Karma and Other Stories

242 Pages·2007·1.45 MB·English

by  Rishi Reddi

K
A R M A A N D
O S
T H E R T O R I E S
Rishi Reddi
Alexi
C
ONTENTS
JUSTICE SHIVA RAM MURTHY 1
LAKSHMI AND THE LIBRARIAN 29
THE VALIDITY OF LOVE 65
BANGLES 95
KARMA 127
DEVADASI 157
LORD KRISHNA 187
P.S.INSIGHTS, INTERVIEWS & MORE...
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS 215
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
CREDITS
COVER
COPYRIGHT
ABOUT THE PUBLISHER
J S R M
USTICE HIVA AM URTHY

It is a point of discipline that Manmohan and I meet always on
Thursday afternoons to take luncheon together. This is our rou-
tine now, and it began soon after my arrival in U.S. fi ve months
back: every Thursday without fail I walk from my son-in-law’s
home and Manu comes from his son’s house and we meet in
front of the old church in Copley Square. Of course for me the
walking is not so hard as it is for Manu—daily I walk at least
forty-fi ve minutes for my exercise. Since I was a young man in
law college in India I have been doing that and see, fi fty years
later I am still hale and hearty, whereas Manu is a bit lazy, has
a slight paunch and experiences some difficulty climbing steps
and hills and whatnot. Always he was like that, even when we
were small boys. I try to tell him, but he will not listen. What to
do if others do not know what is good for them?
You must know that on Christmas day, when my story
begins, I had been living in U.S. for three months. Already I had
3
4 KARMA AND OTHER STORIES
opened my own bank account, obtained a law library card, and
successfully settled the living arrangements with my daughter,
Kirti, and her American husband. He is a good fellow, despite
having only superficial knowledge of our language and tradi-
tions; it was my poor wife, who is no more, who had trouble
with the marriage initially. Also I had contacted Manu, with
whom I had kept in touch all these years, and we began our
present custom of taking luncheon together at an Indian estab-
lishment on Boylston Street in the Back Bay area.
That Christmas day, Manu and I were to meet as usual, and
every bit of the city was covered with snow and ice. I had seen
snow once before, in Darjeeling in 1968, but had forgotten how
one’s foot will slide on it. By the luncheon hour the snow was no
longer falling—still, I was surprised to see Manu wearing just
a sweater and gloves, waiting for me on the park bench. Even
now he does that sometimes. He thinks that he is sitting on
Abid Road in Hyderabad as we used to as youngsters, watching
the crowd during the hot season.
“Judge sahib, you are using a cane now, eh?” Manu called to
me as I approached. Still he addresses me with the old Urdu
term. Of course he tries to intimidate me by speaking English
only—but it does not work. I am very very comfortable with
English. All of the courts in India are operated in that language
only.
“I am required to use the cane, Manu. Not out of necessity,
mind you. My grandchildren gave it to me as a present for their
Christmas holiday. Their feelings would be very much hurt if I
left it behind.”
He is a short man, much shorter than I am, so I have to look
down at him anyway when we speak. But then I leaned the cane