Ritwik

Kya Baat!!

2011-06-21T14:15:00.000-07:00

"Why aren't the gates open yet? it's 6:45, at 7 the concert's gonna begin right?" i screamed at the security guard on the gate.
"We have not been asked to open them!" he replied to my utter angst.
Siri Fort auditorium at khel gaon marg was hosting a special concert that evening,that of Pt. Ajay chakravarty and Ustaad Rashid khan together in a mouthwatery jugalbandi. It was something that all hindustani classical music lovers would have dreamt of. Two genius vocalists, each of them masters of their art, flag bearers of their respective gharanas! i had purchased the tickets almost a month back for this, and i had spent sleepless nights for the last 4-5 nights anticipating the magic that was about to happen on the D-day. The huge queue outside the gate was frightening, literally. We were waiting outside now nearly for an hour, and hence my tempers went soaring high when just 15 minutes away from the concert we were not allowed in. But on a very contradictory note, i was also pretty pleased with the turn out. i mean, this was no Metallica, Hindustani classical vocalists are not common man's popular artists! Though i must include, the people standing there in the queue were the high society, rich kurta and silk saree wearing, C R park inhabitant bengalis, who have not heard of Raj kumar Hirani but know what brand of smoking pipe Satyajit Ray used!
We finally entered exactly at 7. Needless to say, the concert began 15 minutes late than the scheduled time. As soon as i entered, i came back to my jovial mood which had disappeared for an hour when we were standing in the queue. I was with my singer friend Sankalp, fondly known as Tiwari(his surname) amidst his friends. after we sat, and before the concert began, in those five minutes, i narrated my previous experiences of listening to Ustaad Rashid Khan and Pt. Ajoy Chakravarty individually. As i narrated, suddenly to both of our horror, there came in our row a small kid with his dad, and then sat next to us. This for both of us was going to be a painful evening, because of our past experiences of kids in such concerts or art films, where they cry loudly and spoil the entire ambiance and mood. We started praying to the almighty as soon as they sat next to us, that 'Oh God, please let this baby be the surprise performer of the night, who sleeps throughout silently!' a lot of people from the accompanying rows also looked at the father-son, with a lot of apprehension and fright. But at least for then, the kid seemed peaceful.
Pandit ji and Khan sahab began the concert, and to my utter delight, with Raag Hamsadhwani. It is one of my all time favorite raagas! The evening slowly but surely was turning into this magical time i was having with Tiwari, as Pandit ji and Khan sahab, after a beautiful Alaap and Vilambit laya composition, began the famous madhya laya composition in Hamsadhwani, that being "Laagi lagan pati sakhi sang". The sweetness of the composition has always moved me beyond limits, and Pt. Ajoy chakravarty with Ustaad Rashid khan singing the piece was literally orgasmic! And then between all the 'kya baats' and 'waahs' from the audience, i saw tiwari looking almost at me. i use the word almost, since he wasn't looking at me. He was looking at The kid who sat next to me with his father. I too turned my head towards them now, and understood the reason for tiwari's sudden break of concentration. The kid had woken up. Let me exaggerate a little, me and tiwari started sweating with panic. Now was approaching the moment of horror which we dreaded all evening. Others too in our row and behind us noticed our panic, and participated in panicking!
And then suddenly the kid looked at all of this with big eyes, made a disgusting face and opened his mouth to cry out load. All this happened in ultra slow motion, and just when we were about to lose our entire composition's juice with a whaling cry from the kid, he cried in the same scale of the composition, no kidding, trust me, he cried in C sharp scale. Everybody in the audience in those 2-3 rows who were so disturbed the entire evening with the thought of the kid crying, shouted together, "KYA BAAT"!!

