Fishy Chronicles 60: A Step Too Far

We tried calling Genie, but he didn’t pick up his phone.

“Do you think he’s left?” I asked Anjali.

“Left where?”

“I mean, gone. Taken his stuff and left.”

“Let’s check his room and see if his things are still here.”

We did the unthinkable and went into Genie’s room. I rarely entered this room, even though I was tempted. The room was extremely neat. Tidy paperless surfaces, with no personal belongings outside. A pink-themed patchwork bedspread my mother and I had made for Genie covered his bed.

Anjali gingerly tried the door handles of the cupboard nearest the door. It was locked. “Don’t you have extra keys for these cupboards? They usually come in doubles and triples.” She looked at me hopefully.

“Why isn’t there a mirror here?” Anjali said absentmindedly, drinking in the entire room.

“Oh. One of the cupboards has a mirror on the inside of the door.”

“Do you think that’s where he keeps all his toiletries and things?”

It was like the room had no character… save for the picture of my parents, Genie and I in happier times. The photograph was in a slim silver folder, the kind that could be propped up, kept in a pocket or slid into a briefcase. I’d never seen anything like it in India. I picked it up and stared at my parents. A lump soon formed in the back of my throat and my eyes blurred. Anjali took the slim picture frame from my hands and set it down and her arm went around me.

                                                                 ******

This is a fictional series surrounding the narrator, her parents’ former man Friday Genie and Fish. 

The narrator and her friend Anjali are unable to contact Genie and enter his room to see if he has packed and left. Unfortunately, they get carried away.

                                                                 ******

Then she went and tugged at the handles of all the cupboards. The ones without key holes opened, revealing Genie’s toiletries, clothes and other things. “If he keeps his clothes here, what must he be keeping in the locked cupboards?”

That was an interesting question, because there were two tall cupboards with locks and one short cupboard with a lock, in addition to a locked steel almirah.

“He only wears white t-shirts…” I said.

“… white t-shirts and jeans. And how many cupboards of white underwear can a man have? I think the cupboards are empty.” She went up to them and knocked. We couldn’t figure out if the sound was hollow.

“Well, looks like all his clothes are here. Nothing has gone. Maybe we should check the shoe rack.” I opened a drawer in his table. Stationery was neatly organised, instantly putting Anjali and me to shame.

“I really want him to be my housekeeper,” Anjali mumbled. “And I want to bonk him.”

“Me too. The tidy part, for the most part.” Except for the numerous bumps in my life, I had not seen anything ruffle Genie. That included the running of a household. If he didn’t know cooking when he first entered our home, he did by the time my parents left this realm. The only plus was I was a better cook.

“You know, geniuses are like this. Everything in neat rows. Look at this,” Anjali picked up a box of paperclips. “I bet the clips are in neat rows, spooning each other.”

“Okay. Open it.”

We opened it. There were a couple of coins in them. We stared at the Queen Victoria half anna. There was another coin in it, but I slapped Anjali’s hand away from it.

“What did you do that for!”

“We’ve poked around Genie’s things too much. We have no business doing so. Come on!”

“Yes, Miss Potty-Calling-Miss Kettley-Black. Where to?”

I walked to the sitting room. Fish were arguing on the phone. I stopped. It sounded like they were speaking with Genie.

“When will you be back?” Penaaz asked.

“You’ve got to come back,” Pervez said plaintively.

“Who’ll keep order here? And we may run out of food… or toilet paper… or just… things,” Portas said.

“You can’t stay away for long, old man. That Danny business fizzled out long ago. Uncle Joy was a tiresome old fart. A tiresome, game-playing, manipulative old fart. Fortunately, our little one hasn’t inherited any of his genes,” Gregory said.

“Please come back, we’re worried sick. Besides the girls will be alone. What if things get worse… TV news sounds worse by the hour. It’s safer for you to be here at home than outside. Please come back soon!” sweet gentle Dimitri said.

“He’s so annoying and stubborn,” Penaaz grumbled.

“Yes. How rude of him to cut us off while we were speaking,” Portas said.

“I don’t think he had a chance to speak at all, with us yammering and cutting him off every time he spoke,” Gregory said.

