Storymania - Neighbour by Sreenivasa Murthy Govindaraju

Neighbour
Sreenivasa Murthy Govindaraju

The place and surroundings had all been set, he thought, for starting his magnum opus, his own story. He had in fact been itching to do it for over a decade but had to postpone for some reason or the other, till after his retirement.
He set up his study in his newly bought house. There were two good reasons for his spending eight hundred thousand on that fifteen-year-old house. It was away from the din of the town and Gowri, the grand daughter of his old friend was to be his neighbour.

The first thing he did was to enquire about her. She was away at Delhi for a holiday, with husband and two kids.
Kids! Good Lord! That was the one thing he positively abhorred. He detested children most.
So Gowri had children too! He last saw her one and half decades back, when she was a sleek and slender thing. She must have grown up now.
He started setting his things around with the help of his cook, a confident and odd job man all rolled into one.
“Now, do be careful, how you fix those nails- Gowri might laugh at you.” He warned his cook as he was fixing up a rather ancient photo of his grand father. There was the portrait of Hanuman too.
“This damn thing ought to go sir, if we ever to get married.” Then looking at the frown on his master’s face, he corrected himself, “We” really mean “I”, I am very sorry, sir.”

It was there that he set to himself the task of writing his autobiography. He gathered the material and set down to work. But how to make out a full-length autobiography from his rather a drab life. He tried to recollect some interesting incidents of his childhood and also youthful days to make his writing an interesting reading. However hard he tried, he could not, barring that he started from scratch and after slaving for many years in a small office, fortune favoured him after he resigned and entered into real estate and again a job and finally a retirement. He had enough money and being remained a bachelor, the money left would be more than sufficient to lead a comfortable and a decent life though he felt that a vacuum was created in his life being remained a bachelor.
“Which fool would care to read my story, if it were to be dull!”
‘There had to be really snappy and interesting episodes.’ “Better give a good coverage to Sundu.” He mused.
Sundu was the charming and comely wife of his colleague. A lovely one and very difficult to forget once you saw her.
Sleep overtook him even as he was trying to comprehend Sundu.
A week passed by.
He woke up one morning to the jingling noise next door.
Yes, there she was!
Impulsively, he wanted to go at once and call on her. But his age and status came in the way. How could he, an officer of his age do such a thing as visit a commoner? Well, sure enough she or his friend would be calling on him sometime any way!
But for two full days there was no trace of either.
On a shiny evening when the weather was pleasant, he took his pen and papers.
A loud scream and a wail!
Good Heavens! How was he to proceed with such noises all around? He rushed to the balcony and saw the elder boy was whacking, and the younger girl was crying. The boy did not stop his whacking. Nor did she her crying.
What on earth was Gowri doing!
It was impossible to concentrate.
“My foot, veritable devils” He was very wild with God for having been responsible for bringing into this world two irresponsible brats.
He resumed his chair. No, he could not proceed with his writing. He took scrip of paper and scribbled on it.
“Gowri, Please control your children. My writing work is being disturbed.”
He bade his cook give it to her.
After a while she came out and called the kids in. Her voice was sweet and mellow.
“Children! Come along, No more noise please.”
How affectionate and sweet of her! And into what lovely lady that little girl had grown into!
“The old man next door says you are disturbing him. As if he doesn’t have any other time to write except when children play!”
Impudence, By God1 He felt a hard smack right on his face. He fretted and fumed not withstanding her loveliness.
“What on earth does she mean? Don’t I have any other time except these stupids play? To hell with them.”
He immediately decided to devout two full chapters and bring out how menacing children were and could be.
Did he too behave this way in his childhood? Was he naughty and mischievous in those days? Not quite sure. Not so far as his memory went. Perhaps he did.
He started his story right away and finished two chapters at a stretch, about his childhood and another thirty pages, before he called it a day, his hands aching.
Suddenly he remembered Sundu. He always took pleasure to recall her dear figure whenever he felt depressed or isolated.
He went to the balcony to stretch and was plainly shocked at the sight before him. On cement bench, in the garden of their backyard, lay Gowri in her husband’s arms making tender love.
“How shameful. Right in the public gaze!” He was furious.
He suddenly realized what he missed terribly in his life. How could he write about his married life when he was not at all married? He ought to have, at least for the sake of his biography.
And for once he was greatly annoyed at the picture of Hanuman dangling before him. “I must throw this awful thing away first thing in the morning.” He decided.
Next day when he was in bathroom, he caught a glimpse of Gowri watering the plants. Making sure he was unobserved, he lifted his legs far to peep through the small window to have a fuller view though he felt ashamed of his meanness. ‘Certainly not becoming of my dignity’.
He was full of remorse but continued with his writing.
“Even after writing so far, I must confess, I have not said a word about my dear wife. She was my friend philosopher and guide. By her untimely death she had created a vacuum in my life but she continues to be my guiding star. An affectionate and loving soul. It was she that taught me how to love this world. She was Sundari, to me Sundu. I still vividly remember the sweet little things she whispered into my ears resting in my arms on a cement bench in our garden on moonlit nights. And she was the fairy of the garden and tended the plants as if they were her own children…” And so it continued.
By the time he went to bed, he had done another forty pages.
The next day he flew again into temper when he saw seven or eight children yelling but stopping short of entering his yard. A ball, he perceived, they were playing with fell into his yard and they were afraid of coming into his yard.
“Our ball, give us our ball.” They went on screaming.
“There you are, you naughty devils!” He took the ball in his hand and with a sudden childish impulse, threw it back with full force into the other yard. Only when he heard a crashing noise and crumbling glass, did he realize what he did. Quietly, he rushed inside. Perhaps she would be cross.
Ten minutes later a thirty-five year old man stood outside at his entrance. With out wasting any time he said,
“I am the one next door.”
“Ah, I see. Then you are Gowri’s husband, aren’t you?”
He gave a menacing look.
“Yes, I am. You have sent a chit to my wife the other day complaining about my children. Now you send my windowpanes crashing on my breakfast table. You are trying to deprive us of our freedom in our own house. Now Let’s get this straight. If you were not an elderly man and a retired person, I would have…”
He did not elaborate. Without expecting a reply or getting one, he hurried away.
He sank into his chair helplessly. He could not raise his voice even to call this man but was burning with rage.

