Mohanaswamy Page 4

  His mother came out rushing with a steel ladle in her hand. ‘Bosudi … How many times have I told you not to call him so? Why are you abusing the son of the house?’ she lashed out and beat the girl vehemently with the ladle. Janaki was taken aback by this sudden attack. Mohanaswamy too found their mother’s rage out of proportion. He stood watching the scene in disbelief.

  ‘Don’t beat me, Amma, I will never repeat it again…’ the girl pleaded, wincing in pain.

  Exhausted, the mother finally threw the ladle in a corner and sat on the floor leaning against a pillar. ‘It’s just my fate…’ she murmured, weeping loudly.

  With bruises and welts on her body, Janaki wept furiously. Grief and shame rose up inside Mohanaswamy as he cursed himself for being the root cause of all the tension at home. It was his feminine mannerism that had destroyed the peace at home. He slowly rose from his place and went to clear the plates. His mother and sister watched him as he cleaned the floor, gathering the rice spilled over the sides of the plates. They were too spent to say anything.

  Mohanaswamy decided to change himself. Since his feminine traits were the underlying cause of all the trouble, he made up his mind to be rough and tough, but he behaved like a robot instead, controlling the movement of his hands, legs and eyes. He also had to do something about his shrill voice. Since he couldn’t change it, he thought the best solution was to talk less. He stopped asking questions in class. He stopped chitchatting with his classmates. He tried to speak in a low, harsh voice. ‘Speak up, Mohana,’ people would tell him. But he would speak with the same hoarseness. He had earned the nickname ‘GanSu’ because he played with his sister and her friends, so he stopped playing with them. If he went to play with the boys, they bullied him. So he decided to be all by himself. He read books. Sometimes he felt too tempted to join his sister and her friends, but he restrained himself.

  There was yet another change in him. He had realized if he had scored well in mathematics, his loving mother would not have called him ‘GanSu’. So he started paying more attention in the math class. With no friends to play and spend time with, he solved math problems when he got bored. All these efforts paid off. In his eighth standard, he topped the district and got full marks in maths, making his teachers and parents proud. He sort of became a role model in the town and people began advising their children to emulate Mohanaswamy, be as hardworking and sincere as him. He was felicitated in a couple of programmes in the district. All this pampering and recognition opened up a whole new world before Mohanaswamy. He had realized that if he had to escape from his shameful nickname ‘GanSu’, he must study hard and be recognized as an intelligent student. He stuck to his lessons firmly, like a blood-sucking leech.

  His mother, though happy with her son’s academic achievements, began missing the old Mohanaswamy whom she had to chide during the evening math lessons. There was nothing left for her to teach him. She felt as if her son was drifting away from her.

  She remembered how she fed Mohanaswamy as a toddler, carrying him on her hip, showing him the moon above in the sky, putting the morsels in his mouth. Till he came to second standard, Mohanaswamy would only eat his meals outdoors, while watching the moon. He found it very difficult to have food on amavasya when there was no moon in the sky or when it hid behind clouds. But when Mohanaswamy reached second standard, he started eating on his own. If his mother offered to carry him outside and feed him like she used to do before, he would feel shy and refuse to go.

  ‘If the wife comes on top during intercourse, boys with feminine qualities will be born.’

  ‘Is it?’ asked Mohanaswamy in a shivering voice as he walked one evening on the beach in front of his college, chatting with his classmate Sumit Goel, a handsome boy from Uttar Pradesh.

  Just then a man with feminine mannerisms had walked past them. ‘He is gay,’ Sumit said, pointing to him. ‘Do you know what the gays do?’ he asked Mohanaswamy, winking.

  Mohanaswamy nodded his head. He had heard the ‘gay’ word only recently. He had seen boys from big cities and those who studied in convents using the word and laughing about it. Eager to educate Mohanaswamy, Sumit whispered in his ears, ‘They have sex with men.’

  Mohanaswamy stiffened his body so as to hide his own girlish gait. He then feigned innocence and asked curiously, ‘Tell me, why do they do like that?’

  ‘They are sex maniacs. They are not satisfied having sex with women. So they sleep around with men too,’ Sumit said, as if he knew all about sex.

  ‘But are they born that way?’ asked Mohanaswamy inquisitively.

