beating the calf. “Why are you beating that poor animal?” ask the villagers, to which he replies, “I kept telling this stupid calf again and again, ‘I’m not your mother! I’m not your mother!’ But it wouldn’t listen to me!”

  …

  How was the joke?

  Could that really have happened?

  What?

  What happens in the joke.

  Of course it could.

  Weird. Now I want you to whisper that joke in my ear.

  Even if I’m not next to you, I can give you an orgasm over the phone.

  How?

  What are you wearing right now?

  A midi skirt and a t-shirt.

  Have you ever masturbated?

  Chee! I don’t even know what that means.

  Attained pleasure on your own.

  How can I do that?

  I’ll give you a step-by-step. Who else is there at home now?

  Nobody. Nobody will be home for a while.

  Where are you in the house?

  In the living room.

  Is the window open? Can anyone from the opposite house see you?

  No, I shut it.

  Take off your t-shirt.

  Aiyyo! That’s bad, isn’t it?

  Nothing wrong with it. Have you taken it off?

  Mmm.

  Unhook your bra.

  Mmm.

  Now stand in front of the mirror.

  Mmm.

  How is it?

  I don’t know what to say. Lovely!

  Now take off your midi skirt.

  Aiyyo, I don’t know if I can do all this. It really seems bad. I’m scared. You say it’s not wrong, but I think you’re just saying that.

  Look here, Priya. Why would I say anything to cheat you? If you don’t want to do this, forget it.

  Oh, please don’t be mad. It’s not that I don’t want it. I’m just scared, that’s all.

  I tell you again, there’s nothing wrong with it.

  Fine. Tell me.

  Now take off your skirt.

  Mmm.

  Now your panties.

  Mmm.

  Now look into the mirror.

  Mmm.

  How is it?

  I didn’t know I was this lovely, until today.

  Now stick your left middle finger into your cunt. If that’s uncomfortable, use your right middle finger.

  Mmm.

  Now move it faster. Up and down. Explore.

  Mmm.

  …

  …

  Hello.

  Hello.

  I thought you had disconnected the phone.

  It was next to me. I couldn’t do it with the phone in my hand.

  I understand. You’re panting. How was it?

 
I have no words to describe it. This is the greatest pleasure I have ever had yaar. But I feel as if I have committed a sin.

  There’s nothing sinful about it. How can it be a sin if it gives you so much pleasure, and it doesn’t affect anybody else? Okay. Go get dressed.

  I have to ask you something.

  Ask.

  Do other people do this, too?

  Everybody does this.

  I want to do it with you here next to me.

  ººººººººº

  Hello, my dear Kavitha.

  Hi dad.

  Why are you suddenly calling me dad?

  Your voice is just like my father’s. You remind me of him.

  Where is your father? What does he do?

  I haven’t seen him for almost eighteen years. Except for pictures in the paper sometimes.

  What happened?

  When I was a child he was working in the movies. Suddenly he stopped coming home and moved in with a bit-part actress. He never returned to our house after that. He’s a big film producer now. I went to his house to invite him for my wedding. But he didn’t come.

  That’s sad. What a huge sorrow to have in your life! I’m really surprised.

  Why surprised?

  You always look so cheerful. You’re always smiling.

  ººººººººº

  Oh, so you’re still alive?

  I guess so, my maker hasn’t called me back yet.

  It’s a joke for you, is it? Where have you been all these days?

  I’m sorry, Kavitha. I’ve been all wrapped up in my book.

  I’ve been really wanting to talk to you.

  Why? What’s wrong?

  I’m totally bored of my life. I was getting sick of waking up every morning and looking at the same old husband’s face, going to work every morning, looking at the same old colleagues. I started wanting to die—just for a change of pace. That’s when you started calling. Your voice is my only relief from my boring life. You are my dreams, my fantasies, my most mysterious secrets.

  I don’t know what to say, Kavitha.

  You don’t need to say anything. Just listen to me. I couldn’t stop talking about you with my friend yesterday. She wanted to know what I thought all this was leading up to. I told her it helped remind me of my father. I didn’t tell her that when my husband is on top of me, I fantasize about the figure of my father, and your voice.

  …

  Why are you silent?

  I can’t think of a reply right now. The words you just said are still ringing in my ears.

  I need to see you. I have to know how your face looks. I have to see your hands, your shoulders, your eyes, your fingers, your hair—the expression on your face when you speak to me.

  I’m just a voice, Kavitha. Just a voice.

  20

  Why aren’t Tamil novels up to international standards?

  How can those who store tiny pencil-sharpening penknives in their sword sheaths be expected to fence?

  What is your response to the accusation that your novels are vulgar?

  I’ve heard that an idiot, on seeing Michelangelo’s artwork, once asked: “If he can draw so well, why couldn’t he add some underwear? I can see the guy’s ding-dong.”

  You have often said “I am neither a writer nor a poet.” Why?

  Initially I wanted to become a musician, a pianist. Even though I begged Neena several times, she ignored my requests, not realizing that the responsibility for creating a musical genius lay with her. Then, when I was eighteen, a customer of Neena’s gave me a violin. That became the vehicle for my dreams. When Neena became too old for her business, her customers would spit on her face; some of the spit would spray onto me, as I sat outside the door fiddling away on my violin, until finally the violin disappeared and turned into a book. Next, I wanted to become a lepidopterist, but Nabokov had already done that. I had to choose something different. So I turned to ornithology. I have always loved birds.

  If you were an ornithologist, why did you destroy birds?

