So the goings on at the CBI have the Fish aflutter.
They called me to discuss my clichés.
“You’ve got to give them up,” Gregory said. He was the poshest fish in my erstwhile tank. He slept in a bowtie and read books for fun.
“I don't care if people think I’m clichéed.”
“Tut, tut. So pigheaded. But you need to consider your future seriously?”
“What future and why?” that was the motto of my journo self. Pack in the questions.
“Because if the top guy at a premier investigative institution is in such deep shit, sooner or later you’ll be next.” Fish were talking about the flutter going on in the CBI (Central Bureau of Investigation) at the moment. Some of the top guys were being investigated amid charges of irregularities.
I laughed for several minutes. It was the most I'd laughed in a long time.
“It's not funny!” Dimitri said, upset. He had been, was still, my favourite – sweet, gentle, caring. None of the sarcasm the other Fish heaped on me.
“What’s wrong, Dimitri?”
“You know how they’ve been trailing him and following him about and all the cases and cooked-up stuff.”
“There’s tonnes of debate on it.”
“Yes, well, you could get into trouble.”
I stifled another laugh. I was a nothing and a no one and it was rare for me to think one of the Fish was dim. There had to be something bothering them. Troubling Dimitri especially.
“The thing is, my dear,” Gregory grabbed the phone from Dimitri, “it has everything to do with Genie.”
“Genie?” He had invited himself into my tiny home one rainy day. Had dried himself and proceeded to make my parents, Fish and I fantastic tea and pakoras. He had won us over and ended up not leaving. Years later he had disappeared. Later I received a postcard from a remote town in Norway – he had wanted some excitement and had decided to leave.
I thought of broad-shouldered handsome Genie. I knew he had had a chequered past but after a while I had let him be. He had a handlebar moustache that he tended carefully and dark smouldering eyes. He was hot... and living in my home. For the strangest reason, no one in the building ever asked us about him. Fish said he only went out in the evenings because he hated people so much.
I brought myself back to Genie and the CBI. “It's not making sense, Greg.”
“Gregory. Do you remember us telling you that he worked for Mogi Singh?”
“Er, yes.” Mogi Singh was a well know gangster. He’d gone to South India looking for work and become bad, rich and a menace. I knew about him – about the terror he wreaked in the South. He was rarely out of the news. Only later did I realise that Genie hadn’t been Mogi's butler, as he had led me to believe and I had naively assumed, but one of his trusted henchman. A henchman who finally broke free. Unheard of.
My thoughts returned to the Fish. “So?”
“So,” Gregory sounded frustrated, “so, Genie made all this cash and just turned smart. He's got his finger in every pie possible!”
I laughed. “What? He worked as my maid! Or Man Friday. Or whatever!”
“That was a front!”
“For what?”
“To lie low. No one leaves Mogi Singh and lives to see the next day.”
“Rubbish. Genie's not bad...” I had had doubts. He’d always treated me well, but he was unreadable, inscrutable. He was an unknown, frightening quantity. There was anger and sarcasm bottled in. In the years he had lived with us he had been polite and cool to me. I had tried to joke with him but later let him be.
Fish latched on to my silence. “See, you know it too. You’ve always known!”
I drew a breath. “Okay. But now he’s no longer living here.”
There was a collective slapping sound. I could hear the water slop out of the tank at the other end of the line. It sounded like Fish were slapping their foreheads and some of them were throwing themselves against the tank's walls.
“Stop that, you guys!” That habit of theirs still bothered me. I worried they’d get hurt.
Dimitri said, “Listen! You were a front for Mogi. When you were at work we’d hear the calls. And all the do-it-yourself repair work that Genie did, he was storing stuff for Mogi. Who would come and look for Mogi's stuff in your home?!”
“Whatttt... stuff?”
“Diamonds. Cash and gold are lumpy and too obvious. Those papers Genie made you sign as a guarantor? It was for a warehouse. He’s bought land and some derelict buildings outside Mumbai and is storing stuff there. Didn’t you think his absences were strange?”
“Yes. But he brooded so much... I thought he was pining for someone.”
I could hear the Fish tsk-tsking. Not for the first time did I think I was of inferior intellect. And worse, inferior to Genie. All this time I'd thought he was just easy-on-the-eye brawn.
“It's a royal cock-and-bull story!” I shouted.
“What will it take for you to believe us?”
