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

‘Yes,’ he managed to reply, shoving the embarrassing yellow accessory and photograph out of sight, his heart thumping in excitement.

Is she really Maya? An illusion too good to be true!

‘So glad to finally meet you,’ he continued, secretly checking her out.

‘I am so grateful for your kindness. You look so young, small face,’ she complimented him. In her country, a smaller face was considered the epitome of beauty, since most of them had flabby cheeks that melted into their chin.

‘No, no, no, my face is really big. Hey, your English has improved quite a bit,’ he said, surveying her luggage. ‘You brought a huge suitcase. Do you plan to settle down here?’

‘Do you want me to?’ she giggled.

‘Will you, if I want?’ he asked, struggling to lift it.

‘That depends on how you treat me.’

Oh my God. We are already flirting.

‘You will not be disappointed.’

‘I hope not’ she replied, looking down at his dirty shoes. She was already disappointed with his fashion sense, but let it pass for the time being. His looks were not bad; slightly over-tanned skin, dark oily hair parted on the left, so neatly that each strand stood out; small angular face with a comical double-mustache, one above his nose and the other covering his upper lip. He was slightly taller than her and a little thin, but something that could be easily mended.

Thank God he is not creepy. He needs a serious haircut and facial makeover.

‘Wait here, while I get my car,’ Naga said, leaving her standing at the entrance gates with the luggage.

‘Are you sure it is safe for me?’

‘Of course Ma’am, this is not Delhi,’ he hollered, disappearing behind the pillar, towards the parking lot.

Maya clutched her purse close to the chest, with one hand firmly gripping her suitcase. Young ladies stayed indoors in Pyongyang after sunset and only ventured out accompanied by a male. If this had been her hometown, she would already have been accosted by a few touts, with many more frustrated youngsters leering with open mouths and waiting for an opportunity to touch her inappropriately, teasing her for being ‘dented and painted’.

Infact, just a week before she left, there had been a gruesome assault on a young college student near her home that had made her parents very jittery. They pleaded with her not to go to a foreign country alone, but she was determined to get away.

Surprisingly, no one bothered her here, although she stood out, and was a foreigner in a strange land. It was the first time she had traveled abroad, and was thankful for small mercies.

A few minutes ticked by, and the only interruption was a policeman who inquired whether she needed help.

Before long she noticed Naga driving up in his BMW M3.

Looks like an expensive car. I am sure it costs ten times abboji’s annual salary.

It would be her first ride in a foreign car. There were only a dozen imported cars in Corea, all of them in Seoul, the business capital of her country, and none in the capital Pyongyang. In her lifetime, she had seen similar cars only in movies. ‘Isn’t this car expensive?’ she asked, as Naga loaded her suitcase into the trunk. ‘Aiyo no. It is a second-hand 1990-model, very cheap. I am a journalist and we do not get corporate salaries,’ he replied. ‘Com’on get in… Hey, do I look like a driver? Get in the front with me.’

‘Sorry. Not used to sitting in private car.’

‘It’s OK, you will get used to it.’

‘Did you book a Guesthouse for me till I find my own apart?‘ ‘Apart? Oh you mean apartment. No need for that. My roommate Sunder is away, and we have an extra room. You can stay till he gets back from his trip,’ he said changing gears.

‘Fine with me, I can save my research funds.’

‘So how was our trip? Did you get enough rest?’

‘No, I was too excited to sleep. I watched two English movies.’

‘I thought they show Dollywood movies also on the flight to Madras.’

‘Yes they do…but I found them very boring. I have watched a few Hindi movies in Corea and really liked them. They are more realistic with a strong message to convey.’

‘Dollywood movies are entertaining, if you have the patience for musicals. All our movies are escapist, but at least they are honest. Hindi movies on the other hand all propagate Aatmasamman and are made to develop a personality cult of the dynasty.’

‘I do not think so, the Hindi movies I saw had nothing to do with their leader Sanjay Nehru or even Indira Nehru.’

‘It’s not so simple, there will always be underlying messages, not so obvious to outsiders.’

‘Don’t Dollywood movies also propagate capitalism? None of the movies ever show income inequalities or poverty, but only glorify monetary wealth.’

‘You are mistaken, we do have strong parallel cinema, but outsiders are aware of only the commercial movies. I will take you to some award-winning realistic movies during your stay here. By the way, you seem to be quite knowledgeable about our movies, does your research have anything to do it?’ he asked, turning on the ignition.

‘Hey, I told you before, it has nothing to do with the movie industry. I am studying the contradictions in capitalist countries after civil war. They always grow faster in the short term, but suddenly collapse because of contradictions. On the other hand, socialist countries have a slow start but prosper in the long term.’

‘Is that why Soviet Union and China are still struggling while USA is the world’s richest country?’ he sneered, unable to believe her.

‘No. You misunderstand. Soviet Union and China are communist states, not socialist. There is a lot of difference. I am talking of divided socialist countries like Hindustan, Scotland and Quebec.’

