MERI DUVIDHA

Meri Duvidha: noun /n/ Hindi Meaning 'My Dilemma'

I am not a bad person, I mean I do have my small indiscretions like running a red traffic-light once in a while, occasionally flirting with the receptionist at the department store down-town (what guy doesn’t? Though my wife wouldn’t approve) and sleeping off in mandir (hindu temple) during a boring sermon…but really, in all honesty I am not a bad person. I pay my tax albeit grudgingly, and I help Mrs Lahiri the lonely old lady next door empty her trash on weekends; last week I even tipped my favourite waitress more handsomely than usual...

So why on earth did the universe decide to pick on me? Here in India, the law of karma is supposed to be fair and just. I haven’t treated anyone badly, so by Lakshmi, why has this unwelcome misfortune befallen my household. Now you may be wondering, “What the hell is this man ranting about”? I will tell you, but my story goes back eight years ago when I first came to New Delhi to study computer engineering.

Back then I was a total noob, a nerdy young man just arriving Asia for the first time. I had seen my fair share of Indian movies but nothing prepared me for the urban chaos that presented itself to me at the airport.

There were no lovers singing and dancing about a tree or beautiful women providing back-up chorus as you would see in Nagina or Yer Vaada Raha (Sunita). Instead there were lots and lots of senior citizens, where were the youths? My stereotypical impression of India had been dealt a heavy blow! I had never seen so many turbans and grey beards in my life…maybe once when I went to Zaria, but the beards weren’t all grey anyway.

I also noticed there was a rush for everything including taxis and rickshaws. If I didn’t do the same, I would probably spend the night at the airport. Being Nigerian, that part wasn’t hard; I butted and clawed my way until I finally obtained a rickshaw which I shared with an old man and his gaunt son. Soon enough, for 20 rupees we were on our way to the main city and my school campus.

Three weeks later I was somewhat settled and my gut had almost developed a tolerance for strong spicy food.  I was in my dorm one evening, at my laptop, trying to figure out the wonders of microprocessors and Moore’s law when Kapoor my happy-go-lucky roommate crashed in and dropped a flier on my lap with his usual unfettered enthusiasm. It was an invitation to a party on the other side of campus. We argued a bit about all the assignments I had to finish that weekend, but after much cajoling and promises I soon found myself at said party binging on Indian absinthe and jaeger shots, it was mad! I had soaked myself in cheap alcohol.

Later that morning I made it back to my dorm. We had left the TV on and the room was flickering with its multi- lights, like a disco hall. I flopped down on the couch and watched the screen, dazed. I was about dosing off when I saw a late commercial for animal care. There was a display of sad looking tiger-cubs, lying harmlessly in their pens and looking starved.

They were so pathetic that I couldn’t help sitting up even in my drunken state. The voiceover message in the background explained mournfully how these Bengal tigers were getting extinct in India and needed support to be taken care of. To cut the long PSA short, the message was for us to ‘adopt a tiger today’ by donating just 200 rupees. It was simple, fill in your details and send your text approval to xxxx (I forget the numbers). Even in my drunken situation, I was not immune to the pitiful pictures of those cute little Bengal tiger-cubs, I vaguely remember taking out my mobile phone…

I never expected that simple act of random kindness to come back and haunt me eight years later.

Fast-forward to last month, now a computer engineer with Cisco Systems New Delhi and a proud husband to a beautiful Mangalore woman, I was sitting quite comfortably in our home one Saturday morning, watching Qubool Hai when the doorbell rang. As I wasn’t expecting anyone that day, I pulled myself reluctantly from the sofa and went to the door.

“Are you Gbenga ‘Sangeet’ Williams?” 

I mentally applauded his effort at pronouncing my first name. The man wore a face cap and was holding a pen and folding sheet.

“Yes, what’s it?”

“You have a delivery, can you sign here?” 

He offered the sheet. Without looking I quickly signed it, I had been getting a lot of parcels from work lately.

“Thanks sir.” 

His grin was now a bit malicious. I held out my hand for the parcel and he shook his head.

“Not that kind of delivery sir”, He motioned to the van behind him.

“Congratulations, you are now the proud owner of a Bengal tiger sir…you have no idea how long we have been searching for you”. He laughed as if relieved.

“Bengal? What?” I asked confused, scratching an itch behind my left ear.

“A tiger, sir. Our records state that you adopted a tiger-cub some eight years ago". 

He explained.

“Recently, our organisation has been unable to manage the upkeep of several tigers in our care so we have declared bankruptcy in order to shut down and give the tigers back to their owners”.

“Is this a joke?” I inquired, the man wasn’t making sense. Me? A tiger owner?

“No, it isn’t” 

He remained straight-faced (which was annoying).

“We have records proving that you adopted one of our tigers years ago.”

At that moment two men began to wheel a large iron-cage into my driveway and towards the garage. A large grey tarp was draped across and from within it came a most horrible blood-curdling growl, loud enough to make my windows rattle. I jumped on my porch!

“You can’t do this!” I shouted at the man, “There has got to be a law about this!”

“Oh there is…but I am just the delivery man, if you want to fight this in court, join the others. But I can’t guarantee you immediate results. In the meantime you will have to look after him for the next few weeks”.

The other two men laughed as they walked back to the van.

“It gets funnier with each person” one said to the other in Hindi.

The first delivery guy handed me the office address and began to walk towards the van.

“Hey come back here or- !” I shouted.

“- What are you going to do, throw him back into our van? Hahaha!"

I now realised it was no use arguing.

“Err…do you have a manual or some sort of owner’s guide?”

“A manual? What do you think it is, some animal robot?” And they all laughed again.

“One thing for sure, we haven’t been able to feed him for a week, so he is starving. You can start from there!” 

With that they drove away. To them it was a big joke.

Thankfully, the wife wasn’t home that day. Nervously, I walked towards the covered cage wondering how big an eight year old tiger would be, surely it wouldn’t be that grown…maybe like an eight year old kid? Standing a few feet away, I gently began to raise the tarp to have a peek but the large yellow eyes, huge dark frame and the growl it made threw me back over the garden hedges…I was now sure I had a huge problem on my hands.

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Now you have it, my ranting is justified. I have had the tiger for a month now and it has been the longest unbearable month for me. The court has adjourned the case indefinitely as the defence counsel claims to be building a case for force majeure. In the meantime I have to look after the tiger. I haven’t named it yet, I don’t intend to.

The neighbours complain about the growling, I hardly sleep and I don’t get any visitors anymore, even my wife has left till I sort this out. Apparently she thinks I lied to her about the ‘adoption’ before we married, how do I explain to her that the tiger is not like my child? The tiger itself is a burden; its appetite is unheard of, with a ravenous diet of life whole cow every other day my financial reserves are being quickly depleted and beef is such a sacred commodity here in India. 

I have started a Save Gbenga’s Future website so that people can understand my plight and donate for support. I can’t keep suffering for a selfless decision I made while I was drunk. Hopefully someday soon, the court will come to a quick decision about this and bring my life back to order.