A Trek to Duke’s Nose

This is not the way Anand wanted to cheer Neha up. He thought sitting with Neha in the wooden bench below the photo of Gandhiji wearing big rimmed round glasses and smiling towards them. Samir, Pooja and Rajat sat beside him. They had no clues why they were in the police station in this wee hour of the day. Neha looked tired; her beautiful eyes were red and seemed to bulge out with dark circles around them. Anand placed her head to his shoulder so that she can sleep. He looked outside the window. He could see dawn setting in slowly, his mind wandering over the incidents earlier that day.

“Hey guys, do you know Neha is in town now?” Anand came sulking inside the gloomy rented house.

Samir and Rajat sat in their shorts and vests trying to cool themselves in the hot Saturday morning in mid of May. The lack of fresh air and outside heat made the room stuffier than it actually was.

“So that is why you are running around since morning.” Rajat teased Anand but Anand was in no mood for fun now. He was serious and that made Rajat think twice before proceeding further.

“She is supposed to be in Hyderabad for her new job.  Is something wrong with her? “Samir asked Anand.

“Actually there is a bad news.” Anand started slowly, sinking his fat butt in the bean bag. “She got pink slip due to this bloody recession”.  He sulked as if he had got the pink slip. Everyone fell quiet. There was total silence in the room with screeching noise of the fan breaking it in constant interval. Nobody knew what to say.

Rajat tried to break the silence “She joined just one month back and she has been such a high performer. How could they do this?”

Rajat’s sympathetic tone made Anand break down. He banged his fist against the wall and shouted.

“I tell you. These IT companies are bastards. They just have no human emotion. They need cheap workers not employees.”

Anand’s eyes full of rage.  “She left such a nice paying job to join this supposedly big fortune 500 firm thinking she will have a nice future there. Those fuckers have thrown her out citing that they do not need her any more. Just a month back they pestered her everyday to join the company. Bloody pimps!!”   Thinking about Neha made him sad and angry at the same time.

Samir patted Anand’s back. “Don’t worry. I know how you feel for Neha. She will surely get some new job soon.”

Rajat tried to lighten up the environment “What say buddies. Let’s go out somewhere. You will feel better Anand”

Anand tried to hide his emotion “Let’s plan something for Neha. Something crazy which will make her feels good”

“Yep. Sure. We are always game. But hundred fucking American dollar question. WHAT?” Rajat spoke in his half Gujrati half faking American accent that brought smile in Anand’s face.

“Let’s go to Duke’s nose for a night trek. That would be fun and different. The thrill would make Neha forget everything. Ask Pooja if she can come? That would make Neha comfortable with us as well.”  Anand said.

“If I am not mistaken this is a peak on the Sahyadri hills range which resembles like a ‘nose’. There is a temple on top of it as well called as Chinnamastika temple. It is a temple of an avatar of Kali with no head and two streams of blood gushing from the throat which two other demon one on each side drinking it. The trek itself will be quite hard through the dense jungle.” Samir said.

“Ooops. That’s a killer idea. Anand and Neha and Samir and Pooja. Jungle mein Mangal. To add to the thril we have a Chinnamastika Tample. “Rajat winked.

“You are such a fucker, Raji” Samir kicked Rajat’s butt. “Anand has not yet proposed Neha. So technically they are not a couple.”

It was 8:00 clock in night when they started in Samir’s old Maruti 800 car and within minutes they touched the highway oblivion of the destiny that awaits them. They had stacked the car boot with beer bottles. Samir was driving with Pooja beside him. Neha, Anand and Rajat were sitting in the back seat. Anand saw Neha from corner of his eyes. She looked beautiful at any point of the day; just today her eyes were unusually red. She sat silently looking outside the window. The wind was blowing her hair and couple of streaks were touching Anand’s face. She wore a dark jeans and a tight sleeveless kurta accentuating her slim figure.

“Hey Neha, what happened exactly. Did they give any reason for this?” Rajat started the conversation. Anand wanted to hit Rajat for asking this question but he kept quite.

“No Rajat. They just said the project I was allocated got scrapped and that is why they do not need me any more. I asked them to put me in some other project but manager replied saying no other project is available at this moment and they are not in a position to maintain any bench strength.” She got a lump in her throat while finishing the last line and instinctively held Anand’s palm.

Anand wanted to kiss Rajat for asking this question but he felt bad for Neha. He shouted at top of his voice trying to create the party atmosphere.

“Guys!!! No more questioning on this topic. Today is the night to live life to the fullest.” Then turning back to Neha he said slowly. “And I do not want you to cry tonight. You have done enough of that before. Now it is the time to enjoy and rest we will think later.”

Neha smiled “Thanks Anand. You are always there for me.”

They reached the base of the hill within 2 hours and parked the vehicle in a Dhaba outside the jungle. They started trekking through the jungle to reach the Duke’s nose. The jungle was getting denser as they ventured into it. The noise from the highway slowly faded away and all they could hear was different kind of insects sound. While they trek upwards, Neha pointed to something on the other side of the hill. It was a beautiful lake gleaming in the full moon light. The water droplets glittered like precious stones of hidden treasure of some forgotten Raja.

“Shall we go down to that lake” Neha asked slowly.

“Woooow” Pooja said. “Let’s go”. They started descending in the direction of the lake when Rajat saw an old mud laden board. It said. “Trespassers will be prosecuted”                                                              

“What the Fuck!” Rajat laughed. “Now who the hell has put this up here!!!”

“Hey wait, Should we go there? This does not seem right” Samir said hesitantly.

“Hey don’t be a spoilsport. Nothing will happen and by the way whose property this jungle could be? Lets go” Anand said enthusiastically.

Neha had asked something for the first time in the entire trip and there was no way Anand could not let that happen. They ignored the warning and went ahead.

They reached the lake and started playing with the water. Suddenly they were alarmed by sounds of boot rushing towards them. Before they could realise, they were surrounded by highly armed police force.

“Freeze!!! Stop where ever you are or we will shoot!!!”