That silenced Fish. I moved into the sitting room, wondering why Anjali wasn’t with me. I sighed in frustration. She was examining the other coin in the paper clip box and taking a picture of it. “Anjali, stop that!”

“Stop that, you! You nearly gave me a fright,” Gregory shouted. I could see Fish hold their hearts, panting in shock and pressed into the sides of the fish tank.

“Er, sorry, guys. Do you have any idea when Genie will be back?”

“No,” Penaaz said.

“Did you call him?”

There was a long pause. “No,” Gregory said, looking at the top of my ear and adjusting his glasses. I looked at the other fish, each one of them was acting innocent.

They had learned well the fine art of fingering. It didn’t take a lot. I felt my piss fizz. I wondered what it was. Did they think I only needed to know on a need-to-know basis. Or I was just a helpless useless nut that needed to be manipulated like a puppet whenever they wanted. I screamed shrilly in my head, glaring at them all the while. Idiots!

I looked behind me. Anjali was now sitting on Genie’s bed and looking through a notebook. She then lifted a pen, that looked… my God! I sprinted into the room and grabbed the pen from her hand. “It’s a f****** Mont Blanc. What the eff! Do you think it’s real?” I put the pen to my nose and sniffed.

“Eek! Do you have to smell everything, you crackpot! What if he used it to scratch his balls.”

“Why can’t he just use his hands like everyone else?” I said, still looking closely at the pen. It looked like an original. I’d bought a couple of fakes at the Russian Market in Phnom Penh last year. And I had eyed the originals often enough at the mall. The markings seemed right. I pulled off the cap – it was a fountain pen. “You know, I have never seen him use this pen.”

“Maybe he has a secret journal he likes to write in with a special pen. There are some books and diaries in this larger drawer here. Shall we look?”

“I think we should stop touching his things. He may figure out we’ve been rifling through them. Do you think he’s one of those people who remembers the way he leaves a book or pen in his drawers?”

“I imagine you mean the drawer in this table and not the other type,” Anjali smirked. I felt exasperated but also strangely, and reluctantly, titillated. Anjali shrugged and sighed. “Yeah, I think he’s the sort who’ll remember what went missing and who’s touched what. I better put it back in his journal.”

“Journal? Give me that.”

“Don’t know if it is one.” She showed me a green moleskin diary. It looked like it had been well thumbed, and the sides of the book and pages looked grimy, though they were blank. Most of them. Some had words that didn’t make sense.

I had a sense of foreboding. “Put it back exactly the way you found it, Anjali.” I pushed the pen and notebook into Anjali’s chest. “We have no business touching Genie’s things. Put it back, put it back now!”

“Damn right you shouldn’t be touching my things. Put them down and get out of my room. Now!” Genie said coldly from the doorway. I felt Anjali gasp and I shrank into her, feeling intense shame at our actions and being caught. Anjali pushed me and we stood. She put the pen and book on the table and we walked slowly to the door.

“Very sorry, Genie. We didn’t mean to,” Anjali said.

“But you did.” He moved to the side of the doorway to let us pass, then went in and locked the door behind him.
                                                        ******

Fishy Chronicles 20: The Strangeness Of Happiness

I stumbled against a flower pot and felt Genie's tight grip steady me. I don’t know which was more painful, his fingers biting into my fleshy forearm or my stubbed toe.

“Why are we crawling about in the dark? I’m going to my house. I’m not doing anything illicit! Going home in pitch dark feels like I’m doing something I’m not supposed to,” I grumbled.

“Shhhh,” said Fish.

“I’m saying...”

“Too much,” Genie said. He grabbed my bags, went up the stairs in a flash and I heard the faint sound of my door being unlocked.

I wheeled the fish tank toward the lift and glared at the sleeping watchman. Our racket hadn’t woken him up. Some people were blessed. They could sleep through storms. Even though I had slept in the best beds in Cambodia, I had tossed and turned. I had heard strange noises and had had strange thoughts and only near the end of my holiday had slept long stretches, mostly because I was tired each day.

Genie loomed in my face. He picked up the fish tank and moved swiftly up the stairs. I saw a light in an upstairs window. Old Mrs Glory Gonsalves was smoking in her balcony. She only ever smoked at night and out of sight of our neighbours from the Dark Ages. She blew me a kiss and I blew one back at her.

