Zippers

1997 WORDS


And at the end of it all, Mrs. Sadarangani was grateful for her own charitable nature, for had it not been for that charitable nature, she would never have had her little adventure.

Mrs. Sadarangani was a respectable wife, mother (almost grandmother), retired library secretary at the Council, and all round good citizen. She stood tall at 5'9", was thin as a rake and was proud of her never-been-dyed black hair. Her spectacles were triangular and peach-coloured to blend with her skin. She loved blue and had a wardrobe full of blue sarees - one from every State in India.

She visited charity bazaars for good causes and spent money there – her own money, not her husband's – especially encouraging both extremes, pure-tradition craftsmen and creative innovators.

She laughed out loud when she saw the pillow. It was perfect. Absolutely perfect. At first glance, it looked just like what it was. A pillow. A nice, soft pillow with a flowery pillow cover.

And a zipper.

She saw the girl who had made the pillow unzip the zipper with such enthusiasm, displaying it to another visitor at the stall, that she had to stop. The pillow was pulled out of the flowery pillow cover.

To reveal a zipper.

A zipper on the pillow itself.

The pillow unzipped. It divided into two, held by one edge of embroidery.

And inside it, in a square hole, was a square jewellery case.

Mrs. Sadarangani's eyes widened.

"Perfect for travelling," the girl was gushing. "You're going to a relative's wedding by train, who'd suspect your gold bangles and necklace are in your pillow? And it's perfectly natural to hold it against yourself all the time in a train, for comfort, and to sleep on it at night ..."

Mrs. Sadarangani laughed.

"I'll take six of them," she called out to the girl, over the shoulder of the other customer. Such an innovative girl had to be encouraged. Her sister, sister-in-law and nieces would be delighted with the zippered pillows as gifts. And she'd keep a couple for herself.

They were surprisingly cheap. The girl gave her a free cloth shopping bag to carry them in, and she went off home, chuckling at her canny purchases, imagining the faces of the recipients.

She met them over lunch at her brother's place that weekend and was gratified at their response. They laughed, too, and then stopped to admire. Even the menfolk, who didn't usually bother over the feminine items of shopping, were intrigued.

"Great concept and designing," her brother proclaimed. "And, of course, simple. That's the essence of ingenuity. Simplicity."

"The thing is," her sister-in-law remarked, "we travel by airplane these days, and the beeper would beep if we put metal in pilows ..."

A silence fell.

It was the youngest niece who spoke first, in a whisper. "Let's go by train, then. Let's use these the way they were meant to. We put jewels in them and go by train."

Once uttered, these words took on a life of their own.

Before they knew it, they had booked themselves on the train to Chennai for an engagement they had not otherwise been planning to attend. "A seven-hour train ride," Ruchika remarked.

Mrs. Sadarangani smiled at her niece. "Do you even know the couple? The ones who are getting engaged?"

"Yours-and-Pappa's third cousin's daughter, isn't she? That's good enough. I've never been on a train before."

None of the youngsters had. Mrs. Sadarangani's generation talked fondly of the old days, when long train journeys marked the start of the summer holidays, but the next generation only knew of Platform Nine and Three Fourths, which was a figment of JK Rowling's imagination.

To make it even more authentic, they didn't choose first class. They opted instead for a second class compartment. There would be six bunks in the main compartment and two on the side, which meant the five of them would have three unknown traveling companions.

"Lower bunk for me," Mrs. Sadarangani bagged, as soon as the tickets arrived.

"I'll take the topmost one. It'll be fun climbing over two people to get to sleep," Ruchika declared.

They packed.

They had night bags, day bags and suitcases.

And they had the pillows.

"NOT the real stuff," Mr. Sadarangani had firmly ordained. "Call me old fashioned, but five females going by train without a male escort are not going to risk real gold or silver or precious stones."

It hadn't taken the women long to cheer up, though. It was a distant relation, it was an engagement, not the wedding, and their exquisitely crafted fakes would do as well.

So, the precious cargo was lovingly encased in each pillow.

There was much counting and re-counting of luggage and tickets on the day and much excitement as they reached the station in good time, boarded the train, found their compartment and proceeded to make themselves at home. To Ruchika's disappointment, the bunks were flat against the compartment walls, to be rigged up only when all the passengers opted for sleep. She had wanted to climb to the third tier and stay there all journey long, but she'd have to wait.

As soon as they had settled down, they were surrounded by vendors of savoury snacks, bottled drinks in dubious hues and knick-knacks. Each woman sat firmly on her pillow to ensure no one grabbed it. Ruchika was disappointed again at her aunt's absolute refusal to let her buy spicy potato dumplings. "Do you want to get a stomach infection?"

Their fellow passengers boarded. First to arrive was a young man who cheerfully introduced himself as Toufiq, and said he was on his way to nursing college. "There are no colleges for male nurses in my home town," he confided. "So I have to go to Chennai."

Then came a harassed looking couple bearing an infant. They were going to occupy the side bunks, and they stowed their luggage and plonked themselves down with loud grunts of tiredness.

The child began to wail.

The father thumped it on the back. It wailed harder. The father cuddled it and said, "Shhhh." It wailed some more. The father handed it to the mother.