‘The difference is only in semantics. So you admit that today they are failed states, but hope to prosper in the long term. Say, 200 years? For your information Dravida, England and Canada, all capitalist countries, are economically superior and thriving for a longtime. No one starves, all citizens are taken care of, and they will only grow stronger.’

‘Who said Hindustan, Scotland and Quebec are failed states? Unlike capitalist countries, they are first trying to fix inequalities and then develop the economy. It takes time. And whose fault is it? All the countries that you just mentioned, which are only putting roadblocks in their progress.’

‘It gets on my nerves, this holy posturing by communists, sorry socialists… whatever. They are all mango people in banana republics, tolerating no dissent while their ordinary citizens starve. I am sorry, but for me freedom is very important. I can call my President an ass and no one will touch me.’

‘Is that why your father defected to Hindustan?’ she countered, and immediately bit her lip.

Shocked, Naga slammed the brakes.

‘Who told you that?’ he raised his tone.

Realizing the faux pas, and not expecting such a violent reaction, Maya remained quiet, as Naga continued in a stern voice. ‘Nanagaru was kidnapped in broad daylight at Madras Central by those commies. He fought courageously for our independence. Why would he defect?’

Actually, there was no concrete evidence about his father’s whereabouts; whether he was kidnapped, murdered, met an accident, or ran away to Hindustan- only one eyewitness account, which was skimpy on details.

One fine day, July 25, 1975, to be precise, he just disappeared, and the family never heard from him again, but Hindustan issued an official statement a month later.

‘We are honored to announce that Comrade Subbaiah has defected to our great vatan. He has come on his own free will and is enjoying a peaceful life in our prosperous country. His defection is an eruption of the wrath and grudge against the South Indian conservative ruling forces that exploit and oppress the working people while imposing unemployment and poverty upon them. Supreme Leader Indira Nehru and Young General Sanjay Nehru are saviors of our nation and the eternal lodestar of national reunification that all the Indians hold in high esteem as the sun for their destiny. We are not surprised that Comrade Subbaiah has seen the truth. The South Indian group of traitors is well advised to renounce foolish attempts to break the single-minded unity of our society.’

No photos, no evidence. Just that.

‘I’m sorry. Let us change the topic,’ Maya muttered.

Still trembling with anger, he revved up the engine, and changed lanes to enter the expressway.

The next 20 minutes flew by in total silence, with Naga glaring ahead at the road and Maya thinking of ways to break the tension.

He started sweating again.

What have I done? Shouted at her in the first hour. What will she be thinking? Luckily Maya took the initiative to break the ice. ‘What is your fathers full name? Everyone knows him as Subbaiah.’

‘P. Subbaiah,’ he replied softly, still kicking himself in his head.

‘I meant full name?’

‘Pallypalli,’ he said, even as Maya muffled her laugh.

‘What’s so funny? You know it is rude.’

‘Sorry… but do you know what palli palli means in Corean? It means to do something in a hurry, as fast as possible. So you are Naga Palli Palli, right? Suits you…losing your temper in a hurry.’

‘Actually Dravidians use only initials for all official purposes, so as I told you before, I am P. Nagarjuna. It is the government policy to weed out the caste system from our society, unlike in Hindustan where people proudly attach caste identities to their names. What about you? The real name cannot be Maya, it doesn’t sound Corean.’

‘You are right; I adopted this name, since I thought it will be easier here. My real name is Choi Eu-hoo.’

‘That’s an even funnier name,’ he said with a deadpan expression, inwardly smiling at his revenge, remembering the popular joke about how Chinese kids are named.

Many educated Dravidians still believed that newborn Chinese kids were named after the sounds from empty silver vessels dropped on Buddhist temple floors.

Maya gave a weak twitch, not wanting to make a fuss. She was glad she restrained herself, for it helped lighten the mood, and by the time they arrived at his apartment complex, or apart as she called it, he was humming a popular Corean tune by the Wonder Girls.

I want nobody nobody But You, I want nobody nobody But You…

‘So C-Pop has reached Dravida?’ she asked.

‘Not really, I checked it on the Internet. No one in Dravida is aware of hallyu, but they will learn. A few years from now they may do some silly horse-dance steps to Corean music. By the way, I’m really sorry about my outburst. I don’t know what got into me.’

‘I understand. I too am attached to my father and shouldn’t have brought up the topic.’

‘We have almost reached home. See that building ahead, I live on the 26th floor,’ he cut her short.

‘26th floor? The tallest in Pyongyang and Seoul have only 15 floors. How many floors does this building have?’ she said craning her neck out the window to catch a better look. She had failed to notice the skyscrapers on the way from the airport, as she had been busy arguing. If she had, it would likely have made her head spin.

‘The tallest in Hindustan has only 10. I live in a 40-storey building, but it is one of the smaller ones in Madras, as it was built in the eighties.’

‘It does not look too old.’

‘That’s because it is well maintained, actually, this is the old part of the city. I will take you downtown tomorrow. You can easily make out the difference.’

‘If the old town is so modern, I wonder how the new town will be,’ she thought. Maya was once again amazed when the gates of his complex, automatically opened when their car neared.

‘How come there are no security guards. How did the gates