Short story series:

Pleasant encounters

It’s a new day with a new job Kamala likes. Wearing her headset, typing in her customer’s job advert wordings, all the while thinking how to upsell this stingy customer to place his advert for 5 consecutive days instead of for just a day. But I guess, who advertises for employees in news papers these days. This guy must do it for he is sponsoring an immigrant chef for visa purposes. It’s a customary one, so just a day’s advert is fine. Too bad for Kamala, she will have to try harder in her next inbound call.

They say hard copy newspaper printing is a dying sector, but papers seem to still get published for the sake of obituaries and adverts that people like to touch and feel.

Just when she is about to drink a sip of tea which became stale two hours ago, a call drops in. If you have ever done one of these linear front-line jobs, you would know that you can guess a caller’s age by their voice. This guy sounds rusty with a deep voice that some women like. She could tell he is in his early forties. He wasn’t calling to place an advert for himself as on the background, Kamala could hear a female rushing to the phone. After their usual account identification process,

Kamala asks, “Shall we place your usual weekend special?

“Of course hon, I will be in town this weekend, then going back home for an hen’s party in our family, so lets just go with my usual weekend one, thanks.

Oh, I will pass the phone on to Michael, you can receive payment from him.”

That rusty deep male voice provides his credit card details while Kamala processes through and confirms the advert will be published this Saturday and Sunday.

The advert reads:

“Blonde, curvy, playful, 28 year old double D

Call ********** for specials this weekend”

The next caller has already dropped in, but Kamala is not responding. She is staring at her monitor, transporting herself to her past:

Her Past:

A time when she was looking rather slim, wearing a purplish rose colored churidar walking towards an old run-down building on a hot summer afternoon in Chennai. As she enters, a group of kids throng towards her in joy. A couple of plastic carry bags containing snacks and savoury slipped through her fingers and land on the ground while they all hug her.

She leaves after spending an hour playing and chatting with them. On her way out, she notices the entry board that reads, “Mother Mary Orphanage” has been removed and kept aside. She assumes it's part of the renovation work that’s been happening for the past 3 months. The orphanage is run by 3 adults. In an ideal world, they would run the orphanage with the help of government grants and public donations. But in reality, like many orphanages in India, this is also run with the gracious donations of political alibis having to make do with their excess corruption money. It's a hit and a miss. Sometimes they will be showered with a suitcase full of cash that will help them for a year easy or sometimes they will be left to run dry.

Kamala visits them almost every day at the same time. The kids love Kamala for she is so kind and loving. She plays, teaches and sometimes even scolds them. Through them she fulfills her desire to find meaning in her life. The kids nag her to stay with them in that orphanage at all times. But she refuses as understandably she has her work commitments that she can’t leave.

Apart from her time, Kamala helps the orphanage every now and then through funds as well. Her aim is to develop better basic facilities and give education to the kids.

Sekar, a renovation worker has been noticing Kamala. He is intrigued to know more about her as to who she is and where she works and everything in-between. Normally people become curious on someone who keeps to themselves and doesn’t interact with others as much as society deems it as ‘normal’. Or it is simply because he is a male being attracted towards a female. I don’t know.

Overtime just like the kids he is also eagerly waiting for kamala every day. But Kamala never speaks to anybody other than the kids and sometimes the facilitators. She never bothers to look at anyone anyways. It’s like she lives in her own cocoon. He decides to follow her one day as he reaches a point where he can’t concentrate on his regular work anymore. Its perhaps a sickness called love or may be its infatuation. Again, I don’t know.

Two streets down the building, Kamala takes an auto (rickshaw) and reaches a flat. She along with her 2 friends live and work from there. Sekar stays outside at a far distance and watches Kamala’s flat. After sunset, he notices few men visit that flat. He senses what any man would. He is not wrong. Am not sure if that was legal in India then, nor now.

As he enters the house, a lady approaches him while another man is sitting on a sofa waiting for somebody. Just when Sekar is taking a moment to gain back his composure that hit him hard to know that his recent love interest could be working in a prostitution centre, Kamala comes out of a room, walking towards that sofa. While Sekar can recognise Kamala, she doesn’t know him. He declines that lady’s offer of service and departs soon after.

From then on, the way Sekar looks at Kamala has changed. He is not sure if he still loves her. He is baffled by the kind of character kamala may be. Has he ever been to a prostitute? Yes he has. Would he ever think of them as ‘marriage material’? Of course not. Does he want to get married to Kamala? Is he thinking way ahead of himself? I mean he hasn’t spoken a word to her. She doesn’t even know he exists.

With these thoughts eating him inside, few days pass by. He and his team were trying to complete the renovation. But they can’t proceed further, until their final payment is made by the orphanage as they need to buy more building materials.

Kamala as usual on her visit to the orphanage enters the office room where Sekar is negotiating with the facilitator. Kamala, without speaking a word, gets some cash out of her hand bag and hands it over to Sekar while the facilitator introduces Kamala to Sekar. The first time, they both meet eye to eye. Wow, her eyes are radiant with thick eye lashes. Suddenly Sekar feels a turbulence in his underbelly. Has he finally fallen in love? Is this what being in love feels like? He is not sure.

Without speaking a word, Kamala is still waiting for Sekar to accept the cash from her hand. Sekar hesitantly accepts and leaves rather feeling sick which was warmed by Kamala’s thankful smile and a nod. He is not sure if its ok for him to accept payment from a prostitute. But he has his employees and their families relining on their wages. At the end of the day, money is money isn’t it.

The Renovation is complete with in few days, and they leave.

After few weeks, Sekar comes back to the orphanage to confront Kamala on her double life. Why orphanage? because he doesn’t want to meet her at her prostitution centre. He was not sure if he is in love still, but clearly his days are not getting any better.

He confronts her at the gate asking why she is living a double life. Why can’t she live a decent good life instead of prostitution. Kamala is shocked. It’s a secret, nobody in that orphanage knows about her work. But she doesn’t care to ask on how he has become aware.

Kamala being a woman of few words doesn’t bother to answer. Those who know her, knows she is a chatterbox. Perhaps this world has changed her, or she changed herself to fit in to this world. But how can she ignore his curious eyes wanting answers. They speak in silence.

It’s become her routine to look out for Sekar on her way to the orphanage. She can’t quite describe her feelings for him, but she longs for him as much as this dry earth longs for rain. They continue to speak in silence. When their glances speak volumes, why use words.

After a while, Kamala stops visiting the orphanage. Upon inquiry at her house / work premises which Sekar vowed never to visit again, he understands Kamala is suffering from renal issues. The doctors couldn’t pinpoint the exact reason for her medical condition. Is it the contraceptive pills and syringes she got illegally or the STDs from her clients or is it her fate to be blamed, no one can say.

While Kamala is admitted in hospital, Sekar decides to help. After few tests, doctors confirm that one of his kidneys can be transplanted to kamala. He requests the doctors to keep his name a secret. He doesn’t want kamala to know that he is the one who gave her a kidney. Finally the transplant is done and Kamala returns to her flat in a month.

Suddenly Kamala gets startled to tapping on her shoulder. Her manager wonders how she missed an incoming call and has been sitting like a stone. She apologizes to her manager and seeks a rest room break. The day passes.

As the evening life is slowly taking off while daytime shops come to a close in this busy Queen Street strip in Auckland, Kamala is greeted by her 2 year old daughter as she opened her way to their apartment unit. With her husband Sekar singing ‘Happy Birthday Kamala’ she is welcomed by pleasant smell of chicken gravy that he cooked for dinner.

Will she ever know, it was Sekar who donated his kidney to her. Was it a miracle that his kidney and hers matched?