Rakesh

One of our neighbours in Vizag, Rakesh (name changed), was a seemingly happy-go-lucky man. He smiled and laughed, gave liberally, and generally endeared himself to people, especially his boss, whom he plied with fresh fruits every evening.

‘Alaage promotion sampadinchukunnaru (That is how he earned his promotion),’ smirked his wife, Amala (name changed), to my mother.

Rakesh also appeared naive; when said boss was retiring, he palmed off his used Matiz car to Rakesh.

‘We got it for only Rs 1 lakh! A new car would have cost us so much more. Isn’t this a great deal?’ said an excited Amala, while my parents wondered what had made someone pay so much for a car that was well on its way to obsolescence.

Rakesh spent a lot of money decking up his car and also his new motorcycle. The latter had a special place in his heart, going by the number of fittings and stickers and colourful lights on it. Coupled with the musical horn, the effect was not unlike that of light-and-sound shows at Lumbini Park.

Always in a boisterous mood, acting like he was a couple of decades younger than his age, he moved like a whirlwind through the apartment block. Singing Ammaye Sannaga, he would leap down four steps at a time, mount his musical bike, and disappear with a whoosh.

He didn’t seem too genial with his own family, though. My mother had heard him lash out at his wife and their daughter, be petulant. But Amala didn’t complain or say anything to my mother, and life went on as usual.

***

A couple of years later, Amala got pregnant with her second child. A few months before delivery, she went to stay with her parents. In the meantime, Rakesh started attending computer classes because he had set his sights on the US. Late nineties/early 2000s, Andhra, no-brainer.

A few weeks after Amala’s departure, someone knocked at our door. My mother opened it to find a young woman and her son outside. The woman said that they had come looking for Rakesh, but nobody was at home. Could they come in and wait for a while to see if he showed up?

As the woman seemed upset, my mother let them in. Soon, the woman opened up about the purpose of her visit: Rakesh had eloped with her sister.

‘I told my sister that it was horrible to love a married man — think of his poor wife and children! I told her to leave him immediately. She just wouldn’t listen. We think she and Rakesh have gone to Annavaram to get married. My brother has gone after them; I came here to see if there was a chance Rakesh was still here.’

My mother was naturally shocked. However, snatches of conversation she had overheard returned to her when she heard this cinematic story. Rakesh sometimes stood at the gate of the family downstairs, with whom he shared a caste bond, lamenting his marriage.

‘Amala doesn’t respect my parents. Her family promised us a good amount of dowry, but didn’t end up giving us all of it, after all. I can’t get on with her. I want a divorce.’

The grandmother of the family downstairs would try to pacify him. ‘Don’t say such things, Amala is a good girl. Besides, she is pregnant and you already have another child together. You should sort out your troubles.’

My mother was beginning to piece things together. He had met his new ‘lover’ at the computer classes. While Amala was away giving birth to their child, this man had hatched a whole new marriage plan. The helpful, kind person had another side to him.

The sister waited for a while at our house, then left. All we heard later was that the runaway wedding never happened.

***

A telegram arrived for Rakesh a few days later. Since his house was locked, the postman gave it to my mother. Wary, my mother took it downstairs to the neighbours, not sure of what to do.

Our downstairs neighbour opened and read the telegram. It was a warning to Rakesh from Amala’s father — behave or be ready to go to prison. Rakesh’s parents moved in with him, concerned that their son’s ways would ruin his marriage, the lives of his wife and their children.

Amala came home with their baby daughter in a few weeks; she was accompanied by her parents, who gave Rakesh a proper dressing down and made him promise to mend his ways. Rakesh and Amala patched up, and as far as we know, have remained together. However, Rakesh has passed into our Vizag chronicles as a baffling character who led a weird dual life — all smiles outside, while masking unpleasant traits that almost ruined a few families.