The road in reverse (தலைகீழ் பாதை) by M. Kulasekaran

M. Kulasekaran 

This is an English translation of ‘தலைகீழ் பாதை’ a Tamil short story written by M. Kulasekaran.

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The road in reverse (தலைகீழ் பாதை) M. Kulasekaran

This is an English translation of ‘Thalaikeezh Pathai’ a Tamil short story written by M. Kulasekaran.

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Subramani opened the shop with the key he had kept safe in his handbag. The thick stench of papers stacked up and ink kept inside went out like a ghost as he opened the shop. The photocopier machine, standing fully covered with a cloth behind the wooden partition, looked like a baby monster under the dull light. If it was not given some minimum work daily, it would eat up its owner for its hunger. He removed his sandals, pushed them under the visitors’ bench, and kept the newspaper on the table. He switched on the light in the centre. The clock kept near had long stopped working as it ran out of battery. He started sweeping the floor from the rear. Grunge and sand particles had got accumulated like powder. He heaped it at the corner and disposed of it outside. He then pulled down the cloth covering the photocopier machine, neatly folded it and kept it aside. He cleaned its top and chinks by delicately employing his fingers for a long time. He dusted the papers kept on a plate and stacked them up again neatly. His body shone with tiny, cool, shiny sweat drops. He switched on the fan at low speed and opened the newspaper. He grew bored as he felt that the newspaper he was reading looked like an old one, which kept repeating the same types of news.

A broad national highway ran in front of his shop. One had to travel by that road to reach the bus stand. The place used to be very busy with traffic all through the day. Just a little distance away, there crossed a railway track running across the road. The railway gates would remain closed till the trains passed through and disappeared from view. The heavy sound of the warning bell announcing the arrival of trains would keep everyone under its sway without discriminating against anyone. Different types of vehicles would wait on both sides of the gate in large numbers. A huge amount of water bottles, cool drinks, and snacks would be sold within the reach of travellers waiting there. Even if you do not need any of them, you would be tempted to buy them. Other shops selling mats, pillows, and sandals would also be buzzing with customers. The tea shops would remain open round the clock. There was a rumour spreading that those railway gates were being kept closed for a long time so as to facilitate this business to run. The passengers used to while away their time purchasing something or eating some stuff while waiting. Amidst those shops, Sunbramani’s photocopier shop was also standing as an odd man out. One could easily take photocopies of their documents and resume their journey well before the railway gates are opened. It wasn’t required of him to call out to the passengers to visit his shop to take photocopies. They came on their own to his shop. The people residing in nearby areas were also dependent on his shop for their photocopy requirements. See…these days the originals need an infinite number of photocopies! Right!

A four-lane highway was laid on the outskirts of the city four months ago. It took the commuters to the bus stand without any traffic snarls, as there was no railway track running across the highway. This resulted in the decrease of people taking roads inside the city. The students, brokers, and families who usually visited his photocopier shop were not seen anywhere around now. They were now going to the photocopier shops that mushroomed near the bus stand, or it might be due to the fact that they didn’t require photocopies anymore. A lot of shops selling pillows and mattresses, along with some other hotels, had shifted their bases to the by-pass road junction. Those who were selling water bottles and snacks shifted their shops to the bus stand. Now the opening and closing of railway gates looked like a mere customary practice every day. There were now no crowds of vehicles that used to wait on both sides of the railway gate. Those who came there unaware of those developments went back immediately as they weren’t ready to wait there even a minute. Subramani’s ‘Mani Xerox’ and some other shops stayed back as they didn’t have means to move away from there. A stubborn old man kept his shop open every day as his residence was very near to his shop.

Subramani folded the newspaper and kept it in the drawer. He rose from his chair as if he had an urgent task waiting for him. He stood for a while, staring at the photocopier machine sitting behind the partition. He remembered an application form for a scholarship and took it out. He brought the machine alive promptly as if someone had given an order to take a good number of photocopies. He opened the machine’s lid, spread the application form on its glass surface, and pressed the button. An elongated, bright, glaring light moved slowly under the glass. The papers, as if sprayed with a grey hue, came out of the slit below with mild shivers. If only the copies were taken continuously, the paper would then turn bright. He took three copies, counted them, and placed them on the table. There were ten to fifteen copies waiting in the drawer ready for sale. They might lose their relevance permanently, very shortly. It was humiliating for him to take those photocopies, being fully aware of that fact. Sometimes it wouldn’t be possible to comprehend the happenings around us when they occur beyond our control. He understood this one day while blindly taking photocopies of a man’s job application out of frustration when he was sitting idle without any work. He then sat down, with his head bowed down, tears welling up in his eyes. He then quickly composed himself; he tore those copies into small pieces and threw them away into the dustbin. When he closed the shop, he felt his mind empty as if it had been wiped off cleanly. The next day, when he opened the shop, he got an order to take a photocopy of a whole school textbook. He inferred that he could get that work as he had done something akin to a prayer the previous day beyond his control. If he was left without any work for long, it was quite possible that he would empty all papers available in the shop by taking photocopies of something without any obvious requirement for it.