Benefit Of Doubt

2011-01-10T07:15:00.000-08:00

This was my last match. After a span of 12 years now, i had decided to take retirement from International umpiring. My last one day international match hence happened to be, on my choice, between India and West Indies. At 67, i had seen enough cricket till now to be not nervous about the fixture, but the situation changed my behavior.I was not in my groove. I was restless and anxious. My career as an umpire was a hugely respected one and all players were aware of my decision before the match started. They had planned a farewell party for me after the match, but that was not even on my mind right then. I was extremely keen on going through the match smoothly without a hurdle and without making any major mistakes.
I must agree and confess, that i have made mistakes in my life, i mean as an umpire. Some of them were debacles. Initially, when i was 55 and new, i could not gather whether a ball was pitching on or outside the leg stump. Numerous times on television replays i would be embarrassed for something i had confidently adjudged earlier. I was also not great as a leg umpire when it came to run outs, but thankfully the third umpire would come into play then and i would be saved from further embarrassment. But as years went by, just like a musician improves on his speed at which he plays the instrument with rigorous practice, i too improved on my reflex decisions. I was slowly but surely getting more and more accurate at tough calls, in which perhaps i had less than half a second to see the action and take a decision. In the last three years of my career, i was just brilliant, with all my modesty. I trusted my eyes like Bengal trusted Ganguly!
My last match began with India losing the toss and having asked to field first. There was hardly anything for me to do to be honest in the West Indian innings. Only 5 wickets fell in the whole innings, out of which one was a clean bowled and 4 were simple catches in the outfield. The West Indians set a target of 279, for the Indians to chase. I was still not thinking of the farewell party, rather i was so deeply involved in the match that now i was almost more of a biased spectator who wanted India to win. I did not want my country to lose the last match of my career. Wouldn't it be such a fitting end to my journey, if i see my country victorious too on the same night of my retirement?
Indian openers started the chase finely with boundaries at frequent intervals without getting dismissed. Sehwag lost his wicket to an out swinger as he nicked it to the keeper and i raised my index finger towards the sky on the appeal for caught behind. This was infact the first decision of Out i gave in that match. Dravid and Yuvraj fell cheaply after that, leaving the maestro Mr. Tendulkar on crease with the skipper, Dhoni. With Raina and Y Pathan to follow, things were still looking healthy if these two could remain on crease for a while. But Dhoni and Raina departed in quick succession again after a 60 run partnership between Sachin and the skipper. Now Sachin was left alone with Y Pathan new on crease. Sachin was half my age, but where had he taken the game to, really, i mean exhibition stuff! How could i not have been a fan of his, watching him so closely for more than a decade now, just from about 22 yards away. And as thoughts of his winning India the match single handedly flashed across my mind, with less than 10 overs to go, he nicked one to the keeper and it was so loud that no one even appealed and he left the crease on his own and began walking back to the pavillion. But then he stopped, and turned back. He heard something that made him stop. I was screaming on top of my lungs, NO BALL! NO BALL! The West Indian team had gone so crazy after the dismissal that they went berserk with their Caribbean celebrations and could not hear me. After almost a couple of minutes they realized that Sachin was declared not out and the whole team came running towards me like an angry mob looking for its docile prey. I explained them that it was a No ball because the bowler had overstepped.
The television replays are evidence to the fact that i was wrong with my decision.But this time, it was deliberate!

Salil was right!

2010-12-30T09:23:00.000-08:00

"Please, i beg you, please meet me tomorrow?"

"I'm really sorry man, my cousins are here in town! i don't think i can make it."

"Do you even understand my condition, i'm hallucinating about things all the time! i need to meet you asap."

"What?"

"ASAP, as soon as possible, if you only join the initials of those four words, it becomes ASAP"

"FY"

"What?"

" FY, Fuck you! The first two.. "

"Ya ya i understood, you need not be abusive! i'm really in pain honey, please, please help me!"

" I'll try ok? now please, i need to hang up. i'll give you a call tomorrow morning. bye, take care!"

"Bye sweety, love you"

It was difficult for me. I was pretty certain that i'm imagining much more than what exists. In my single room apartment in malad, i was distinctly putting up with atleast 3 people.but i was the only one paying the rent. for a few months it was alright,
till my roommates got employed. i had presumed that as soon as they would be earning themselves, we would be able to share the rent and other necessities for staying together. but this did not happen. i continued paying everything on my own, and just about managing to lead a comfortable life style, after they repeatedly assured me that it was only a matter of little more time till they get absolutely settled. i blindly trusted them. after around 7-8 months of their ignoring and eventually avoiding the financial responsibilities, i lodged an FIR against them, my 2 roommates. this is when i was told that i was living all alone, and those two were only a consequence of my being schizophrenic.
I had kept my family in the dark about this. the only person whom i wanted to tell this was someone who did not want to meet me. Kriti was the only girl i had ever made out with. she was the only one i had fallen for. she was the only one i could tell this to. but there had been serious behavioral changes in her lately. my common friend asif told me that she is dating someone else. i almost hung up on him. Asif was the lead for me to reach Kriti. He got me through her, not just introduced me, but also made me go out on dates with her umpteen times.

"Hello, Kriti?"

"Ya, hi, listen."

"Ya, tell me"

"See i'm seeing someone else, and he doesn't want me to meet you. i did not want to tell you this but you have left me with no choice"

"WHAAAT? FUUCKK?? Asif was right. You? Kriti, you were cheating on me?"