They froze. Not because they followed the instruction but more because they could not comprehend what was going on. One Police Officer, with lots of stars in his shirt came and searched everyone. He did not even leave the ladies and that made Anand shout at the policeman. Next thing he realized, he was lying in the mud screaming in pain holding his stomach. The police had punched him so hard that he felt he would never be able to breathe again. Fear groped their eyes.  The Police Officer shouted again.

“Take them to the Police station”. They stuffed each of them in the police vehicle and took them in a shady police station in the village. The only out of order thing in the two room police station was the ironically smiling photo of Gandhiji hanging on the wall, everything else including the furniture bore the grumpy look.

“Sir, we are innocent sir. We have not done anything. We came just for trekking sir” Anand thought saying sir in each line might please them but nothing like that happened.

“Trekking?? You are all terrorists.” One hefty policeman, who constantly chewed something in his mouth shouted. It was difficult to tell whether it was just Pan or something else. He had kept three of his shirt button open to show off his hairy chest and a locket hanging in his neck.

“No sir. Please believe us. We are not terrorists. We work in decent companies” Anand tried to take out his company badge which by mistake was still in his pant pocket. The hefty police snatched the badge from his hand and looked intently. He alternatively looked towards Anand and the badge to make sure, he is the same person. His face softened a little and for the first time Anand thanked his forgetfulness.

“Where are these people’s badges?”

“Sir we all are from decent family and work in good companies. We just came here for night trekking to Duke’s nose. We wanted to visit the temple. The chinnamastika temple.” Samir said trying to cover up for their inability to show the badges.

They were not sure whether it was Chinnamastika temple or the badge but it surely had an effect on the policeman. He asked all five of them to sit down in the bench available in the room and left the room along with other accomplices. They waited and waited and waited some more, but no one came.

Anand saw his watch. It was 5:30 am and he could see the glimpse of sun from the window. They were tired and hungry. Anand thought of all the beers he had stacked in the car boot, all the fun he had planned for the evening. He got a lump in his throat thinking about the incident. He felt extreme guilt for coming up with the idea of trekking. He looked at Neha’s face. She was sleeping like a child with her head on his shoulder.  Sun rays were falling on her face and he felt she looked like an angel. He wanted to caress her face but he did not do it lest it wake her up. Suddenly there were lot of chaos in the police station. They brought in set of people who wore torn jeans and khakhi shirt with red scarf tied to their heads. The Police Officer, who had hit Anand, came towards them. He wore a broad grin in his face which made him look quite different and pleasant than how he looked few hours ago.

“Sorry guys. You people became victim of the situation. We were doing combing operation of the area for naxalites and mistaken you for them. Later we realized that you people are not the one we are looking for. Even then we could not release you as these are dangerous peoples. They were fully armed and had we released you, we could have run into a situation where they capture you make you as a human guard. It has happened before. So you understand we had to be strict and cautious. You people are free to go now”

They looked each other in relief. They came out of the police station thanking the officer.

“What do we do now? Back to home?” Samir asked everyone.

“No. We have come so far for our duke’s nose trek and we will finish it and go. What say guys?” Anand looked expectantly towards everyone.

“I have already lost my job and I do not want to be a loser again. We have come for the trek and we will finish and go” Neha said smiling towards Anand. “Just before that I need a cup of tea”

Everyone laughed and carried on with the trek.

Cricket in the Park

I have always been intrigued by Hindi films which show hero fighting multiple villains single handedly. In my free time I used to imagine myself as a hero saving some cute looking girl from the villain and later bask in the glory when people praise me for my bravery. However, rules of life are little different in reality.

It would have been a nondescript day, like any other day had been in the summer of 99 in Malviya Nagar, Delhi. The scorching heat always has a curfew effect on Delhi forcing everyone to be indoors in the morning hours, but by evening, roads will be bustling with activities. In the evening people of all age crowded the park. The old take stroll for their health, women to enhance their gossip knowledge, young boys roamed around looking for girls, girls giggle to tease those boys and kids play around laughing and shouting. We were also playing cricket in one of the corner of the park. It was my turn to bowl and Rohit was on the crease. This was the last over and they needed 4 runs to win with just 1 wicket in hand. Everyone in my team gave me a pleading look to take the last wicket somehow and win the match. I bowled with full intensity and Rohit just smashed it. The ball was nearing the virtual boundary line and we were going to lose the match. Suddenly a stranger appeared from no where and picked up the ball before it could cross the line. I was happy thinking it was not a four but soon my happiness faded away.
“Abe haramiyon…yahan nahin khel sakte” A hefty man with bulldog like face came towards us. He was wearing loose faded jeans which hung on his waist like a curtain. His shirt was not tucked and had couple of buttons open showing his chest hair which were as big as hair on his head.
“You bastards can’t play here!!!” He shouted again with a harsh coarse voice.

Rohit asked “What has happened, Uncle? We are just playing here and doing nothing”

He did not bother to answer Rohit. He started showering us with all kind of abuses and making gestures at us to move away from the ground. All we could understand was for some reason best known to him; we were not allowed to play in that part of the park.
Whatever be the case, it was a fact that he was alone and we were eleven young boys and we had the confidence of taking on anyone. So we started retaliating and abusing him back in his own words. That angered him more and he picked up one of the stump and threw it to us. It missed Rohit. Rohit picked up the same stump and threw it back at him and it hit his forehead. May be the surface area played the trick here. Rohit was a thin boy like me. The man’s forehead started bleeding and that was enough to scare us. We started running helter skelter. I took a turn on the road beside the park but an old man with silky white hair caught me. He was bigger than the man in the park and had similar grimacing look on his face. He dragged me to the middle of the park and threw me on one of the bench. I hurt my knees and it pained but as soon as I took my eyes up, my physical pain vanished an emotional pain engulfed me. Each and every balcony of the apartments surrounding the park was filled with people who were looking towards me. It felt as if I am a thief and waiting for a collective thrashing from the crowd. I looked around to search for my group but no one could be found. They would not risk being in the park else they would also join me on this cemented bench.

The fellow with bleeding forehead came toward me. The stump was still in his hand and that made me worry about my own forehead, but the crowd around gave me a certain sense of protection. At least he can not hit when everyone is watching.

