Excerpt – Our Man in Warsaw By Carlos Tamilavan
When everyone on the plane started to get up, the boy thought it must be Moscow airport and he too should disembark. He had no idea what awaited him. He only knew his nerves were taut with a mixture of fear, excitement and a sense of adventure.
‘There will be some people who will be looking for you. They will pick you up. You should not be scared, Gummankuthu. Do you promise that?’ When his uncle had seen him off at Chennai Airport with these words, Gummankuthu realised there was some mystery involved in the whole affair. But it was his own uncle who was behind it all, he told himself. It was on the tip of his tongue to say, ‘Don’t call me by that name, mama,’ but he let it go. Tamil was the only language the boy knew. So when he saw the others getting up, he asked the foreigner next to him in Tamil, ‘Is this Moscow?’ casually laying his hand on the European gentleman’s arm. When the man ignored him and continued looking for his belongings in the overhead bin, he turned his attention to the airhostess. Since she had served him meals, he thought she would know him. In fact, he had felt a kind of liking for her on the journey. ‘Moscow?’ he said slowly and deliberately, not adding any other word to avoid confusion. When he felt she did not understand, he repeated, ‘Moscow?’
She nodded and pointing towards the ground, said, ‘Moscow.’
The boy was happy. So someone would be there to pick him up. The passengers surged towards the door of the aircraft. He followed them. Two air hostesses were standing at the exit door smiling and nodding their heads. Gummankuthu nodded back at them. He joined a group of people waiting in line for the passport check. His uncle had told him about all the procedures.
He got a big shock when the passport officer, after turning over the passport, said in a strange accent he could not follow, ‘Gu-mman-k-uthu!’
Wretches! They have written the very name I wanted to forget on my passport also, he thought, overcome with anger at those fellows. After the formalities were over, he went and stood with a large crowd at the exit and waited for someone to meet him. His hands kept touching the passport he had kept in his trouser pocket. I hope whoever comes to meet me will be Tamil-speaking, he prayed.
He put his bag on the floor and stood there for a long time, leaning against the shiny wall. An electronic display board in front showed the arrivals and departures of various flights. As he watched the appearance, disappearance and reappearance of the letters and numbers on the board, a sudden fear gripped his stomach. Why does fear start in the stomach, he wondered. To distract himself he concentrated on the blinking letters. He was not hungry; he had eaten enough on the flight. Being a Brahmin, he had refused the meals they served, but had eaten only the bun and cheese, which he asked for repeatedly. He looked at his watch. He had been waiting for four hours. His legs started aching. The numbers and letters on the display board kept appearing and disappearing. Why would his uncle lie, he thought. Looking at his watch he realised it was 1 am in India. Here it must be something else. His uncle had told him about the time difference between India and Moscow. Again a strong sensation gripped his lower abdomen. That was the first time the boy heard God’s voice.
