Sitting relaxed in their home with my aunt and a circle of family members around, my aunt’s in-laws living in Kumbakonam heaved a sigh of relief on the successful completion of the marriage of their daughter Tirupura Sundari (who was my aunt’s sister-in-law).
“Some of the invitees who couldn’t turn up for the marriage didn’t even bother to drop a post card (note, this was four decades ago) enquiring about the wedlock. That much for their honouring our invitation!” lamented aunt’s mother-in-law, only to be countered by her husband thus: “Don’t talk like that. People have their own bag of worries and responsibilities. So it’s not proper for us to comment on those who couldn’t attend the wedding or make subsequent enquiries.”
An autorickshaw stopped outside and the family members rushed to see who had come. A man, seemingly in his forties and wearing a dhoti and shirt, looking quite travel-weary with an unshaven face, alighted from the vehicle and walked in, holding the pink and yellow, dual-coloured traditional marriage invitation card.
Who’s this guest holding our family’s marriage invitation, wondered the family members. The stranger, picking up the cue, quickly introduced himself as a relative of the family from Poona (now Pune) and referred to several connections. “I really admire your painstaking and meticulous efforts in sending the invitation for Tirupura’s wedding to so many people. Hope the marriage went off well. Did Kappu and family come? How is Soni now? Is Pitchai doing well? Long since I’ve met them all. I wish I could’ve come. Only if this tragedy hadn’t happened!” His voice choked and his eyes turned moist.
“What happened?” asked the family in chorus, now establishing a link with the stranger thanks to the many names that he had dropped in quick succession. “Oh no. I shouldn’t discuss it at all now. Hope the marriage went off well...”
“Yes, the wedding was a grand ceremony. Nice of you to have come down all the way from Poona to enquire us. Tell us, what went wrong at your end?”
“Oh, you’re forcibly plucking words from my mouth… A week ago, my father died in Tiruchinopalli (Tiruchirapalli). As most of our relatives stay here, we’re doing the last rites in this holy town of Kumbakonam. That’s the reason I couldn’t come for our Tirupura’s wedding.”
“Oh God! So sad to hear that,” said my aunt. “If you need any help, tell us.”
“How philanthropic of you! Since you’ve said that, I just thought… if… if you can do me a small favour,” uttered the stranger.
“What’s this? You’re so shy and hesitant to seek help! If we don’t help in times of distress, what sort of people we are? Tell us, what do you need?”
“I’m looking for some brass vessels for cooking for my father’s ceremonies commencing on the tenth day. Can you lend them for a week, if you have?” asked the stranger, wiping away a tear or two from his eyes.
“Why not? In fact, it’s a tradition in Kumbakonam to lend vessels for functions to whoever needs them. Can you wait for a few minutes?”
Now aunt and her parents-in-law fetched the wooden ladder, climbed the attic in a row and, gasping heavily, brought down a range of heavy-duty brass vessels and ladles and handed them over to the guest, who thanked them profusely for their timely help.
“Are these enough, or you need more?” asked aunt’s mother-in-law, and the guest fell at her feet. “How can I thank you enough, mami ? So charitable of you. In case you have a couple of trays ( thambalams ), that’d be fine.”
Aunt once again went up to the attic and handed two large round thambalams to the stranger. He gave his local address, loaded them in the auto-in-waiting and sped away — to be never heard of or traced again. The wily man had managed to pick up a discarded marriage invitation from a dustbin, done some groundwork about the family, and duped them.
It was reported recently in The Hindu (‘After a lifetime of crime, he swears by his integrity’, May 10, 2018, Chennai editions) that an 84-year-old criminal known as ‘Silver Srinivasan’, who managed to hoodwink several people in the wink of an eye and has over 200 thefts to his credit, was nabbed in Chennai.
The silver counterpart
It was reported that in the 1990s, the then Director General of Police, Walter Devaram, gave him the moniker ‘Silver’ considering Srinivasan’s preference for lifting silver vessels. Reading the news, a thought struck me if it was perhaps a ‘Brass Balakrishnan’ who had essayed the Kumbakonam escapade four decades ago and he may run into the police with the confession, “I am the Brass Balakrishnan you’re looking for.”
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