THE CONSCIENTIOUS LIFTMAN

English is a very poetic language. Why? Because like poetry, it can be interpreted in so many ways. Especially by a brand of self appointed poets called Indians. And if you ever come across Muthuswamy, the liftman, you cannot help but agree with me.

My husband had just undergone a cataract surgery and I, as his attendant, had to stay back with him in one of the rooms of Shanker Nethralaya- a reputed eye hospital in Madras. The room was situated on the 2^nd floor. One evening, when I was carrying a cup of coffee from the Canteen, stationed on the ground floor, I had the privilege of meeting Muthuswamy, the liftman.

But before that, let me take you on a small flashback, highlighting an irrational practice of mine. I detest lifts. I simply abhor them. It has nothing do with a phobia of being jailed in a jam-packed metal container, serving as cushions to a host of heavy breathers. It has nothing to do with a horror of technology, where if most of the times you are magically elevated to your destination, you also stand a chance of getting trapped with a stranger. It has nothing to do with the fact that walking up the stairs is a much better way to keep fit. It has something to do with an uneasy feeling of dizziness that is triggered in my brain, during the taking off and landing of this weird contraption. Therefore, unless my ascent exceeds the sixth floor, I am quite comfortable doing it the old fashioned way. But anything above that, I’d rather experience an attack of vertigo than pretend to be a superwoman.

And now back to the present. It was just when I was about to take my first step to the room on the second floor that I encountered Muthuswamy. ‘MADAME’ I heard someone shout from behind. ‘Where are you going?’

‘Well, I was just taking coffee to..’

‘Which floor?’ he asked, his knitted eyebrows and his pearly eyes, unmistakably raised in unison.

‘Second’ I whispered, wondering whether caffeinated drinks were prohibited in rooms. ‘But the nurse said that the patient could have coffee’ I explained.

‘Take the lift Madame’ he said, pointing his hand to where the lift stood.

‘No, thank you’, I said, smiling at his concern and proceeded to climb the steps.

Suddenly and with an agility that betrayed his age, I found him blocking my way.

‘Please Madame’, he said, his sunny countenance now replaced by a sudden frown. ‘Take the lift’.

‘But I prefer to walk. The patients are supposed to use the lift’, I said.

‘Can you not read Madame?’ he enquired politely, pointing to the sign that read “Please use lift for going up only”.

‘Yes’ I said, with another beguiling smile. ‘But that doesn’t mean that I have to use the lift’.

‘Yes Madame’, he said, his grave face suggesting he meant that, exactly that and nothing but that. ‘You have to go up only in the lift.’

Usually I am not in the habit of arguing but something in this ridiculous turn of events, prompted me to somehow at least try and make the poor man understand.

‘You don’t understand…’I looked at his name tag ‘Muthuswamy’ I said, with patience. ‘It means I cannot come down in the lift but I can walk up the stairs’. He gave me a blank look. Obviously my statement had not registered in his upper storey.

‘You please try to understand Madame’, he said, his fierce eyes challenging mine. ‘I am just doing my duty.’

‘But this is ridiculous’ I began, ‘all this while I have been using the stairs. The liftman in the morning shift did not say anything.’

‘I am sorry Madame, but you have to use the lift’.

‘I don’t like the lift’ I said. ‘I never use it’. By now at least fifty pairs of eyes had all turned towards us. There was a sudden surge of interest in all of their non bandaged pupils. I could even feel the eyes behind the goggles emitting dark interest. After endless hours of endless appointments, all the patients had at last found something to watch. But I was in no mood to humour them. My heart was bursting with counter claims but the time was not right for arguments. I shook my head resignedly and took the lift.

I continued with my up and down routine the whole of next morning. Either the morning lift man was well read, or he was not a poet or he was resigned to let the world go about its own way. But in the evening, before going to get the coffee, when I saw Muthuswamy lurking around the stairs, this time I knew I had to outsmart him. I bought two coffees. And on my way back, just as I started to sprint up, there he was- that human wall of absurd rules and regulations, again blocking my way.

‘Please Madame’ he requested again, this time sounding a little desperate.

‘But I cannot use the lift’ I said, trying to do a complicated balancing act with my two coffee cups. ‘How will I press the stop button? How will I press the floor button?’

‘We are here to help you Madame’, he said, his hands guiding me towards the lift in such a manner, it just ran short of pushing me in.

‘No wait’ I said, beginning to resist. Then realizing that another Lift vs Stair scuffle would result in nothing but more interested onlookers I again got into the lift. Muthuswamy gave me a smile. Just as I was about to splash the coffee on his grinning face, he surprised me. ‘What to do’, the gentleman said, graciously offering to hold one cup for me. ‘Hospital procedures Madame’. It sounded like an apology.

It was then I realized something. This was no personal vendetta against me. Muthuswamy was nothing but a punctilious officer on duty. It was a different issue that his IQ (Interpretation Quotient) level was slightly lopsided but his spirit was unyielding. I smiled back. When we reached the second floor, I walked out, wishing there were more such Muthuswamys in our country- Muthuswamy the rigid follower of rules and not Muthuswamy the poetic interpreter.

‘Madame’ I heard another shout. ‘Your coffee’

‘Drink it’ I said, without turning back. ‘You work too hard. You deserve a coffee break’.

I dreaded to think what Muthuswamy’s interpretation of a coffee break was. As I didn’t hear the smashing of any glasses I presumed he had understood. Or was it because he was carrying a plastic cup?

Anyway, when I reached my room, I turned. Muthuswamy had not got out of the lift and taken the stairs down. He had gone down in the lift. Looking again at the sign that read ‘Please use lift for going up only’ I did not blame him. For Muthuswamy it had meant a beseeching of the hospital authorities to use ‘ONLY’ the lift for going up. There was nothing that said “Please use the stairs for going down”.

Nargis Natarajan.