Murthy's Curry

“Hey! Murthy! My meat got problem or what? You cut down order by half, one week already, but I see your place still so crowded. You ordering from someone else, is it? Come, brother, got problem we talk man-to-man lah… After all, we two friends, like brothers some more, do business together so many years already… Right?” Samy shouted to be heard above the traffic on Race Course Road – the chic stretch for Indian restaurants in Singapore.

Murthy was sweating visibly under the sweltering heat of a typical Singapore noon. A drop of sweat trickled its way down into an eye that stared into a blankness in his mind; it did not blink. The eyes, devoid of life, chilled Samy.

“Dey! Guru! You listen or not?” asked Samy. He called Murthy by the name that stuck with the expatriate crowd of curry lovers. Gurumurthy he was named at birth, but everyone simply called him ‘Murthy’. That was the name he wanted to use when he struck out on his own, but there was already a namesake Indian restaurant along Race Course Road. So, reluctantly, he used ‘Guru’ instead – ‘Guru’s South Indian Cuisine’. And, with that, the ‘Guru’ of curries was born. The little restaurant grew from one little shop house on Race Course Road, to occupy three adjoining shop houses. With the addition of air-conditioning and uniformed, turbaned serving staff, the ‘Guru’ was propelled into the “major league of Indian restaurateurs”, or so said the food pages in the Singapore Times.

This was not bad for someone with only a primary school education, as local success stories went. Murthy learnt the restaurant business from the ground up, by being a cook’s assistant to Shivakumar (or Kumar, as his customers called him), who ran an eatery in a small back lane in Little India, that stretch along Serangoon Road where the early Indian migrants congregated and established a local community. Murthy was only fourteen then but he came into his element at that little eatery. His uncanny ability to unlock the secrets of the spices that went into the curries allowed Kumar’s little eatery to evolve into a small restaurant, which Murthy managed when he was only nineteen.

“Come lah Murthy, we friends, kawan-kawan… since primary school, you let one woman come between us… is it?” wailed Samy.

Kumar had no sons, only one daughter, Poorni, a rare fair-skinned beauty, whom Murthy worshipped. But she wanted nothing to do with him. What she did not realise was how dependent her father had become on Murthy. It was a leverage Murthy used, with a sizable dowry, to secure Poorni’s hand in marriage. But, even after marriage, Poorni still wanted “nothing to do with that cook!”

As Samy waited for Murthy to say something, anything, a group of six arrived and joined others already waiting outside the restaurant for an empty table. Samy could not help but notice the crowd…

They were childhood friends who were schooled in the back alleys of Singapore’s Little India. Murthy found his forte in curries, while Samy joined the ranks of the merchants along Serangoon Road, or rather his father roped him into the family business as a delivery boy when he exhibited no aptitude for school. Samy soon discovered that in a community made up of merchants, viciousness thrived just below the veneer of cordiality used to conduct business. But their rankled sense of Vedic justice could easily be soothed with the balm of gossip; a balm Samy collected as he made his deliveries on a bicycle, for no one thought discretion was required in the presence of a boy and his bicycle. The balm served Samy well. He discovered it could just as easily crack as heal that skin of cordiality; either way he managed to turn a profit. This discovery further greased his industry when he took over the family business and grew it.

“Aiyoh, the powders! Anything also taste good. Some more in Murthy’s hands… sure sedap, delicious, one! No need to talk!” said the spice merchant who supplied spices to Murthy. He could not help following that up by telling Samy the exact quantity and quality of the spices ordered. Murthy was on Samy’s mind early that same morning, while toting up the invoices from his abattoir – one of his many interests. He realised ‘Guru’s’ had been reducing its orders substantially over the last two weeks. Samy learnt enough about curries from Murthy to do a quick mental calculation and realise that the quantity of spices far outstripped that required for the quantity of meat ordered from him.

Sure one! Murthy order from another supplier! Who? Maybe he blame me for what happened…? Aiyah! That Lingam! Got money not enough, want to play with people’s wife some more!