I walked up the stairs and stopped. Genie was leaning against the wall near our home, ostensibly waiting for me, his arms crossed, his thin white t-shirt clinging to his muscled arms and torso, his nipples showing and one of his legs in front of the other, with the ankles crossed – like those middle-aged society madams trying to look thin and hip. Really, Genie, a minute and you got tired waiting for me?

I entered the flat. I sighed. It was so good to be back home. Fish were already rushing about their home tank, moving furniture, hiding their eats and trying to find their comfortable spots. Their luggage was strewn at the bottom of the tank. Five fish, so much luggage. So materialistic.

A throat cleared behind me and I turned. Genie smiled. “Good night. Your suitcase is in your room.”

                                     ****** 

This is a fictional series about the narrator, Genie, her former manservant and now friend, five opinionated fish, a devoted mosquito called Nobby and a visiting North Pole elf called Donny. They have just returned from a holiday and are now face to face with a neighbour who is in love with Genie.

                                     ****** 
I heard the doorbell ring.

Ignore, ignore, ignore! It was the weekend. I tried to shove my pillow into my ears. Then I heard a familiar voice. I immediately jumped out of bed and tiptoed to my bedroom door and listened.

It couldn’t be! I listened for several minutes. Nothing! What a time for a door to block out sound.

I tiptoed into the corridor off the hallway to hear better, but Genie caught sight of me.

“Oh, look, she’s awake,” Genie stood, smiled and gestured at me to sit near him on the sofa. I felt grubby and shabby in my long loose nightgown, especially as Zeba was looking her best in a tight, flower print halterneck dress.

He took my arm and led me toward the sofa. Genie sat next to me, leaned back, put his arm along the back of the sofa, stretched his legs and smiled expansively at Zeba.

My eyes bulged the minute I felt his arm behind my head. What was Genie thinking! His smile was cool, and hovered only around his mouth. 

My head whipped around. Zeba's smile had faltered and it was clear she was making an effort to keep smiling. 

“Zeba was asking about our trip,” Genie’s moustache said.

“Yes, Cambodia. How exciting. What did you both do?” Zeba's eyes bored into me.

“I was on a yoga retreat. But they,” Genie's free hand gestured at me, and he instantly corrected himself, “she, had the time of her life. Didn’t you, my love? Tell Zeba about your adventures.”

My love? I could feel a stake through my heart already. “E-Er... H-h-had an excellent guide and all. Went to the temples, Angkor Wat, Bayon, Ta Prohm. Y-you must go, it's a traveller's delight, for sure."

“I’m sure.” Zeba said, her eyes feasting on Genie and him smiling back at her lazily. Shit, shit, shit! I turned, desperately looking at Fish. Where was Donny, my dear elf?

I spotted them, pressed against the fish tank’s wall, watching us with no expression at all and very still. Nobby was watching from atop the tank. I turned around and saw Donny hiding behind a large potted plant on my sitting ledge near the window. I felt a little confidence creep into my being.

I looked back at Zeba and was startled by an angry look, quickly replaced by a fake smile. I felt Genie's arm fall onto my shoulder and him saying loudly into my ear. “Go get our present for Zeba. It’s the bag on the kitchen platform. Go on. And some of those chocolates.”

I got up. There were about six mangoes tied up in a fancy gauzy bag, a big red ribbon tied neatly around its neck. I opened the fridge and found two large bars of liquor chocolates in a narrow checked gift bag, sitting on a shelf. Genie seemed to have thought of everything.

When I returned, Genie and Zeba were standing and kissing each other's cheeks. I handed Zeba the mangoes and chocolates and she thanked Genie effusively and ignored me. 

He put his hand on the small of her back and guided her toward the door. She attempted to hug him but he held back. So she threw her arms around his neck and then moved back, out of the door and out of my line of vision. Genie waved and nodded and smiled and then closed both doors.

“What's going on, Genie?” I asked.

Genie shrugged, sat on the sofa and shook out the newspaper he had been reading before Zeba rang the doorbell.

I stood in front of him, plucked the newspaper out of his hands, shoved it into my left armpit, crossed my arms and waited. 

