“We used to call him Sathu. When he was little, he was like a water buffalo. The way he would splash around in the Nagaramman tank! He always muddied the water and ruined it for everyone. No one else could enjoy a decent bath. People complained to me. So one day, I took matters in my hands, and I grabbed him by the ear and dragged him out of the pond. ‘How could you twist my ear?’ he protested. I said to him, ‘Don’t waste your breath. I know you, and I also know your father.’ Apparently, he went straight to his father and complained about me. You know what his father said? ‘Valli from the municipality? He is close to our family! He did the right thing!’ You see, Padmanabhapuram Iyer and I were classmates at the Malayalam school when we were young. In those days, Iyer used to cheat a lot in the exams. He’d copy the answers from me. ‘Valli, Valli, show me the answer, come on . . . ,’ he’d say, nudging me on the knee until it felt sore . . .”

“You have really gone off topic.”

“I have not gone anywhere. You called his son ‘Janardhanan’ formally, like he is some stranger. That’s why I told you that story. Even these days, when he is out somewhere, decked in his black party colors, he shouts out to me, ‘Hey, Vallinayagam Pillai! It still hurts where you twisted my ear that day!’” Valli laughed, and Chairman M. C. Joseph joined in.

When the peon entered the office, Valli rose hurriedly from the stool, unwilling to be seen sitting in front of his superior. “I hear they smashed the plants on their way out. Go take care of that,” the chairman said to the peon, who went back out. Valli sat down again.

“Where was I?” he asked.

“You were talking about that fellow.”