I thought wildly. What indeed. I looked up and saw the POP work Genie had insisted on doing. I hadn’t complained because all the work he’d done looked good and had cost me only the price of the materials.
“Some proof. You say he’s stashed stuff here.”
“Er. Yes.”
“Where is it?”
I sensed their reluctance. “I don’t get it. You called me and made a hoo-haa about it and now you don’t want me to confirm the fact or root out his stash?”
“You may get into trouble.”
“You said it was only a matter of time.”
“You're putting words in our mouths!”
“Bye, bye!”
******
I looked all over the house.
I opened cupboards I’d opened only a couple of times in all the years I lived in my tiny flat. I looked in old boxes, in the storage space in the bed, the old stainless steel dabbas in the kitchen and finally even in the toilet's flush tank – like you see in the movies. Nada.
I desperately wanted to call Fish and rant. But I spent days and weeks looking over and over through the same things. Short of breaking the walls and plaster and feeling a tremendous fool for searching for someone else's treasure, I finally gave up.
I toyed with the idea of calling Genie and, after several weeks, did.
“Genie,” he had never offered a proper first name – I could never hear it, “er, did you leave any stuff behind?”
“Stuff?”
“Yes. Fish are worried your stash might get me into trouble with the authorities.”
There was silence and then a very slow, “Stash?”
“Diamonds.”
I heard a snort and a chuckle. And then a howl of laughter. I listened to it for an eternity. It may have been seconds or as much as a minute. Had the Fish fingered me?
“Yes. All safely in the walls. Do you have the money to fix your walls, pipes and tiles after you take them apart?”
“What?”
“I took it all with me.”
“Really?” I felt disappointment. I had visions of standing in a bucket full of diamonds in my bathroom – wallowing in whatever it might feel like.
Genie continued, “No, of course not! When are you going to figure out Fish are fooling around with you. When will you stop being so naive!” He stopped talking and ended the call.
I stared at the phone. My heart and feelings pooling at my feet. I seemed to have burned my bridges with Fish and, now, Genie.
Worse, I was still confused – because I had believed Fish, but not Genie.
They called me to discuss my clichés.
“You’ve got to give them up,” Gregory said. He was the poshest fish in my erstwhile tank. He slept in a bowtie and read books for fun.
“I don't care if people think I’m clichéed.”
“Tut, tut. So pigheaded. But you need to consider your future seriously?”
“What future and why?” that was the motto of my journo self. Pack in the questions.
“Because if the top guy at a premier investigative institution is in such deep shit, sooner or later you’ll be next.” Fish were talking about the flutter going on in the CBI (Central Bureau of Investigation) at the moment. Some of the top guys were being investigated amid charges of irregularities.
I laughed for several minutes. It was the most I'd laughed in a long time.
“It's not funny!” Dimitri said, upset. He had been, was still, my favourite – sweet, gentle, caring. None of the sarcasm the other Fish heaped on me.
“What’s wrong, Dimitri?”
“You know how they’ve been trailing him and following him about and all the cases and cooked-up stuff.”
“There’s tonnes of debate on it.”
“Yes, well, you could get into trouble.”
I stifled another laugh. I was a nothing and a no one and it was rare for me to think one of the Fish was dim. There had to be something bothering them. Troubling Dimitri especially.
“The thing is, my dear,” Gregory grabbed the phone from Dimitri, “it has everything to do with Genie.”
“Genie?” He had invited himself into my tiny home one rainy day. Had dried himself and proceeded to make my parents, Fish and I fantastic tea and pakoras. He had won us over and ended up not leaving. Years later he had disappeared. Later I received a postcard from a remote town in Norway – he had wanted some excitement and had decided to leave.
This is a fictional series of Fish that lived with the narrator for years and finally decided to spread their fins. Genie is the narrator's former manservant and now world traveller.
I thought of broad-shouldered handsome Genie. I knew he had had a chequered past but after a while I had let him be. He had a handlebar moustache that he tended carefully and dark smouldering eyes. He was hot... and living in my home. For the strangest reason, no one in the building ever asked us about him. Fish said he only went out in the evenings because he hated people so much.
I brought myself back to Genie and the CBI. “It's not making sense, Greg.”
“Gregory. Do you remember us telling you that he worked for Mogi Singh?”