A man entered his shop hesitantly, as if he had lost his way. Subramani couldn’t identify who he was. The visitor looked a local politician. The full-sleeve shirt was folded up to his elbow, and the Veshti looked a little discolored. He took out a heavy stack of stamp papers from his plastic handbag and held it out to him. “Please take one copy of all papers,” he said, and sat on the bench quite steadily. He had been his regular customer and come frequently earlier. He was a broker toiling on his destiny amidst the middle-class people around. The pages of those house documents he gave were almost worn out and on the verge of breaking. They were found stamped with government insignia and written with peculiarly slanted handwritings and ink used in olden days. He carefully opened all pages and completed photocopying them all. The broker, with a minute change of mind, told him, “Take one more set of all papers.”. Subramani, who was about to switch off the machine, happily accepted his offer and completed taking photocopies. The broker held the copies in his hands and read them eagerly as if he was reading them for the first time. His squinting eyes grew brighter. It appeared that the papers pertained to some big property deals. He lifted his head and said, “Three shops down the line have come for sale at their lowest prices. The seller had some financial problems. If you buy them now, they will prove to be useful in the future.”. Though those words did seem to mock him outright, he reconciled that it was the duty of a broker to keep everyone informed of the property details he dealt with. He just gave out a wry smile. The broker took out the money from his bulging shirt pocket, counted it, and gave it to him. He kept watching the broker, flipping the papers in his hands, till he disappeared from his view.

Subramani felt sleepy a little. He got a good turn of business that morning. Now he could go to the corner shop to have a tea peacefully. He switched off the fan, pulled the bench across, and came out of the shop. It was semi-dark outside, giving a feel that it wasn’t fully dawn. Contrary to the usual, the area lay under a dull light. A dark shade had spread all over the ground like a paper. It looked as if a very big animal was standing above his head. He looked up, only to get hell-shocked and awfully astonished at what he saw. He couldn’t believe his eyes. A mammoth, long cemented wall was running along very near to his shop, giving an impression that a heavy curtain was hanging from above. Near it, gigantic pillars were found erected in a row, and each pillar was so big that one wouldn’t be able to hug its circumference with both hands. On the top of it were sitting comfortably the cement slabs. A curved overhead bridge had been laid above like a thatched roof. It connected two roads on either side of the railway track. His shop, along with some other shops, was completely hidden from the world outside. Subramani rubbed his eyes once and saw again. He thought his brain had got blunted as he didn’t give it a sufficient amount of work. If he asked someone about that bridge, they might brand him mad, telling him that the bridge had been there for long. But he had little doubt that the bridge had been erected all of a sudden. He was sure that the bridge wasn’t there when he closed his shop the previous night. It might be due to some unavoidable urgency; they could have erected something that looked like a bridge, or they might have assembled a bridge-like structure there with some broken parts of a bridge collected elsewhere, he thought. He looked up and kept looking at the bridge intently. His mind was occupied with the dreadful events waiting to be unfolded in the future because of that bridge.

He ran his fingers over the walls of the bridge. He felt it had both warmth and chillness. He walked down the narrow lane adjacent to the bridge wall. He slipped through the pillars standing beyond the walls and reached the other side. The bridge was being erected high, brushing the shops. Only four or five shops cramped in that tiny lane were kept open. Other shops nestling on the same row found it impossible to open their doors against the bridge wall. The names of shops and advertisement hoardings were fully covered with dust. Some buildings were left half-demolished, leaving them bear an ugly look. Almost everything beyond that point was found missing. No traces of any buildings that had existed there. The bullocks were nonchalantly chomping under the thick shade of the bridge. Ropes made of hay were lying here and there, and the place was boggy with dung and urine. On the other side, the roof of the railway gate cabin was found broken and unattended as it hadn’t been manned for a long time. The branches of an Indian beech tree, which was, till then, giving cool shade, were now very closely pruned and left almost bare. As he got choked with sadness, he returned to his shop.

