Diaspora Short Story: The owner! - V.N. Giritharan (English translation by Google AI Studio, edited by V.N. Giritharan) -

Digital' Art Technology (Google Nano Banana) assistance: VNG

[ This English translation of the Tamil story is by Google AI Studio was edited by V.N.Giritharan  The original Tamil version of the story follows the translation.]

    A short story published in the 'Canada Special Issue' of Kanaiyaazhi, December 2000.

For the past twenty-four hours, freezing rain had been falling incessantly. The streets were covered in a thick layer of ice, and on top of that, it was bitterly cold. Somasundaram looked at the clock. It was almost ten at night. He really didn't feel like going to work in this cold, drenched in freezing rain. He lamented having to wander around like a rooster in the wee hours when everyone else was asleep. Back home, he was a physics teacher. How many of his students had become 'doctors' and 'engineers'? But here... he was a good 'immigrant' working seven days a week to build Canada's economy. A laborer on weekdays; a diligent security guard on weekends, supervising workers and serving the boss. He recalled what his supervisor, Joe Croward, had told him a little while ago on the phone.

"Sam. Today you're working at the City Hall underground parking lot. There have been many complaints over the past week... several items have been stolen from many vehicles... many 'street people' have been reported sleeping there at night... I have a lot of faith in you. You're a diligent and strict guard... it's your responsibility to ensure no one trespasses there."

An irritation towards Joe welled up in him. 'He's telling me to go work in this parking lot in this freezing cold.' Usually, he worked in a perfume factory. It was a comfortable job. Sitting at reception, answering phone calls, circling the factory and workers once an hour... he could comfortably stay warm inside the building. 'What to do, once you start dancing, you have to keep dancing.'

He tried to rest on weekends, but could he? His virtuous wife, Akilandeswari, was sleeping blissfully, hugging their children. Looking at her, he felt envious. Since she came to Canada, for the past ten years, he hadn't even opened his mouth to tell her to go to work. She looked after the children, took care of the house... he pitied her, thinking she was a poor thing. But she would say, "It's been so many years since you came to Canada... what have you saved? Everyone has their own homes... and you... you've done everything for your family back home, saying 'house, house'... what have you gained? Does your family even respect you now?" If Akilandeswari opened her mouth, that was it... he couldn't stand her nagging. "Listen here... stop your nagging... what have I ever deprived you of since you came here all these years?" If he retorted like that... that would be it. "What great things have you done? If it weren't for you, I would have taken 'welfare' and lived comfortably..." She would reply dismissively, and he couldn't stand that. He, who was a physics teacher for advanced classes in a school back home, at this age, working forty hours a week, breaking his back in a factory, saw his efforts so despised by her. That's what he couldn't bear. He would suppress his surging anger with great difficulty. At such times, he would feel like running away to some unknown place. His love for his children would tie him down. To escape her 'nagging', he had taken on this 'guard' job on weekends.

"Well, I'm going. Bolt the door from the inside, okay?" he called out to his wife. When he stepped outside, the reality of the situation hit him. The streets were piled high with snow like mountains. That night, with no vehicle or pedestrian traffic and the continuous freezing rain, was immersed in a kind of silent meditation. He somehow managed to catch a bus and then the subway, arriving at work on time. He was a diligent guard after all. Others would have taken the weather as an excuse to come slowly, singing and dancing. That's why Joe had sent him. Joe knew he could rely on Somasundaram.

In their respective booths, the cashiers had already started their work. Somasundaram greeted them and entered his room. The Polish old man, a cleaner for the night parking lot, greeted him. Somasundaram had worked here temporarily a few times before, so he knew the Polish old man. He had a long name that was difficult to pronounce. He was a good man. He had served in the military during World War II. His two sons were doctors in Vancouver. He would tell many war stories. Once, he was caught in a landmine and suffered for many days. His main duty was to sweep and clean all four underground levels. Talking to him helped Somasundaram pass the time. The old man also found him to be a companion in his solitude. And occasionally, if anyone trespassed, he would help Somasundaram by informing him.

"Hey, friend! If you see anyone sleeping anywhere, don't forget to let me know, okay?" Somasundaram reminded him once and then continued his work. He remembered Joe had asked him to call when he started work. He called. Joe was very pleased. "Sam! I'll try to get you a raise soon," he promised. Somasundaram had heard many such promises from Joe before.