  Sumit said, it all depended on positions during sex. ‘Such children are born when the woman comes on top. That’s why I never allow girls mount me. You must also keep this in mind: never allow girls to call the shots. Be careful,’ Sumit advised him, proudly showing off his knowledge.

  Why did my mother mount my father? Why did she commit such a blunder? Mohanaswamy pondered. The question drilled his brain like a woodpecker. He did not dare share his agony with Sumit or anyone else for the fear of being found out.

  Mohanaswamy, who had hardly stepped out of Ballari district, did not know that north Indian boys looked so attractive. And now when he saw them in college, he was mesmerized by their fair complexion, their height, their dense hair and their flashy smiles which he found charming. He was stunned by the way they mingled freely with girls, drank in pubs and watched blue films. They were so bold, so different. South Indian boys looked somewhat dull and even juvenile compared to them.

  Mohanaswamy had secured admission into that prestigious college in the coastal city because he had passed his second pre-university exams with flying colours. The college attracted a number of outstation students and Sumit Goel from Lucknow was one of them. He and Mohanaswamy were in the same course and they soon became friends. Sumit was not so keen on studies, his passion lay in cricket. He would practise day and night in the college grounds. He would skip exams and go to different cities to play tournaments. He cherished the dream of playing for the country. He found a good companion in Mohanaswamy, who patiently lent him an ear. Besides, Sumit found his association with Mohanaswamy quite useful. Mohanaswamy, the straight-A student would give him his neatly written notes. He would even write down lab sheets for Sumit. He would guess the probable questions before each exam and help Sumit prepare. He never expected anything in return.

  Unlike the other boys in college, Mohanaswamy wasn’t the drinking, outgoing type. He never looked at girls. He spoke less and was very shy. Sumit grew fond of this sober, studious, disciplined boy. Sometimes he would hug him affectionately, plant a kiss on his forehead and exclaim, ‘If you were a girl, Mohana, I would have married you!’ This would leave Mohanaswamy blushing.

  Mohanaswamy was of course completely besotted with Sumit. He loved to be around him all the time. He went with him for evening strolls on the beach. If he bunked classes, Mohanaswamy would admonish him authoritatively. He accompanied him to the cricket grounds and cheered for him during the match and consoled him when he lost. Sumit was quite popular in college, especially with the girls. The grapevine was abuzz with rumours that he was going steady with some girl. Sumit would not refute these rumours. In fact, he often narrated his colourful encounters. Once, when Mohanaswamy refused to believe his stories, Sumit mischievously fished out two condoms from his pocket and showed them to Mohanaswamy saying, ‘These are for tonight.’

  Another time, during such a conversation, Sumit asked him, ‘Have you ever fucked a girl?’

  Mohanaswamy was taken aback by this sudden, direct question. He decided to pull a fast one. He said he was once in love with a girl in his town and was also physically involved with her.

  ‘Oh! Not bad! On the outside you look so quiet and shy, but still waters run deep!’ Sumit exclaimed with a naughty smile.

  Of late, in a bid to conceal his true identity, Mohanaswamy had started joining the boys in their vulgar talk, raving about some girls’ looks and passing lewd comments about
movie stars. But behind this mask of machismo, his heart pined for the well-built boys in his class. But if he proclaimed it, he knew he would be ostracized. He was also tired of living this pretentious life, weaving lies with more lies. In the Mahabharata, Lord Krishna beheaded Shishupala with the Sudarshan Chakra for transgressing over a hundred times. I tell at least ten lies a day. What would be my fate? The nagging question often gave him sleepless nights.

  Mohanaswamy would go for evening strolls on the beach with Sumit at every opportunity. With the Arabian Sea roaring, Mohanaswamy’s heart would miss a beat if Sumit put his hand on his shoulder. Their conversations revolved around girls and sex. He often pestered Sumit to take him to the beach and on days when Sumit had no girlfriends to keep him company, he would yield to his requests. Mohanaswamy would set out for the beach stroll after bathing with Mysore Sandal soap. Sumit would have just come back from playing cricket, sweating profusely. The odour of the sweat would make Mohanaswamy burn with desire. Sumit would keep two of his shirt buttons open and expose his broad chest to the cool breeze. As he stretched his arms and enjoyed the breeze, he looked like a Gandharva. Mohanaswamy would feel like putting his arm around Sumit’s shoulder. But Sumit was about ten inches taller than him. Mohanaswamy knew that he should not crave for something that was beyond his reach.