He talked Murthy into investing in his textile mill, as a partner, in their native township of Chennai, India. Business boomed soon after that, the economic miracle that was Singapore sprouted a new found affluence, and the demand for saris had never been higher, all the more so when Samy started an internet shopping portal, catering to overseas Indians. Murthy was happy that the venture was working out well but Samy wanted more; there was a market out there that he felt had not been fully exploited. They needed a bigger factory in Chennai, he reasoned, and that was when he got Lingam, a businessman from Chennai, interested in joining them. Lingam knew how to get the necessary permits by circumventing the intricacies of the Indian bureaucracy.

When Lingam met Murthy and Poorni, he could not keep his eyes off Poorni. Perhaps her playful eyes and barely concealed smiles had something to do with it too. Lingam’s visits to Singapore became more frequent, more than needed to transact business. Maybe Samy should have seen it sooner; he was well schooled in the ways of the male libido, he had another family in Chennai. But the talk of the potential profits from the new factory that accompanied Lingam’s visits always obliterated all other thoughts.

And, suddenly, they disappeared without a trace.

A few frantic calls to Lingam’s family – he was married and had two sons and a daughter – were only to find out that he was not back yet. It has been three weeks since their disappearance and they have not showed up anywhere in Chennai.

But India such a big place, and Lingam do business all over Tamil Nadu… must be enjoying himself and thinking what to say to his wife first… But, that Murthy, don’t know he man or what? Where got problem? If need wife, just go down to Chennai, any amount also can find. Young girls dying to get married, their families willing to pay big dowry some more, not like Singapore. If Murthy want, just say, I can arrange everything. No need to look like want to die like that yah…?

“Come on Murthy, not the money lah… We friend since children, why like that now?” said Samy, just in case Murthy thought his visit was purely commercial. Murthy’s taciturnity after Poorni’s disappearance, and his subsequent withdrawal from all and sundry irked him, but not as much as him now switching suppliers.

You are not the only one who lost something. How about me? That stupid factory burn a big hole in my pocket already! Where is that bastard Lingam?

The new factory in Chennai was only half built and the permits had not come through yet. If Lingam did not turn up soon, it would be money down the drain. Now with Murthy switching supplier, the calculator that he had for a brain rang out the future potential loss. The spice merchant also related what he heard from one of ‘Guru’s’ kitchen hands during his deliveries. Since his wife’s disappearance, Murthy had taken over the kitchen, slaving over the pots of curry like he did when he was working for Kumar, personally cooking the curries for sale the next day. And it was the best curries the ‘Guru’ produced so far. The kitchen staff left him alone; they felt it was good therapy for the boss and they wished him a long and slow recovery.

“Gurumurthy, you listen or not? I sorry about that bastard Lingam…ok? But serious, you too good for her. Forget her… you want, I arrange for you, meet someone in Chennai, find someone better…” Murthy blinked at the mention of Lingam’s name and his eyes focused on Samy.

“Don’t talk like that Samy, tell you what, go in for lunch, on me. I serve you best curry I made… Ok? Promise, my best curry… ever!”

And Samy feasted on what was undoubtedly the best curry Murthy had made so far. There was even light bantering between them during the meal, all seemed forgotten as they relived their childhood escapades again.

“Look, Samy, I know you feel bad about that bastard Lingam ok? Don’t worry, everything ok now,” said Murthy, after Samy finished his meal.

“So who you ordering from now Murthy? Come lah… you can tell me, we work out a better deal yah?” Samy let his eagerness get the better of him. Murthy just smiled and shook his head.

“OK, don’t talk now, we talk tomorrow… ok?” again Murthy just smiled and nodded. “Ok, then see you tomorrow,” said Samy as he left.

The police called on Samy the next morning.

They were hoping Samy might shed some light on their gruesome find last night: the dismembered remains of Poorni and Lingam were found in the deep freezer of Murthy’s restaurant, with huge slabs of flesh cleanly sliced off and missing. The police puzzled over how the remains were being disposed, as Murthy just admitted to the double murder and taciturnity descended on him again after that.

Samy felt his bile rise and he could not make it to the toilet in time.