Genie grinned broadly, stretched his legs, for which I had to move out of the way, and relaxed, staring up at me, his head tilted to one side. “Fraternising with a beautiful neighbour.”

“A hateful woman.”

“Tut, tut. A human being. And an esteemed member of this Society.”

“Bullshit.”

Genie laughed. He looked at my angry face and laughed again.

I looked up. The top of the tank had slammed against the wall behind it, and against the laws of physics stayed upright precariously. 

“What the fork, Genie! What the hell are you playing at!” my dear, dear Penaaz shouted. Water splashed out of the tank, as the other fish first flew around the tank and then jumped to the top.

“Yeah,” Portas and Pervez shouted together.

I could see Genie was surprised at Fish's reactions. What did he expect! They hated Zeba as much as I did.

I remembered Nobby. He was now sitting on the bookshelf. “Why didn’t you bite Zeba, Nobby?”

“I have renounced violence.”

“Bullcrap and bullshit!” 

Genie and Nobby burst out laughing. I threw myself at Genie, but I was no match for him. He pinned me against the sofa with an arm and continued to laugh while I and Fish shouted and swore. Finally Genie put his finger on my lips and said, “Shhh. We don’t want darling Zeba to return, do we?”

I wanted to call him a name, but mostly I wanted to bounce the hardest, biggest Cambodian mango we had on Zeba's fat, hairy head. When he didn't take off his hand from my mouth or stop pinning me to the back of the sofa, I nodded angrily. After an eternity, he let me go. The idiot!

I stood up. “What is going on, Genie?”

“Nothing.”

“Bullshit!”

Genie laughed.

“Stop playing around with me, Genie! Are you fooling around with her?” I demanded. 

Genie stopped laughing, but continued to smile. He shrugged one shoulder.

“Out with it, Genie,” Gregory said from the tank.

“I didn't expect Zeba to visit. So soon, in any case,” Genie said.

“We're listening,” Gregory prodded.

“And I’ve been thinking these last few days... especially after her phonecalls while we were in Phnom Penh...”

“And?” I pressed.

“And I think I’ve been handling things... inefficiently.”

“Meaning?” 

“We’re going about Zeba the wrong way.”

“So all the mangoes you bought in Phnom Penh were for Zeba?” 

“No. The mangoes and chocolates on the kitchen platform were for Ms Glory. Zeba just beat her to it.”

“But you’re sending Zeba the wrong signals!”

“I’m just trying to do the neighbourly thing. Sharing fruit.”

“Sounds like bullshit to me,” I told him.

“Good to know.”

I had a thought. “Are you two going to be coochie cooing on a regular basis?”

“I can’t say."

“It would make me sick,” Portas said from the fish tank.

“I second that,” Gregory said. The lovers, Penaaz and Pervez, had retreated to a corner and were murmuring to themselves.

Genie patted the seat next to him. When I didn’t move, he pulled me onto the sofa. “I’ll make some tea. I offered yours to Zeba.”

I was going to say something rude when I remembered. “Did Nobby...?”

“Yes. He had the first sip. Happy?” 

I shook out the crumpled entertainment supplement of the Bombay Sentinel. What I wouldn’t give for Zeba to know a mosquito had dunked his proboscis into her tea, especially one who often chugged her blood. I struggled not to chuckle.

Papa was right. Happiness came from the strangest things. 

                                    ******

Fishy Chronicles 19: Hello Again

Dear Me,

It’s our last night here. I’m done packing. Fish are silent in their tank, bobbing up and down, their eyes wide and staring, mouths moving in a silent collective monologue. For sure, they will hate me for this depiction.

Our days in Cambodia were hectic, driving around the country, visiting Genie's old haunts, meeting some of his very interesting, and dubious, friends, eating at stops on the way to finally packing sandwiches and fruits or searching for Indian restaurants and Bread Talk every where we went. I thought we were of  adventurous palate, but after our third bowl of unfamiliar nosh, we stopped trying and ate what Genie did.

Everything has been an ‘otherly' experience. I have promised myself I will have a more open attitude to travelling and other cultures. I found the Cambodians a warm race, unsullied by development, though I saw many high-end cars – more than in Mumbai. I saw more in one square kilometre here than in most of Mumbai, though Mumbai is a huge metropolis with more people than the whole of Cambodia, so maybe not a fair comparison.

