Scattered Fates by Ram Garikipati (best affordable ebook reader txt) 📕

The agitations of 1965 led to major political changes in the state. The DMK won the 1967 assembly election and the Congress Party never managed to recapture power in the state since then.

This novel is set at the cusp of these important changes.

As regards Korea, the country continues to be divided today, with an archaic dynastic communist ruler in the North, and a free democratic and prosperous society in the South. In this novel, the country is united, under a parliamentary form of government and mixed economy model.

Many of the political characters whose names are used in this novel actually existed and their biographical details are correct up to 1965.

As for Korean history, after the war, South Korea became a parliamentary democracy for a brief period of time (August 1960 to July 1961), when a military dictator dislodged the government and ruled ruthlessly for 18 years, enabling it to become an industrial powerhouse. The country became a democracy again only in 1987, but not in this novel. North Korea continues to be ruled by the third generation of Kim dynasty and is one of the most repressive and poor countries in the world, denying basic human rights to its citizens.

In this novel, the country is unified after the Korean War, to remain a parliamentary democracy, but still retaining its third world status.

I have no intention of hurting anyone’s sentiments by this fictional narrative, taking liberty with political facts, which, in a hypersensitive country that India has become, is quite possible.

Chapter 1: WHEN NAGA MET MAYA

July 11, 2005, 9 pm

Sitting pensively on a plastic bucket seat at the arrival gates of Annadurai International Airport, Naga was sweating profusely. He always did, when he was tense.

It was a damp and sultry Monday. A light evening drizzle had sucked the mercury down a couple of notches, and the cool breeze blowing from the Bay of Bengal helped it slide even further, but that did not dissuade his hyperactive merocrine glands.

His forehead was moist, the thin beads of sweat slowly expanding in harmony, only to slide and dissolve into his bushy unibrow. A few more adventurous ones managed to escape sideways, desperately seeking to avoid the stress-acne, to find comfort in his hollow cheeks and the company of expensive aftershave lotion; a mingling of classes, so to speak.

Naga involuntarily sniffed at the pungent combination; absentmindedly patted his face lightly and wiped the cold wet palms on his jeans. Still lost in thoughts, he raised his left hand and glanced at his Rolex- a gift from his roommate Sunder, for his 33rd birthday last Thursday.

Bang on schedule, Corean Air flight CE608 from Pyongyang to Madras was circling overhead, ready to touchdown any moment now.Not long before his mundane solitary life could get a jolt of excitement, and twist out of shape beyond repair. Hoping against hope, he sidestepped his flirtation with atheism and prayed to Lord Venkateswara that Maya would not completely shatter his illusions.

After months of nerve-wracking wait, his online friend was finally arriving. Until now, all their social interactions were carried out over a distance of 3,296 miles, with romantic undercurrents splicing through the submarine cables and airwaves. But, it was time now to get real.

He vividly recalled her first email, seeking clarifications on his op-ed piece that dissected the political economy of South Asian countries over the past two decades. She accused him of using fraudulent data to camouflage the truth, arguing that IMF statistics showed otherwise.

One look at the email and he nailed the problem; her data was in nominal terms, while he had used PPP computations of gross domestic product.

How could any serious economics student make this mistake? She claims to be a research scholar at Corea University.

An unpleasant start to a shaky online friendship, that soon stabilized and branched out to personal interest in each other lives.

There still was one thing that bothered him, though.

She used every excuse possible to avoid Skype for a virtual chat. He had explained to her in great detail about this new software that enabled free webcam interactions, but she always came up with excuses to avoid installing it on her personal computer.

After a great deal of persuasion, she finally sent him a panoramic photograph, taken last winter, which only compounded his frustration. The Pyongyang scenery was captivating, no doubt, almost like a picture postcard; but her face was very hazy, and he suspected, minutely pixelated on purpose.

What was going on?

She even refused to tell him her age, admonishing him to be more patient. For all you know, she may have been testing the waters, but it vexed Naga a great deal. He had heard of numerous Internet scams that shattered the dreams of many a gullible bachelor, including one of his close colleagues.

Dravida was after all one of most industrialized and advanced countries in Asia, and a magnet for many of the impoverished citizens of third world countries like Corea, Thailand and Malaysia.

While many immigrants came to work in the 3D jobs (dirty, difficult & dangerous) in factories that his people loathed, some more wily ones crawled the web to entice gullible losers, grabbed a Green Card and disappeared.

Not that Naga was a loser. He was an experienced reporter in his country’s largest English newspaper and came from a respectable family that brought many honors in the Indian Civil War.

Embarrassingly though, in a country where school kids half his age were experimenting with sexual partners, he was still a virgin.

I just hope she is who she claims to be.

Heck. He hardly knew anything about her, just the filtered tidbits through her irregular emails over the past 12 months. He mentally glued together the information he had so far.

The only child of a retired professor-couple at Pyongyang Development Institute, she is single, in her late twenties, liberal, loves to party, hates the petty-minded Corean guys and is pursuing her PhD at Corea University. Her research is bringing her to Madras and she needs help. Only the broad picture, and no fine details… Did she send the first email just to lure me? Does she only want to use my contacts for her research?