"Cheating? Salil we were never together! we were always just close friends"

"Are you insane? What about that evening at my place? when we both made out?"

"Salil have you gone totally crazy? when the fuck did we make out? i have never even been to your place!"

"Are you sure? You have never been to my single room apartment in Malad, Malad west? Opposite Inorbit mall?"

"Salil, you should get yourself checked. this is Panjim, Goa. You stay at your uncle's bungalow. You really are sick Salil. You don't need me, you need treatment,ASAP!"

"Wwwwww...waaiit ...kkkkkriiti"

"Bye salil, take care!"

I cried, with every part of my body in pain and disgust. i could not figure in what way should i hug the pillow which would comfort me, for i felt so incomplete on my own that i literally needed something else attached to feel better. and i was so miserable that i wasn't even sure that there was a pillow. i fucking wasn't sure whether there was anything i had! i was screwed.

-----------

" Sir, hello, sir?? there? can you hear me sir?"

"Yes Inspector Koyande, tell me"

" Sir, there's a body outside ACME plaza, 24 year old boy, seems like a suicide case."

"ACME plaza? where the hell is that?"

"Its in Malad sir, Malad west, opposite Inorbit mall"

Hungry!

2010-11-05T05:02:00.000-07:00

This is a story of three young boys and me. The boys were working in a famous restaurant in andheri, the famous suburb in Mumbai. The restaurant was called "FOOD YUMMY, NO MUMMY"! The logic to that name was that it was not one's mother's cooked food, yet the food was delicious. It really was. Who would know that better than me? Anyway! I'll come to myself later. These three boys worked as waiters in this restaurant. They had passed out of their respective colleges after doing well in Hotel Management courses, and joined here as debut-ants. They worked with a lot of zeal and passion. They were really good, excellent in work; sharp with reflexes, handsome looking, well spoken boys. The coincidental joining of all three within a couple of months, was an extreme fortune for the restaurant owners. It was at a time when the staff had grown old and bored, the patent customers were also bored to look at them. It was indeed a new wave, a breath of fresh air.

My small Dhaba was opposite FOOD YUMMY, NO MUMMY. I had quite uneventfully named it after myself, 'Nikhil Food Joint'. It was running with heavy losses, i had only a couple of men as my staff, who would cook as well as serve and take orders. Whatever i earned, almost all of that went to these two as their salaries and then paying the rent for that little place in a posh area. I was almost considering shutting the 'debacle of an investment' down, when one day the 3 boys entered my food joint. This was the first time when i actually met them. They were dressed handsomely, in their waiter dresses, and spoke in flawless English sitting on a table that had its one leg missing. I myself went and took their order, and served them as well. They kept discussing things amidst themselves throughout, as they ate. While paying the bill, they appreciated me for the food, and said something that made a difference, " Though we work in a restaurant much classier than yours, but we would like to eat here than there from now on!"
They came to my joint everyday from then, and also made friends with me. They kept telling me all the time that the food i serve is 20 times better than what they serve, and this is the food one can eat everyday and not their's. It was a huge compliment. But i also managed to take out some stuff from them. They helped me improve a few dishes i served, and made me secretly taste a few from their restaurant without making me go there and pay for it. But what they did most was that they ensured that i don't shut my joint down. I was preparing new stuff for them everyday, asking my cooks to make new kinds of dal, sabzee so that they don't get bored and stop coming there. It reached a point where i was almost running my joint for them, i was just cooking for them. This went on for almost an year and a half. One day when i was sitting with the accounts at the end of the month, i realized that i was again running with heavy losses. i had lost out on a lot of customers who used to come earlier , in my effort to keep these three coming everyday. In a couple of months, although i tried reviving those dishes back, i did not gain any new customers, or rather the old ones back. Consequently i was unable to pay the rent of the place and i had to shut my joint down. During the last week before my shutting down, when i had already decided that i had to shut the place, the three boys were really disturbed and sad. They asked me if i would like to join their restaurant, till i set up my own somewhere else, to which i said yes. But i was rejected after my interview.
After almost a month of that incident i received a call from one of the boys, inviting me to their restaurant that afternoon for lunch. As i entered, they received me warmly with hugs, and made me sit at a table which had all its legs intact,and had a beautiful table cloth over it.
They gave me an envelope and asked me to read it. It said the restaurant wants me to join as the Chief Chef, and would be delighted to have me on board. They explained me on my asking that it was a result of tedious efforts and making the manager taste a few dishes of mine which the boys had prepared that sealed the deal. I felt it was a really warm gesture from the boys.
I refused the offer. I was not going to take any favors from such young boys. I might have failed on my own to set up my own restaurant, but this incident was now enough for me to fight back again. I instead gave the boys an offer, of joining me in partnership, and opening a small restaurant all by ourselves.
I think they will say yes someday, though its been more than a month now since my offer. I think they will say yes!