                                  ****** 

This is a fictional series. The narrator, Genie, her ex manservant, a former underworld don turned world traveller and now friend, and a school of vocal, irascible fish are at the fag end of their holiday in Cambodia.

                                  ****** 

The last few days have been chilled. We have been the focus of Genie's full attention. Genie moved us in to a service apartment next door to his friends – Indian expats and surprisingly good fun.

Most evenings we sat by the swimming pool with them, drinking tea and feasting our eyes on the sunset, catching the occasional drizzle and looking at the tranquil city below us.

Evenings on the terrace.
(Photo: A. Peter)

Genie wouldn’t let Fish into the swimming pool because of its chlorine content, but I screamed and waved from its depths. I only piped down when I knocked my head against the pool steps. From underwater, I could hear Fish screaming with laughter.

Each day was filled with outings with Sindhu, our de facto guide and expat friend, taking us to the palace or temples. Dimitri has a special corner for her daughter Adi who took us to most of the markets in Phnom Penh – Russian, Central, Orussey and the Night market.

We went to the Siem Reap Silk Farm and followed the process of silk making. Despite feeling sad about the number of silk worms dying, we bought beautiful silk objects from the shop.

Gregory and I went to buy stamps, which is strange because I don’t know where his stamp collection is. But I do know he visits post offices around the world. I bought a few too. The Cambodia Post building is charming and old world inside and out.

Cambodia Post, where we bought limited edition stamps. The stamp business isn't what it used to be.
(Photo: A. Peter)

The young lady manning the philately bureau seemed surprised at our interest. She seemed reluctant to part with Cambodia Post's wares. But eventually the department came away with a tidy fortune. We bought most of the stamps – limited edition, the young lady assured us.

Greggy and I, giddy with our purchases, sat at a nearby café, hoping for anything resembling a cutting chai but settling for an iced tea, and made each other promise not to tell the others how much we spent on the stamps.

I don’t know why we did that though as Genie gave us spending money every time we stepped out. We returned the change every night. He just put the change on his bedside table and gave us fresh notes the next morning. From being so independent, it felt unsettling to take money from Genie.

But Dimitri put it in perspective for me. “He's in charge. Let’s just humour him. Besides he’s so happy we're enjoying ourselves.” Genie certainly was happy. He smiled most of the time, and nothing seemed to faze him – even the odd kerfuffle in the fish tank.

Most days we spent Genie's crisp 100 dollar bills on museums, roadside food, souvenirs and tea and eats at posh cafés.

Genie even let Dimitri, the lovers, Donny and I take tuktuks about Phnom Penh. You see, we figured out how to bargain. And Fish are not afraid to voice their opinions. They bargained at the markets, with the tuktukwalas and even wrangled some freebies at a small supermarket. They didn't let me ogle the cute expats, but hurried me into some shops and proceeded to buy me silk and silver.

We bought lots of stuff at the markets. I bought a fake Rolex for my cousin Roma and shoes and clothes. Genie assured me we could take about 60 kgs back with us. He’s already accounted for 20 of those. He’s taking mangoes and some stuff for his friends. He wouldn't say who for.

I couldn’t close the suitcase I bought here, and finally filled the knapsack with some junk.
I’m feeling sad to leave. I fell in love with the peaceful Cambodians. I even searched online for English newspapers in Phnom Penh – there are quite a few. You never know, they may need experienced journalists.

I went to the palace twice, to look at the treasures there – the room filled with the gifts the Kings got over the centuries. I stared at the silver floors, about 6000 pounds of it, and then stood in a spot where the diamonds in the statue's eyes and forehead winked at me. I stared until another tourist bumped into me and unintentionally dislodged me from my trance.

I saw headless cross-legged Buddha figures in glass cases and wondered how only the heads had disappeared. It’d have been easier on the stone artefacts, but harder for silver. Was there a method to the madness?

Genie took us to the Tuol Sleng Genocide Museum. I’m glad he was around. It was depressing. So many people visited and the only sounds we heard were of the boisterous groups of schoolchildren leaving the museum.

