Iswaran the Storytelle
He was a bachelor. His needs were simple and he was able toadjust himself to all kinds of odd conditions, whether it was anill-equipped circuit house or a makeshift canvas tent in themiddle of a stone quarry. But one asset he had was his cook,Iswaran. The cook was quite attached to Mahendra and followedhim uncomplainingly wherever he was posted. He cooked forMahendra, washed his clothes and chatted away with his masterat night. He could weave out endless stories and anecdotes onvaried subjects.Iswaran also had an amazing capacity to produce vegetablesand cooking ingredients, seemingly out of nowhere, in the middleof a desolate landscape with no shops visible for miles around.He would miraculously conjure up the most delicious dishes madewith fresh vegetables within an hour of arriving at the zinc-sheetshelter at the new workplace.Mahendra would be up early in the morning and leave forwork after breakfast, carrying some prepared food with him.Meanwhile Iswaran would tidy up the shed, wash the clothes,and have a leisurely bath, pouring several buckets of water overhis head, muttering a prayer all the while. It would be lunchtimeby then. After eating, he would read for a while before dozingoff. The book was usually some popular Tamil thriller runningto hundreds of pages. Its imaginative descriptions and narrativeflourishes would hold Iswaran in thrall.His own descriptions were greatly influenced by the Tamilauthors that he read. When he was narrating even the smallestof incidents, he would try to work in suspense and a surpriseending into the account. For example, instead of saying thathe had come across an uprooted tree on the highway, he wouldsay, with eyebrows suitably arched and hands held out in adramatic gesture, “The road was deserted and I was all alone.Suddenly I spotted something that looked like an enormousbushy beast lying sprawled across the road. I was half inclinedto turn and go back. But as I came closer I saw that it was afallen tree, with its dry branches spread out.” Mahendra wouldstretch himself back in his canvas chair and listen to Iswaran’stales uncritically.