'Cold' experience

2010-10-11T04:44:00.000-07:00

It was undoubtedly cold that morning. in delhi during winters, unless one has to attend to school, college or office, it is best to be at home under one's blanket while sipping hot coffee and reading a book may be. this might just be romanticizing the whole concept, but how can i help it, i'm a romantic! but inspite of all this and my being on a college christmas vaccation, i had to step out of my house that day. not just step out, to be precise, i had to cycle out. i had thought of giving my girlfriend a surprise. it was her birthday, and due to the vaccations, my chances of meeting her were nil unless i did something like what i did. she was a part of a strict north indian family, where it's almost impossible for the girl to go out with her friends on an off day. although it was her birthday, even then the maximum she was allowed was to call her friends (only girls) to her place for lunch. this didn't go too well with me, and since i was so madly in love with her, i could not have not met her on that day. i had decided the night before that i would secretly reach her place early morning, call her downstairs via my mobile phone, give her the gift, kiss her and come back. needless to say, my vision was pretty optimistic. to kiss her right infront of her house downstairs can only be a dream. neither did i ever have the balls, nor was she that willing to do something like that so visually close to her parents. anyway, i set out for her house, keeping my hopes alive and looking for a bouquet shop on the way. i later realised that i've been pretty absent minded to not buy the bouquet earlier, as finding a shop at 8 in the morning in that kind of cold was next to impossible. but then i thought by the time i reach her place at around 9-9:30, i would get a shop near her place that would be open. i was going to ride no less than 16 kilometres,one way, to reach her place. i was proud of the fact that very few boys would actually execute such a bizzare plan, only for their girlfriends. while i was riding, i realised that it is not just cold but chilly, and invisible ice cold knives went across my face, making it red and my nose watery. on the other hand, the fact that i was riding a bicycle kept me warm with heat transferring from my thighs to my entire body. after covering a fair distance, i decided to take a minor halt & look for a tea stall where first i could get my throat wet with some 'non distilled' water and then have a glass of hard boiled tea from a ridiculously burnt & black kettle used for years without any renovation. after i finished my tea, i began again for aliya's place, this time with more speed induced in my riding. i began ignoring a few red signals and made my way through thin gaps between cars and scooters, disgusting most of them but i couldn't care less. it was 9:15 and now i was within a kilometer of her place. now i resumed my search for a bouquet shop, and after a little bit of asking around, i found a shop that was open. i think i was the first customer of the day, so i was pleasantly treated by an otherwise rowdy shopkeeper (intuition). i made him arrange a few kinds of flowers and make an improvised bouquet, which also exceeded my budget, but i was thankfully carrying more money. now while riding i had the bouquet in my left hand, while i held the handle of my bicycle with my right. this reduced my speed but since i was close i was not very keen on riding fast now.
i reached her place and gave her a missed call. she called me back,
"hello, aliya?"

"ya, tell me"

"i'm right there at your place, just come downstairs"

"what? why didn't you tell me? i'm at gurgaon, at my cousin's place!"

"oh shit man! i rode my bicycle all the way from my home, just to give you a surprise."

"i'm sorry yaar, but you'll have to go back, can't come all the way from gurgaon now. hope you understand!"

"ya, anyway,happy birthday! love you, bye!"

'Common'wealth

2010-09-29T06:29:00.000-07:00

Reporter: Hello sir. Thanks a ton for finding out time for us from your busy schedule.

Mr. Almadi: No problem at all…hehehe

Reporter: Oh that’s so sweet of you! How is everything progressing?

Mr. Almadi: Very fine, I had problems in my marital life, they have suddenly disappeared. My bank loans are all gone on their own, old friends have again become friends…hehehe

Reporter: No sir, sorry you didn’t get my question! I meant how is everything going with the games?

Mr. Almadi: Oh that, hehehe… they will be held at the scheduled times only, we are not bothered by the weather, besides its just around 10 days, not like football world cup which goes on for a month...hehehe

Reporter: Ok! We’ve heard that the city is coming up with latest equipments and devices for the games. How true is that?

Mr. Almadi: Yes yes, very true. I’ve gifted all my officials with huge almirahs for massive storage. Each has multiple chambers and central locking system…hehehe

Reporter: Ummm…How do you see our nation performing in these international games?