It’s an old school that Pol Pot converted into a prison cum torture unit. There are some graves on the lawn outside, and according to the signage, the last 14 of the victims at this place are buried here. Most of his victims were very young, many ranging from their teens to 30s.

The rooms are empty except for metal beds and pictures of dead prisoners with blood pooled on the ground. These poor prisoners were tortured for long periods. You can’t help wondering if the stains on the ground are blood they couldn’t get out.

Other rooms show many photos of executed prisoners. There are small biographies. All deeply disturbing. While leaving we saw one of the survivors of Pol Pot's torture. He was the artist made to paint all the gruesome details of torture. Some of his paintings hang in the museum. He lost his wife during that period. That day he was trying to sell his book.

When Genie asked if we wanted to visit the Killing Fields, a little outside the city, we said no. I felt sick at the idea of not going, but distressed at the scale of wickedness some could perpetrate on the majority. These were a people brutalized in modern day. It still continues all over the world.

I look at Fish, Genie and Donny and feel comforted. Nobby is on my shoulder, part reading what I write and part slumbering.

We are set to make our way back to Mumbai tomorrow. We won’t be returning in a small plane this time. We stop in Kuala Lumpur and then land in Mumbai in the dead of night. I'm wondering if this was intended to avoid a certain neighbour.

Genie even had a haircut. Or a tender trim. We dropped into the high-end salon to watch a young man gently massage Genie with cream, wash his hair and trim his hair and moustache. The salon happened to be unisex, so I got similar treatment and more – manicure, pedicure, foot massage, the works.

I feel like a million bucks. My holiday straightened out the kinks. I didn’t think of work or Peaceful Society. Tonight, when I rest my head on my pillow, I will sleep well.

Good night.

P.S. I have not weighed myself since my last interaction with the scales. Watch this space.

                                       ******

Fishy Chronicles 16: Encountering Kampong Phluk

I stirred and burrowed under the covers. And then I was wide awake.

The phone Genie gave me last night was ringing. An iPhone. How the hell did one turn it on?

“Change and come here for tea,” Genie said.

“Yes, Boss.” I said to the dead phone, when I'd mastered my groggy self. It seemed like it was going to be a day filled with orders and marching.

Next door, Fish were getting ready for their trip. Nobby took the first sip of my tea and Donny, the elf, was dressed in a pair of long pants and a half sleeved shirt of pale peach with small white flowers. It was the tiniest shirt I’d ever seen. I was wondering if there was a factory manufacturing elf clothes, when a small spatter of water hit my left eye.

My annoyance left me quickly. My love, Dimitri, was trying to get my attention. “I want to visit the markets,” he said.

“Okay. Why are we whispering?”

“The others shot down the idea.”

“Why?”

“They want to drink martinis in Pub Street.”

Pub Street was the hub of activity in this tiny town of Siem Reap. Only, according to the net, Siem Reap was Cambodia's second largest city. I was amused when I saw how big the population of Cambodia was. Sixteen million – less than Mumbai's.

“Most of the reduced numbers of Cambodians is probably because of Pol Pot's murderous activities. You’ll see,” Dimitri said.

“Is that a theory or a fact?”

“I think fact, but let’s hope we meet people who know more than us on this trip.”

“I thought you didn't know we were coming to Cambodia.”

“I didn’t. But none of us slept last night. We were researching places to see.”

I looked at Genie. He looked fresh. I doubt any loud fracas in the fish tank would have woken him.

“What about you, Donny? Anything you want to see in particular?” I turned to my little friend.

“The temples. A local market maybe. I want to try the local food... and maybe one of those fried insects.”

Genie stood up. I shoved a biscuit into my mouth, swallowed my tea and followed him out.

                                             ******

(This is a fictional series surrounding the narrator, a single woman living in a distant suburb of Mumbai, Genie, her former manservant, previously a thug and now a world traveller, a group of Fish, who formerly lived with the narrator, and Donny, a visiting elf.

They are travelling through Cambodia, a place very close to Genie's heart.)

                                             ****** 

“What are we looking for?” I asked Genie. I was whispering because I was mesmerized by the sunrise unfolding in front of me. The truck had stopped and I didn’t want the truck driver to feel offended, or know that I didn’t know where we were going. Finally the driver turned the truck around and went back to a small side road.

