From Seloor to Pennoor
Shaker turned on the ignition and steered the car towards the main road where the traffic was steadily getting heavier as the city got closer.
“Tina, did you tell anybody in the hostel that you were going to Pennoor?”
“I didn’t. The only person I spoke to was the warden. And I can count the words we exchanged. And with that girl, of course. But that was hardly anything, perhaps a couple of minutes.” Tina thought for a moment. “But did you tell the manager where I was going? I mean, last night when I was looking for a place to stay?”
“You know, I might have. I’m not sure. Where are you staying in Pennoor?”
“Palace Hotel, but I haven’t checked in yet. I did call them this morning. I hope they’re still holding my reservation.”
“I’m sure they would, especially considering what happened at the station and the chaos that followed afterwards. May I see the paper she left with you?”
“Of course, here. But what’s this?” asked Tina, holding the piece of paper.
“It looks like an advertisement for a cultural program, and she left it with you.”
“Yes, she quickly tossed it into my room before they took her away. But why did she leave this paper with me?”
“I’m not sure. But if she is insane, would she rationally think about what she must do? Her family members who intercepted us just now looked really worried about the girl, and I’m glad she is not on the run anymore.” Shaker parked the car on a quiet road. “Come. Let me get you a cup of coffee and some breakfast. I don’t know about you, but I’m starving. I know a decent restaurant at the end of this street.”
d
“Where are you from, Tina?” asked Shaker, taking a sip of the flavorful coffee.
“I’m from Pittsburgh. My father is from South India, a small town in Kerala, and my mother grew up in Italy, until she was five, and then moved to New York City with my Italian grandparents. So,” smiled Tina, “now you know why I look this way.”
“Well, there’s nothing wrong with the way you look,” smiled Shaker, glancing quickly at her twinkling brown eyes and the beautifully shaped lips which were shyly twitching at the moment. “But I know what you mean. You must get some curious glances, especially when you travel around small towns here. What brought you to India, Tina? Vacation?” He stared doubtfully at the hazy window as the rain fiercely began a torrential beat.
“No, but a vacation sounds like a good idea. I’m on the last stretch of my doctorate program. A short-term internship in psychology brought me here.”
“An internship? And you’re working with?”
“Dr. Augustine, in Chennai. It’s my bad luck. I started working with him for a week and now he is back in the hospital. His cancer has…”
“Dr. Augustine!” interrupted Shaker. “So you’re the student he was talking about, the one from Pittsburgh. Don’t you work with Dr. Katz?”
“Yes. He’s my advisor.”
“Dr. Augustine and I frequently work together. He was my mentor a long time ago. Actually, he was discussing your research with me the last time I was having dinner with him. Isn’t this a convenient coincidence? He won’t believe we’re sitting here, talking about him. What a small world!”
“My internship might be suspended now because Dr. Augustine’s cancer has taken a bad turn,” said Tina, her frustration over the wasted time occupying her troubling thoughts more than the coincidence and the small world. “I’ve to come back when he’s feeling better.”
“That’s too bad, a wasted trip. Dr. Augustine had asked me if I could help you with your research while you were working with him. I was actually looking forward to it,” Shaker added disappointedly.
Tina smiled, somehow relieved to discover mutual grounds. She opened her book and studied the piece of paper, searching for the reason it was left behind by the fugitive.
“What’s that book?” asked Shaker, picking it up curiously. “One Day in the life of Ivan Denisovich?”
“Yes, by Solzhenitsyn. Haven’t you read it?”
“No, I haven’t. Somehow Solzhenitsyn missed me, or I missed him. You look disappointed. Should I feel embarrassed?”
“Embarrassed? Of course, not. But he’s more than a writer to me. Dr. Katz gave me this book as a gift at the end of my first year in the program. Initially, I read this one out of curiosity. Solzhenitsyn soon became a part of my daily life, and I began to read all of his works, one by one.”
“All of his works?” laughed Shaker, his stern features relaxing, as he pushed a stray strand of hair away from his wide forehead. “Now I really feel embarrassed.”
“No need to be. But Solzhenitsyn’s words get to me, gnawing at my conscience. His convictions, how violence lives on lies, have become my convictions, my sacred mantra. My family teases me that I’m obsessed with him because I take him with me wherever I go. But,” hesitated Tina, watching the misty window, “his words remind me of my search, especially as a psychologist who is trying to understand the violent world we live in, why terrorism swallows the heart of humanity, and how we allow it to defile the core of human nature.” Tina returned her glance to Shaker, smiling a little shyly. “See? I am obsessed.”
“Wow! I didn’t realize what I’ve been missing. Perhaps I shouldn’t read Solzhenitsyn because he seems to be an all-consuming habit,” he smiled, noticing the disappointment that was still lingering in her telltale eyes. “Your trip doesn’t have to be a waste. Tina, would you like to work with me?”
“You mean you would be my mentor? I can call Dr. Katz to get his approval. I’m sure he wouldn’t object. I think your name has come up during our discussions.”
“I’m not surprised. I’ve a couple of papers with Dr. Katz. I know,” laughed Shaker, amused by Tina’s raised eyebrows. “Which psychologist doesn’t have a paper with Dr. Katz? Well, let’s get back to finding a mentor for you. Tina, how long is your internship here?”
“Six weeks, but we can make it shorter, if you want,” she added hurriedly, worried that he might withdraw his generous offer.
“Not necessary. Any associate of Dr. Augustine is welcome into my office. What brought you to Pennoor from Chennai?” he asked, taking another sip of his coffee.
“I stumbled on a few articles on terrorism by a journalist called Mark Stevens during my research. I wanted to interview him, get his opinion on some of the recent incidents. He’s working in the Pennoor branch of The Express for a few weeks, and he invited me here for a few days. This is actually Dr. Augustine’s suggestion. Especially since he is indisposed, he asked me to spend a week here with Stevens.”
“Yes, that would be a nice change of scene, plus you’ll gain some material for your research. Unfortunately, you didn’t anticipate the incident at the station and what happened thereafter,” smiled Shaker.
“No, I didn’t. No wonder my aunt told me ‘I told you so’ a little earlier when I called her to let her know where I was.”
“Your host in Chennai?”
“Yes. Aunt Rita is my dad’s sister. Her husband is Theo Edwin, who recommended me to Dr. Augustine.”
“The Theo Edwin who knows Augustine? Then I know your uncle. It’s inevitable with my line of research, naturally. Mr. Edwin is an indispensable figure in counter-terrorism.”
“Looks like now I’ve no secrets from you!” Tina laughed, sheepishly but happily. “Aunt Rita and Uncle Theo wanted me to take a flight to Pennoor instead of taking the train alone. I probably should’ve listened to them.”
“Why