Mr. Almadi: Our country has always been mediocre when it comes to ….llbbbbmmmmmbbb… brilliant when it comes to performing at the big stages…hehehe

Reporter: What’s funny?

Mr. Almadi: You mean hehehe?

Reporter: Yes!

Mr. Almadi: Well that’s my habit. Just like the way I can’t look into anyone’s eyes and talk…hehehe

Reporter: Sir, that’s not funny!

Mr. Almadi: You want some money?

Reporter: Well….ummm…why not sir?

Mr. Almadi: Here you go (hands her over a bunch of 500 rupee notes)
Hehehe

Reporter: tTtTtThank you

Cameraman: I want I want… hungry…hungry…

Mr. Almadi: Oh my god look at him, how thin is he? Where is he from? hehehe

Reporter: Dharavi

Mr. Almadi: Oh poor boy! Do you want some baby?

Cameraman: Yes yes! I want I want…hungry hungry..

Mr Almadi: Come here baby, come. Take, here’s your share. And if you want to join me you will get this kind of stuff twice a day. You want?

Cameraman: I want I want.

Mr. Almadi: great. So you are going to become the new slumdog millionaire…hehehehahahahahahahahahahhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhhuhuhehehehehehehehehehehehhahahahahahahahahahahahahahahuhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhhahahahahahahahahahheheheheheheheheheheee

Thanks Dad!

2010-07-08T22:41:00.000-07:00

I’ve hardly been so depressed before. Tackling parents never was so painful earlier, but now slowly but surely, it had started getting on my nerves. I’ve been such a well behaved and non demanding kid since childhood, why now all of a sudden was it so difficult for them to accept it? I wasn’t doing this deliberately. With age had come a natural sense of choices, which I thought would be best for me, anyone else was secondary!
I decided to move out. I felt it was if not impossible, then improbable to shine if I kept lingering on to my father’s and mother’s preferences over my intuitions. I wanted to open a wine shop in Lokhandwala. It was very unlike the rest of my siblings who managed to prosper with highly academic choices, but my love for booze was not restricted to just drinking at home and pubs. During the last half decade I had made friends with all local wine shop owners near my residence and college, and I derived from them that once one’s shop was well established for all habitants around it, it was highly unlikely for the shop to not run well, and conclusively result in huge profits! My parents were of the sorts who would take offense if I were to study hotel management, believing that I would end up being a waiter initially and at best a manager of a restaurant with zero social respect. So opening a wine shop of my own for them to accept was like asking Ajit Agarkar to give consistent performances!
After a series of investments and loans to set up the shop and business, I was under way. My shop made its place right at the heart of the Lokhandwala market. I not only sold all brands of international and national booze available in our country, I also began a new offer. Through my years of highly passionate and tasteful drinking, I had gained some expertise on creating new and un-invented cocktails. I offered every customer purchasing over 500 rupees alcohol a glass of cocktail made exclusively by me for free. These were spontaneously made and invented by me, with a unique blend of amounts of different sorts of alcohol. It would need high assumption of taste to decipher whether 15 ml of vodka would taste nice with 30 ml of white rum and drops of tequila. But even after this, what made it special was my sense of the additives. For example, a sprinkle of a few coffee beans on the above mentioned mixture would make it an orgasm drink, something you would purchase 500 rupees alcohol for. I made a huge name for myself not just in Lokhandwala, but in whole of mumbai in a couple of years. I maintained the ritual of the free glass of cocktail even with my business flourishing like Sania Mirza’s fan following. It didn’t take me time to get an offer from the Sahara star hotel near the international airport to offer me a highly paid “in charge of cocktails” guy. I accepted the offer with warm ‘rum’ hands and ran my wine shop simultaneously with well equipped assistants. I made profits in lakhs from just my shop, and let us not get into how much I made from the five star hotel’s salary including the high profile tips! It was only a matter of time before I would get a call from my family. I was still unmarried so calling me back home was always an option. The call in fact came the morning I was convinced they would call me, one of my best telepathic successes.
“What drink can you make me right now?”
My father seemed breathless, panting heavily and sounding extremely fragile.
“What does that mean?”
“It is going to be my last drink; I want to have it from you!”
“Last drink? Dad, what is the matter?”
“I’m going son, my heart is almost not pumping blood anymore. Your mother has lost hope. I need you for the last few minutes!”
I didn’t even reply to that, threw my phone and ran out of my place. I drove carelessly and reached my parent’s in quarter to an hour, the fastest I could. My mother sat crying with her head in her hand, and dad palpitating lying in the drawing room on the single bed. He saw me and pointed his index finger towards the kitchen. I understood. I rushed to the kitchen, and ran my eyes through all kind of edible products arranged in a highly civilized way. It took me more than a couple of minutes to identify and reach out to a small 180 ml bottle of blender’s pride whiskey kept on one of the congested slabs. The fridge offered me some cold water, but the cocktail needed some more alcohol. Looking at dad’s condition, it looked highly unlikely for him to be able to wait till I go and bring back some more alcohol from the nearest wine shop. I had never felt so challenged in my whole life. I knew dad was going to die. I had not been with him for the last 12 years. Never has there been any correspondence from either side in all these years. I could not have failed this time. I wanted to make the best cocktail for him I ever had, but with zilch resources it was almost improbable, but not impossible. I looked at everything around me once again. There was no clue for me to unlock this mega mystery. That whiskey bottle was not even half empty, so I took a wild swig from it and made not just my throat but also my intelligence wet.
I got it. I was certain my blood contained more alcohol than a bottle of beer did. I slit my wrist and poured a few drops of blood in the 60ml whiskey in a glass, and mixed it with soda. I rushed back to my dad, made him drink the contents of the glass as he noticed my slit wrist. His last word before he expired was “Genius!”