“Er, yes.” Mogi Singh was a well know gangster. He’d gone to South India looking for work and become bad, rich and a menace. I knew about him – about the terror he wreaked in the South. He was rarely out of the news. Only later did I realise that Genie hadn’t been Mogi's butler, as he had led me to believe and I had naively assumed, but one of his trusted henchman. A henchman who finally broke free. Unheard of.
My thoughts returned to the Fish. “So?”
“So,” Gregory sounded frustrated, “so, Genie made all this cash and just turned smart. He's got his finger in every pie possible!”
I laughed. “What? He worked as my maid! Or Man Friday. Or whatever!”
“That was a front!”
“For what?”
“To lie low. No one leaves Mogi Singh and lives to see the next day.”
“Rubbish. Genie's not bad...” I had had doubts. He’d always treated me well, but he was unreadable, inscrutable. He was an unknown, frightening quantity. There was anger and sarcasm bottled in. In the years he had lived with us he had been polite and cool to me. I had tried to joke with him but later let him be.
Fish latched on to my silence. “See, you know it too. You’ve always known!”
I drew a breath. “Okay. But now he’s no longer living here.”
There was a collective slapping sound. I could hear the water slop out of the tank at the other end of the line. It sounded like Fish were slapping their foreheads and some of them were throwing themselves against the tank's walls.
“Stop that, you guys!” That habit of theirs still bothered me. I worried they’d get hurt.
Dimitri said, “Listen! You were a front for Mogi. When you were at work we’d hear the calls. And all the do-it-yourself repair work that Genie did, he was storing stuff for Mogi. Who would come and look for Mogi's stuff in your home?!”
“Whatttt... stuff?”
“Diamonds. Cash and gold are lumpy and too obvious. Those papers Genie made you sign as a guarantor? It was for a warehouse. He’s bought land and some derelict buildings outside Mumbai and is storing stuff there. Didn’t you think his absences were strange?”
“Yes. But he brooded so much... I thought he was pining for someone.”
I could hear the Fish tsk-tsking. Not for the first time did I think I was of inferior intellect. And worse, inferior to Genie. All this time I'd thought he was just easy-on-the-eye brawn.
“It's a royal cock-and-bull story!” I shouted.
“What will it take for you to believe us?”
I thought wildly. What indeed. I looked up and saw the POP work Genie had insisted on doing. I hadn’t complained because all the work he’d done looked good and had cost me only the price of the materials.
“Some proof. You say he’s stashed stuff here.”
“Er. Yes.”
“Where is it?”
I sensed their reluctance. “I don’t get it. You called me and made a hoo-haa about it and now you don’t want me to confirm the fact or root out his stash?”
“You may get into trouble.”
“You said it was only a matter of time.”
“You're putting words in our mouths!”
“Bye, bye!”
******
I looked all over the house.
I opened cupboards I’d opened only a couple of times in all the years I lived in my tiny flat. I looked in old boxes, in the storage space in the bed, the old stainless steel dabbas in the kitchen and finally even in the toilet's flush tank – like you see in the movies. Nada.
I desperately wanted to call Fish and rant. But I spent days and weeks looking over and over through the same things. Short of breaking the walls and plaster and feeling a tremendous fool for searching for someone else's treasure, I finally gave up.
I toyed with the idea of calling Genie and, after several weeks, did.
“Genie,” he had never offered a proper first name – I could never hear it, “er, did you leave any stuff behind?”
“Stuff?”
“Yes. Fish are worried your stash might get me into trouble with the authorities.”
There was silence and then a very slow, “Stash?”
“Diamonds.”
I heard a snort and a chuckle. And then a howl of laughter. I listened to it for an eternity. It may have been seconds or as much as a minute. Had the Fish fingered me?
“Yes. All safely in the walls. Do you have the money to fix your walls, pipes and tiles after you take them apart?”
“What?”
“I took it all with me.”
“Really?” I felt disappointment. I had visions of standing in a bucket full of diamonds in my bathroom – wallowing in whatever it might feel like.
Genie continued, “No, of course not! When are you going to figure out Fish are fooling around with you. When will you stop being so naive!” He stopped talking and ended the call.
I stared at the phone. My heart and feelings pooling at my feet. I seemed to have burned my bridges with Fish and, now, Genie.
Worse, I was still confused – because I had believed Fish, but not Genie.
******
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| Photo Credit: A. Peter |
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