What goes around comes around

By Shevlin Sebastian

Photo: Many Anglo-Indians live in Bow Barracks, Kolkata. This is a representational image

Steve Smith, 54, and his 50-year-old wife Virginia stay in an old-style bungalow. A few such bungalows still exist in Calcutta. Many of them have been torn down. In its place, high-rise buildings have sprung up.

The house is an inheritance for Steve. His father Paul worked in the railways and rose to a prominent position. Later, Paul bought the house from a Britisher who was departing India following Independence. Steve resisted the temptation to sell it. He was not strapped for money, anyway. Steve worked as a pilot at the port of Calcutta. His income was decent. His wife worked as a secretary to the managing director of a multinational firm. She earned well too.

Steve has kept the house in pristine condition. The rooms are large: there is a main hall, and on either side are bedrooms with attached bathrooms. From the hall, it leads to the dining room. Everywhere, there is wooden furniture. On the right is the kitchen. There is a garden at the back. Virginia grows potatoes, tomatoes and cabbages. There is a large shed on one side where Steve parks his car. The roof has red tiles.

Virginia and Steve are now experiencing empty nest syndrome. Both their children, Robert, 24, and Karen, 22, live and work in Melbourne. All Steve’s brothers and sisters are in Australia. They arranged for Steve’s children to come across.

Both Steve and Virginia are aware the Anglo-Indian community is dwindling. The second generation is marrying other Indians. There are not enough eligible men and women anymore. Steve knew there would come a time when they would have to move in their old age. It could be to Australia to be with their children. Or they might have to stay at an old age home.

But he would ensure he sold the house to an individual rather than a builder, so that the house could be preserved. A nation becomes impoverished when its inhabitants raze their historical buildings. All you get are these impersonal concrete buildings with no personality.

While Virginia had a day job, Steve sometimes did the night shift. Ships could come in at any time of the day and night. It’s like the Suez Canal where ships plied through the canal 24 hours a day, 365 days a year.

But Steve liked his job. He enjoyed being in the water. He liked the different moods of the sea — stormy, calm, angry, or moody.

On a recent Sunday afternoon, both had finished lunch and washed the dishes and placed them on a washing rack to dry.

Steve smoked a pipe with quick puffs. He was wearing a T-shirt and shorts. Virginia was also in a T-shirt and shorts. They sat in low armchairs and watched a Netflix film. The living room, painted in a pale yellow, was cool because of the high ceilings. His friends stayed in concrete apartments and always complained of the heat.

Their house remained cool thanks to the clever construction by British architects.

As Steve saw a murder on the screen, it triggered a memory.

This happened many years ago when Steve was in his late twenties. He had been a Catholic priest. On most Sundays, he would travel to a convent to say Mass. Steve was attracted to a nun, Sr. Jude. She was an Anglo-Indian like him. They began a discreet affair. They met in parishes, where priest friends of Steve would set aside a room. They would make love. Sr. Jude would tell the convent authorities she was planning to meet a relative in Bandel, 54 kms from Calcutta.

Indeed, she had an old aunt Mabel who lived in a two-bedroom apartment. She had a maid, Rupali, who looked after her.

One early morning, when Steve had come to the convent, he could not resist kissing and hugging Sr. Jude. They were alone in the kitchen. A few minutes later, a novice nun, Mary, came into the kitchen and caught them red-handed. She put an arm across her mouth and stifled a cry of surprise. Steve and Sr. Jude realised Mary had caught them in an embarrassing position.

What followed was a scene from a fast-paced crime thriller. Sr. Jude said, “We have to silence her.”

“But how?” whispered Steve.

They thought for a few seconds. It seemed like several minutes to both of them.

Sr. Jude jerked her head forward and said, “I have an idea.”

Steve and Sr. Jude headed to her room, although the priest was not supposed to enter the nuns’ private quarters. She took out cotton and a bottle of chloroform. The other nuns were getting ready.

Nobody was in the corridor. They proceeded to Mary’s room. Sr. Jude knocked softly. Mary opened the door. Both Steve and Sr. Jude barged in and pinned her to the ground while Steve pressed his hand over her mouth. Sr. Jude drenched the cotton in chloroform and placed it under Mary’s nose. She passed out within minutes. The nun put the remaining pad of cotton and the bottle in the pocket of her habit.

She looked out of the corridor. Nobody was there. While Steve held the shoulders, Sr. Jude held the legs.

They took the body down the corridor, down the stairs, through the kitchen and to the back. There was a well some distance away.

Since it was a winter’s morning, a week before Christmas, there was fog and mist. They seemed like ghostly figures. Both prayed that nobody was looking out of the window. They reached the edge of the well and laid Mary on the edge.

