‘Yes, from college,’ I said.
My other roommates came to the living room. None of them wore shirts. I shut
the fridge to avoid further conversation on the beverages.
‘She is visiting Chennai? Sendil said.
‘Will she stay here? She can’t stay here,’ Appalingam said.
‘She lives in Chennai,’ I said.
The boys looked at each other as to who would ask the bell-the-cat question.
‘Tamilian?’ Ramanujan asked.
‘Yes,’ I said, ‘Tamil Brahmin.’ I added the last two words to let them absorb the
shock at once.
‘Wow!’ all of them said in unison.
‘She drinks beer?’ Ramanujan said.
‘Yes,’ I said and upturned the chicken into a bowl.
‘And chicken? What kind of Brahmin is this?’ Sendil said. ‘And dude, don’t get
non-veg in this house.’
‘It’s my house, too,’ I said.
‘But rules are rules,’ he said.
People in this city loved rules, or rather loved to follow rules. Except if you are
a cop or a liquor shop attendant or an auto driver.
‘Let it be, Sendil,’ Ramanujan said.
‘Thanks,’ I said and placed the chicken in the fridge. ‘And guys, please wear
shirts when she is here.’
Ananya came to my place at two o’clock. I greeted her politely in the living
room. My flatmates exchanged shy glances with each other as she greeted them.
Sendil spoke to her in Tamil. Tamilians love to irritate non-Tamil speakers by
speaking only in Tamil in front of them. This is the only silent rebellion in their
otherwise repressed, docile personality. When she finally entered my bedroom, I
grabbed her from behind.
‘Can w eat first? I haven’t had chicken for a month.’
nora
(Nora)
#1