Extract from Bandaged Moments: Stories of Mental Health by Women Writers from Indian Languages,
Edited by Nabanita Sengupta & Nishi Pulugurtha
Published by: Thornbird, an imprint of Niyogi Books,
Publication: 2025
***
The Smell of News
“Varthayude Gandham” by K.R. Meera
Translated from Malayalam by Sanju Thomas
***
It was a rotten smell. A stench like decaying flesh. Anna Santhosh Paul flared her nostrils that had been in service for 26 years and sniffed. Who could it be?
The smell was very faint. She inferred that it meant the body wouldn’t be found dead inside the house. Perhaps it was an old woman with a bedsore. Or else, even though less probable, a guard at some crematorium.
This smell belongs to one of these people—Anna decided as she marked out a space in the last edition page for the new bit of news. Then she waited impatiently for the one who would bring the news to answer the security’s questions, get the pass and come up the stairs.
Anna decided that when he would come up, as usual without even lifting her head, she would point to the chair and ask him to sit. If you looked at him sideways at that time you could see an astonished look on his face. An astonishment that said how did you get to know of my visit without lifting your face or without I making a sound by clearing the throat. Anna would pretend she hadn’t seen it. She is used to this amazed look on Santhosh’s face.
That was a different time. Those days Anna would hurry up and finish the third edition before 3 o’ clock. From the other side of the News Room would first come the faint scent of Park Avenue shaving lotion and then quietly Santhosh, having finished the night editor’s work, rubbing his sleep-laden eyes. Without turning her head from the computer screen or raising her head, Anna would say, ‘There’s coffee in the flask.’
This was a big surprise for Santhosh in the initial days of their marriage. How do you get to know I had come without raising your head, was his question. Then Anna would turn her head to look at Santhosh and say lovingly, ‘That’s nose for news…’
Anna scratched her nose involuntarily. Then that smell returned. Anna knew that smell was near the counter where the pass was issued after the questions by the security guards were answered. But she didn’t lift her head or look up. There were two reasons for this. First, she was old enough to understand that whatever was coming would come and would not tarry. Her 48th birthday was in the previous
month. Second, the deadline for the fourth edition was approaching. As far as an editor was concerned, nothing in life was as important as a deadline.
‘Give me a deadline…’ Santhosh used to say earlier even when he would be going to the market. ‘How late can I get?’
What life, what action can be meaningful without a deadline? Later, after Sunny was born, when scolded regarding not taking a bath or having food on time, he too would ask, ‘Okay, what’s my deadline?’
Anna felt an eagerness to finish the work soon. To be honest, don’t know why, but Anna’s last edition always gets delayed these days. Even today, there was nothing much to change in the fourth edition of the page. There were only a few minor changes such as ‘Thodupuzha Irulankunnel Suryakumar (22)’ of the first edition had to be replaced with ‘Kochi Thuralayil Vettikuzhiyil Sathyavan (88)’, the news of mythology writer Paravoor S. Sankaradas had to be changed and in its stead Irulomattam Devasya (74) had to be brought in, with a bold headline “The elder brother of New Episcopa”. These changes were done immediately after the second edition was released. She had thought of taking the laser print of the page and making corrections and that was exactly when that “Woman found dead” messed it up.
That news was just below Kanjiramattam Pancharak-kunnel Paulo. Fifth in the third column was Kanjiramattam. Above the news that said Pancharakkunnel Paulo (98) has passed away. Funeral today at 2 o’ clock in Kanjiramattam Puthan Church. Wife, Late Maria of Uppukuzhi Thekedathu. Children: Mathew (Late), Leelamma, Annamma. Children-in-law: Late Shosha (former district sessions judge), Late Alexander (Retd. Chief Engineer, PWD), Napoleon (former DCC Gen. Secretary), she had drawn a box of 2.5 cm length and 2.5 cm width, and had nailed Paulo there. Paulo sat there obediently in the first and second editions (suffering from severe diabetes towards the end, his body would lacerate with every touch that would later swell with pus and his last years were spent in the care of home nurses who would mouth expletives straight to his face). At some point, when Anna’s attention wavered, Paulo unscrewed the nails and jumped out. And then he laid the ‘found dead’ bit in that place.
Anna, without even looking at the watch, knew that the deadline was close. Within 7–8 years of joining this job, Anna had learnt how to work without looking at the watch. Setting deadlines was a habit. She got terribly distressed if the page did not get done by that time. A distress as if death was imminent and you were deprived of water.
Anna felt like having some water. She remembered, even when she tried not to, that earlier Santhosh used to pour out coffee around this time. Santhosh would sit on one of the chairs for the visitors who would bring news and pour the coffee out. Anna would keep one hand on the keyboard and take the cup with her other hand. Sipping the coffee, they would discuss about serious and silly things including house expenses, home loan and Sunny’s studies between 3 o’ clock when the third edition would be closed and 4 o’ clock when the last edition would be put to bed. Anna would correct the page of the fourth edition while talking. Santhosh might glance through the laser prints and point out some mistakes.
While placing the ‘Departed’ Veeran Koya of VM Manzil on the top of the page, Anna would ask: ‘I forgot to soak rice and urud for tomorrow’s breakfast. Bread will do, right?’
And reading the laser print Irezha Lakshmikutty’s (90) funeral today, Santhosh would say: ‘I just remembered… Ammachi’s ayurvedic ointment is over. Please remind me tomorrow…’ While she wrote the headline Municipal Health Standing Committee Chairman found dead to the news item ‘Departed’, post proofing, Santhosh might share a joke that he heard at the Main Desk. Struggling to control her laughter, Anna’s hand might slip and mess with the brackets of the Chairman’s daughters.
By the time Anna released the last edition and sent word to pre-press, Santhosh would have gone downstairs and kick-started the frozen bike. They would rush home braving the cold wind, and if it were monsoon time, the piercing rain drops of the morning. When they reached home shivering, Santhosh would plant a kiss on sleeping Sunny’s forehead saying something like, ‘Poor thing! What does he know about the troubles of a journalist couple trying to run a home,’ and topple onto the bed.
***
Bios:
Nishi Pulugurtha is an academic, author, poet, editor and translator. She writes short stories, poetry, on travel and non-fiction and has published works in them apart from several academic writings. Her recent work is a co-edited volume of translations – Bandaged Moments (Niyogi Books, 2025). A book on food and a fourth volume of poems are forthcoming.
A translator, creative writer and academician Nabanita Sengupta has 2 books of translation to her credit A Bengali Lady in England and Chambal Revisited and 2 more works of translations are forthcoming. She also has a couple of edited anthologies of critical essays on gender and South Asia, an anthology of poetry and an edited anthology of poetry. Her writings have been published in various journals and anthologies. Her recently published book is a co-edited anthology of English translations of Indian short stories written by women on mental health.