Steve held Sr. Mary’s legs and pushed the body downwards. He reached down as far as he could without losing his balance, so that the plop sound was not too loud. Then he loosened his grip. The body fell with a splash, but both were not sure whether the nuns in the convent could hear it. With bent heads and breaths coming out in short bursts of white vapour, they headed back.

Steve walked to the chapel. Sr. Jude hurried to her room. She emptied the chloroform liquid into the washbasin. Then she removed the ‘chloroform’ label and tore it up. She washed the bottle, inside and outside, at the tap.

She also threw the remaining cotton into the wastepaper bucket.

Near the chapel, there was a toilet. Steve washed his hands with soap and splashed water on his face. He dried himself with a white towel placed on the rack. He returned to the chapel, wore the vestments and got ready for Mass.

Ten minutes later, the nuns trooped in.

Nobody missed Mary.

After mass was over, Steve usually had breakfast, but this time he made his excuses and left. In his room at the parish, he found that his heart was still racing. It took him almost half an hour to relax.

Two hours later, a maid, Shonali, had gone to the well to draw water to wash the breakfast plates and dishes. When she looked down, she saw the floating body of Mary and screamed.

The nuns came running. Shonali pointed at the well. They looked down and gasped. Mary had to be pulled up immediately. They called the police. The police brought a man who cleaned wells.

Using a long ladder, he climbed down and reached the surface of the water. He checked the wrist and realised there was no movement.

He picked up Mary and put her on his back. He came up, leaning forward, using his left hand to hold her at the back and the right arm held on to the ladder. It was an incredible feat of strength.

The man laid the body on the ground.

“Sir,” the man said, looking up at a group of cops. “The girl has died.”

The police rushed her to the hospital. But it was too late. The doctors declared Mary dead on arrival.

The police began an investigation.

All the nuns had to appear before a detective, who sat at a small desk in the parlour.

They answered the questions as best as they could.

Mary had joined the convent only four months ago. Nobody knew much about her.

In the end, the officer concluded that she had committed suicide.

Mary’s parents were poor. They protested to the Mother Superior that Mary had sounded happy. They had only spoken to her on the phone a couple of days earlier. She had always wanted to be a nun. Now she was close to fulfilling her dream. The Mother Superior said, “Nobody can say for sure what was going on in Mary’s mind? The police said it was a case of suicide. We have to accept the findings.”

In the end, to calm down Mary’s parents, the convent gave them a sum of Rs 1 lakh through a crossed cheque.

The convent authorities sighed in relief. If it had been a murder, there would have been plenty of negative media coverage.

Steve and Sr. Jude had a close shave. But the incident proved to be a shock. They stopped their affair. It was too dangerous now.

After a year, Steve opted out of the priesthood.

Because he loved the sea, he trained to be a river pilot and secured the job.

He had been a river pilot for the past 24 years. He met Virginia at a New Year’s Eve ball, at the Dalhousie Institute, fell in love and got married.

Sometimes, he thought of Mary. But he immediately stifled the thought. Sr. Jude travelled abroad on assignments. He had not seen her in years, and they did not remain in touch. This was a secret they would carry to their graves. Sometimes Steve thought, ‘Was it necessary to do what we did?’ But Sr Jude was one who had become so frightened of Mary leaking the affair to the superiors. She felt this would ruin her career. Steve had agreed too quickly to her plan, which snuffed out the life of a young woman.

In the end, Steve and Sr. Jude had committed a flawless murder.

Steve returned to the present. The film continued.

His mood plummeted. A pleasant mood was now tinged with sadness and regret. He had never confided in anybody, not even when he went to church for confession. It would be too explosive a secret to recount. Steve was not sure whether the priest would keep the secret to himself or inform the police.

There was a rush of feet inside the room. Steve and Virginia turned to look at the door. Two men had barged in. They were wearing cloth masks, with slits for the eyes. They grabbed Steve, and before he could respond, one of them slit his neck. A shocked Virginia opened her mouth in shock, but no scream came out. They grabbed her and tied a handkerchief around her face. Then they pushed her to the floor, tied her hands and legs with thick twine.

The duo ransacked the entire house. They were looking for a pouch of diamonds.

In prison, their fellow inmate, Gavin Xavier, had told them about this pouch of diamonds. “Kill Steve first,” said Gavin. “He is strong and can fight back.”

The thieves could not locate the pouch. There was no safe. Inside the wooden almirah, there was hardly any money or gold, let alone diamonds. Time was running out. They returned to Virginia, removed the handkerchief, pressed a knife to her neck, and asked her about the diamonds.

This time, Virginia found her voice. “There are no diamonds,” she said in a firm voice. “Somebody has given you wrong information. Even if you kill me, you will not find any diamonds.”

The thieves looked at each other.

They realised Virginia was telling the truth.

“That bastard was telling lies to us,” one thief said to the other.

“We’ll kill him when he comes out,” said the other.

