THE PUPPETEERS OF PALEM Read Online Free

father probably dead, a nagging wife who doesn’t allow him to bring his mother to live with them, maybe a young daughter who goes to school. He dreams of going back to the village, to a simpler time and a simpler place, away from the bustle. He probably knows that it will never happen, which makes the dream all the sweeter.
    The man looked at him and smiled in resignation. He had caught the meaning in Venkataramana’s glance. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘My son is in fifth class now. After his school is finished and he finds a job, I think I will go back to Kani and till the land. Back to where I began. Back to my roots, you know?’
    Venkataramana heard the unsaid words too. Back to my mother, you know? He nodded. ‘I am sure you will.’
    ‘There is honour in that, Sir.’
    Honour. There was no honour in issuing tickets to passengers. And there was no recognition. Here he was a nameless, faceless entity masked by the khakiuniform and the ticket holder. Here, he was a conductor and would never be anything more. In his village, he would be surrounded by people he knew. He would be called by his name and be invited to participate in local festivals and customs, he would be someone .
    ‘Why are you going to Palem, Sir?’
    Venkataramana smiled at him. ‘For the same reasons you told me just now.’ He did not tell him the real reason, of course, because he did not know it himself. For seventeen years of his life in the city, three of which had been spent in Australia, he had not thought of Palem and his old life with anything but detachment.
    It had all started with that letter…
    ‘Oh, oh, people coming.’ They had reached the main bus stop. Through the windshield, Venkataramana saw a throng of people scrambling over each other towards the bus. Some of the younger men jumped in even before it had come to a stop. On both sides, people threw handkerchiefs through the open windows onto the seats.
    Venkataramana hurriedly scooted and occupied the window seat.
    ‘I have to go and attend to my duties now, Sir,’ the conductor said, stepping away. ‘If Seetayya and Vishalakshamma are still living in Palem and if they are still alive, tell them I said namaskaaram.’
    And with a smart salute that looked quite honourable, he walked off.
    Alighting from the cart at exactly 12:10 p.m., Venkataramana crossed the muddy road and made his way to Mahender Reddy’s paanshop. He felt no nostalgia, no memories came rushing to him. He felt as if he had been there yesterday, and the day before, and the day before that. Nothing had changed. They had still not corrected the spelling of ‘Mahender’ on the signboard at the front. Oodles of Crane nut powder and7’o clock shaving blades hung down from the roof. The glass display case still stacked endless packs of Gold Flake and Charminar cigarettes. To the left, occupying a good third of the counter, sat the tools of every paanshop owner worth his salt — betel leaves, nuts, aluminium foil, jarda, a box of red-and-yellow sweetener ribbons and a bowl of cherries. The row of open tins at the front contained sweets of all kinds. He noted that his favourite Poppins tin was still there.
    The man sitting behind the counter was the illusion-breaker. He was young — not more than a boy — and smooth-faced. Where had Mahender Mamagone?
    ‘How much for Poppins?’ he asked.
    ‘Two rupees.’
    It had been fifty paise then.
    ‘Give me one. And one Thums-up.’
    ‘Cold is ten rupees. No-cold is eight rupees.’
    ‘I will take cold.’
    The boy tried not to watch him while he drank. There was something of Mahender Mama in him, Venkataramana thought, though he could not place the resemblance exactly. He saw a flicker of the old man when the boy sneered at him. Yes, he had the same thin, feminine eyebrows.
    ‘Where is Mahender Mama?’
    ‘Dead. He got the coughing fever last year. Coughed continuously for a year. Doctor said he will get better. He didn’t.’
    The Thums-up was stale. But it was