When we left the hotel, I asked Genie why we were racing in the pre-dawn dark in a rackety truck. There was a short grunt. It was clear Genie was still making up his mind about what to tell me. Or he was playing me. Probably the latter.

When the morning began to shine bright Genie put a cap on my head even though we were sitting inside the truck. “It will turn hot soon.”

He gave us all water and we bumped along at a steady clip by a greyish river. The red road ahead looked dusty and men stood by the side, near the water, swimming, throwing nets in, or just looking about.

“What’s this place, Genie? And if you stay silent I may murder you!”

Genie laughed. He took my hand and tucked it under his arm. “Sorry for that, my dear. The river is Kampong Phluk and further ahead is the Tonlé Sap lake. Most of these guys are fishing. And those boats take you around the villages.” He pointed at some small blue boats, that looked like the ferries bobbing on the water near the Gateway of India.

Scenes near Kampong Phluk.
(Photos: A. Peter)

Last night I trawled the net for information. I knew there was a village on stilts on this river. At first the river and road seemed empty but further down the dirt road Genie waved.

“You know those people?” I turned to look at him.

“Yes.”

“How come?”

“I lived near here for some time.”

A 1,000 questions gathered in my gullet. “Er, what? How come?” I said.

“I was a conduit... of sorts. I did a lot of business here. Not a good idea for you to know more.”

“Why not?”

“You won’t be able to sleep at night.”

“Bullshit.”

Genie laughed. I ploughed on. “Your past is unlikely to come back and bite you in the bum.”

I shouldn’t have said that. Genie’s face closed immediately and he turned to look out of the window.

I stayed silent too. Why was I so curious about Genie's past. Why couldn’t he tell me. We were good friends, shared a home – platonically – yet I felt pushed away.

Suddenly I screamed in fright. The truck had run over a deep crater and I had almost hit the windshield. I felt a pain in my chest and some softer body parts because Genie's muscular arm had stopped me from sailing through the windshield. Fish swore and poor Donny was on the floor. I picked him up and ran my hands over his frail, small body.

“I’m fine,” he said weakly. “Just a little winded.” I glared at the driver, Dara, who chewed a piece of gum and then looked away.

“Dara didn’t see the crater.” Genie said. He leaned out of the window and looked behind the truck. “There were stones and dried leaves on the pothole. Strange.”

We slowed and stopped near the side of the road and suddenly there were a number of men surrounding the truck. The sense of fear I felt evaporated when Genie jumped off and hugged some of them. A small child was thrust at him and it turned away, reaching out to its father and wailing. Genie laughed and handed back the child. He spoke to the men but gestured at me to stay in the truck.

A while later, we watched the men take away the boxes from the back of the truck. There was another round of handshakes and Genie got in.

Further along we stopped and climbed into a large multi-coloured boat swaying reluctantly at the side of the river, tethered to a boat whose nose was wedged into the soft river earth. Genie helped me in. He handed me the children and he and several others slowly filled the capacious boat with the rest of the boxes.

As soon as we were on our way, I flopped into the seat next to him. “What’s in the boxes, Genie?”

“Provisions.”

“For what?”

“For whom. It’s for the villagers.”

“Er, friends of yours?”

“Yes.”

I wanted to ask more, but I started taking photographs and videos. Genie plucked my phone from my hand and tucked it into his pants and grinned. I glared at his bulging pocket – it was a place my hand was unlikely to go. Once, he had grabbed my phone, because I hadn’t been listening to him, and put it into his jeans pocket. In a furious rage I had made a grab for it. The matter did not end well. I still blush at the memory.

“Sweetheart, you're missing out. Just watch and take it all in,” Genie said. “Be Fish today.” Indeed, Fish were quiet and rapt.

“Do you think we should let them into the water?”

Fish looked at Genie hopefully. “No. They’d never be able to keep up.”

Looking at the water threshing past our motor boat, I was inclined to agree.

Wooden shacks on very tall stilts soon loomed into view. They looked dank, grubby and basic. There were clotheslines hung across their ceilings and I saw one fan spin slowly. I saw people looking at us from above. There was no curiosity. Just a kind of resignation. Some were cooking and others looking after fishing nets. There seemed to be groups that were either scavengers or transporting things for sale. It seemed they were all ekeing a precarious living.

