Flyweight

They basically don’t exist any more, in cities. Not Western cities at least. When was the last time you saw one? All gone the reverse, as if they had never been. Here the Indians and Chinese still provided examples; almost never the Malays. This lad casting his eye over the morning paper couldn’t be guessed at that level—possibly something like 40-45kg, perhaps. Like a busy and discerning newspaper reader at the breakfast table, the chap turned the pages scanning the headlines. To begin he had focused on the momentous political upheaval raging in the capital on page 1, following the large print with his fingers like a pianist. In his case like a virtuoso practising the notes in his head without actually touching the keys at first. Entirely mesmerised, one might think looking on. Certainly it was all wondrously dramatic; very difficult to make head or tail of the damn thing even for politico wise-guys. Finally here it was the large fluttering Malaysian flag that brought the finger tips onto the paper, man grinning broadly with it. That there with the sun and moon was a known he showed you. (After a thirty or forty years absence flags were again prominent everywhere.) A coloured picture, Ya, you thought. Then returning to the headline below this time he struck the table-top fortissimo, rapping loudly along the headline. Ta ta ta ta! How well he fitted in the world of Perumal  Murugan. Didn’t he light up too seeing the author brought up on the phone for him! Delighted at the surprise! Reading the name in English script what was more. That certainly was unexpected; a few minutes before the man had been underestimated…. Only three years working here. Highly unlikely he had received any English tuition where he came from in Tamil lands. Could he have sounded the name only after seeing the face below on the screen, despite what it had looked like? Perumal  Murugan. Perumal  Murugan…. Continuing to nag in the brain the though of the mass waiting to be encountered on the streets over there. There was nothing on earth to compare. The Chinese cities were something else. Lovely Lizzie from Beaumaris had told the story of landing as a young woman with her boyfriend in Bombay, as it was known at the time, and after the ride from the airport locking herself in the hotel room for a number of days, crying after what she had seen. That traveller tale beat all others for India. (Some younger professional Indians did not like to hear it: there was so much more to the country, they complained.)

NB. Since published by Midway Journal (US), #14/No.4 Oct 2020