The Smooth Talker and His Yarns

My grandfather was a dear old soul and like all dear old souls, he was in the habit of trusting all and sundry. But in my grandfather’s case, this was bound to become a little complicated because he mostly trusted those who could not be trusted- the glib talkers, the so called well-wishers and such who sidled up to him for their own advantage while he was all along blissfully unaware of their intentions. Besides, having been born in an age and society which had lot of time to spend on astrologers, palmists etc., my grandfather too could not resist the temptation to have a peek into the future once in a way. Thus our house saw frequent visits from such fortune tellers who painted rosy pictures of our future much to the satisfaction of everyone and in the bargain filled their pockets. One such wandering self-styled astrologer made his appearance at our place one day. He was welcomed warmly and received at the dinner table. After a hearty meal, he sat down to the task of perusal of our horoscopes and the lines which supposedly hold the key to our futures.

“What! Your elder son is in the Engineering College” he exclaimed, “just see what your stars foretell- you are truly fortunate, Sir.” He held the horoscope closer to the light. “Your younger son is destined to be a doctor. I can really see a divine intervention.”

He hastily turned to my younger uncle who was in his late teens, grabbed his hand, peered into his palms and said, “As I had predicted- can you see this particular line- see how it gets divided into two, and turns- looking somewhat like a stethoscope. This bright young boy here is going to bring name and fame to the family as a doctor.”

My grandfather, lost no time in paying the astrologer handsomely for his pains and then start planning on how to make the prediction come true.

This brings us to our friend Sahadeva Kurup. Kurup kept a grocery store close to our house and catered to our requrements. He was an active, garrulous busybody who seemed to know various people in high places. In fact he used to locate connection between his family and well known public figures. He belonged to a tiny place called Akshaypuram and he used to glibly trace the antecedents of these people to Akshaypuram or to his extended family residing there. But as to why he was still a grocery store owner when his second cousin was the Police Commissioner, he had the same answer, “This is my destiny, that is his destiny.” Once he even tried to weave a connection between the Birlas and his native village- “You won’t believe Sir, but I am speaking the absolute truth. One of the members of the Birla family is settled in Aksahypuram married to my mother’s second cousin.”

“What!” exclaimed my uncle, “It would have come out in the papers. The public would come to know of it.”

“But…but…” Kurup shifted uneasily. Then suddenly as if pouncing on a convenient answer he smiled and said, “How can you get to know about it? He has changed his name to Velayudhan Pillai. But he is a Birla alright.”

Nobody had any answer to that. That was Sahadeva Kurup, the weaver of yarns. But my grandfather seemed to believe every word, more so because he began most of his yarns with,” You know me Sir, your wellbeing is my topmost priority.” And very often some money changed hands at the end of his monologues because they tended to get mushy and swollen with tales of his suffering and bad luck which grandfather found difficult to bear. Another special quality of Kurup was his abilty to appear at our doorstep out of nowhere (he stayed next door) especially when important family matters were being discussed and offer ready, quick fix solutions to any kind of problems.

Thus when the family gathered to discuss my young uncle’s future in the medical line, the procedure of taking admission etc., whom do we see at our doorstep but Sahadeva Kurup. My grandfather had contacted several Medical Colleges for admission, but the date for admission was over in each one of them.

“Why are you worried, Sir,” he had a solution as usual, “You must have heard of Calcutta National Medical College. The Principal of the College belongs to Akshaypuram. He is my maternal uncle’s cousin by marriage- Dr.Mukherjee.”

“Dr.Mukherjee? How can he be your relative?” exploded my uncle.

“Well, he has changed his name, he was Chandrashekharan Nair. I am at your command. I can go to Calcutta, meet him and arrange for your son’s admission. In fact, I had a letter from him just last week.”

My grandfather’s oozed gratitude- “That is very nice of you Kurup.”

“But Sir, I am short of cash right now. Lent all I had to a relative whose mother was in the hospital. Poor thing she was…..”

“Oh, don’t worry about the money. If you can put a word to the Principal, it would be a great thing.”

“How can you be so gullible?” hissed my mother and uncle to grandfather when Kurup was gone. “Can’t you see that he is making up a story as usual. He is a grocer and he says that the Principal of a Medical College is his relative.”