ANALYTIC GRIEVANCE

2010-06-24T23:40:00.000-07:00

My heart was beating as fast as it could. If it did any more, it would come out of my mouth now. Although I was doing this for the umpteenth time in my life, I felt as if I was a virgin at this task. The room was darker than what it should be, inhibiting my any vision. I had not only to find my way, but also do all this without making any noise. I walked on my toes, avoiding as little contact with the floor as possible. My feet were like those of a kathak dancer, it was impossible for them to not make any sound. I reached the dressing table, felt all the drawers up and down through my long fingers, and then calculatedly opened the third from the top on my left. Amazingly, as I literally bit my own teeth with the scare of breaking the pin drop silence while unlocking the drawer with its key, I managed to pull the drawer with zero decibel sound. I almost clapped with joy, but stopped again at the thought of breaking the silence. Again letting my fingers run through the items inside, I managed to find my mother’s secret purse in which remained thousands of rupees from so long that she did not remember it herself how many were there! It was my monthly routine to steal a couple of thousand rupees from that purse in the night without my mother’s knowledge. I had spent around 25-30,000 rupees in the last 5 years without her notice. My mother was the principal of a convent school and earned more than around that much every month, and kept her savings in that bag. She since her young days had been an ardent disapprover of banks. She believed that banks are organizations for people who are not potent and willing enough to save money on their own. So once there was no dad, she started saving all her money for my future studies in that purse, which was apparently a secret. She used to keep telling me that just because I don’t have a father I have no right to limit my dreams and I have every right to look for the highest thing academically, be it NASA, and that she has enough savings to let me in it. Although I didn’t believe her exactly on the NASA bit, but yes, she had saved lots, almost in lakhs. My stealing hence remained almost non guilt able because I felt I have just taken one tenth of the money which was anyway going to be spent on me. I found a valid justification for myself.
I took the purse in my hand and opened its zip to fetch out myself some valuable 500 rupee notes. As I took out around four of those notes, I felt the density of the bunch of notes remaining not very impressive. So with all my gut, I took an effort in counting them. There were only 11 such notes remaining, which meant 5500 bucks. It was unnerving. I just took three 500 rupee notes the last month, and did not notice such low density of notes then. How then suddenly all the money had vanished? Had my mother opened an account in a bank recently? It seemed highly unlikely, for a stubborn lady at 55 to change her mind and take back her words which she had believed in for over thirty years. Then how was this possible? Had she found another place for her savings and this was only the leftovers of a long time saving? Or was it me, who over a period of five years, had used her money like this and enjoyed life with high class prostitutes and alcohol and drugs, and ‘occasional’ spending on some books for academic purpose? Had I spent her ‘lakhs’?
I was perplexed, and terrified. The thought of finishing up all her money made me not steal that night. I kept the 4 crispy notes each of half a grand back into the purse, and made my way out of the room, this time not on my toes. My ‘kathak’ feet didn’t make any sound. I went to my room and stared at the ceiling lying on my bed, not realizing when I fell asleep!
I woke up the next day rather early, in fact as early as 6:30. My traditional getting up time was around 10 am, and this perennial behavior was defied due to the previous night. I went back to my mother’s room to see in light what I felt in the dark the night before. But I ran inside once I reached the door to her bedroom. She was lying on the floor unconscious. On further examination, I discovered that she wasn’t breathing and there was no heart beat. I looked around and noticed the drawer. That particular drawer was still open. I had forgotten to push it close and lock it, so it remained open the whole night with the key on it.
The police came in a couple of hours. The post mortem report declared that she died due to a heart attack, and it was a natural death. I was unable to study after my graduation, and ended up opening a shop for electrical and hardware appliances near my house. I charge almost half the price other electricians and shops do for the same service. I run in heavy loss, and just manage to make a living.