He had somehow passed half the shift. No significant incidents had occurred. Time was passing with him circling all four underground levels once every hour and listening to programs on the twenty-four-hour Tamil radio. Outside, the freezing rain was still falling. Heavy vehicles for clearing the icy streets had begun their work. A rerun of a program for the elderly was playing on the radio. An elderly woman wished to hear a song for a favorite teacher of hers. The song she wanted to hear was: "May you live wherever you are..." To that, the announcer hosting the program said, "Amma! Besides the first line, the meaning of that song is completely different." The old woman replied, "Just play that one. May that virtuous man live wherever he is..." Hearing her say it so innocently, Somasundaram found it amusing. 'As they age, the elderly truly become children,' he thought to himself.
It was nearing three o'clock. The Polish old man came running.

"What's the matter... why are you running like this?"

The old man was a little tired from running. He stopped and composed himself.

"I saw someone sleeping on the fourth level. If you come with me, I'll show you," he said. Somasundaram turned off the radio and descended with him via the ramp to the fourth level. The man was sleeping near the east corner entrance. He appeared to be in his fifties. Dressed in rags. As they got closer, the smell of wine mixed with the body odor of someone who hadn't bathed for days, and the smell of unwashed dirty rags, assailed their noses.

He was an Indigenous man. The Indigenous man sleeping there knew Somasundaram was coming. He pretended not to know. He must have seen many guards  like him. Meanwhile, seeing that he wasn't getting up, the Polish old man shook him by the shoulders and woke him up. Mumbling something, the Indigenous man got up. Anger at having his sleep disturbed was evident on his face as he looked at them.

"Look at the anger of the Maharaja," the Polish old man even teased. Somasundaram remembered the freezing rain falling outside. He even felt a little pity for the Indigenous man. Meanwhile, the Polish old man said, "These people are a real nuisance. They'll sleep here. If no one's around, they'll break into cars and steal things." He also remembered that his supervisor, Joe, had instructed him not to let anyone trespass. This Indigenous man didn't look like a thief at all. His shift would end in a few more hours. Daybreak would also come. But he wasn't allowed to let this man stay. To make matters worse, this Polish old man was standing nearby. He didn't have a very good opinion of these Indigenous people. He thought their lives were all about drinking and stealing. He would definitely inform. Somasundaram was in a difficult situation. He thought about what to do. First, it seemed best to send the Polish old man away. He thanked him and told him he would take care of it, sending him off. The old man didn't want to leave at all. Who wouldn't want to skip work? As soon as the Polish old man moved a little further away, the Indigenous man prepared to lie down again. Somasundaram put a stern expression on his face.

"Why are you sleeping here? You know you're not allowed to sleep here, don't you? Why don't you go sleep in one of the shelters?" he asked.

"All the shelters are full. Just allow me to sleep a little longer. I won't cause you any problems," he replied. Somasundaram didn't feel it was right to send him out in such weather either. But in his job, he couldn't consider such things. He was a strict, diligent officer who never failed in his duty.

"I have come from another corner of the globe, driven from my homeland as a refugee. You, however, are the owner of this land, having lost it in your own homeland."

Somasundaram genuinely felt a sense of camaraderie towards that Indigenous man.

"I am a refugee in a foreign country. He is a refugee in his own country."

Once upon a time, his people ruled the American continent. They showed great interest in preserving nature even then. Their rituals and philosophies had the primary objective of preserving natural wealth.
Somasundaram was indeed a diligent, strict security officer who brought a good name to the company. But Somasundaram was not a security guard devoid of humanity.

"I believe your words. But you must leave when it gets light," Somasundaram said and turned to walk away. The Polish old man, who was cleaning the first floor, saw Somasundaram and asked, "Did you chase him away?"

"I somehow managed to chase him away. It was enough of a hassle to get him to leave," Somasundaram replied.

"Where will he go in this pouring freezing rain? Poor guy," the Polish old man sympathized. "If you think about pity and good deeds, you can't do this job," Somasundaram said, absorbed in his duty, and walked upstairs.

Courtesy:  'Kanaiyaazhi' (from the 'Canada Special Issue' of Kanaiyaazhi, December 2000), Pathivugal, Thinna.