The next day he switched over to non-cereals being a Saturday evening. He sent some of the snacks made for him to Gowri through his cook. Surprisingly, they were not refused.
“In my youth I was always the object of admiration of my friends. They appreciated my smartness and style. But they could not understand and appreciate why I lose my temper so easily. Even to this day, this had been a mystery to me why I do so.”
Twenty days later his long awaited friend dropped in. Gowri served the old friends with coffee brought from her house. He beamed with delight at the sight of hers.
“I say, old chap! This girl’s husband has a very nasty temper, hasn’t he?”
He expected her to join the conversation. But she did not.
He passed the papers into the hands of his friend and sought his opinion. After scanning through the sheaf for quite sometime, his friend was all praise for him.
‘You have done extremely well! Those chapters on your childhood and married life are well written and made out an interesting reading. But you have not told me all these days that you were married and she died. Any children?’
He shied.
“Of course, a still-born one.”
He was not quite sure why he was weaving all that stuff.
“Well don’t lose any time. Better complete quickly. It sure has a lot of promise.” And he added,
“I am going to Bangalore. How about joining me, of course only if you care to.”
Three days later, leaving the house in the charge of his cook, he left for Bangalore with his friend for a two-month holiday. Amidst old friends and a busy schedule he forgot about his writing.
By the time he returned, he found his neighbour’s place dull and devoid of any activity. The cook explained that Gowri and her husband had a row, over some woman he was having an affair with. And she left for her grandfather’s place, in another corner of the town. Nobody knew when that husband chap left the house or returned, which was always very late in the night-Perhaps after having a good time with the other woman.
He was greatly distressed. What was wrong with that fellow fooling with others when he had an angel of a wife? Incredible!
Much as he would goad himself, he was unable to start his work for a whole week. The thought of Gowri and her children always haunted him. That husband of hers was also not to be seen anywhere around.
One morning he went straight to Gowri’s grandfather’s house. He was not in. He shoved the box of candy into the hands of the kids and accosted her.
“Gowri dear, do people have really to leave their houses on some minor misunderstandings?”
She at once turned pale and visibly pained at having to rake up an unpleasant episode.
“Well, that’s your place, anyway. If he doesn’t like, he could as well leave but he can’t drive you away like this!”
“Sorry, grandpa! But this is our personal affair.” She mumbled feebly.
“Look dear, you are my neighbor and I am as well interested. Because of your troubles, I am unable to write anything.”
“Is that too my fault?” she murmured.
He had no answer. He gathered the boy in his arms, lifted him and cajoled.
“Would you come away to grandpa’s house, please? You could have lots of candy there.”
“No.” The kid shook his head in dissent.
Finally the matter was amicably settled with the arrival of his friend. Gowri gave the proposition a good deal of thought and moved into his house the next day, along with the kids, for a change.
He was overwhelmed and beamed with happiness.
On her arrival, she immediately relieved the cook of the household chores. He solemnly declared he never tasted anything better all his life. The kids were always after him with their inquisitive questions.
Gowri spent hours on the bath and usually came out looking disappointed to find none in the other house. He shared in her gloom on such occasions.
Days passed. The tangle was nowhere nearer any solution. He could not concentrate on his work either.
On an evening, he persuaded her and the kids for a walk. Though they passed by her house, she did not raise her eyelid to have a look at it. They returned in the night with the two year old smugly asleep with her little arms round the neck.
This became a set pattern in the days that followed.
Her husband would watch them silently as they strolled past every evening.
One day he saw his cook engaged in conversation with her husband. He did not care to enquire. He knew what it was about.
Another week.
One night he returned home late and found her engaged in an amicable talk with her husband. Here was a golden opportunity he could not miss.
“With whose permission did you enter my house?”
He fumbled meekly.
“My wife…”
“Oh, I see. You are her husband then?” he was all sarcasm.
He rose immediately and made for the door hurriedly. After he left, Gowri thundered.
“Don’t I have the right even to speak to my husband in this place?’
He was left with no answer.
Next day his cook brought him his morning coffee.
“Where is Gowri?”
“She has left, sir. For her home.’
He heaved a sigh of relief.
That evening. The children’s din was to his ears some celestial music. And his heart was all sweetness when he found them in their usual place in the garden in one another’s arms.
He lost no time.
He gathered his pen and sheets of paper and started working on his story with full speed.

***