RETIRED HURT

Year 2032

Arry : Should I make you one?

Me: Of course!

Arry : 60? or Patiala?

Me: hahaha...no no, 60 is good enough!

Arry: Why? How old are you?

Me: 69, almost touching 70

Arry: Then let me make a peg for you which is 69 ml, almost touching 70 ml

Arry burst into a laughter himself after cracking this joke. This though was a characteristic feature of him, of bursting out into a laughter himself after cracking a joke. More often than not, his laughing would make people realize that there was a joke involved. But he couldn’t care less, he has always been like this, brimming with confidence, always. When I first met him, we were in our teens, I noticed him because of his eyes. My god, his eyes. They would shine, declaring almost about his sharpness and his caliber. And he really rose in his career. What a sparkling career he’s had! At his peak, I think he was one of the best copywriters in the city, if not in the country. He was really revered and respected in the Ad world for his spark, and his consistency. I guess even now, you go to Ad agencies, and just say Arindam Bose, they will know whom you’re talking about. Fantastic man! I’ve been a proud friend for a long time.

I retired 9 years back, as a branch manager of the Punjab National Bank. My wife passed away when I was 53. I served in the same bank for 35 years, everyday was the same. I had no surprises in my life. In fact, I don’t like surprises at all now, neither bad ones, nor good ones. I love routine. It makes me comfortable. I have avoided anxiety successfully for years. But of course, my wife’s demise did turn my world upside down. It took me around a year and a half after that to reach a new routine. Not having a person suddenly you’ve loved for so long and stayed with, is not just depressing, but also a huge jerk in your habitual life style. No matter however much I missed her, I had to eventually come to terms with her loss, and with my staying alone. My son and daughter in law who were in India then, moved to Malaysia 3 years after Smriti’s death. Arry has been a great support for me since then. I have jokingly referred to him as my second wife many a times, but in a lot of ways, he has indeed taken care of me. He has been an integral part of my new routine. We have met at least twice or thrice a week, every week, since I retired. He retired too 6 years back, which tells me he would be around 66 now. I have never asked him how old is he, unlike him!

Arry: Cheers! To two single men, with a single malt in their hands...

And he burst out laughing again. It wasn’t that funny I felt, only a very silly wordplay, but he enjoyed it as soon as it came out of his mouth.

Me: Have you ever regretted not marrying?

Arry: Who? Me? No, but I’ve felt the need for a companion sometimes, in any form though...but dogs scare the shit out of me, or else I would have kept one.

Me: And cats?

Arry: No no, I cannot have a pet with the same diet plan as mine

This time I burst out laughing. I thought this was really funny. Same diet plan for Arry and the cat, means fish...its hilarious, isn’t it? He joined me in the laugh. Two men in their late 60’s laughed loudly at this.

Arry: Should I order any starters?

Me: Fish tikka, I feel like having that.

Arry: Cool....

He picked his mobile phone and placed an order. He lit a cigarette, I lit mine.

Arry: Your wife used to make terrific fish chops

Me: Yeah, she was a good cook

Arry: She was outstanding, you were really lucky! You had a beautiful wife.

Me: Yes, these are the years when I feel I could have really enjoyed being with her..I have so much time now post retirement.

Arry: You always had the time man, you used to come back home by 6 in the evening

Me: Yes but I had pressures, my son was studying then, he was applying for scholarships abroad, I had loans to take care of...

Arry: Of course, in that way you are a free man now..

Me: Pass me the ash-tray

Arry: there’s one right behind you...no, not there, look on the table...and give me your glass, let me pour another 69 ml for you...

I was feeling uneasy suddenly. The anxiety I have avoided most of my life, was creeping in. I could sense unrest inside me. Something Arry said did not sound right. For most of my life, and my friendship with him, I have ignored his smart remarks, but it was bothering me today.

Arry: (handing me the glass) Hmmm...

But I stayed largely quite the entire evening. Only speaking when absolutely necessary. Arry, even though he might have noticed, did not enquire me about my sudden change of mood. He could not have guessed though, for we were listening to Abida Parveen’s youtube recordings later that evening, and listening quietly was the most apt thing to do anyway. Amusingly enough, that evening while we were listening Abida, one of her famous ghazals began with the line “Kahoon dost se dost ki baat kya kya ....”

We drank till 11 in the night, had dinner, and then I decided to finally leave for my place. When I got up from my mat, where I sat the entire evening almost without moving an inch, I stumbled immediately and had to take support of an arm of the sofa set next to me.

Arry: You want to stay over tonight?

Me: Nonnnoo, I’ll catchun auto frfrom downsaiyyus

Arry: I’m sure you’ll catch an auto from downstairs, but I’m not sure whether the auto guy will understand where you want to go... hahahahah

Me: Whyyy?

Arry: You’re slurring

Me: Really?

Arry: Big time

When I reached his door I turned back to wave a bye to him.

Arry: Bye, go carefully, call me once you reach!

Me: Yes...Arry?

Arry: Yes?

Me: Do you think I’m a failure?