“Call Police!! We will hand over this bastard to them. He will help us catch others as well” Shouted the old man with silky hair.

I could feel a lump in my throat. To avoid tears I started concentrating on what they were saying. The old man was the father of the fellow whose head we had broken.

Police came down, handcuffed me and took me to the police station. The guy with bleeding forehead, the old man with silky hair and many more old people, also came behind me to the police station.

“Thrash this guy. He had broken my sons head.” The old man with silky hair shouted.

A police inspector, whose badge read “Mr Akhilesh Tomar”, picked me up by my collar and peered into my eyes and asked “What did you do.”

“I have not done anything sir. I have not broken his head.” I was about to cry.

I do not know whether it was my 40Kg thin frame, my innocent face or my cry ridden voice, he felt pity on me and left me.

“Where do your parents stay? Give me their number.”

“They are not in Delhi sir, they are from Ranchi. We do not have a phone at home. I have to write a letter to them”

“Mr Ahluwalia” said the police officer. “Shall I book a case against them?”

The stupid police was referring to that villain as Mr. and me who have not done anything, he wanted to slap me.

“I know you have not done this.” The man whose head we had broken said, pointing his finger to his bandaged forehead. His voice was little sympathetic. I wondered why.

“Tell me the name of the boy and we will let you go” He said.

“I have not seen who threw the stump in the chaos. I can tell name of all the people who were playing there.” I do not know why I tried to save Rohit that day. He was not a good friend of mine and always used to bully me.

“Take us to the places where you stay.”

I took them to the apartment where we were staying but no one was there. My friends had already heard about my arrest and fled from the area. I was taken back to the police station and asked to sit in the bench along with a pimp, a thief and a good looking guy who deals in fake currency. I watched entire proceedings of other cases with Inspector Tomar shouting at fixed intervals. I guess they need to shout to be taken seriously. I was wondering what they were planning for me. Not a single person came and rescued me from the hell hole. They neither allowed me to go home nor do they put me behind the bars. I saw people who were inside the lockup and imagined how it would be to be with those people. I also thought about my parents and what they will go through when they hear about all this. I sat there for hours even when other people had left the police station. Later my friends arranged a guy who was not playing with us to come to the police station and find out about me. He brought cash with him which was enough to make Inspector Tomar happy.
He stuffed the money in his pocket and said “Mr Ahluwalia is a big shot in this area. Do not take panga with them. I suggest you convince all your friends to go to his house and say sorry. They are local gangster but still they are good at heart. They will forgive you people” I wanted to laugh at the irony of his words but didn’t say anything.

Later in the night we all went to Mr Ahluwalia’s house. I was ahead of everyone.

“Sir, I have brought all my friends. We are really sorry for what has happened. It was totally unintentional.” I said in single breath.

The old man with silk hair called us inside and asked as to sit and offered some roohafza. He later said.

“You are a brave kid. No one in this whole area dare to cross our roads. But I am impressed with you. I know you knew the name of the boy who did it but you did not disclose it. I do not want to know who he is now. We will forget everything and take the charges back. But do not play in that side of the park. We park our cars in front of it. Once a boy had broken one window. We later broke his legs.” He said in nonchalant manner which forced me to think whether breaking legs were that easy.

We finished our roohafza and came out of the house, relieved and tired. Next day when I, along with 2 other boys, walked into the chat shop that we used to frequently visit, it was busier than usual. There was a long queue and we waited for our turn. The shop owner saw us and went to one of the table and said something to the people sitting there. Suddenly 3 people got up from the table and asked us to sit there. We sat down and while they left the place, we overheard them.

“This is the boy who challenged Mr Ahluwalia and still he managed to be out of police custody in hours. He is so young but still had the courage to take on Mr Ahluwalia’s family. He must be having backing from a bigger gangster. It’s better to treat him good.”

Her Quondam Lover (Part 1)

Kishore’s room bathed in the basking glory of the gleaming sun and the freshness of the morning that made him happy. He pulled a chair from his study to the balcony and wanted to concentrate on the day’s edition of “The Telegraph”. He could not as his mind wandering over the success or failure of his recent book that released a month back. He had still not heard anything from the publisher yet.

Trrrrriiing…….Trrrrrrriiing.

“Who could be at this hour?” He thought while getting up from his chair.

“Hello”

Mr Bose from Falcon publishing house was on the line. They had been generous enough to publish Kishore’s much coveted writing.

“Mr Mukherjee.” Mr Bose’s enthusiastic voice made Kishore a little anxious. Kishore didn’t realize but his heart beat increased suddenly and body went stiff.

“Yes Mr Bose. Tell me”

“Congratulations…Good News Sir… Your book is getting awesome response. All the copies have already been sold out, and the major book shops are asking for reprint.”

Kishore felt his body relaxing after the news. His heart beat coming to normal.

“Ohh that is great news. Thanks Mr Bose for telling me this. I was little anxious about the result.”

“Yes Yes. I can understand Mr Mukherjee and that’s why, the first thing I did is, call you after getting the news.”

“Ohh Thank you. It was really nice of you.”

“Mr Mukherjee…I have another reason as well. Can you come down to our office today? Falcon publishing house wants to take this relationship a little further with some more projects with you.”

“Ohh sure…I will be there in another hour or two.”

Kishore put the receiver down after saying bye. He felt the morning was even more beautiful. He went to the balcony and sat down wanting to savour the moment. He could see his long cherished dream coming true. He checked the calendar. It was16^th, all his important days in his life was on 16^th. He smiled at the thought even though he was not a superstitious person.

Just when he was about to leave, a postman came and dropped a postcard on his door.

He picked it up and checked the address.

16, Mitra House.

Behala

He turned the postcard to find just two lines in small and girlish handwriting.

How are you? Remember Me?

Piyali Roy (Mitra)

He felt a sudden blankness in his heart. A face came up in front of his eyes. But mind always think in terms of possibilities and he being a rational person himself, discarded the thought. But then who if not her? He had never known any other Piyali Roy in his entire life.