There was no pressing need for an overhead bridge in that place. Before laying a by-pass road around the city, all vehicles would pass through that way. The Iron Gates of the railway track would be closed very often,, and it was common to see snorting vehicles waiting on both sides of the railway track. During some unfortunate occasions, the reckless truck drivers would hit the gates and get them jammed with their locking system, resulting in inordinate delay in releasing the lock from the gate. Sometimes, the trains would stop across the gate without getting signals to move on due to some technical glitches. Sometimes, a more number of trains would pass through the railway gate one after another, leaving the gate closed for a long time. No one was comfortable with such waiting. One of them, who was standing without switching off his two-wheeler engine, fearing that he wouldn’t be able to restart it again, remarked sulkily, “It would be of great help if an over-bridge is constructed here.”. These words fell into the ears of a social activist who was also waiting near sitting in his car. He estimated accurately that for each train that passes through the gate every five minutes, the total value of fuel spent on vehicles and man hours while waiting would roughly stand at an average amount of thousand rupees per hour and thought an over-bridge was an immediate requirement. He started distributing pamphlets in order to garner support from the public for this cause. The political party in the opposition promised an overpass if they won in the forthcoming election. Other political parties too reflected the same in their political campaigns. A member of the ruling party, which won the election with a thumping majority, spoke about the construction of an overbridge in his maiden speech. After that, everyone forgot it. After a very long time, some basic field studies were started to build a bridge there. The people living near the proposed site feared that they would lose their houses if the bridge became a reality. Some commercial organizations filed a case in the court challenging the construction of the bridge. They quoted an instance in which the court had issued a stay order against the construction of a bridge in a case filed against the demolition of a temple.

Sitting in his shop, Subramani was watching the bridge fixedly. It was standing as inevitable as a mountain in front of him. It seemed that it had come very near to his shop, and he would be able to touch it by merely extending his hand towards it. Within days, it would completely obstruct the entrance of his shop. Some were seen walking down the narrow lane. A man was dragging his feet heavily on the bridge carrying a long wooden plank and could manage reaching its summit balancing his body delicately and then disappeared on the descending side of the bridge. A hawker selling plastic items returned with his pushcart, exasperatingly, as he was unable to push the cart up. On the other side, a man was walking with a bullock. The sound of a goods train remained in the air for long before it was dissipated in the air. Following that, another train yelled behind like a bird. Then followed a heavy silence. The usual buzz and noisy traffic of vehicles were no more there. Only that mighty wall would stand there for everything imperturbably. There would be no traces of his shop below that bridge. He felt that he had been confined within the walls of a prison.

While going to the bus stand, Subramani would stand and watch the bridge. It had been constructed there to facilitate a road to connect with another road. The vehicles would speed away from below, stop hesitantly for a while at the top, and then slide down fast before disappearing. Other vehicles coming from the opposite would appear suddenly, descending fast as if sliding on a snow bed. The bridge had been built with the latest technologies so the vehicles wouldn’t face any difficulties while rolling. Ascending and descending the bridge had same level of comforts. If you just closed your eyes while travelling, you could feel how smooth it was. The bridge was enviably concerned about the vehicles. Wasn’t it? It was standing like an indispensable mountain cliff. He loved that overbridge. One can enjoy the journey on that bridge all throughout one’s life. But the bridge wouldn’t be concerned about human beings. It just kills them alive by snatching away their sources of livelihood. It just crushes all the houses that one had been enjoying for generations, buildings in which people had been doing their business and the places where people offered their prayer to God, under its feet. An over-bridge grows inevitably cruel towards ordinary people. It never becomes a suitable place for pedestrians.