  This was the eighties and the students would somehow secure low-grade detective novels with erotic descriptions and magazines like Surathi and Rathi Vignyana with pictures of nude women. They would circulate the forbidden books, read them till they were soiled and torn. While this was the plight of Kannada-speaking boys, the condition of boys from English medium schools was no different. The only contrast was that the books and periodicals they read were more glossy and attractive with full-colour spreads.

  Mohanaswamy too would read such magazines with his mouth wide open. He would read them from start to end, hoping to find something, anything on gays. But in vain. Even when he did find some piece of information here and there, it would be so horrifying that it would give rise to a sense of shame in him. Once, he found a query in a magazine where the reader had mentioned that he was attracted to men and sought remedy for ‘this tendency’. The agony aunt had answered to his query thus: ‘Such desire crops up in men’s mind due to affliction of Naga Dosha. Naga, the serpent god, is the one who blesses men with progeny. It appears that one of your forefathers killed a snake long ago. So you have incurred the curse of the snake god. You will be redeemed of the curse if you perform Naga puja every day.’

  Dreaded cobras, with their hoods wide open, began haunting Mohanaswamy in his dreams. He started going to the Shiva temple every day, and prayed fervently to the idols of snakes inside its premises. But even after six months of Naga puja, nothing changed inside him. He was the same Mohanaswamy, whose organ would stand erect at the sight of boys in the hostel who would come out from the bathrooms, their bodies still glistening with water.

  The boys hardly ever discussed homosexuality. Mohanaswamy never raised such topics on his own because that would give rise to unnecessary doubts in his friends’ minds. So when gay sex did come up in their conversations, he would pass a snide remark or two as defence mechanism. But whenever somebody said something at length about homosexuality, he would be all ears. There was a boy in his class from Bengaluru, who boasted of his knowledge about sex, which he claimed to have acquired by reading English books and magazines. Once he gave a weird explanation for gayness in men. He said, ‘Men tend to have a sexual orientation to persons of the same sex because of some defective chromosomes. If nature identifies some men as weak, it selects not to continue their lineage. So they are made born weak and cannot have sex with women and produce children. So their lineage will end with them.’

  Mohanaswamy found this explanation too hard to digest. I am a very good boy. I am a diligent student. I haven’t done anything bad to anybody. What have I done that natural selection plans to finish my lineage? Even fraudsters and crooks beget children. Am I worse than them? The question baffled him for a long time.

  One day there was a telegram for Sumit with a message that his father passed away. Sumit borrowed money from his friends and rushed to Lucknow for two weeks for the funeral. When he was away, Mohanaswamy was very sad thinking about the ill-fate that had befallen his friend. He decided to take better care of the fatherless boy. I should console him once he comes back. If he needs money I should help him out without thinking twice, he thought. He waited for Sumit’s arrival with anxiety.

  One day when he was working in the hydraulic lab, a friend came and told him that Sumit was back. On hearing the news, Mohanaswamy could not concentrate on his work. He rushed back to the hostel on the pretext of a headache. He headed to Sumit’s room and pushed the door. Sumit was eating some sweets and happily dancing to the tune of a song playing on the radio.

  ‘Hi, buddy, come inside,’ Sumit welcomed him. ‘Have a laddoo, it’s very tasty,’ he said, giving him a sweet.

  Mohanaswamy was dumbstruck. Was it a lie that his father passed away? he wondered. ‘Tell me, why did you go to Lucknow?’ Mohanaswamy asked.

  ‘Don’t you know my father died?’ Sumit replied, biting into one more laddoo.

  ‘Aren’t you sad that your father is no more?’ Mohanaswamy asked in concern, unable to eat the laddoo.

  Sumit laughed. ‘No, not at all. In fact, it was good riddance. He harassed my mother a lot. He was bedridden since the past two years and my mother was exhausted taking care of him. Now she will live happily,’ he said without any hesitation.

  ‘How old was he?’ Mohanaswamy asked hesitatingly.