Pinch Of Salt

2010-05-18T09:16:00.000-07:00

“Excuse me!”

“Yes?”

“Can you please drop me till the highway? I can’t get hold of an auto rickshaw. I’ve to reach somewhere.”

“Sure, get in!”

She looked very pleasant. I’ve never been too keen on giving lifts to people, even the ones I knew, but this time I couldn’t deny. She looked earnest, sincere, and worked up. I was going the same way so there was no extra effort required from my side.

“Where do you work?

“I don’t yet, I’m appearing for an interview, so I’m really tensed and I don’t want to get late!”

“I understand, relax. Where is your interview? I mean where should I drop you exactly?”

“HDFC bank, near the highway.”

The traffic wasn’t pleasant at all. I travelled daily from Versova in Andheri west to Ghatkopar near Andheri east. It was always a nightmare in the morning office hours. The humid heat wouldn’t help much too. But more than the heat, which I had eliminated after purchasing an air conditioned car, it was the time consumed unnecessarily due to the traffic that pissed me off. On this occasion, it meant spending more time with this lady. She looked approximately around 23-24, but with a look of someone who’s seen much more than what her age permits. She was wearing what I call now the “Preity Zinta glasses from Kal Ho Na Ho”, the rectangular black frame which went perfectly with her roundish face. She was attractive.

“Do you have some music?”

“Yes. Why?

“I’m sorry, I’m just a bit nervous, thought some nice music might ease it up…”

“Well in that case, let me make you hear some stuff I regularly listen to when I’m stressed. Shall I?”

“Sure”

I took a compact disc recording of Ustaad Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan. It was one of my favorite recordings of his. And as the rendition began,

“Nusrat?”

“Ya, Nusrat saab! I’m sure you will love this.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Why?”

I had nothing else to ask. But she didn’t reply. There was arrogance in her silence. I also ignored her as some ignorant fool, who knew shit about classical and sufi music. As the song reached its peak, I declined my any effort for any conversation, and genuinely got involved in the song, tapping on my steering periodically and shaking my head as if I was in a live concert. And then I noticed her, sitting next to me, making a painful face as if someone just twisted her arm.

“Are you alright, what happened?”

“Can you please change this song, and if you have nothing else then turn off the music?”

“What?”

“Yes…wait…”

She pinched me on my tummy which was protruding out of my body, thanks to the liters of beer in the last half decade.

“AAAAAAAHHHHHH!!! What the hell?”

“Did it hurt you?”

“Of course, you fucking pinched me; it is supposed to hurt isn’t it?”

“This song is hurting me the same way, it is out of tune! This man is always out of tune. How can someone get so famous when the voice cracks all the time and there is no sweetness?”

“What the fuck are you saying? You are talking about Nusrat fateh ali khan? “

“Yes!”

“Ok enough, I will not just turn off the music; I’m stopping my car here. Please get down.”

“What?”

“Yes, I’m sorry. I’ve a few reservations about people talking so rudely about something they don’t understand and treasure! Please get down.”

“Why will I say something like that unless I know music? But yes, I could have avoided expressing my displeasure. It is your car after all!”

“It is not about that. Just…..please get down! I’m sorry.”

She got off, and I saw in my rear view mirror that she boarded an auto rickshaw almost immediately. I had been thinking about her all the time since then. She looked that person to me who could be with me, and with whom I could be with. I mean honestly, I didn’t even know her name. I felt this amazing vibe when we were sitting together; there was this feeling that she is the girl. Throughout the silence during the song, I could hear her breathe, almost at rhythmic points of the composition. And then she said something which thrashed it all. I think I almost flared up with so much anger because at that moment I could not decide whether my belief in my taste of music was stronger, or whether my attraction for this lady was stronger. But now I feel even though I literally kicked her out of my car, she managed to make me feel weak about my taste. Suddenly I was not sure whether I was right or she was. I had to find it out now. I could bear this no longer. I made a sudden trip to my cousin’s place on the next weekend, hoping to find the answer. My cousin’s father is a very well known sitar player, and an acclaimed radio artist. I made him listen to a couple of renditions by Ustaad Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan. He remained silent throughout, and this time I did not enjoy the songs. I kept a close watch on his facial expressions, but he remained composed.