As he didn’t like to be confined in his shop, Subramani pulled the bench across and went out to a tea shop at the end of the road. The railway gates on both sides of the rail track visible at a distance had been completely removed and some spear-like fence made of iron had been erected there instead. The railway lines ran safely between those fences. Under the cool shade of the bridge, the cart pullers and daily wagers were playing the “goat-tiger” game, pledging their dough in it. The grocery shop and cool drink shop on the side remained closed and only the tea shop stood alone there. The shopkeeper was busy repeatedly washing the glasses which had already been clean after washing. An old man was smoking a beedi, often coughing out, sitting with his legs folded across in a small shop that sold beedis, cigarettes, and snacks. A train came howling at a distance. Another train came from the opposite side on a nearby track, and both trains went past each other where the road cut through the rail lines. It looked as if the same train was running forward and backward at the same time. He felt the earth under his feet shake with a mild tremor. The tea shop owner made a black coffee as usual without waiting for his words and told, “I never expected that they would complete constructing this bridge this fast.”. Subramani, without showing his anxiety, gave him a monosyllabic response, ‘mmm.’. The one who was sitting on the bench commented, “It is good that the bridge has been erected here.” Another sitting beside him said, “They have demolished a lot of houses to construct this bridge, and the compensation they give is less.”. “They haven’t even settled that yet,” said another. “They have uprooted the temple standing in the middle and pushed it in. All seem to be a fantasy.”

“Foreigners have funded this project. But even that money was also not sufficient. Everyone must have swindled the money into their pockets by fabricating the accounts. The bridge is not strong enough as it was built on some exigency. You see, it will crumble very soon. After that, everyone has to come by this way,” the tea shop owner predicted the future.

“All your words are nothing but fantasy. No one would ever walk under this bridge. Everyone would fly above. No one is patient enough even to stand. They are going to remotely inaugurate this bridge tomorrow.”

Hearing this conversation, Subramani was unduly confused, and his head started spinning, unable to distinguish the fact from falsehood. He kept the empty tea glass on the table and left the place.

Subramani’s legs dragged him to the bridge, possibly out of reflex. The entry point of the bridge had been closed with some empty oil barrels and thick wooden poles so as to stop the vehicles from entering the bridge. The new metal road was shining like marble. The road on the bridge looked broader as there was no traffic. The works on the bridge were in full swing. The parapet walls were festooned with tiny bulbs and other decorative stuff. The direction marks in black and yellow paint and intermittent central lines in yellow colour were being drawn on the side walls and the road. Red and yellow incandescent glass reflectors were fixed at equal distances along the lines. The labourers working there didn’t pay any attention to either Subramani or others like him who were standing on the bridge. The workers were from other states. At times, they spoke only a couple of words in their mother tongue while their hands were extremely busy with the work. One of them spat out his spittle that somewhat looked like blood from the top.

The wind gusted at the top of the bridge. A shrill noise of a whistle pierced Subramani’s ears. He felt he was losing his balance and about to slip from the top. The workers were erecting tall partitions along the parapet wall. He stuck out his head, looked down, and saw the railway track running endlessly till his eyes could reach. The rails and stones were shining together below the bridge. A train appeared suddenly at a distance with its hooter on for a long time, leaving its sound echoing in the surroundings, and entered beneath the bridge. He ran to the other side of the bridge to see the train coming out. But it had disappeared from his view by then. Unable to believe what he had seen, he stood still for a while there and thought the bridge was a perfect place for anyone to commit suicide. If someone jumped from there, even bones wouldn’t be found below, he thought.

The bridge ran down with its dangerously looking curve. Even a slight, momentary carelessness while driving would lead to a very serious accident by hitting its side walls in the curve. Subramani kept walking. Yonder, the blue lines of hills seemed to have drawn the boundary of the sprawling city. The streets and lanes were intertwined with one another. The vehicles and human beings below were moving like toys. The national leaders, who are no more now, were standing tall in the iron cages as statues. Tall buildings, big houses, and the roofs of huts were densely nestling against each other while looking from the top. The differences among them were clearly visible. Some patches of greenery with thickly grown trees were seen like oases here and there. The houses demolished near the bridge were heaped in rubble. Lime, sand, and stones were found mixed together. Some houses, having no walls and doors, were left unattended, abandoned, and their dirty corners, dusty floors, and rooms were visible. The men in the houses that shared a close shave with the bridge were moving as if nothing had happened in their lives. A lady covering her head with a scarf was drying out clothes on the terrace. A child was looking out of the window holding its iron grills. A boy was playing on the bridge, climbing onto it by its side walls. A curtain made of jute was hanging in front of a house in place of its door as it had been removed. A minute-long journey on the bridge would offer anyone an opportunity to peek into the privacy of every household aligned with the bridge.