Arry: Are you mad...go home safely, we’ll talk later

I waved back at him again and left for my home.

Year 2016

We, at the bank, hadn’t been home for days. The sudden announcement of banning of certain currency notes from that midnight, led to chaos. People were lining up in hundreds outside their respective banks since early morning, even before the banks opened. We had no breathing time to have our meals on time, and were working over time for a week now.

I had lost my wife a month back, so my going back wasn’t imperative. In fact, I was feeling better these few days not going back home. The empty house at the end of the day felt eerie! It was difficult for me to believe that Smriti wasn’t in the kitchen doing dishes or reading a magazine in our bedroom, or watching a British sitcom on her laptop! I had difficulty sleeping at night, looking at the empty part of the double bed, which was once occupied by a 5 feet 4 inches long, stoutly built housewife. Smriti, in English means memory.

Arry called me one day and asked about the situation at the bank. He was struggling to get hold of new currency notes from the long queues outside the ATMs. Also, he needed to exchange his old currency notes. He was lucky, in those times I think to have a friend in a bank. I assured him he will have no trouble and arranged newly released two thousand rupee notes and sent one of my junior colleagues to his place, carrying a bag with a few bundles of the new currency notes. As a senior bank official, I had certain liberties and since Arry had a privilege account with us for years, it was easier to help him. The same colleague I sent the bag with, would bring back old currency notes from Arry’s place. Arry hence, didn’t need to really step out to look for cash, when the whole country was quite literally standing in a queue.

I was overworked, yes! I was angry at the government’s unplanned decision, yes! I was frustrated with people misbehaving in the bank, yes! I was upset with the system, when a person or two collapsed standing in the queue for hours outside our branch, yes! But I felt important! Very rarely have I felt that.

I imagined how Smriti would have reacted to demonetization. How she would have dealt with her husband not coming for days to home. Although, she wouldn’t have faced an issue with the cash, since I was making sure I have enough. But she would have been bothered anyway, thinking about ordinary people, the middle class and the poor. She also would have been against what I did for Arry. She was principally against such favors. I could never keep up to her principals. I have adjusted to circumstances. As I said, I liked to be comfortable. And for that, one has to pay a price.

Year 1993

I had been to Mohammed Ali road before, but it felt nothing like this then. Sayeed and his family were moving out from their ancestral house there, so I thought of visiting them in their present residence one last time. They would shift to Mahim in a few days, and it would be a lot closer to my place, but their ancestral house at Mohammed Ali road had an old world charm to it. I have been there twice the previous year on the two major Eid days. Sayeed was 29, exactly my age then. He worked as a graphics artist in the advertising agency in which Arry worked a year back. He was basically Arry’s ex-colleague, but me and Sayeed shared a great bond too over the past couple of years. Needless to mention the grand feasts I have enjoyed at his place during Eid, he and his family had my heart.

I sat in the huge drawing hall silently for a while, after which Sayeed came back with a cup of tea. His mother asked him to take biscuits as well, so he went back to the kitchen and got them. We both sat quietly for a good fifteen minutes, sipping our hot tea. Once I finished my tea, he asked me to follow him. He took me across the kitchen and a small corridor to another large hall. This was more of a dining space I suppose. That walk, which took us half a minute, was the strangest feeling. I knew what he was going to show me. I had dreaded this moment, all morning when I was coming in my cab, right up-till just now, when I was having my tea.

Sayeed showed me the window, where the accident had occurred. His mother, wept silently, standing behind at the entrance door of that room, looking at us. Sayeed lost his 21 year old younger brother, Qasim, during the Bombay riots. Qasim was only peeping out of that window, when a bullet not meant for him, ricocheted from a wall outside and hit his head. The family had decided to move out of that wretched place ever since. Qasim was the youngest of her three sons. Saqib, was the eldest. I could not even make an effort to console his mother. There was an invisible wall between us. Sayeed though behaved in a very composed manner, but I could not even imagine what losing a young boy accidentally like that did to them.

Year 2032

Arry: You didn’t message me that night? Did you reach fine?

Me: Oh yes, sorry, I entered my place and just crashed on my bed!

Arry: Hahaha, that’s ok...but we are living some life isn’t it, like bachelors in our 20’s.

Me: Yes we are, but we have slogged our asses off our entire life for this! You have earned a fortune, I have a humble pension too to take care of my shenanigans...

Arry: Just the pension? You had fixed deposits also no?

Me: Of course, fixed deposits and mutual funds and what not...

Arry: Systematic shit man...you guys at the bank are the most sorted, all the possible schemes and benefits...

Me: Why? Didn’t you benefit from me being in a bank?

Arry: Of course...

Me: Remember the cash I kept sending you after demonetization? And the old currency you kept exchanging without coming to the bank?

Arry: How can I forget? That chap you used to send home, he would always be so tensed!

Me: Yeah he must have been tensed, what I did for you was illegal, if he was caught, he could have been arrested!

Arry: Really? Even you could not have saved him?

Me: I wouldn’t have if he got caught, or else I would’ve been arrested!

