What we talk about when we talk about Thokumaster

I fell in love with Thoku the moment I saw him. It was in May last year. He was sleeping on the roof of a car parked outside the building I was shortly going to move into. I thought meeting Thoku was a happy sign. Thoku and I connected instantly. It was easy and felt natural. Since then, off and on, I have been meeting Thoku every other evening around nine or so on my way out or on my way into the building. Usually we hang out for a bit.

Thoku is a fighter. But no ordinary one, beware! He fights for love. Which is why, perhaps, he has the airs of a blue-blooded trade union leader. He is fastidious and seldom boring. He could well be living in a Haruki Murakami novel. I began calling him Thokumaster (out of respect) the day I realised he sired most of the cats in my building. Every night when the world sleeps, Thokumaster fights. If he wins he gets to make love to a mate of his choice. He is that sort of a tomcat if you know what I mean.

As a teen growing up in Delhi I was a wannabe fighter and a wannabe sex god. I would get into a lot of fights but things rarely got serious. Compared to the boys in my school and around my neighbourhood, I was very far from the real action. I never used a baseball bat, a knife, a hockey stick, a cricket stump, steel knuckles, cycle chains or the ubiquitous Delhi weapon – the iron rod in the boot of the car.

As a result, I was distanced from the real pain too. A senior in my school remained in coma for almost a year after being injured in a group fight. In this sense, I was always a wannabe fighter. On the sex god front too, matters rarely got serious and I was quite distant from the real action. To compensate, I consumed pornography and other literary supplements but I remain (to this day) a wannabe sex god.

Thokumaster, my hero, on the other hand, is no wannabe. He’s the real thing. I look up to him. He inspires me. It’s not tough for me to imagine Thokumaster intimidating his sexual rivals. I can see him taking his time raising his fur and arching his back. Slowly, second by second, Thokumaster increasing his apparent size; pulling his ears down and filling his eyes with a jealous fury.

Like me, Thokumaster has his moods. Mostly when he’s rejected. Day before yesterday, he refused to acknowledge my presence. For a moment I wondered if I was responsible for his misery. Ever since I came into the picture, he’s had the added burden of being my hero, I thought. I looked at Thokumaster. He was licking his wounds.

I have never seen Thokumaster in action. In love or in war. When he wins, he shows off his cuts and bruises as if they were love bites. When he disappears for a few days, I know Thokumaster let the best tomcat win. Thokumaster has the courage (and grace) to run away with dignity which is why a furiously bitten ear or an annoying scratch on the face is all he ever ends up with. A broken heart but no broken bones.

Sometimes I don’t see him for days and then suddenly he’s back. Nonchalantly perched atop a car. His eyes betraying the haggard wistfulness of a career lover. His heart numbed by the shock of defeat. His body looking for a younger mate.

Mayank Tewari is a writer
mayankis@gmail.com