The thieves took Steve’s wallet, which was lying on a mantelpiece, and ran out of the house.

In the evening, Rachel, Virginia’s cousin, and her husband Frank dropped in for a visit. They immediately realised they had stepped into a tragedy.

Steve was long dead.

Virginia’s body shook with the shock of what happened.

Two days later, the post-mortem of Steve took place. Thereafter, with the help of her son, Robert, Virginia filed a First Information report at the local police station.

Steve’s funeral took place at the Lower Circular Road cemetery. His siblings had flown down from Melbourne.

The burial was a low-key affair.

People kept quiet and shed tears.

The priest gave a eulogy about the upstanding qualities of Steve.

He went six feet under.

Nobody knows what Sr. Jude thought about all this. It had appeared in all the newspapers and on TV.

As for Mary, floating about somewhere in the universe, she might have enjoyed a quiet smile of satisfaction.

When we come to think about it, what goes around does come around.

(Published in 'Active Muse' literary magazine, Pune) 

 

A Malayali in Haiti

Following a job opportunity, Jerome Geevarghese went to Haiti in 2004. He married a local woman and has two children. After a few years, he took his family back to Kerala, settled them there, and returned to Haiti

By Shevlin Sebastian

In 2004, Jerome Geevarghese’s brother-in-law Pradeep Mohan, who runs a placement firm, called him from Tirunelveli in South India.

“Hi Jerome, how’s it going in Kochi?” said Pradeep.

“Fine,” said Jerome. “I am preparing for my civil service examinations.”

Pradeep said, “Oh okay, no problem. I called you for a reason. There is an opening in Haiti.”

Jerome said, “Where is this place?”

Pradeep replied, “I don’t know. Check it out on the net.”

Later, Jerome looked up Haiti on the net. A Caribbean island, with an area of 27,750 sq. kms, and a population of 11 million, it is near Bahamas, Cuba and Jamaica. Haiti shares a border with the Dominican Republic.

 The job was at Haiti’s capital, Port-au-Prince. It required managing a 10,000 sq ft. scrapyard of a company called Laguna Azul, owned by an Indian, Sudhir Khare. The company bought metal, copper, aluminium, and lead scrap. This was fabricated, loaded in containers and shipped to countries like Taiwan, South Korea, and Thailand. Jerome decided to take the plunge.

On December 14, 2004, Jerome flew to Haiti from Kochi.

As the plane approached Port-au-Prince, Jerome looked out of the window and noticed there were a lot of mountains. He also realised there were fewer houses and a lot of greenery. “It is a beautiful country,” said Jerome. “It reminded me of Kerala, with its many coconut trees. There was a lot of banana cultivation too.”

The city was well maintained, but it was much better than the older parts of Haiti. For the next several weeks, Jerome was on a discovery tour of the country. 

As for the food, the people eat a lot of rice. “Nearly everybody is a non-vegetarian,” said Jerome. For breakfast, they like to eat eggs and bananas or spaghetti with hot dogs along with cornflour shake. For lunch and dinner, it is rice, beans and meat. “Unlike Indian food, there is very little spice in the cuisine,” said Jerome. “Most of the vegetables are boiled. The cuisine is healthy.” 

The currency is called the gourde. One gourde is equal to $0.15. The language is Creole. It has French roots. The official language is French. “But in the day-to-day interactions, everybody uses Creole,” said Jerome, who is fluent in the language. He learnt it by speaking it daily.

The people are friendly. Around 90 percent are blacks. Apart from Arabs there are Poles, Spanish, French, Indians, Jews and Italians. Most of them are wealthy entrepreneurs.

The Haitians are fun-loving people. “They enjoy parties,” said Jerome. “They work hard from Monday to Friday and enjoy themselves on the weekend. They go to the beaches like Labadee and Kokoye to relax.”

When Jerome said he was from India, people were aware of the country, as many had travelled all over the world. “The people also watch a lot of Hindi serials and films, through French subtitles,” said Jerome. “They love the stories.” A few also knew about Kerala because they had come for a vacation to the popular tourist state.

But some locals thought Jerome had Native American ancestry. “They called me one of the original inhabitants of Haiti,” said Jerome. “So, I had to explain that I am a different type of Indian.”

He befriended a family: the Bonhommes. The head of the family was from the UK, while the wife was from Haiti. “My in-laws had a love marriage,” said Jerome. “This is common. In Haiti, unlike India, there are no arranged marriages.”

Before Jerome started working for the company, the Bonhomme daughters had done secretarial training at the firm. “So, the Indian employees were close to the family,” said Jerome. “When I arrived in Haiti, my colleagues introduced me to them.”

The Bonhomme family often came to the complex where the Indians lived to celebrate festivals like Diwali, Id, Christmas and New Year’s Eve.