“You lived here?” I asked Genie.

“Yes.”

“Do you mean you hid here?”

Silence.

‘You were a fugitive here?’ might have sounded better. I tried again, “What are we doing here, Genie?”

“I’m showing you around the floating village. You’ll meet some of my friends. Their English is basic, so smile and nod and be friendly. They’re poor and marginalised. Have a good look around. But stay near me, all of you, okay?”

We soon stopped at a large structure on stilts. It was a restaurant with a thatched roof, but no walls. Many foreign tourists were already sitting at its tables. Below, in the water, were ladies manning large canoes. They were taking tourists deeper into the river. They paddled slowly between the tall water-resistant river trees.

“How deep is the water, Genie? And where are those women taking the tourists?”

“That’s about six feet deep or more. They’ll take you through a submerged forest. Come on. Get in.”

I squeaked in shock when he lifted me and dangled me into the canoe below. He handed the menagerie to me and the lady of the canoe, wearing a wide straw hat and flower-print pink blouse and long meklah-looking skirt, slowly used her long pole to jettison us through the spaces between the trees.

Navigating the floating forest. Tourists ahoy!
(Photos: A. Peter)

I turned to see G already seated at a table with several men, sipping a beer. He raised his glass at us and smiled.

I turned to look around at the trees and foliage that was half in and out of the water. I heard frogs, birds and other species rustling in the trees. I looked up at the sky through the canopy of treetops and branches. This was amazing. I leaned to run my hand in the water and the boat tilted precariously to my right.

“Stop that! Sit straight!” Gregory ordered, suddenly anxious.

“If you fell in, you’d be able to swim!” I said, my fear overcome by my surprise.

“Yes, but we don’t know what’s lurking in the water!” Penaaz said.

“Didn’t you see the crocodile in the cage at the restaurant?” Pervez said.

“I thought it was dead!” There had been a toddler playing next to the large cage, standing up, its fingers looped into the cage's wire mesh to help it keep its balance.

“Silly woman. Crocodiles just lie that way to conserve energy or catch prey off guard.”

“Shhhhhhh! You're killing the experience!”

We continued through the forest and I shook the boat every now and then for fun. It left Fish frustrated, and close to biting me.

We passed other tourists and each time the lady canoe paddlers neared each other, they conversed until the canoe passed them by. Mostly it was a joke, because they usually smiled or laughed once and sustained the smile.

Canoe lady gives Genie a gift.
(Photo: A. Peter)

They gently shoved at the sides of the trees to move their boats along. We moved through the submerged forest for about an hour. It was the longest ever I’d heard the Fish being silent. I had to change that. It was unnatural.

“Do you think you'd ever want to return to Mumbai after this?” Donny said in a whisper in the marshy silence. His mouth was half open and he was staring around him in wonder.

“When I need to poop, I’ll know for sure,” I chuckled.

There were groans from Fish and I heard, among other things, “disgusting”, “juvenile”, “childish”, “undergrown adult”, “mumble, mumble person.” I lived for these moments. It surprised me that Fish couldn’t take a joke.

We were jolted back to the present. No! The boat ride on the cool, sheltered water was over. Genie was standing above us, watching, a smile on his face, his hands in his pockets, oblivious to his friends standing behind him or their conversation.

He helped us out of the canoe, folded his hands and thanked, in Cambodian, our lady captain and hustled us into our boat, which was now emptied of its cargo.

But we didn’t go back from where we came. “We’re going to the lake now. Just watch," he said.

Pretty soon it came into view. It felt like the sea. Almost like the Brahmaputra, but with no land in sight. Or rather a thin sliver of it in the distance.

I held out my hand and Genie reluctantly returned my phone. I tried to get shots of the sunlight shimmering on the water. We moved at a steady clip and at some meaningless point turned around and made our way back.

There was no conversation on our return. It had been, in a way, a profound experience. But when we hit the main road, I could see Dimitri trying to make eye contact. I nodded. I’d check with the hotel staff about the markets and come to an arrangement with Genie.

We had 10 days. Day 1 had been super. I hadn’t thought of the past or the future. I’d thoroughly enjoyed the moment.
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