THE ODD COUPLE SERIES -EPISODE 4
Evening in a first-floor kitchen in Malakpet. The ceiling fan turned on its second speed, and somewhere down the lane an auto was refusing to start. Birbal set an empty steel tumbler on the counter the way a man sets down a verdict.
Monkey: What’s in it?
Birbal: Nothing.
Monkey picked up the tumbler anyway and looked inside, one eye shut.
Monkey: You said nothing.
Birbal: Yes. Nothing. It is empty.
Monkey: I’m checking. Give me some.
Birbal: Nothing is not a thing one gives. It is what remains when the things are gone.
Monkey: Fine. Show me that.
Birbal held out the tumbler, rim up, like an exhibit. Monkey put his mouth to it and blew.
Monkey: Air.
Birbal: Air is hardly what I—
Monkey: I felt it. It was cold.
Birbal took down a steel dabba from the shelf, opened it, and turned it over to show the inside. Monkey sniffed it, then sniffed it again, and held it a moment longer than the test required.
Monkey: Mutton.
Birbal: Yesterday’s.
Monkey: Is there more?
Birbal: There is nothing in it.
Monkey: It’s still here.
Birbal: That’s only the smell.
Monkey: Tell my nose.
Birbal put the dabba back. He crossed to the window and swept a hand over the bare corner beside it, where the shelf ended.
Birbal: Then let us dispense with vessels. Here. There is nothing here.
Monkey walked into the corner and stood in it.
Monkey: Now there’s me.
Birbal: Because you entered it. Step out, and observe what remains.
Monkey stepped out. They both looked at the corner.
Monkey: Corner. Window. Bit of floor.
Birbal: You know very well what I meant.
Monkey: Then where was I standing?
Birbal: That is a different question.
Monkey: Is it?
Birbal looked at the corner for some time. Then, rather suddenly, he found a dusting of flour left on the counter from the morning’s rotis, and drew a circle in it with one finger.
Birbal: Very well. I shall stop pointing and write it. Zero. Nothing, with a symbol attached.
Monkey: Zero what?
Birbal: Zero—
Monkey: Tumblers? Buses? Zero what?
Birbal: It depends upon what is being counted.
Monkey: Which one’s the nothing?
Birbal did not answer. He looked at his finger, and wiped the flour off on his dhoti.
———
Birbal: You show me, then. Since everything I show you turns out to have something in it.
Monkey: Fine.
Monkey went to the fridge and pulled the door open. The cold light fell across his face. He looked in for a while.
Monkey: There’s nothing to eat.
Birbal came over, still holding the tumbler, and looked over his shoulder.
Birbal: There are eleven things in there. Curd. Dal. Water. Tomatoes. A lime. Ginger. Last night’s rice. Half a coconut. Chillies. Pickle. Butter.
Monkey: Nothing I want.
The compressor hummed. Birbal opened his mouth.
Birbal: That is merely a figure of—
He stopped. He turned the tumbler in his hands, once, and then again. Monkey watched him do it.
Monkey: What’s wrong?
Birbal: Nothing.
Monkey did not ask again. He left the fridge door open, and the small light stayed on.
———