Falling in love

Jerome first met Emmanuelle Bonhomme on December 25, 2004, when the family invited Jerome and the other Indians for lunch. He realised Emmanuelle was young. Jerome was 26 while Emanuelle was 20. “I found her very charming,” said Jerome. It was a shock for him to see a white girl in a predominantly black country.

Both Jerome and Emmanuelle did not fall in love immediately. It happened over a period of several months. Jerome had come to Haiti with the typical Indian attitude. He would work hard for a few years, save up money, go back, get married to a girl from Kerala, and settle down.

But it did not work out as he had planned. In 2006, Jerome went on dates with Emmanuelle. But her family accompanied her.

Sometime in 2007, after three years working in the scrapyard, he told the family he was planning to start his own scrap business. Emmanuelle encouraged Jerome to go ahead. Emmanuelle’s father, Henry George, said it would be helpful for his business to start a firm in Florida. So, Jerome bought a house and set up a business base in Coral Springs. Now, Jerome divides his time between Haiti and Florida. Jerome’s clients are in the US, Canada, India, Thailand, Taiwan and the United Arab Emirates.

It was at this point that Jerome felt he needed a life partner. He proposed to Emmanuelle. She accepted. “Later, Emmanuelle told me she liked tall men with long hair,” said Jerome, 6’2” and long-haired, while she stood at 5’2”. Jerome told the Bonhomme’s about his desire to marry their daughter. They accepted his proposal.

As for his parents, he felt it was prudent to tell his two sisters to inform them. When they did so, his parents became upset. “They wanted me to marry a Malayali girl,” he said. “They also thought I was getting married to a black girl.”

In the end, they said yes.

By this time, Emmanuelle had become pregnant. “We were planning to go to India to get married,” said Jerome. “But my parents told me that since she is pregnant, it is better to get married there. Otherwise, tongues will wag in our conservative hometown.”

The marriage took place on January 5, 2008, at the Methodist church in Port-au-Prince. Over one hundred people attended the Mass, reception and sit-down dinner.

The couple flew to Kerala in March, 2008. There was a small function at the church. This took place after the Sunday Mass.

During the trip, Emmanuelle found it difficult to adjust to the food. “She did not like the fish curry and spicy dishes,” said Jerome. He had to buy KFC (Kentucky Fried Chicken) or pizza from the nearby towns.

Jerome’s early life

Jerome was born in a village called Nariyapuram in Kerala. But since his father worked as an accountant in a private firm in Hyderabad (760 kms away), he spent his early years there. But Jerome moved back to his village when he was in Class 5. He has two older sisters, Glory and Jerry. His mother, a homemaker, looked after them. Jerome studied in St. Paul’s Higher Secondary School in Nariyapuram village. His father would come home once a year.

Most people in the village worked in countries like the United Arab Emirates, Qatar and Saudi Arabia.

After graduation in mathematics from Mahatma Gandhi University, Jerome got a job in a credit card company in Bangalore. The owner was a relative of Jerome’s. He worked there for one-and-a-half years. At the end of 2002, Jerome moved to Kochi. He had joined a training course so he could sit for the civil service examinations. But the institute fell into trouble over some legal issues. So, he could not complete the course. So, he joined a private company as a salesperson. He spent two years there before moving to Port-au-Prince.

Move to Kerala

In 2011, Jerome made a momentous decision. He convinced Emanuelle and his two children Sayra, 14, and Rayas, 13, to settle in his village. He wanted his children to get a good education. This was not a surprise for Emmanuelle. Jerome had told her about this plan before the marriage. And she had agreed.

Asked the reasons for this move, Jerome said, “I wanted my family to imbibe the Kerala culture. When they grow up, my children can come to Kerala and feel a connection to their roots. I have seen too many children of my friends who don’t want to go to India at all.”

Only Jerome’s mother was at home. His father, who had been suffering from multiple myeloma, passed away on July 20, 2011, at the age of 74.

Jerome comes once a year in December and stays till March.

As for the impact of the move on Emmanuelle, Jerome said, “She has become a typical Malayali. She speaks Malayalam fluently and wears saris. Sometimes, I feel Emmannuelle is like my mother. My children know how to read and write in Malayalam.”

As to whether Jerome has made the right decision, he said he would know only when the children have grown up and settled into careers of their own. Incidentally, both his children are US citizens. “There is a strong possibility they will settle in America,” he said.

Regarding his cross-cultural marriage, Jerome said he was very lucky. “We had fewer problems because Emmanuelle made a lot of adjustments,” said Jerome. “Hence, it was very easy for me. I have to thank her. She learned to love everything about Kerala.”

Asked about his plans, Jerome said, “I want to start a recycling furnace for melting scrap. This will create 500 jobs. I also have plans to export food items like meat and fish. I have to wait and see what happens.”