  My job is not about creation or destruction. When the incident to which you refer took place, I was in Harike. I was traveling across India doing research on birds. Because I was already an experienced trekker, I had an easy time of it. At Harike I recorded the calls of the Siberian sandpiper, the linnet, and the bunting. It was then that I was arrested. I don’t see why the fact that I am an ornithologist should mean that I must also be a vegetarian! When I saw the linnet, my mouth started watering. I couldn’t stop myself from shooting it down and frying it up with some chili powder. The warbler, the European roller, I ate them all. I was just as eager to taste them as I was to do research on them. Whenever I see a rare, exotic bird, I want to eat it. Apparently this is a crime for an ornithologist. Anyway, they arrested me.

  Can you explain why the universe is actually nothingness?

  This can only be properly understood if you have some time alone, with no interruptions from anyone else or any outside forces. First, become naked. You should not have any pornographic books or photos in your hands. Stroke gently for the first fifty-four minutes. When you feel you are about to ejaculate, stop. Let your mind wander. Your mind will start to race like a rabid dog’s. Fantasize about all the women you know: your sister-in-law, your aunt, your best friend’s daughter, the idol of a Goddess, that newsreader, that actress, your kindergarten teacher, the eighteen-year-old beggar woman on the road crying “Dear brothers and sisters, my father lost his legs in a train accident, he died when I was very young, my mother and my sisters and I are starving, dear brothers and sisters please help me”, the soap vendor who sold you your new bar of soap, the servant maid, your women writer friends… At the end of all this, you will come to understand that the universe is actually nothing.

  You once wrote a complete novel using only the words pain, body, thrill, flesh, blood, pus, serpent, and yoni, and their synonyms. Deva Sharma, in his review, said he thought you needed a good painkiller.

  I’ll give you a proper answer for this once I conclude my research on the relation between the nature of the universe and human life. I am beginning my research from Hanle, 189 kilometers southeast of Ladakh. My favorite comet is Hale-Bopp. During its recent close approach to the earth, I even forgot to eat.

  Let’s discuss your character Nano. Is she imaginary?

  Nano mi vida. Nano mi niña. How many zeroes would you need to write down the total number of stars? Many comets are drawn towards the planets Saturn and Jupiter because of their gravity. There are always some shooting stars raining down on us. Some crash into mountain peaks, others escape the gravitational pull of the planet. After all, aren’t the particles of comets converted into their shimmering tails? That’s my Motherland, my Mother Tongue.

  Why are you so angry with the vagina? In all your writing, you seem to beat it up black and blue; why?

  If you want to understand my life, do not look at my writing. To understand my writing, forget my life. My life is separate and my writing is separate.

  You think I am angry with the vagina? I think the most beautiful delightful and wonderful thing in this world is CUNT it is egg it is aleph it is eye it is divine it is abyss = bottomless chasm deep gorge immeasurable depth abyss of despair primal chaos hiatus it is the abyss of my soul it is my magic land. In that magic land I have fought midgets. I have brought them down with my cabalistic discs.

  How can anyone possibly hate pussies? Black pussies, white pussies, brown pussies—I worship pussies. I kiss them. Pussies are very tasty.

  21

  A LADY READER, having read the novel up to this point, asked, “Just where is this story is headed? A proper story needs characters, and character development!”

  “But
who will create them? I live in a godless world. I live in a world full of injustice. I don’t know what joy is, I don’t know what sorrow is. I don’t know who I am. Surya used to tell me about how his baby chicks would get carried away by kites. He would protect the eggs for twenty-seven days, help the chicks crack open their shells and come out, keep them warm, teach them to eat grain—all this just for a kite to come swooping down from the sky and carry them off in its talons. Not even nine chicks escaped. Tell me, where is the justice in this world?

  “A tortoise lays ninety eggs. Even before all the eggs can hatch and the baby tortoises can make their way back to the sea, most of them are taken by sea birds. Only eighteen of the ninety make it back to the sea safely.

  “When a female cricket makes her chitek chitek noise, the male cricket comes flying in to have sex with her, after which it drops dead.

  “Ponder for a moment on the plight of this male cricket. Does he know that the female is going to call chitek chitek? Once he hears the sound, does he have any choice but to fly to her? It is his nature to answer her call, to have sex with her, and then to die.

  “Where is the justice in this world? Where is the order? How can I create characters under such circumstances? If I can’t even create characters, how can I possibly tell a story?”

  “You can,” said the Lady Reader.

  “How?” asked Nano.

  “I won’t tell you. Find out for yourself,” said the Lady Reader, and left.

  22

  SHE WAS READING the story of Null.

  The symbol of Null.

  Not only that.

  What does it mean if a man shows his index finger and a curled thumb to a woman?

  Yoni.

  How can this symbol represent both Nullity and Creation?

  Aren’t Nullity and Creation different from each other?

  23

  DEAR SURYA,

  There is no hesitation to express anger, hatred, ridicule or hysteria, but when it comes to openly expressing love, timidity takes over. Perhaps love is the biggest silence. The setting of my novel is man’s battle against nothingness and conquest of the Word. But you have read it linearly, as you would read your life. Perhaps my story lacks the intensity of your criticism. I do not have a copy of the text to reread it again. I thought the nine words of your review letter were more beautiful than my novel, so why bother? Finally I realized that I am a woman of understatements, that there is nobody to listen to our whining and complaining, and that an undertone of self-criticism and self-mockery are enough. That realization made the presence of the story more meaningful. In truth, only when the notes for my novel lose their importance will our own lives improve.