He kept the postcard in his pocket and left for Falcon publishing house.

On his way back home, he bought couple of postcards, even though he was not sure of replying. He found himself replying that very night.

I think I know you, but not very sure. Are you from Jadavpur High School?

Regards,

Kishore Mukherjee.

After two days, when he returned home in the evening saw another postcard lying in front of his door.

Yes I am the same Piyali. Thank you so much that you still remember me. It’s been too long a time to remember someone. So how are you doing lately?

–Piyali

He could not stand in the room any more, his entire body sweating profusely. Kishore went and stood in the balcony staring at the sky. The full moon shined brightly lighting up the otherwise dark and dull Baranagar area. He re read those two lines multiple times in the moonlight. He could still feel the emotions that he felt 10 years ago. It seemed as if a hot cake was baked and buried deep inside the ground 10 years ago in a safe box. Someone poured loads and loads of sand on top of it to hide it from the normal view. Now suddenly it has been dug out of the ground. The cake is still fresh and hot now as it was at that time.

The beautiful face with broad soft cheeks and long curled hair hovered in front of his eyes. Piyali Roy was the moon of Jadavpur High school, as beautiful and bright as the real one. After so many years he can still feel himself like those tiny dots in the sky trying to possess a slice of the moon but too small and insignificant to matter.

Kishore was in class 8^th when he first saw her. She came to his class to meet one his fellow classmate.

He had liked her at once but never did he realised then that her beautiful gleaming eyes and bright smile was there to stay with him for years to come. He was a small thin timid guy who could never muster enough courage to speak to her and in last he left the school after his class 10^th and when she was in class 9^th.

Years after when he tried to enquire about her, found, she had already been married. He had felt the pain, a kind of emptiness in his heart that day but went along with his life totally forgetting her in due course till that day when he got her postcard.

That night standing on his balcony he again felt the aroma of his first love.

Next day he replied again.

Yes I do remember you. Just that never thought of getting a postcard from you though. It was really nice to hear from you after so many years. Hope you are well and happy in your life.

–Kishore

It’s been a week now, and each day after returning home he would look for a postcard. He would reiterate the words he had written and try to analyse each and every line for its meaning and hidden meanings. He could not find anything wrong with what he wrote, but there was a delay in the reply. He felt as anxious for a reply now as he used to feel for her sight years ago. She must be busy in her own house hold chores to care about Kishore and reply to his whimsy letter, he reasoned himself. Next day, after returning to his home in the evening he found another postcard lying in front of his door.

I am good and married for past 8 years. How are aunt and your sister? Hope they are doing well. It’s been such a long time. Thanks to your publisher who gave me your address and other details. I read your book. It was awesome. I really liked it. I saw your pic behind your book. Gosh you have not changed at all. Still the same.

Take care

Piyali

He was surprised by the fact that she noticed him and knew him and his family as well. He was blithely elated by the very thought of getting accepted of his existence by an angelic figure, a seraphic beauty whom he had never imagined would consider him to be a part of her lovely world even if in just some passing thoughts.

Now that he knows that she knew him, his heart filled with joy thinking she had read her book and appreciated it as well. A fact that boosted his confidence more than the contract of next three projects with falcon publishers.

That night he tried writing back to her, but could not get enough words to put on paper. He wanted to meet her, see her, and hear her and that too badly.

(Contd below….)

Her Quondam Lover (Part 2)

Next afternoon, he was searching for Mitra house 26, Behala road. It took couple of enquiries to figure our the Mitra house, a three storey building although little dilapidate with time, but still the grandeur of an bygone era spoke through those walls. He was not sure what he was doing, nor had any idea what he was going to say if someone opens the door.

 

He knocked the door. A female voice enquired.

“Key…?  Who is there??”

 

Kishore was relived hearing the voice; it was still the same, a soft soothing vox. He did not reply anything.

 

Piyali opened the door.

 

A girl of fifteen disguised in women of twenty five, those twinkling bright eyes, her cherub chicks, her soft curled lips and long flowing hair. Beauty has showered herself more on her with passing time. She was wearing a lemon yellow silk saree and that made her beauty bloom like flowers just after the monsoon.

 

“Hi….do you recognize me. Kishore”

 

“Hiiiiiiiiii…” Her face lightened up seeing Kishore.

 

“What a surprise. How could you find up the place. I was just thinking of you only, whether you got the postcard or not. Ohh sorry… sorry… Please…please come inside.”

 

Kishore went inside. Lavishness and prosperity was evident from every corner of the house. Well decorated room with artefact chosen with much care.

 

“It seems you have proved to be a great wife. I must say your choice is very good.”

 

Kishore remarked on her well decorated living room.

 

“I am just trying to be one. You have to ask my husband how much successful I am in that. Please have a seat. Let me get you some water. This place is quite far from your house and its quite hot outside.”

 

Kishore wanted to say, it did not matter how far her house is. He would have taken the pain to go to a totally different city also in case that was required. But he didn’t say anything.

 

“So tell me, how are you? It’s been such a long time that we met each other. A lot must have happened in your life. Tell me in details. ”

 

Piyali tried to start the conversation while handing him the glass of water.

 

“Nothing much, I left Jadavpur High school after 10^th and went to Delhi. After my graduation, I took up a job but my heart was always in writing. So eventually I quit my job and now I am a full time writer.”

 

 

“I loved your book. It is just awesome.” She said indicating the blue covered book on the shelf. He could see his own picture on the back side of the book. It took him days to finalize this picture to be published behind the book. He has seen it millions of times but today, the picture looked new to him. May be he saw it from her point of view.

 

The voice of Piyali awakened him.

 

“What happened, you got lost seeing your own picture” She giggled.

 

“You look really handsome in that pic. Many girls must have fallen for you after reading such a lovely story and more than that seeing such a handsome writer.”

 

Kishore blushed hearing all these. He wanted to change the topic.

 

“So you tell me something about you. About your life after I left.” Kishore said.

 

 “What you want to hear? My life has been quite simple. After you left, when I was in class 12^th my father died. It was a difficult time for us and our area being not that a good place; it became all the very difficult for my family. So my mother thought it would be better to marry me off and I married Rajat. It’s been eight long years now that I am married. That’s it. Nothing much in my life.”