Box: 

Haiti History 

Explorer Christopher Columbus was the first European to arrive on the island on December 5, 1492, mistakenly thinking that it was India or China. Later, the island became part of the Spanish Empire. Then the French took control in 1697. They set up sugarcane plantations on which many slaves from Africa did the labour. The colony became one of the richest in the world.

Inspired by the French Revolution (1789–99), the local people had their own Haitian Revolution (1791–1804). It was led by the first black general of the French Army, Toussaint Louverture. For 12 years there was a war with the army of Napoleon Bonaparte. Eventually, Louverture’s successor, Jean Jacques Dessalines, defeated the French. Haiti became independent on January 1, 1804. And it became the first independent nation in Latin America and the Caribbean.

Making Dogs Experts

23 dogs had a passing-out parade at the Dog Training School of the Kerala Police Academy at Thrissur recently. A look at how the animals are taught to detect drugs, and explosives, clues at the scene of a crime and do search-and-rescue missions 

Photos: Dogs at the parade; handlers with the dogs; Lissy Dog

By Shevlin Sebastian

It was a sunny morning on February 10 at the Kerala Police Training Academy. As the band played a tune, 23 dogs, along with their 46 handlers, went on a march past during the passing-out parade. The chief guest was State Police Chief Anil Kant. All the dogs had a red covering over their bodies with the words ‘K9 Police’ on it.

After nine months of training, the police will send these dogs to the K9 dog squads in different districts of Kerala. The group comprised 16 Belgian Malinois, four German Shepherds and one Labrador, Golden Retriever and Doberman.

The majority received training to detect explosives. The trainers taught the others to look for drugs, cadavers, and evidence from crime sites.

Asked how the dogs are bought, K. Sethuraman, Inspector General of Police (Training), Kerala Police Academy (KEPA), said that there is a procurement committee. Sometimes, puppies are bought locally and paid for by well-wishers. The Kerala Police bought the Belgian Malinois from the Punjab Home Guards Canine Training and Breeding Institute at Ludhiana. On an average, a Malinois puppy costs about Rs 40,000.

To select the best dogs, they have to undergo a Behavioural Attitude Test. “We test the dog’s short-term memory. We observe whether he can follow orders. Is he afraid of noise? If put in a strange environment, is the dog able to behave in a friendly manner?” said Sethuraman. “Following that, we do the selection.”

Usually, the training begins when the puppy is three months old. “We teach them various socialisation techniques,” said Sethuraman. For example, the Belgian Malinois are hyperactive dogs. If they are not taught how to socialise from a young age, when they are taken to a public space, there is every chance they might attack the people. “We teach them to mingle with people,” said Sethuraman. “Bystanders are allowed to pat them on the back.”

Sometimes, dogs are afraid of heights. “So, we put them in a higher place and feed them,” said Sethuraman. “Eventually, they will lose their fear of heights.”

Training is imparted through disciplined play. “During play, concentration is high,” said Salomon L, Assistant Director (Outdoor), KEPA. “When we play a badminton match, we find we have heightened levels of concentration. So, we impart training through a mix of discipline and play.”

For example, the handler will throw the ball. He will run along with the dog to get it first. This creates a sense of competition and excitement for the dog. By doing this, it also increases the concentration powers of the dog.

Thereafter, specific training is imparted. “So, if we want to train a dog to detect clues at a murder scene, we will teach it to detect and follow human scent,” said Salomon. “To detect explosives, the trainer will put a shoe, a book, explosive material, and an apple on the ground. The dog will smell everything. But when it smells the explosive, the trainer will pat him on the back and say, ‘Very good' or ‘Shabash’. Or he will give the dog a food titbit. Soon, the dog realises that we reward him whenever he detects an explosive. This training has to be done over several months before the scent of an explosive is embedded in the dog’s brain.”

Then there are dogs which are trained only for narcotics detection. So, they will smell marijuana, heroin, cocaine, ganja, hashish and ecstasy tablets.

The police will train another group to detect the scent of a murderer at the scene of a crime. “You may not know this, but in one minute, 40,000 dead skin cells fall from a human’s body to the ground,” said Salomon. “So, at the crime scene, despite all the precautions a murderer takes, he still leaves his dead cells behind. And the dog will smell that and follow the scent.”

Salomon recounted a story. In the corridor of a shopping complex, at Kottayam, one morning an elderly woman was found murdered. A brick which had been used to hammer her head lay nearby.

On one side of the brick, there were bloodstains. The handler, Premjimon, made the dog smell the other side, which the murderer would have held with his hand. The dog immediately set out, tracing the scent. About 350 metres away, the dog jumped into a culvert. That was when Premjimon realised the animal may have made a mistake. Nevertheless, Premjimon followed. A man was sleeping at a distance on the side. The dog stopped there. The police grabbed the man and took him for interrogation. Subsequently, the man confessed. He was a drug addict. Desperate for a fix, he had killed the woman to steal some money from her.