In a moment of desperation, mixed with self-introspection, he decided to give her the benefit of doubt, as his father’s favorite quotation slithered into his thoughts.

Whatever happens, happens for the good.

Maya never claimed any romantic interest and had made it clear at the outset that she was only seeking a friend who could help her during the stay in Dravida. He was guilty of taking the initiative to flirt, egged on by his loneliness and online porn. She finally responded, but cautiously.

Let’s see whether nanagaru’s motto holds. Hope he is alive and well…

Suddenly, his thoughts scrambled and he missed his father.

Although he had had no opportunity to create memories, and the only reminder was a weather-beaten photograph taken with two other gentlemen, which he kept carefully wrapped in a silk cloth, along with his father’s diary.

While his father had maintained a record in Telugu for just the first 6 months in 1965, it was a goldmine of information into his mind.

According to government records, Hindustan agents kidnapped him in 1975. A few outliers argued that he was a communist spy and may have defected, but Naga dismissed the allegations as a crackpot conspiracy.

Reality hit, and his heart skipped a beat when a shrill announcement splintered the airport calm.

‘Visitors, please be informed that Flight CE608 from Pyongyang has just landed at Annadurai International Airport. Your guests will be with you in a record 15 minutes. For your information, it takes 2 hours at Nehru International Airport, Delhi,’ a shaky female voice bellowed in the familiar mallu accent.

Maya will walk out soon.

His chest swelled with pride upon the sudden realization that it takes such a short time for passengers to pass immigration, collect baggage and step out at the arrival gates. Not for nothing was Dravida’s premier airport voted the best in the world for eight years in a row.

He had actually filed the story just an hour before racing to the airport. Every single jab at the northern neighbor warmed the cockles of his countrymen, more so Naga now, especially since his potential romantic interest apparently sympathized with Hindustan’s outdated communist ideology, and would experience this efficiency first hand.

A few days here will change her mind.

He recalled the email exchange four weeks ago, which nearly made him block all contact with Maya.

It all began with an innocuous joke that he forwarded:

‘Thought this joke will help your research. It is actually true. A JNU professor asked the students: How many different economic systems exist in the world today?

A student replied: There are three. Our Aatmasamman economic system, Capitalism and Communism.

The professor asked again: Of these three, which system will be victorious in the end?

The student replied: I really can't say...

The professor was outraged: The answer is clear. Aatmasamman is the only system that will prevail over all other existing economic systems and become victorious in the end!

The student stammered and replied: Yes, I learned that... but when that happens, which country will give us food aid?’

Her reply in broken English was curt, to the point of being rude.

‘Please grow up. I no not like socialist jokes made by capitalists. Hindustan has the respect for self and not bend before American imperialism. It better to share little wealth than be selfish. Socialism superior to the capitalism.’

It was a bit of a shock.

She is a leftist sympathizer, from a country that claims to be treading the high moral ground, although they cunningly receiving material support from the Chinese. Moreover, Hindustan is just a Soviet satellite, claiming to follow its indigenous brand of self-reliance ideology, but everyone knew that its political foundation was communism. Respect for self, indeed!

He loathed communism, an ideology that divided erstwhile India and put his motherland on constant alert, always ready for war. More importantly, the Hindustani rogues kidnapped his father, and then claimed that he had defected. No one knew his fathers fate. How could he ever forgive anyone sympathetic to those tyrants?

‘Bitch!’ he involuntarily screamed, as he read the reply and blood rushed to his head. He considered instantly snapping ties, ties that he had carefully nurtured for so long; but his weakness overpowered him, and a couple of apologies later, he was back to the usual email banter, trying to flirt as best as he could. And here he was now, eagerly looking forward to receiving her with open arms.

As the weary passengers from Pyongyang started streaming out of the departure gates, Naga suddenly panicked. He had never seen Maya. What if his fantasies crumbled? More importantly, how would he ever recognize her?

In his last email, Naga had foolishly mentioned that he would be wearing a dark blue shirt with a yellow handkerchief sticking out of the pocket, a scene borrowed from a popular Tamil movie; ‘Dollywood escapist trash’ as the New York Times called it. He never got a reply, and was not sure that she even had time to read his mail.

All of them look alike. The same slit eyes, pale skin, flat nose, chubby legs, and short build. How can they recognize each other?

He pulled out her photo from the pocket and carefully scrutinized dozens of Coreans walking past him, all of them giggling for no reason. A sudden whiff of garlic and rotten eggs made him throw up in the mouth. Naga had read about kimchi in his marathon online research on Corea, but never realized that fermented cabbage could be so powerful.

Then, he heard the soft voice behind him, almost hesitating: ‘Excuse me please. Are you Naga? I am Maya from Corea.’

He turned around to face an attractive young woman with unblemished skin, save the pimple on the tip of her nose. She was as tall as him, with an oval face, large brown