 

A sadness gripped Piyali’s eyes speaking all these and she avoided gaze with Kishore.

 

“Hey I will bring you some ginger tea. I know you used to like it when you were in school. Not sure if you still have the same likings or it changed.”

 

Kishore was surprised to hear that.

 

“You noticed me so much that you know my choices as well!!!!!! I am really surprised and happy to hear that. No I do not change my likings so often. I still love the ginger tea”

 

“Then you are a lucky chap today. I will get you some home baked cake as well. Another thing that you loved like anything”

 

Piyali laughed and went to kitchen. Kishore felt a sense of pride and belonging speaking to her. He could not stop thinking about her and her words. It seemed little weird that they were chatting for the first time. It felt they knew each other from years and just they are catching up on their old days.

 

He got up from the chair and went to kitchen behind Piyali.

 

“So what your husband does? Yours in laws seems to be a quite rich family.”

 

“Yes that’s there. My father in law was a very successful barrister so being rich was easy to them. Rajat works for a multi national company as Vice President and naturally that keeps him busy as well.”

 

Kishore could feel sarcasm in her voice but didn’t say anything.

 

“So you tell, what’s happening in your life. When are you going to get married?”

 

Kishore blushed again but answered honestly.

 

“My Mom is looking for one but nothing has been finalised yet. Let’s see when anything materializes.”

 

They came to the drawing room with the tea and the cake. Suddenly Piyali asked something that startled both of them.

 

“So Kishore what made you bring here. You never spoke to me when we were in school?”

 

Kishore was taken aback by the question. He himself didn’t know what brought him here. All he knew was that he wanted to see her, talk to her now and say whatever he missed saying when he should have said them. But those things do not hold true now. She is happily married and there is no point saying all these now. Still he felt little tinge in his heart as if something is boiling inside. He felt a sudden courage in himself to say and do things that he had never thought of his forte.

 

He took out the cigarette from his pocket.

 

“Can I smoke?”

 

 

She picked the ashtray and put in front of him without saying anything. She constantly stared him and that made Kishore little nervous. He puffed nervously and the puff puffed his nerves.

 

Kishore looked down and said slowly, his voice trembling.

 

“I loved you a lot when I was in school and after so many years I still feel the same Piyali. I could not help but say this to you. I am sorry.”

 

The sound echoed in the entire room and then suddenly everything was silent. He could not take his head up and kept staring at her feet. She did not say anything. The silence prevailed and prevailed, god knows for how long. A tiny droplet of tear touched her feet. He looked up to see her eyes were red, and her cheek wet with teardrops. She was crying profusely. Her big bright eyes looked much bigger in the tear drops. He did not know what to say, and went near her and hold her hand. She cupped his palm so tightly that he felt her nails on his skin. They stayed like that for who knows how long, they could have stayed like that for years.

 

She looked at him, in his eyes.

 

“I tried to find out about you when you left the school. But no one knew about your whereabouts. I tried searching for you in all the colleges after my 12^th and when they wanted to marry me off. But then also I couldn’t find you. Finally after so many years, when I am married with a family of my own I saw your name in the book shop. I could not help but find out your address and write to you. I never thought you ever felt for me. I just wanted to speak to you once Kishore. I just wanted to find out how are you and what are you doing in life.”

 

Kishore hold her face in his palms and looked deep into her eyes. She continued.

 

“Why Kishore…why? Why you came back here now and said those things to me and making me go so weak now. I still love you Kishore. I could never love anyone as much as I loved you.”

 

Tears kept rolling down her dark eyes. Kishore felt his own eyes going wet. He recalled last time he cried was when he had left the school. They sat there embracing each other in silence.

 

It’s in the power of silence…that two souls can touch each other.

 

They touched each other that afternoon.

 

 

Abdul, The Cobbler (Part 1)

The big clock of the church at the street end stroked eleven. He was almost late for his daily routine but he showed no interest in making things faster, rather he immersed himself more in his morning prayers, convincing god with his last wish of the day. He had always loved to be in the house of god. A place that he considered to be his own apart from the small shop in the corner of the hustling market where he sit daily on the lacerated rag mending shoes, Abdul was a cobbler by profession.

Abdul wanted the clock to pace up the jangling sound it was making so that he can concentrate again on his arguments with god in the mosque. It still had a few rounds to complete for the count of eleven.

While he was a kid he thought he could be anything but a cobbler. He dreamt of being a cricketer, a film star like dharmendra or in worst case a businessman sitting at his desk giving instruction to his workers. But over his growing years he realized he could do no better than finding new ways of keeping a shoe live longer. He ended up taking his century old family tradition going over for one more generation. Now he feels the same agony for the ruptured leather pieces that any surgeon would have felt for the fleshes he comes across, and Abdul always satisfies his customers by showing surgeon like precision in his job.

Over the years, shoes have seized to be just a commodity for Abdul. They are the window through which he looked at the world. He was a mute spectator of the changing society through the change in the patterns of the shoe design. He could smell the prosperity of his client in the shoes that they wear. Black shiny soft leather smelt rich and over polished at times. Rugged shoes smelt of sweat and unwashed socks. Rich sandals with thin straps and high heels smelt of powder and cream, always fresh as if it was an extension of the owners own beautiful legs. Others smelt of cheap nail polishes and colours that they apply around the border of their feet. He showed equal interest to all kind of pairs and charged everybody the same. He felt, his service is equally important for the affluent and the needy. A man of principles who did not believed in cheating others for his own gains.

Prosperity for abdul was synonymous with the pair of shoes that anyone owns. He being a cobbler and connoisseur of shoes could not own a decent pair and that used to pain him more than anything else. He looked at his own pairs. It was nothing but a rubber sole with straps sewn over it. Strap for each foot was different. One was black and other brown, but it did not matter as long as it was doing its job.