“But if the man had taken a vehicle, or crossed a river or taken a train, then the scent would come to a stop,” said Salomon. “Then the killer can escape. After that, only a human investigation can solve the case.”

Nowadays, because of increasing natural calamities, the dogs are also trained to do search and rescue. “So, if somebody is trapped under a building following its collapse, the dog is trained to detect the location of the person,” said Sub Inspector P Ramesh, who has been associated with the State Dog Training School for the past 15 years. When a person speaks or moves, the dog will detect it. When the dog barks at a particular spot, the rescue workers will remove the slabs and bricks and rescue the person.

There are limitations, though. The dog should arrive within an hour of the building collapse. That is when the trapped people are moving about. “If the dog comes many hours later, the trapped people may have died or become weak and immobile,” said Ramesh.

Meanwhile, the handlers have their duties, too. They have to groom the dog, take it for ablutions, provide them with food, and give it a bath. The food is given based on a diet provided by the veterinary doctor. Most of the time, the diet includes mutton and pumpkin.

“The handlers are also taught the basic characteristics of the dog,” said Ramesh. “The different medicines to be given, how to groom it, the maintenance of the kennel and the principles of training.”

If the dogs keep good health, they can function at a high level for eight to 10 years.

Contrary to what we think, a dog has many more attributes than a human being. “Their sight is far better than a man’s, especially at night,” said Salomon. “The smelling detection area in a dog’s brain is far larger than ours. Even their hearing is sharper. And they can run at faster speeds than a human being. Their drawbacks are they do not have an analytical brain and cannot stand on two feet.”

Asked whether there is a need for dogs in the face of so much advanced technology, especially at airports, Ramesh said, “Human beings are the ones who use the technology. Not necessarily all are honest. Under financial inducements, they might purposely not detect something. But a dog is always honest.”

The dog is also much faster. It can check 100 bags within 15 minutes. “If a man has to do that, it will take two hours,” said Ramesh. “Otherwise, the bags have to be taken to where the technology is. To check a train, a police squad will take a few hours. A dog can do it much quicker.”

Now, there is an attempt to train dogs to detect diseases like cancer and COVID-19.

As to whether dogs are better than human beings, Ramesh laughed and said, “Yes, they are. They are very dependable and honest. They have unconditional love. If you shout at your dog today, the next morning, he or she will run towards you and embrace you. It bears no malice. Do remember the proverb, ‘Don’t call a man a dog because it is an insult to dogs’.”

Regarding the pleasures of the work, Ramesh said, “Training dogs is my passion. So, I enjoy every moment. You should not do a job to earn a livelihood. You should do it because you have a passion for it. Then only the work becomes worthwhile. When the dogs perform well, it brings me a great deal of satisfaction. That means they have detected explosives and drugs and caught murderers. They have made a substantial contribution to the safety of society.”

In 2017, through the mating of two Labrador dogs, the school got 16 puppies. After training, the police allotted them to the Narcotics Division. One of the dogs was Lissy. In two years, Lissy detected 33 items of narcotics in Alappuzha district. “Near many schools, there are small shops which sell drugs,” said Salomon. “Lissy can enter a shop and immediately detect where the drugs are stored. Lissy has detected ganja hidden under mud and in the backyard of a house. I have to commend the handlers who knew how best to use Lissy’s abilities.”

As to whether dogs are happy by nature, Ramesh said it depended on the human partner. “If the man or woman is a happy person, then the dog will be happy,” said Ramesh. “If the person is sad, the dog will also be sad.”

(Published in news9live.com) 

Crossing the Rubicon

SHORT STORY

Photo: The River Rubicon in Italy 

By Shevlin Sebastian

A woman is standing in an elevator in her stiletto heels and knee-length black skirt. Her legs look flawless except for a dark brown scar on her right shin. This happened when she had gone on a holiday to a farm outside Mumbai when she was a child. She tried to climb a fence with barbed wire and her leg grazed against a sharp edge. Blood flowed. She cried. Her parents took her to a local nursing home where they stitched the wound. But a permanent scar – a wobbly line -- remained.

Poonam Sharma, 32, is the Vice President of Public Relations of the ‘Get High’ liquor company. Its premium rums, brandies, and whiskeys are doing well. Their biggest markets are in Mumbai, Delhi, Chennai, Bangalore, Hyderabad and Chandigarh.

Poonam has spearheaded the publicity campaign to remarkable success. Makarand Patel, the CEO, has been happy with her performance. They travelled together to different cities to attend liquor launches and to spread the message of ‘Get High’.