“Why? Don’t we also have rich relatives and poor relatives?” was my grandfather’s explanation. “And besides, he doesn’t stand to gain anything by going all the way to Calcutta.”

So Kurup set off for Calcutta on a mission of securing admission for my uncle. Days passed by while the family waited anxiously for a message from him. At last a letter arrived.

“Respected sir, “It said, “ I am here in Calcutta and in deep trouble. My relative, Dr. Mukherjee is on leave and so I could not meet him. I am staying at this hotel ( address of the hotel) and my resources are getting over. I had only 2 rupees with me with which I purchased this inland letter that I am writing to you. Sir, I have come here because I have only your interest in mind. But today I am facing starvation. Please send me some money, so that I can complete the work I had set out to do.”

My grandfather was pained. “ Kurup— he is suffering because of us. We have a responsibility. I am going to send some money immediately.” But this time the family put their foot down firmly. So it was decided that instead of sending money, my grandfather and uncle would go to Calcutta, meet Kurup , and look into the procedure of admission.

They arrived at the hotel mentioned in his letter early in the morning and enquired about the whereabouts of Sahadeva Kurup. 

“Oh, you are his close, well placed friends he kept talking about, aren’t you?” said the hotel manager with a smile of satisfaction, rummaging among his registers. “He used to speak highly about you.”

“So polite and courteous- the manager seems to be a nice person” whispered my uncle.

“ It also speaks volumes about the regard he has for Kurup- naturally” whispered my grandfather back.

Meanwhile the manager had found the register he was looking for .

“Your dear friend Kurup stayed here for a week and he has not paid me a single pie. I wanted to inform the police but he begged me to spare him saying that his rich relatives will be sending money. So I took a chance and decided to wait for you.”

Both my grandfather and uncle were shocked into silence, a silence which was broken by the sound of rustling notes as grandfather paid up Kurup’s room charges. They took a room at the same hotel and after freshening up, hired a taxi and went to Calcutta National Medical College to meet Dr. Mukherjee. Further shocks awaited them. At the Medical College they were informed that nobody by the name of Kurup had come there inquiring about admission. Besides there was no Dr. Mukherjee there. The Principal was Dr. Bagchi who had been occupying the chair for the past 15 years. Besides, the date for admission was over here too.

Thoroughly disillusioned, they returned to the hotel, stopping en-route at the station to book their tickets for the return journey the following morning. The entire day was left. The evening hung heavy on them as there was nothing left to be done.

“ There is a football match going on at the stadium nearby—you know—East Bengal and Mohan-Bagan- you can go and watch that if you are interested.” Suggested the hotel manager.

Soon grandfather and uncle were seen seated at the stadium, watching the progress of the match. Football seemed to be a balm for stricken souls. Gradually both of them got immersed in the tempo of the fast paced game. Excitement grew as the atmosphere exploded with cheers and shouts. Excitement is contagious and soon the duo sat tense watching the development of the game. Minutes ticked by.

“Goal” screamed the crowd.

“Goal, Goal” came shouts from various corners of the stadium. But wait….one voice in the crowed sounded familiar, one voice rising above the rest. And then-----hey presto-----the owner of the voice stood up and who was it but Sahadeva Kurup. Grandfather was quick to accost him. Didn’t he say he was starving?

Yes, he said, he still was. Can’t they see how he has reduced.

But what about the seat in the Medical College---- and the imaginary Dr. Mukherjee.

“You know how it is, Sir, these people in Medical Colleges, the staff----- they are all big shots, busy people. Who will remember a poor fellow like me? I was there from morn to dusk every day, I promise. But I did not know that Dr. Mukherjee retired last year. He did not even inform me.”

And so on and so forth.

But Grandfather would not leave him so easily this time and finally the truth was out. It turned out that Kurup had gone to Calcutta looking for a job for himself ,and conveniently at my grandfather’s expense.

The Saga of Sahadeva Kurup continued as he was not a person who could be changed. But neither was my grandfather and his penchant for such weavers of yarns continued despite the family’s sincere efforts to save him from them.