Abdul once went to the most posh shoe store in the main market of the town, one that housed shoes with exorbitant prices. A shoe called “Clark’s England Code” in the front glass shelve of the shop caught Abdul in his flight of fantasy. He was bowled over by the lushness, the rich texture of the shoe. The leather looked so soft, that it felt like cotton and colour so shiny that could be substituted as mirror. When he knew the name, he believed that even clerks in England could afford such a shoe and for the first time he wished he should have been born in England and not in India.

“Elegance is not a dispensable luxury but a factor that decides between success and failure. (Edsger Dijkstra)”

Abdul measured his success with possession of those pair of shoes. It was not in the league of winning the kite competition or getting married to the love of his life. It was the vanity. His sole purpose of existence now defined success for him. Failure meant he rejected himself worthy of being alive.

Along with the daily visit to the mosque, visiting the shop became the regular ritual for Abdul. He used to stand in front of the shop for hours every evening staring at the pair. At night he would count the notes and keeping half of it aside, recounting them each day.

(Contd. in the below post)

Abdul, The cobbler (Part 2)

It was a Friday morning with blazing sun raised much above the horizon with its glowing radiance. Abdul was climbing down the stairs of the mosque after finishing the daily prayer when he saw the pair of “Clark’s England Code”. A man as affluent as the shoe removed the pair and kept it over the side of the stairs. He was tall, fair with long hairs covering his eyes and a glittering ear ring in his right ear. He was wearing a navy blue trouser and a white starched shirt and looked complete with the pair of “Clark’s England Code”

Abdul could not resist the temptation of trying those valuable pair. As soon as the man climbed up the stairs getting out of Abdul’s sight, he slipped into those pair and it was a perfect fit.

Not necessity, its desire – the love of luxury is the demon of men. Let them have everything – health, food, a place to live, entertainment – they are and remain unhappy and low-spirited. For the demon waits and waits to be satisfied. This is the blessed necessity by which the interest of men is always driving them to satisfy the demon and seizes all crime to be mean and ugly.

He started walking wearing the shoe towards the outer gate of the mosque. Theft seized to be a sin at that moment. Everything else meant less than those prized possession. He felt odd in his stained shirt and checkered lungi and tried to solace his heart with the comfort at his feet. All eyes felt peering at him stripping him naked in the house of god. He tried not to look into eyes of any passerby. It felt everybody is staring at his feet. He felt like running out of the gate, to run as fast as he can. The sun overhead seemed too hot for him and he started sweating profoundly. He tried to control his speed, to walk in more natural manner.

He was out of the gate. He could not guess the time it took him to cross the 50 yards courtyard that lay between the stairs of the mosque and the main gate. He was now a thief. He stole those pair and was now the new owner of the “Clark’s England Code”. He started feeling ashamed for himself, a thief who committed a sin that he considered to be the only sin in this world. Every other sin he felt is a variation of theft.

He broke the shari’a law, became a Haram, and that pained his heart more. He remembered the teachings from his father

“Stealing is the 23rd sin. If you steal something, the shariah obligation is to return the money to its owners. The actual money should always be returned to them; else you will be in hell forever”

Picking the shoe in his hand, Abdul went inside the gate. He crossed the courtyard and kept the shoe in its proper place where the man had left it initially. He went inside the tomb and found the man still in his prayers with bent knees and palm over his face. His eyes closed. Abdul came out of the mosque with a much lighter heart. He was really happy for the first time after he had been to the shoe shop. He felt an emotion of aloofness, no longer felt the urge or temptation in his heart.

Later that evening he went to the shoe shop and found the glass shelve empty as expected. Abdul went inside the shop and asked one of the staff.

“Who bought the shoe that was over that rack yesterday?”

“Do not ask man. In the morning a person came in blue trouser and starched white shirt. He was quite tall and also wore a ring in his right ear. He looked so rich. He tried that shoe and taking advantage of the crowd in the morning hours, left the shop without paying. He should be ashamed of himself. He stole our most costly shoe in the shop. He is a thief. He can never be happy and his soul will be in hell forever”

The staff went to attend his other customers leaving Abdul gaping at the empty shelve.

Joyful Ride (Part 1)

Kishore completed its final check of the two big samsonite suitcases, whether they are properly locked or not. Almost after 6 years he is leaving US. Not because he felt any pain for his homeland but his H1 visa got expired and his company was not ready to process his green card. He was ok with that and he felt its better to get back to India and settle down with some good looking girl before his receding hairline moves few inches further in his ever enlarging temple. He was real busy last few days with terminating the house lease, removing the Comcast net connection, disconnecting the phone connection, canceling his credit cards and selling his brand new Audi TT, one thing that gave him immense pain to be parted with. He still had an hour before his cab arrives in front of his Fremont apartment. It should not take more than an hour to San Francisco airport but he still asked his cab, a Limousine to come quite early. He is yet to get over the knack of having some buffer time in his hand lest he get stuck in traffic jam. May be this is ingrained in his middle class brought up in the Baranagar area of Calcutta where unless you call a Taxi before time you have full chances of missing the train or flight. He wondered if anything might have changed in last 6 years. He was not sure. Nor was he sure of his ability to adjust in kolkata. He was left with no other choice. He opened his Sony Vaio and tried connecting to some public domain unsecured connection. It was successful. He sent the confirmation mail to cab Rental Company and got the immediate reply. His Cab will be there in front of his house at the designated time.

He heard the smooth grilling sound of the engine and opened his door. The long slender limousine was trying to make its way through the parking area. He was always in love with high end cars and this was the only one he could not make his way inside till this moment. But in just 5 minute time that is going to change. Although he is quite avert to changes in his life, this one he welcomed without any doubt. The car glittered in twilight and basked in the elegance and splendour of its own, leaving Kishore awestruck.

“At your service sir” The Cab driver smiled at him with bonhomie and gestured to help him with the two 32 inch suitcases. He was a young fellow not more than 28 but with a built that could have got him into any modeling contest, at least in India. He was dressed in blue colored formal shirt coupled with a red tie and a black blazer. His hair well cropped and spiked using gel. Kishore felt himself minuscule in front of him in 5 feet 2 inch; wearing faded jeans and a Tee. He smiled back at him with delusion of grandeur when Mike (he told his name while adjusting the two huge chunk of fiber) opened the door and made way for Kishore to settle down inside. Anyway it’s not everyday that you get a Chauffeur driven limousine to ride.

