GAS TROUBLE

It was in early 1990, after the euphoric college days were long gone, that Suresh and I decided to go out into the world and earn a living for ourselves. To tell the truth, the decision was forced on us. We would have been quite happy swelling the ranks of the educated unemployed, but our families thought otherwise.

We got jobs. I was taken on as a sales representative by a computer marketing company and Suresh as a marketing executive for a firm that sold electronic typewriters. Both jobs were essentially the same, but Suresh never gave up an opportunity to rub in the fact that a marketing executive is a much higher post than a lowly sales rep. I would counter attack by saying that my computers were the harbingers of the future and that his electronic typewriters were soon going to go into the world of technological oblivion, but such subtleties were lost on him. He would shake them off like a puppy shaking off water.

But the truth is that he was selling his typewriters while I was unable to sell a single PC. So he used to have a relatively easy time at the office while my boss would begin scolding me the moment he set eyes on me. I would always try to be out of the office and on my sales rounds before the boss came in. Since the cell phone hadn’t been developed yet, it was a handy tactic.

Suresh and I used to go out together into the market to plug our products, perched on his ancient Vijay Super scooter. I would try my luck at the places he visited. Even if I didn’t achieve any success, I could at least make my reports look good.

One good thing about moving around with Suresh was that it was always entertaining. He would get his kicks in weird ways.

Once we chanced upon a young teen couple walking down a lane, engrossed in conversation. He stopped his scooter in front of them and shouted at the girl ‘So this is what we send you to college for, eh? Come home tonight, you are going to get it from Dad!’ before revving up and moving on. The startled expression on the girl’s face and the fearful look on the boy’s were a sight to behold. The poor guy must have thought that he was the girl’s brother. The girl must have been wondering who this new protector was.

But then it is an inflexible rule of life that the mighty must fall. Suresh’s comeuppance was soon in the offing. To his credit, he blushes when I remind him of it even today.

KKT Communications, a STD Booth which provided typing services too, was Suresh’s Waterloo. They had purchased one of his electronic typewriters. Jyothi, a good looking girl, was the typist at KKT Communications. Suresh would regularly go there on the pretext of training her to use the machine. I would ask him why typing required so much training for a trained typist, but he would shout me down, ridiculing the audacity of a sales rep who did not have a single sale to his name.

The moment we reached KKT Communications, he would tell me to vanish and come back after an hour. He would carefully comb his hair, tuck in his shirt, pop a chewing gum into his mouth to freshen his breath and saunter inside. When I came back from exile, he would be standing out there with a dreamy smile on his face. He would wave to Jyothi through the window pane of KKT Communications and we would set off on our rounds again.

The rest of that day and on the morning after, he would be raving about Jyothi. Not being invited to contribute to the conversation and having nothing to contribute if invited, I would quietly listen.

On that fateful day, he stopped the scooter in front of KKT Communications and spruced himself up. With an imperious command to me to make myself scarce, he went in. I saw Jyothi smiling at him as he entered. There was no one else there.

Having nothing better to do and nowhere in particular to go, I lit up a cigarette and disobeyed orders. I could see Suresh sitting next to Jyothi and her shaking with laughter at some joke he had presumably cracked. I sucked on my fag and idly watched the passing vehicles and pedestrians. Good marketing requires close observation of the market.

All on a sudden, Suresh came out of KKT Communications and started his scooter. I barely got on before he zoomed off. He brushed off my questions with gruff monosyllables.

It took me the greater part of the afternoon to bring the truth out of him.

It appears that he had partied a bit too long the night before, as was his wont. During his tete’ a tete’ with Jyothi, he got this irresistible urge to break wind. He resisted it as long as he could, aware that a fart in the cramped premises of KKT would create havoc. As he did his best to get out of the room before the impending disaster, she wouldn’t let him go, wanting to know about the intricacies of the ‘undo’ key or something.

He didn’t quite make it out of the room before Nagasaki. The expression on Jyothi’s face made it evident that she knew who the culprit was. Not too difficult, since they were the only two people in the room. Elementary, my dear Watson and all that.

Suresh never went back to KKT Communications after that. He stopped talking about Jyothi too.

I consider myself lucky. What if he had had the presence of mind to call me inside and then go about his business? Such a move would have had the advantage of a third person in the premises to apportion the blame. Jyothi would have probably given him the benefit of the doubt and zeroed in on the newcomer as the polluter of their cosy environment.

A strange reason for a relationship to end. Gas, of all things.