They planted some thick wooden poles at the entrance of the bridge and festooned it with a decorative arch. A banner announced “Inauguration of the New Bridge”—letters written in golden colour. Mammoth-sized portraits displaying the catwalk of a politician who was to inaugurate the new bridge were placed in a row. A big plaque was being carefully fixed in front of the parapet wall. Senior government officials were standing around it. Subramani could see a couple of words, the date, and the person’s name inscribed on the marble plaque. He took his eyes out of it and tried to reconcile that the existence of the bridge was an inevitable reality that he had to accept anyway. The destiny of the bridge’s inauguration was nearly certain as he saw the last stage of work nearing its completion. The remaining works would be completed under any circumstances before the scheduled time of inauguration tomorrow. After that, all vehicles would be able to run on the bridge without any hindrance. No need to wait for anything anymore. People would enjoy more time and save more stuff for themselves. The accidental deaths while crossing the railway track and probabilities of someone putting their heads on the track to kill themselves wouldn’t be there anymore.

Sitting in his shop, Subramani was looking beyond the overbridge. The entrance of his shop was completely obstructed by the bridge wall. It was impossible to avoid it anymore. Sooner or later, a photocopier shop that existed there some time ago would be erased from everyone’s memory, and he would be left alone with his photocopier machine. The moment he visualized him carrying the machine on his head, he closed his eyes tightly and couldn’t even realize some customers were coming to his shop. He could realize their presence only when one of them sat on the visitor bench cross-legged. Others who accompanied him were standing respectfully near him, with a slight bend of their torsos. “He is the senior officer in charge of this bridge construction. As we can’t go to our office now, we need these documents photocopied urgently.” One of those officials handed him over a thick bundle of documents. Over the red ribbon used to wrap the bundle, he saw “VERY IMPORTANT” written in block letters. Subramani received it with both hands, obviously with a reflexive politeness.

“It is a very important document. Handle with utmost care. Nothing should be missed out,” the official said with a stern face. Others bobbed their heads, acknowledging his words. The senior officer was browsing another big file of documents. Other than the file, there were different types of files sitting in the hands and armpits of those officials. Subramani wondered how those files were still holding their relevance even in the era of computers. He went behind the partition and pressed the button of the photocopier. It became alive with a mild snort. He opened the file and started taking their photocopies one after another, keeping it on the glass surface. Those pages were neatly typed. A large number of layout plans, contract details, letters pertaining to the planning of construction, and documents related to the execution of work, etc., were mixed up with each other. All were related to the construction of the overbridge. Some illegible remarks were found written in green ink here and there along with signatures of officials in small scribbles. At one place, he found the official stamp of the President of India along with the signature. The names of big companies, high-valued credit notes, and sale documents were also kept in the files. Subramani tried his best to take photocopies as fast as he could. The senior officer turned his attention to another bulky file of papers. One of his subordinates gave him his mobile phone when he was glancing through the papers. The senior officer gave it back after attending to the call after a brief response.

Never had he taken that many photocopies ever in his life that had been testing him with its share of ups and downs. It seemed that he would never take such volumes in the future. He forgot the bridge that obstructed his shop. He didn’t even remember the revelry of the inauguration waiting to be celebrated tomorrow. The worries about future prospects of the photocopying business also vanished from his mind temporarily. He was taking photocopies with utmost sincerity and kept his prayer alive to keep the machine healthy without developing a mechanical snag. An unwarranted suspicion came over his mind whether the government officials would pay the exact cost of photocopies. His life would thus depend on people like them who might visit his shop only in some emergency in the future. Very shortly, his shop wouldn’t appear even in the remains of his loyal, regular customers’ memory. It would disappear from their memory very soon.

This big overbridge should have never been built there. It shouldn’t be inaugurated tomorrow due to some unavoidable reasons. If he declared that he was going to jump off from the top to kill himself, the inaugural ceremony might be stopped. But he would be arrested immediately and booked under various sections of the law and awarded suitable punishments. It was likely that the inauguration wouldn’t take place if he could hide some of these extremely important documents, seemingly a critical source of this construction project. The government officials standing on the other side of the partition did keep their hawk eyes on all his movements as if they could read what was going on in his mind. Subramani deliberately omitted a page, didn’t take the photocopy of it, and discreetly inserted it with other papers. He comforted himself that he had done it inadvertently and tried to believe that the bridge would be abandoned without being inaugurated.

                                                               ***End***