He got into the car and made himself comfortable in the lush black leather sofa. Bar was left open in front of him and Mike asked him to help himself if required. He took a small amount of 18 years old black label scotch and let his body relax in the soothing taste. He had almost one hour with him to enjoy his joyful ride and he wanted to make most of it.

Just when he was feeling little drowsy, Mike honked at a Toyota Camry which suddenly changed its lane and came in front of the limousine. Honking is not very common in US and the Chinese lady who was driving the car must have felt real guilty for getting a honk. She was a short woman who stooped towards the front glass trying to keep his line of sight aligned with the highway. It was evident that she is not having proper side view due to her short height and that might be reason for the error. When Mike over took her car, she looked really apologetic and gestured at Mike saying something, which Kishore decoded as “Sorry”. Chinese ladies are known to be among the poorest drivers in US and Kishore assumed that this lady must have given multiple trials of driving test before getting her cherished License. License to kill others; especially who is sitting in the Limousine. Kishore smiled at his own thoughts. Three shots can make people think anything.

Apart from this one incident his limousine ride was safe and enjoyable. He enjoyed his entire stay in US. To be true he was in love with this country. He loved the discipline of waiting for his turn to cross the road. He loved to drive and keep driving at 80 Miles an hour which usually left goose bumps when he thought of the speed converting in KMs. He loved the freeways which allowed him to get thrilled. He loved the weekly grocery replenishments from Costco. Those extra cheese Burgers at Denny’s or Lasagna at Cheese cake factory. He loved those nightlife parties of bon tons which was often too raucous. Hitting over some Chinese or if luck permitted American girl used to boost up his otherwise bachelor life. He loved it all. Love doesn’t make the world go round. Love is what makes the ride worthwhile. He was who going the world around and he wanted his ride to be worthwhile. And not to love the love again he wanted to love a different love.

(Contd. in the below post)

Joyful Ride (Part 2)

The city was under the aphotic aura of the post dusk aureole when Kishore’s flight landed at Netaji Subhash International Airport in Kolkata. The airport boasted hardly of anything that would lead it termed as international except might the tourist centre which was full of posters of places that looked hardly Indian. A thin aged man with spectacles was sitting below the huge Incredible India poster of elephants. Kishore tried to recollect if West Bengal was ever famous for elephants. He could not. “Where will I get the Taxi” Kishore asked with utmost prudishness. “Baire Jaan” Go outside. The man gestured outside the main gate.

Kishore found himself stranded in a land of ultimate chaos, soon stepping outside the gate. “Kothai jaben” where will you go, “behala? Ballygaunge?”, “Taxi na Auto?”, “eyidikhe aasun sir ekdom notun taxi” come in the brand new taxi sir. A dozen men swarming over him as if he is the nectar, bees are fighting to create honey out of him. He chooses a modest looking guy who was shouting “Metare jabo saar, jaben?” will go in meter, come with me.

“Baranagar Chalo” Kishore got into the yellow and black ambassador trademarked as “the kolkatan Taxi”. As the driver tried to enter the main road from the Airport, Kishore felt the pain of an aged road that is trying to accommodate vehicles much above it carrying capacity. It was a crossing and Kishore could not make out which vehicle wanted to head which way. It looked like a deadlock to him but he could not apply any of his tried and tested algorithms here. It seemed he would be stranded there for eternities to come. He tried to stretch his neck outside the window, if he can manage to see whether the river of cars, buses and autos end or not. He failed to see any.

Gunning the engine with the clutch pressed down, a jaunty driver of some ford icon car raring to break through, entered the gap which might have been suitable for some bajaj scooter, fraying quite a few nerves. “Saala Ba****od, dikhta naahin kya” Kishore’s driver shouted in full rage and eventually that lead to some heated conversation between the two parties “Hamesha itna Jam rehta?” Kishore asked the driver more to divert his attention. “aaffice time saar, full jaam damdam road mein”. Kishore saw the overtly crowded permanent shops over the side of the pavement along with the virtually permanent shops overflowing on the street from pavement making hardly any room for the pedestrians. They were forced to take the street instead. The taxi tried to move a little when a woman came in front of it with two of her kids. “Aashte Dada” Move slowly. She shouted with an authority usually teachers possesses. But she hardly looked like one in her yellow maculated saree with black blouse and big red bindi on her head. Kishore felt the word “slowly” has lost its objectivity as the Taxi would not have been having a speed of more than 5 or 10 KMs per hour. The driver waited for her to cross the road. Taking advantage of this a thin old man in baniyan which was hardly white anymore and a blue checkered lungi wrapped around his mid body pulled the rickshaw with both of his hands making way through the small gap now made between taxi and the mini bus in the front. The back seat of the rickshaw kept dangling in air while the men tried to pull it with full force owing to the limited strength in those old shaky arms. Kishore froze at the thought of sitting on one although long back when he was young, he yearned for that.

One of the conductors of the mini bus got down and started acting as the traffic police trying to apply all permutation combinations to break the deadlock. He kept on shouting at the coming cars gesturing it to stop with his left hand while swaying his right hand to keep the flow on the other side more as if mocking some non existent traffic controller. Slowly every vehicle started moving and finding its own ways. It seemed that every driver can read other driver’s mind and predict where it is heading. The entire situation was chaotic but not without a rhythm. There can be music in pandemonium as well. People of India have learnt being tranquil amidst the banal bedlam. Even most disorderly fashion can have a rule, a rule of its own that may not be blessed with laws written in thick books but that finally leads to ones destiny, ones home. Kishore felt the infatuation for the lost love again in his heart by the time he reached his own home, his own destiny.