Arry burst out into a laughter. We were on our third peg by then. It was around this time Arry would usually open his laptop and play some music, whatever we felt we were in a mood for that day. It could be anything from Ghazals to Jazz, but usually nothing casual.

Arry: By the way, I have news. Give me your glass, let me pour another one..

Me: What?

Arry: The West Bengal state government is awarding me next month, “Pride Of Bengal”

Me: Really?

My disbelief was not really disbelief. It was a sudden envious expression, which manifested itself into disbelief, since I had to behave surprised and happy. The contours of my face did not change much, yet I put up a smile for that brief moment. He made it sound so casual while pouring my next drink as if he was being elected as the chairman of his building. May be that made me envious. Because I was obviously very proud too, I always have been.

Arry: Yeah, really!

Me: Fantastic...I need a party other than this, this is our usual stuff, I want it in a 5 star!

Arry: Ok, if you insist, but trust me they will serve you the same single malt which we are having here, but here you can listen to Begum Akhtar when you want, and switch it off and turn to Kumar Gandharva in a second! In a 5 star, you would only get to mildly hear Bollywood songs on a Piano.

Me: Yes that’s true, partying at home is much more convenient, that I agree.

Arry: Should I make a large? You were slurring last time?

Me: Make a Patiala, I want to fucking slur tonight...I’m drinking with the “Pride of Bengal”, it’s not a joke!

Arry: Haha, you are already high mate. What is the mood today?

Me: I feel like dancing on Elvis

Arry: Haha, we’ll get there in some time, let me play something you may not have heard earlier

Me: What?

Arry: Salaamat-Nazaakat

Me: What’s that?

Arry: They were brothers, Salaamat Ali and Nazaakat Ali, from Pakistan. I assure you have not heard anything like this before. Nobody has! Umm....lets see, there was this one recording in Sindhi Bhairavi, it is just out of this world!

Me: For a tasteful person like you it would mean something, for me all the Raagas are the same.

Arry: I disagree, every Raaga would evoke something else inside you, you may not be able to pin point and decipher, but it happens sub-consciously!

Me: May be...I guess you are right

Arry was right. I hadn’t heard anything like that before. What the two gentlemen did with their voices was unimaginable. It was a shame I didn’t know about them earlier. I was discovering something like this at the twilight of my life. What a shame! There was so much to know still.

Arry: Bondhu, kemon laagchhe? (bengali for how are you finding it my friend?)

Me: Ghema (Bengali for fantastic)

He had taught me some Bengali phrases which he used to miss hearing from his friends in Kolkata. I would more often than not successfully place them in my replies, also pronouncing them well. Arry used to love it. I saw him listening to the rendition with his eyes closed.

Arry: Listening to all these people from Pakistan, I regret not being a Muslim sometimes!

Me: Do you remember Sayeed?

Arry opened his eyes and looked at me, still primarily listening to the rendition.

Arry: Our friend from Lintas right? You remembered him suddenly because I said Muslim?

Me: Yeah, did you keep in touch with him?

Arry: No, I think once I left Lintas, I hardly spoke to him. Why?

Me: He lost his younger brother in the riots. I had gone to his place. They were devastated.

Arry: You never mentioned it then?

Me: We were not in touch then Arry, you left Lintas and went underground almost.

Arry: Oh Yes, I remember, I was unhappy with what I was doing and how things were shaping up for me...so I had stopped all communication with my friends and went into a shell. But I honestly wasn’t aware of this thing with Sayeed, it’s really sad. But I’m happy that at least you were there for him.

Me: I have always been there Arry...

Arry: What are you trying to say?

That just came out of my mouth. It was a spontaneous revert back. But I was not sure how to follow it up. It’s one of those decisions one has to make within a conversation, to not make it awkward or rude. How long should I be intimidated by this man, who’s my friend after all? I decided to not stop myself that day, I felt at that moment that this was necessary! But I lowered my pitch one note.

Me: I’m trying to say that you don’t care after a point! You have been too engulfed with your life.

Arry: I’ve chosen to be engulfed in my life, but don’t assume I don’t care!

Me: What is the first thing you asked me when you called me after my wife’s death?

Arry: I can’t recollect, you tell me!

Me: You didn’t speak about her!

Arry: Of course I did, I asked you how were you doing after the personal tragedy...

Me: May be, but it was insignificant, the way you did! You were more bothered about exchanging your old currency notes due to demonetization.

There was a strange silence in the room. Salaamat-Nazaakat’s rendition continued though in the background, but the silence was louder. I could have avoided this conversation, like I had for so many years. But I wanted to be outside my comfort zone this time, for once at least! Arry has been a friend and all that is fine, but I have had intrinsic problems with his convenience. I may not be the “Pride of Bengal”, but I’m a more consistent friend, husband, son, whatever, a more consistent human being. Not erratic, not moody, not available only when I want to be.

That conversation did not affect our friendship. It was not meant to. Arry though did behave a little subdued for the next couple of times, but he came back to his normal self soon after. I didn’t make him feel awkward either. He wasn’t a criminal. He was an important person.

So was I.