Makarand, at 42, is married to Kalpana, who is 35. They have two teenage children, a boy and a girl. Fifteen years of marriage have led to a stagnation in their marital relations. They had conjugal relations once a fortnight. Kalpana, an English teacher, was busy looking after the children and running the household.

At some point in time, Makarand and Poonam became lovers. They always booked adjacent rooms in hotels. It was Poonam who would slip in at night and spend the night with Makarand. It was a comfortable relationship. Both were looking for sexual release, nothing more. Poonam was focused on her career. She was not sure whether she wanted to marry or have children. She had seen too many of her friends in unhappy marriages. ‘What was the point of it all?’ she thought. ‘Might as well stay single. It is less stressful. Society can think what they want.’

But Kalpana had become suspicious. It was a woman’s intuition. The sex routine with her husband declined even more. He did not seem interested at all. So, she hired a detective at Rs 1 lakh a month, with a time limit of two months to get the dirt out.

Ravinash Pandey, a reed-thin man with protruding eyes, always wore a white suit and red tie. He has been in the husband snooping business for twenty years. So, when Kalpana approached him, he stifled a yawn. It seems like the story was repeating itself all the time. Makarand was careless. He never imagined Kalpana would come up with this plan.

It did not take long for Ravinash to realise he was having an affair with his colleague. Once, when they travelled to Hyderabad, Ravinash followed. He went to the hotel, paid a large amount to the receptionist who gave him the key to Makarand’s room. When Makarand stepped out, Ravinash went in and installed a tiny camera that looked onto the bed.

That night, he got the expected evidence and their conversations. He also took some photographs, using a remote. Ravinash got this evidence within two weeks of getting the commission. But he sat on it for a month so that he would be paid the fees for the second.

When Ravinash showed the video to Kalpana, she gasped and drops of tears rolled down her face. She paid the money, took the pen drive, and went home. She kept it hidden under her sarees in the almirah. Then she lay down and cried into her pillow for a long time. Nobody was at home. She had taken the day off. Only the maid was in the kitchen. After a while, she got up and washed her face in the bathroom. She wondered what to do. Should she remain in the marriage or walk out?

A few days later, she decided to take on a lover so that she could enjoy some release. In case Makarand caught her, she could show the pen drive and shut him up. Now, where to find a younger man who would be good in bed?

Deepak Bhargava was a 28-year-old model. He had gelled hair, and good biceps and muscular legs. He worked hard on his body. The modelling gigs took place now and then. But he was too lazy to do a regular job. So, he became a gigolo. One lady recommended him to another lady. Discretion was the name of the game. Many of them were super rich, with their husbands too busy to spare time for them. Most of the time, they were travelling abroad on business. They had no qualms of tasting the pleasures of the flesh at night in their five-star hotels.

The money was good for Deepak. He got Rs 10,000 for two to three hours of sex and companionship. That was all that these women wanted. They wanted to remain married because they liked the luxurious life and the spending allowance in the lakhs their husbands gave them.

Deepak earned well. He felt he was an excellent lover. Most of the women said they experienced orgasms when they were with him. He did not know how true this was, but he nodded and took the money.

On days he was idle, Deepak wandered around the Taj Hotel near the Gateway of India. Most of the couplings took place in these expensive joints.

But on this afternoon, he did not meet anybody. He did not need to do this. He had his regular contacts, but he also yearned for new flesh, whether young or middle-aged. Sex had become like an addiction, but he would get tired of the same body after a while.

As he wandered around, he accidentally bumped into a woman. Her purse fell to the floor. The contents fell out. These included a lipstick, a mobile, some coins, and a handkerchief. He apologised as he bent to pick up the items and placed them back in the purse.

“Thank you,” said Kalpana, as she took the purse. She was wearing a pink chiffon saree and a blouse with a provocative cleavage.

Their eyes met. Deepak knew immediately she was not wealthy. Middle class, he thought. A bit on the plump side. Fading looks. There was a hint of a double chin.

He was about to step away when she said, “What is your name?”

He stopped, stared at her, and said, “Deepak.”

“Hi Deepak,” she said, stretching out her hand. “I am Kalpana. Care for a coffee?”

 An invitation to a semi-date, he thought.

 But he had time to kill. So, he agreed.

 They stepped into the coffee shop of the Taj.

 Kalpana had stepped out to do some shopping. She felt it would be a distraction. By chance, she saw a young man with an impressive physique. Even though he would be looking out for somebody younger, she felt reckless enough to ask him out for coffee. So far, so good.

As they sat opposite each other, at a corner table, Kalpana inhaled his perfume. She knew it was expensive, but Kalpana could not identify the brand. For 15 years, perfume was the last thing on her mind. ‘Those wasted years, being a loyal wife,’ she thought. ‘Got nothing in return. Not even good sex. Makarand was such a selfish lover.’

“What do you do?” she asked.