  ‘He was eighty-five. My mother was his third wife. The first two had died unable to bear his torture. My mother was lucky, she somehow survived. But he had made her life miserable. It seems when I was born, my father was already sixty-five. What to say of that bloody old man’s lust even at that age! It seems even when he was bedridden, if any girls passed in front of him, he would set his lecherous eyes on them,’ Sumit said venomously.

  By then the radio started playing one of his favourite songs. ‘Come on, let’s dance!’ Sumit said, wrapping his arm around Mohanaswamy’s waist.

  The incident demystified Mohanaswamy’s notion that the perceived defects in his own personality were the result of his father’s lust in old age. Sumit is also born of old parents. But he is so manly and strong, girls fall for him, wherever he goes, Mohanaswamy thought. As he realized that his mother’s theory did not hold water, he felt relieved that his father was not the cause of his problem. He joyously danced with Sumit, grabbing him by his waist.

  Mohanaswamy’s friendship with Sumit ended on a bitter note when they were in the seventh semester. The separation was very painful and it took a long time for him to come out of his grief.

  Mohanaswamy always knew his limits. Though Sumit’s body attracted him like a magnet, he suppressed his feelings and mingled with him just like a friend. He had decided not to open up unless Sumit came forward and expressed his feelings. However, one day things went out of hand. That night Sumit had come back to the hostel, drunk. They had an exam on mechanical vibrations the next morning. Mohanaswamy tried to persuade him to skip the test. ‘Today you are drunk. Just skip this exam. Anyway you will be given another chance to clear the backlog,’ he said. But Sumit would not listen. ‘No way,’ he said. ‘The university cricket match will coincide at the time of the third exams. I have to leave for Bengaluru. Tomorrow I must write the exam. Please help me study for it,’ he pleaded, hugging Mohanaswamy and kissing him on the forehead. That was enough to persuade Mohanaswamy. He agreed to help Sumit.

  That night Mohanaswamy’s roommate was also seriously studying for the exam. They decided to sit in Sumit’s room as his roommate had gone out of station and there was no one to disturb them. Mohanaswamy patiently explained the answers to him till two in the morning. Mohanaswamy was surprised that even in his inebriated condition, Sumit quickly grasped all that Mohanaswamy explained. He eve
n asked questions that stumped Mohanaswamy. When the clock struck two, Mohanaswamy said, ‘Sumit, enough of studying. Just write whatever you remember. What if you feel sleepy during the exam?’ Yawning and stretching, he got up to go to his room.

  Sumit was probably overwhelmed with gratitude towards Mohanaswamy and so he said, ‘Tonight you sleep here, Mohana. You are also tired. Anyway my roommate is not there.’

  ‘No, Sumit, I feel comfortable in my room,’ Mohanaswamy said, walking towards the door. He did not want to embarrass himself.

  ‘Please don’t hurt me, my friend,’ Sumit begged, holding his hands. This melted Mohanaswamy’s heart and kindled a desire in him. He agreed to stay back.

  In Sumit’s room, two beds were kept adjacent to each other under the fan so that both Sumit and his roommate could sleep directly under the fan. Sumit was still under the influence of alcohol. He felt affectionate towards his friend Mohanaswamy for helping him out for the test. Switching off the lights, he pulled Mohanaswamy to his bed. Drawing him towards his chest and caressing his head affectionately, Sumit murmured, ‘You are so good, my friend. You are so kind to me. You have been helping me all along. What can I give you in return?’ Saying so, he passed out, his right leg still wrapped across Mohanaswamy’s waist.

  Mohanaswamy thought Sumit was indirectly inviting him. The body that he craved for since the past three years was right there next to him in that dark room. His hot breath mixed with the smell of alcohol and sweat ignited his desires. Mohanaswamy felt Sumit’s private organ pressing against his waist. It was a dark amavasya night. The rhythm of sea waves drowned the sound of the fan.

  Mohanaswamy could not resist the temptation any more. His body was quivering with desire, small waves were rising in the sea. He slowly turned towards Sumit and kissed his cheeks. A small wave crushed on the sea shore. He kissed Sumit’s eyelids. Now a bigger wave pounded the sea shore. His hands ran over Sumit’s body. A small ship was floating in the heart of the sea, riding the rising and falling waves. Groping in the dark, his hands strayed to Sumit’s pyjamas and undid the stings. Deep down under the ocean, a shark caught a big fish and gulped it down.