A Happy Day

Today morning, in my area, the flag was raised virtually. The flag was real, the masked people raising it could have been real, the rest of us were virtual.

There was a roll call. Intelligence, like old school Principals, lies to keep track of the unfaithful with that. There was a lot of chest-thumping. No one was missing. Not even the dead, we later found out.

But the occasion, like all such, had a glitch. Midway, after the anthem before the huge collective roar along with the greetings of Happy Independence Day, a shrill slurring voice could be heard, “Appy Indurrans Die”. 

Intelligence looked into the affair. Was it a kid, Alexa, Siri? Why is the kid saying Happy Hinderance Day? Whose was it? Blood boiled, sky darkened, crows blessed those who looked up and prayed. Old retired judges looked into the matter. Anti-socials said Bah. The judges sulked, such contempt was new. Bah, the reply. The case was settled fast, before the mob picked up stones, beneath the flag. Yes, it was just a precocious kid. Whose, the mob brayed. A Gopher kid. Oh, the mob dispersed.

Gophers make up the majority in the area. They say that there were only them in the area seventy three years back. The Cossites bought land from them. Couple of Chayavars entered later. A Mommite too. Gophers and Chayavars used to be one and the same. But, evolution happened. One went up, kissing ass the other say, and of course the other went down. Gophers are supposed to be descendants of valiant warriors in battles no one has heard of. Chayavars have gained strength more recently, claiming to have sold chai no one has drunk. As for the Cossites and the Mommites, they too have their sub-classes, the rich, the poor, the fair, the dark, the coastal, the highlander, the evangelicals, the deckhands. 

There are a few as yet unclassified. There’s a flat near my house, four storeys high. The owner is supposed to be a contractor, a trafficker, a person of high social standing. The flat is packed with new lot. Some look like workers, some poor, some thugs, all like us. They have orchids on one balcony and variegated underwear on another. Their kids too piss from balconies. The kids’ parents, like the rest of us, spit and blow their nose from great heights onto those below who walk or exercise or do yoga and surya namaskar.

We, even the so-called commies, are all royalists even though the royals stopped being royals long back. We share vegetables and fruits. We invite each other for weddings and deaths. We share everything we can share.

We have not married each other. We are middle-class and just not good enough for intermixing. In seventy three years, only three aliens have entered these families. One a white, another a royal from up North, the third a priest from somewhere. No one is really sure if they are white, royal or priestly. But aliens who claim to be that are welcome.

We do not share anything we have to share, like water. (Pssst, we have been fighting over leaves too. The maids charge extra for sweeping courtyards with leaves. So, everyone wants trees, but not leaves.) Today, before the flag was raised, a tanker delivered water to the few untouchables. There was tension in the air, waiting for the guttural curses and the unholy expletives that usually followed. Not today.

Today, the flag and the anthem united all. 

After that, we went back to our busy routines. The virtual groups came online. It is still the month of Karkkidakam, the month to read the Ramayana. The Gophers and the Chayavars have their own to help with the reciting, and never the twain shall mix, not even to recite Ramayana. The extended families come next, they have never seemed closer. There’s usually some old goofy uncle who tries to collect money for some fund or the other. Then, the old school and college groups. There’s usually some fight in at least one, some bloated ego clashing with another. The kids and adults try to grab data for online games, discussions and classes, always in that order.

The coronavirus has certainly kept us busy. It’s been long months without touch and smell, it’s been long months with too much virtual contact.

No one is really scared of the virus. But, that’s just not the problem, right? In February and March, even in April, it was a status symbol. Only the upper classes, only those from planes, the virus had such high foreign status. But, now, it comes by foot, damn it. Anyone who catches it is labelled poor and ostracised. Bloody local transmission.

Some politicians are trying all that they can to remove that stigma. Not just the politicians, even others, we hear. When there’s a social or official function one wants to skip or when a mother-in-law threatens to show up or when a month’s paid rest seems so tempting, they have been claiming to be corona positive. They test negative as and when they like. Who’s bothered, it’s on taxpayers’ money.

Ah, before I forget, there was another glitch this morning. 

A man was found dead. The stink got to the neighbours two weeks late. He left a suicide note saying, “Wishing all of you a Happy Independence Day well in advance. Love you all, Indrans.”

The old judges investigated that too and wondered how the kid knew about the death. Indrans looked happy in all the photos on social media. 

The judges also wanted to know how this Indrans had managed to take part in the morning roll call.

They too said Bah, with such contempt.