He looked at her and seemed to think about what to say. Deepak knew if he said gigolo, she might not even understand the term. Even if Kalpana did, she would be shocked. So, he said, “I am a model.”

“Ooh,” said Kalpana. “Good.”

Kalpana looked up to see the tent-like ceiling with paintings of fans.

“What would you like to have?” said Deepak.

“Cappuccino and a pastry would be fine,” said Kalpana. She knew she was supposed to lose weight. But now was not the time to opt for weight control.

Deepak gave the order.

He could see a rising flush on Kalpana’s cheeks and neck, which showed excitement within her. He could go in for the kill, but should he do it for free? Or ask her for some cash? Unconsciously, he tapped the glass in front of him, which was filled with clear water.

“What do you do?” he said.

“I am a teacher,” said Kalpana.

“Noble profession,” Deepak said with a smile.

Kalpana was wondering what to do. Should he sleep with Deepak today or opt for another time? But a thought arose: ‘I am done waiting. I waited too many years. Time to make a move’.

The cappuccino and pastry arrive. Kalpana took a spoon and ate a part of the cake. Deepak had a cup of filter coffee.

“Are you married?” she said.

Deepak shook his head and smiled.

“You are, isn’t it?” he said.

She nodded, and said, “Mother of two kids.”

Deepak smiled at her candour.

“Happy marriage?” he asked, looking straight into her eyes, urging her to be honest.

Kalpana held his gaze, and after a few seconds, looked away. She took a sip of the coffee and wondered what to say.

Finally, she looked at Deepak and said, “So-so.”

Deepak immediately smiled and said, “Good answer. It’s honest.”

Deepak looked at Kalpana and realised she had an attractive personality. It was rare for most Indian women to admit to a stranger, that too, a man, that her marriage was not going well. He thought her husband had not looked at his wife or understood her. ‘Like all husbands,’ he thought. ‘All these wives are so unhappy.”

He took another sip of the coffee and said, “Would you like to have sex with me right now?”

Kalpana was chewing the cake when her mouth shut. She could feel the cake touching her tongue. Her breath stopped. There was a stillness inside her body. She was not sure whether her heart continued beating or it had stopped. She gazed at Deepak. The young man gave a challenging look. It seemed as if a wave of electricity passed between them. Time seemed to have slowed down. For some reason, which she did not understand, she pressed her legs together.

Finally, she blinked, resumed her chewing and said, “That was very bold of you.”

“Indeed,” he replied.

She liked his lack of embarrassment. Deepak was comfortable in his skin. She visualised her palm rubbing his hair. It seemed to her that her mind and body were telling her to go ahead.

She finished her cappuccino and said in a calm voice, “Yes.”

Deepak gave a broad grin, even as he allowed her to pay the bill.

They set out for his bachelor’s pad in Colaba in his car.

As soon as she slid the seat belt into the socket, Kalpana’s eyes began moving to the left and the right and at the passengers in the other cars. If anybody she knew saw her, she would have to do some explaining. Yet so far, the ride had been fine, with nobody she knew being spotted.

She liked the calm and confident way Deepak drove the car. He did not blow the horn incessantly, as most drivers did. Within 15 minutes, they reached his apartment, a one-room space on the terrace of a building. He had kept it neat, she noticed. A jute carpet on the floor; low maroon sofas, and a mattress on the floor near a wall. On one side, there was a dining table. In the middle, there was a money plant which grew out of a glass bottle.

Kalpana felt calm. She liked Deepak’s taste and his innate respect for women.

After a few more minutes of chitchat, he led her to the mattress, undressed her, and got down to making love to her.

She closed her eyes and let out a small gasp when he sucked on a nipple.

Time passed. It was very silent. The tick tock of a wall clock could be heard. This was interrupted by Kalpana’s sighs and Deepak’s exhalations of breath.

Overall, it was a satisfactory experience for her. Kalpana realised Deepak was keen that she received satisfaction. This was so unlike Makarand, who just mounted her and had his orgasm. Then he rolled over and went to sleep. It was too mechanical. Kalpana also liked Deepak’s body odour. It was masculine and all pervasive. It invaded her nostrils, and she felt a rush in her brain.

Later, he used a pink dildo, a first time for her, and it seemed as if her brain had a series of explosions. This was turning out to be the most satisfying experience of her life.

After an hour, Kalpana left in a taxi.

Under the shower, in her home, she could feel her entire body singing, and an involuntary smile broke on her face.

With this encounter, Kalpana crossed the Rubicon.

Makarand had crossed it earlier.

Poonam also crossed it by having a relationship with a married man.

All three knew, in their subconscious minds, that things would never be the same again.

Or as Julius Caeser said, when he crossed the River Rubicon with his army in January 49 BC, “Aalea iacta est (the die is cast).”

(Published in Twist and Twain)