For a while, the comfort of the mother's arms meant the compartment had some peace. Then, the wailing began again. The mother thumped her baby on its back and sang tunelessly, "You get my sleep, and I'll stay awake, you my child, my slumber take."

The child was having none of the mother's slumber or anyone else's.

The train began to move. Ruchika gave a squeak of joy and watched the platform glide away. The child's cries were now punctuated by the 'here-we-GO-here-we-GO' rhythm of the wheels in motion, which picked up speed.

A vendor appeared. How had he got on to the moving train? Or had he been hidden somewhere all along? He pointed at the wailing baby and then at his box of wares. Wearily, the father bargained for an inflatable pillow, reached an agreement and finally purchased one. Quick as a flash, the vendor was gone.

The father put the nozzle to his lips and blew, attempting to inflate the pillow. It gave a whistling sound which now mingled with the child's cries and the 'here-we-GO' of the wheels. After a couple of minutes, it became obvious that the pillow was defective and damaged (both). It merely wriggled a bit, it would not inflate.

That's when Mrs. Sadarangani had her moment.

Moment of generousity, she called it.

Moment of foolishness, her husband said later.

Moment of frustration, the women with her vouched.

Moment of kindness, the infant's parents gushed.

In one motion, Mrs. Sadarangani handed her pillow to the mother. "Here. Put the child on this."

Miraculously, the wailing ceased. 'Here-we-GO, here-we-GO ..."

Time went by. The passengers agreed on sleep. The bunks were rigged and Ruchika climbed to hers with Toufiq's help. "You'll make a good nurse," she informed him.

They weren't sure how long they had been asleep, but it was a cessation of the wheels, a general bustle in the compartment and an increased level of shouting that woke them.

They were at a big station. People were embarking and disembarking and vendors were full-throatedly plying their wares.

"Have we reached?" Ruchika mumbled.

"Not Chennai yet," Toufiq replied. And then they heard him say. "Bye-bye."

"I forgot we're in a train and people get on and off," Mrs. Sadarangani yawned. "You know someone you're saying bye to?"

"The couple and child. They've just got off," Toufiq responded.

The train was pulling out of the station again. Mrs. Sadarangani sat up so suddenly in her bunk, she hit her head against her sister's, just above her.

"The couple? The baby? My pillow?"

"Oh," Toufiq said. "I think everyone forgot the pillow is yours. They just carried the kid out on it."

All the women were awake now. Ruchika's eyes were gleaming with excitement. "I saw in a movie once how they pulled the chain to make the train stop. Shall I pull the chain, Mom? I'm just near it."

Toufiq laughed. "Ma'am, that would be a criminal offence. You can't pull the chain unless there's a real reason. A pillow doesn't qualify."

"Oh, but the pillow had ..." Ruchika began, to be silenced by four loud hisses.

Toufiq's eyebrows went up. "I see. The pillow was more than a pillow?"

The women glanced around. Nobody had boarded yet, in place of the young couple. For now, they were alone with Toufiq. Quickly, they climbed down, folded the bunks against the wall and sat down.

"Toufiq, don't tell anyone," Mrs. Sadarangani said. She took Ruchika's pillow and unzipped the cover, followed by the pillow itself.

Toufiq gave a low whistle. "You've given the kid one heck of a gift, haven't you?"

"It's not the jewels I mind," Mrs. Sadarangani sobbed. "They're fakes. It's what my husband will say. I'll be hearing he told me so for the next twenty years."

Toufiq laughed. "Can't have that. Listen, when exactly is this engagement?"

"Tomorrow. We decided to reach a day early and rest up."

"Right. Get your luggage together. Be ready to disembark at the next station."

"But ..."

"Look, if you don't, then I'll add my told-you to your husband's."

There were no more protests. Though they were three (or maybe four) stops early, they disembarked at the next station. It was almost dawn. Toufiq took charge. He hired two auto-rikshas, bargaining loudly with the drivers.

The rikshas chugged off along tiny dirt paths, carrying three passengers apiece, luggage oozing from every pore.

"Wheee," Ruchika said, as her riksha hit a hidden rock, causing her to overbalance and a night bag to spill its contents on to the path. "This is fun."

"No, it isn't," her mother moaned, watching Toufiq gather up women's undergarments and stuff them back in the bag. "That's embarrassing."

"He's going to be a nurse," Ruchika comforted. "He handles undergarments."

Toufiq, having restored the luggage, was now busy on his mobile phone. He spoke rapidly in a language they didn't understand. The rikshas set off again.

"We've reached," he announced, when they came to a row of small houses at the edge of the dirt path. Another fierce argument with the drivers, and each was given Rs. 450/-. ("Robbers!" Toufiq muttered.)

Checking the numbers on each gate, Toufiq rang the doorbell at the fourth house. Immediately, a child began to wail from inside.

Hurried footsteps, and the father opened the door.

They went in. Within minutes, they were given coffee and the most delicious breakfast they had ever tasted. Explanations were given, exclamations of surprise followed, and apologies were made.

Mobiles buzzed. Toufiq, the couple and the child were duly invited for the engagement, and cabs were somehow obtained.

"Thanks to me we saw a new village and we have three new friends," Mrs. Sadarangani boasted.

"But thank goodness I told you not to take the real jewels," her husband winked back, getting the last word.