here,there & elsewhere. Encounter therapy

Bins and Pete meet in the driveway, the morning after we arrive. It’s hate at first sight. I’m still asleep when Bins leaves the house to have a smoke but when he comes back in, the sound of his stomping tells me that he’s had his first Encounter for the day.

“Twit!” he says, entering the main room of the house. “Grrnnaww,” I mumble, my eyes shut tight. “The short guy who lives next door. What’s his name?” I say nothing, because I’m not awake yet. “Well, he’s a twit,” continues Bins. I’m walking up the front steps and he says, “Going somewhere?” I tell him, “Ya. Inside,” and slam the door. “What’s his problem? TWIT!”

Later that day, I meet Pete and he’s got a sour look on his face. “Your husband smokes,” he informs me, as if maybe I’m unaware. “Does he know it’s not allowed? In the building?” I say I told him before we arrived. That’s why he was out in the first place. “Coz you know,” says Pete, “Rebecca upstairs? She’s got a nose like you wouldn’t believe. If she smells smoke, she’s gonna say it’s me, an’ I’ll be thrown out, an’ I don’t have any place else to stay! Know what I’m saying?” I promise to warn Bins.

Two evenings later we visit Margaux and Michael. They’re delighted to finally meet the mysterious partner with the Pondicherryan past. They’ve been to India several times and even to Pondicherry so they take to him at once. Alexander the cat isn’t so sure. He sidles into the room when we’re all sitting down by the fireplace but stops dead at the sight of Someone New. “Come here, da,” says Bins in his most crooning voice, but Alex is unimpressed. Maybe he doesn’t like the Tamil accent. He flows onto the coffee table, where he poses for a few minutes like a great orange puffball, so that we can all admire the way his fur catches the light. Then, without looking at anyone in particular he flows off the table once more and walks slowly away.

Two days later, it’s time for my weekly grocery shopping with Muriel. We set up our usual date and agree that we’ll allow Bins to accompany us just this once. I tell him to sit in front but he never does as asked so he makes a big production of folding his tall angular frame into the backseat. He looks like a giant praying mantis wearing cement grey denims and a mustard yellow windcheater. “Do you drive, Bins?” asks Muriel. “Ya,” says Bins in his most guttural-Tam voice, “but best of all, I like to be driven by ladies.” Pause. “Round the bend.”

For some reason, this completely inane joke cracks Muriel up and they spend the next hour exchanging moronic one-liners. Muriel can’t get over the accent. “He sounds completely Indian!” she says to me in the supermarket. “He’s funny! I like him.” I nod, knowingly. “Yup, everyone does.” Pause. “Drives me crazy!” Muriel’s eyebrows spring up high. “Stay tuned,” I say, grinning, as I pick up a plump head of broccoli.

( Manjula Padmanabhan , author and artist, writes about her life in the fictional town of Elsewhere, US, in this weekly column )

Last episode : Window dressing

Next episode : Cooking chocolate

COMMENT NOW