Life, so Cool and so Hot

At around 9 in the morning I was trying to start my bike in a hurry so that I do not get late for the office. Although my mind was propelling me to start for office as soon as possible, my body was at its lethargic best. I wanted to enjoy the morning bliss after a long time. It indeed was a beautiful sunny morning after the night long heavy downpour. I did not want to miss the lingering fragrance of the wet sand for the air spray that they use in my office. The morning dew was still dripping from the extra green leaves. This was the perfect morning I had experienced in a long time. More so after joining the IT industry where only thing we remember in the name of natural beauty is the regular Good Morning forwards that carry one or other scenic beauty. But nothing can compare the ecstatic feeling brought by the cool breeze. Suddenly something caught my eyes. It looked like some brown gunny bag lying in the side of the road. It was a cute puppy with pigtail, sleeping on the wet road. Its golden brown skin was shining in the bright sun light. To be true I am not an animal lover, neither do I hate them. I just had a “no care” attitude towards them. But recently I developed particular hatred against these street dogs more so ever after my accident (due to one street dog jumping in front of my bike) and the recent menace by street dogs taking lives of the young kids. But it was different this time. I felt affectionate toward it. I wanted to lie down beside that puppy enjoying the wet ground and the hot sun at the same time. Savouring the moment to its full extent, it envisioned itself as life to me. Cool and Hot at the same time. I felt jealous about the freedom the puppy was enjoying. Freedom to live a life on its own terms. I wondered if there will be any dog bossing him around, whether he will also be reporting to some dogs of higher echelon. Not sure of that but I was sure that I wanted to take its place for that cool morning. A grueling sound came to my ears. A fat man was starting his red Tata Sierra. This was the sound made by the cold engine trying to come back to life after the night long hibernation. It started coming this way slowly. I wondered how I missed an object as big as a jeep while engrossed in such a small puppy. May be size does not matter always. The car was coming towards me. The sound had already waked me up from my pipe dream and I also kicked my bike to start another hectic day. Suddenly I realized something and looked toward the ground where the puppy was sleeping. STO…O…O…P…..IT. I tried to shout but somehow I could not hear my own words. The puppy was in the air and came back to the ground with a thud after few seconds. It again appeared to me like a gunny bag, a lifeless mass. It started trembling soon. Its soft stomach is now visible which was going up and down, up and down. The 6 inch MRF tyre mark was clearly visible on it. It opened its mouth to breathe but what came out was a spit of blood soaked with saliva. Only white patch was visible where sometime back I saw bright glittering brown eyes. I had not even realized but I had already started my bike. I tried concentrating on driving my bike, tried not to look back. I now felt the hot sun on my body for the first time since this morning. So hot that a stream of sweat trickled my forehead. The sun was no more beautiful. I wanted to reach office. I wanted to sit in my cubicle and start the daily dose of emails as early as possible, truly in contrast with what I was feeling just few minutes back. I was surprised with the hostility of the events. May be I never realized that death can come in such unannounced fashion. May be this is what is called life.

Cool and Hot at the same time.

Burning Tip and the Burning Mind

We stepped inside the Coffee Day, not being able to resists the invigorating aroma of the brewing coffee. The waiter in Black trouser and Red shirt greeted us with a smile so polite, so friendly and of course so fake. I wonder how much effort he has put in, practicing that smile to perfection. “Please get us a seat for two”. I also tried to fake a smile but somehow it did not come up properly. He sounded apologetic for not being able to provide us a seat in one of those dark corners where I could have easily hid myself. I don’t know why but somehow I did not like the feeling of seating at the middle of the cafe. That place felt so safe and tempting. He took us upstairs and I took one sofa seat not because it was comfortable but sitting at that place gave me an easy view of three pretty girls in low waist jeans and spaghetti tops. Two of them were smoking. One of them had a long slender brown cigarette in her hand which I later came to know that it is a brand called “More” generally consumed by females. My friend also took out one from his pocket and lit it. “Abe mujhe bhi ek de” It was the last thing that I would have imagined doing at that moment. But I actually asked him to give me one cigarette. Somehow I felt, releasing my vexation with the smoke would be much easier to carry it home. I had a very bad day at work.
He gave a look of astonishment as if asking “you smoke?” or may be more subtle “when did you start smoking?” But he did not ask anything and handed me one. “Abe jala ke dena” I asked him childishly as if smoking is something that every child should do and please help me learn the nitty-gritty of it. I could not afford to make a mistake while showing my machismo to the girl with “More” in her hand. And of course not after the few glances that she gave me in between her periodic sips and puffs. My friend took the cigarette from my hand, turned it upside down and touched it to the burning end of his cigarette. It felt like they are kissing each other and it was the destiny of my cigarette to burn passionately in the kiss of his cigarette. He handed it to me. It was now my turn to kiss her. I wanted to held that fire in my hand. I wanted to tame her at my fingertips. I tried to take a long puff. I felt chocked. It started burning my throat and the sensation went till deep inside the lungs. A cough came up suddenly and tears almost rolled down my eyes trying to swig the smoke back inside me. I tried to assuage myself and look more relaxed. Then I released the smoke that I had hold in my lungs may be for a few seconds but it seemed like eternity. The smoke engulfed me. My eyes started burning and I was not able to breathe. Everything looked bleary as I am in some island trying to look through some dark mist. I felt relaxed. I felt protected. I tried to intensify the self created mist by kissing the new found love hard and long. And she was protecting me with the haze by destroying herself. I forgot my argument with my TL. I forgot that girl with “More” in her hand. I forgot I was in Coffee Day. I was in my own island of thoughts and I gave a damn about anybody else at that time.

“Excuse me”…….. “Excuse me” I heard somebody shouting from a distant island. The waiter was standing beside me with his usual bonhomie. “Excuse me sir…….what will you like to have” “Ice tea”. I said almost instantaneously. I never cease to surprise myself. I never used to have ice tea at least in Coffee Day. But somehow it felt good to go with my cigarette. The cool, mystic flavor of ice tea only complemented my new found passion of smoking. I felt so aloof there that I wanted to return to my island. Suddenly I felt my tongue going acerbic and a burning sensation on my fingers. “Abe khatam ho gaya hai…doosra jala le”. My savior was dying in my hand and with that just one thought solidified. “Every relationship comes with an expiry date”. Mine ended just too soon.