Finding Ginger
Zorro
Matchmaking can be a tricky exercise, especially for cats. In a poignant essay, Barnali Ray Shukla shares the story of Zorro and Ginger, and the complex fissures of politics and morality that tug apart a pucca rishta.
Zorro the cat, aka Daggu Bhaiyya, boasts of a Persian lineage, crossed with a less-celebrated parent. But this bundle of wonder is now a Mumbaikar. He lives and purrs on the second floor of an east-facing suburban Mumbai apartment. The apartment wakes up to mellow yellows, but the sunrise rarely touches Zorro. That’s the time he finally settles into la la land, away from the world of newspapers, cutting-chai, door bells, or the persistent sound of the mason next door.
Zorro’s human inmates are his entire world: a middle-aged filmmaker, dapper with glowing self-confidence and a degree from the FTII Pune; and his nephew, a millennial who has a steady amplitude of dalliance somewhere between his current work-from-home mode, a girlfriend in Lucknow, and a sustained flux in the cytoplasm of life.
What Zorro currently mulls over is why the men in his flat choose to mark their territory for mere seconds, and then wash away the marker down the flush. As he hovers around this crisis of men being so different from his tribe, Zorro walks past corridors of domesticity only to settle over a dimpled suitcase that the filmmaker had forgotten to park, atop the almirah.
The three men—boys—live amiably, hopeful of a better tomorrow. The filmmaker, who we shall hitherto call Sharma, gets into bouts with his inner voice about cinema and sin, but he is able to pass each charming day at the sight of Zorro asleep by his iMac. WFH has given the men time to be with their feline anchor. While cats like Zorro seek to be in control of the immediate surroundings, they do not wait to count likes on social media. Cats don’t need approval. They are cats.
All of the above has taught the humans of the house to respect their furry family member, and to perhaps make his world a better place by adding more to his life than the daily saunters between the food tray, kitchen window, northern corner of the sofa, or peeks into the flush, when he is not found loafing around smelly socks and saggy suitcase tops. They need to find him a life beyond the daily Mumbai. They want to find him his girl.
The word is out. And a movement has begun. Zorro’s human inmates are on a mission to fulfill conjugal needs of the two-year-old cat.
Sharma wasn’t sure he had heard right. He wanted to know more. Man with cat and man with tabby both stood on a cliff, divided by an abyss of othering.
People in the building, the lane, the golchakkar, the adjacent building are getting to know about this shy guy. His photos are up on social media. Sharma has chosen wisely. For missions such as these, the man about town is Anna, the neighbourhood paanwala by the banyan tree, a delta for many streams of thought. Anna and Sharma have spoken, and the news of rishtas have been streaming ever since.
And one fine morning the matchmaking began to manifest. High-resolution photos and health profiles are exchanged, happy chaos all courtesy of Anna. Sharma’s phone pings with the news of a cat in heat—from a certain Mr Goyal—in the same neighbourhood. On an auspicious afternoon, a meeting is fixed, and much like the growing trend in the urban milieu of humans, the bride’s family is scheduled to come ‘check out’ the groom—and not the other way round.
Voila! The door-bell rang, Zorro sprang to a top shelf of the bookcase, among the Alvin Tofflers and Erica Jongs, keeping his eyes on the visitors: Mr Goyal and his teenage son. Zorro’s gold green eyes missed nothing. Men did namastes and a cordial brouhaha began. Perhaps Zorro could imagine that these were all cat-lovers, gents who wished to see a world that included even more cats in it. The men exchanged more recent photos via high-end smartphones. Their gleaming faces were seen from top of the shelf. Cups of green tea were followed by diet chewda and sugar-free pastries.
Something changed, however, when Mr Goyal bragged about the service he extends to the nation. Sharma seemed perplexed for a while, swiping through the photo gallery to stare at Ginger. The Goyal kept talking and bragging about his cat and how she accompanies him to his place of work.
Sharma was quiet, and the nephew chose to be busy deleting emails when the words came out. Goyal said that he helps the world to be a better place. Without further ado he added that he worked for the office of the party in power in the Centre, in full conjunction with the notorious band of boys-in-khakis, who sought to serve people their own version of problematic community justice. Goyal, Sharma’s would be samdhi-ji, then blurted out about his last ‘case’: Fatema, in her late thirties, was made to stay away from the man she was engaged to—Girish—a biology teacher at a local school.
Sharma wasn’t sure he had heard right.
He wanted to know more; the response he evoked affirmed a splice between the prospective in-laws. Man with cat and man with tabby both stood on a cliff, divided by an abyss of othering.
Zorro, however, was in the dark. Neither party seemed to be keen on the sweets. Sharma asked for more stories. Goyal bragged about religious and cultural borders and their upkeep in a society that was fast losing respect for cows.
The nephew chose to move to another room, this time on a silent video chat with his girlfriend Sameena in Lucknow. He had an urge to be close to her, pronto.
From Zorro’s vantage point, he only saw men sharing warm liquid together, communicating behind a curtain of cordiality. Sharma’s phone rang: It was Sameena from Lucknow, asking if his nephew had called her. Sharma wasn’t sure what was going on, as he had just overheard the nephew speaking to her from the other room. Sharma spoke out loud but he didn’t make sense: he said he was in a meeting and shall call her at once he gets free.
The Goyal took the cue to get up to leave. Jr Goyal praised the guitars that hung on the wall by the entrance to the study. Sharma encouraged him to learn the instrument, too. Goodbyes happened.
A long goodbye which is a parting.
We met Sharma on Holi evening. Over drinks, he said that he hasn’t met Zorro’s eyes ever since The Goyal left. Zorro had hovered around Ginger’s photo, making cute mews of interest, but this particular matchmaking had been kept on pause.
“How different am I from him?” Sharma said. “I let my politics get in the way of possible love and life.”
At Sharma’s apartment, I found a bottle of Pinot in his fridge, while my husband settled for dark rum. We haven’t yet thanked Sharma for a Holi dinner during a pandemic. What I have decided, however, is that Zorro, our Daggu Bhaiya, would be cast in my upcoming film—the man of the moment is about to be introduced to a bigger audience!
For now, he sleeps atop, and dreams on. There is more to his cuppa tea than finding ginger.
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Barnali Ray Shukla is a writer, filmmaker and a poet. You can find her on Instagram: @barnalirays and Twitter: @barnalirays.