“What do you think uncle?”

“About what? He was obviously a very famous singer.”

“No, I mean did you like what he sang?”

“Come here”

I went to where he was sitting, as he pinched my tummy and said,

“This is how I felt!”

No more vaccations!

2010-04-28T00:45:00.000-07:00

We went out of stock at around 10 pm. I had made a mistake of assuming that this much alcohol would be enough for all when I was purchasing booze from a liquor shop in the evening. Now since I was the mood spoiler, I was sent again to get more stock for the entire night. The nearest liquor shop from our hotel was also atleast 15 kilometers away. Our hotel at the Jim Corbett National park was a beauty and hence even though it was quite far off from the nearest shops of daily needs, we agreed to put up there for the weekend trip. We were a group of 4 and except me all were extremely dynamic and talented in their own right.
Sohail is a terrific photographer; camera looked a part of his body now to us. Needless to say, this trip would be orgasmic to him. To capture wildlife was like Christmas to him, it meant a grand feast. His zoom lens was more precious to him than his girlfriend. He was so accustomed to using his camera that even he was not; he would close his right eye and look with his left at a thing as if focusing his camera for a crystal picture. Chinmoy is a typical Bengali. He would roam around everywhere in a kurta and jeans, with a khadi bag hanging from one of his shoulders, listening to hindustani classical music on his walkman and admiring it in a peculiar way which would be embarrassing for his friends at public places. He is the most non gutsy creature I have known, although he is extremely keen on travelling every now and then. And yes, he is the most avid drinker among all of us. His intestine had gone for a toss by now with liters of hard boiled tea from tea stalls in the mornings and old monk rum with water in the nights. Kartik, an aspiring model is the only lady killer we have in our group. There isn’t much in his grey matter, but who cares as long as he is the only source for us of any contact with a group of girls wherever we go. Apart from this, there’s not much about him to be mentioned. I am still jobless at 25, now on the verge of losing my cool and getting into perennial depression if things don’t work out. I was an English honors student in my graduation, but did not complete my degree. I had started working with a BPO which consumed most of my time, and since I was earning, I preferred this over studying literature. After a couple of years of stagnancy, I could not stand my job any more as there was no growth in my job profile and salary. This made me resign. Since then I’ve been trying to find out what I should be doing. I had stated writing a novel, but I haven’t developed it further after a stage due to lack of plot points.
Kartik, Sohail and Chinmoy were extremely pissed with me, and hence there was no choice for me apart from going back to purchase liquor again that late in the night. I took my motorcycle, kick started it began my way to the liquor shop. Since I had been there in the evening, it shouldn’t have been difficult to find my way, even though it was pitch dark now. The only source of light on the road was the headlight of my Royal Enfield, even the moon was missing. It was awkwardly breezy as the cool vector air found its way through the gaps of the shielding glass of my helmet in front of my eyes, drying and cracking my lips, making it itch irritatingly. I licked my lips repeatedly with my tongue to keep it wet, but the itch increased as soon as it dried again, almost burning now. I tried concentrating on the dark hilly road, and drove at a safe speed. I had covered more than half the distance, when I noticed a man standing around 300 meters away, with a white polythene bag in his left hand. He made a gesture with his right hand as I got nearer to him, and I understood that he was looking for a ride. I halted and asked him to sit at the back seat, while he informed that it would be great if I could drop him at a bus stand near the city. He kept his right hand on my right shoulder to balance, and kept holding the polythene bag with his left. There was no effort from either of us to start a conversation, and though the silence seemed natural, it was eerie. Riding my Enfield had never been so uncomfortable before, the cold got to me so much that I was shivering now continuously. The man behind me was……wait a second……..where was the man? I noticed there was no hand on my shoulder now, and then I turned back to see that the backseat was empty. I was still riding till then, and then I stopped and looked at the road behind. There was no trace of him. I wondered whether I was shivering so heavily that the man actually got unbalanced and fell of the bike. I turned my bike around and now started moving towards my hotel, searching for the man. For a long time I could not spot him, but now yes, I could, he was there, right there, from where I had picked him up at the first place. I went near him and stopped. He wasn’t looking at me. The polythene bag was still in his left hand. Asked him how was he here again? He turned his face towards me, the wind blew my helmet away, I could see his jaws right till his ears, his skin burnt as ash, and a hollow in place of his eyes. His smile creaked in my ears as he floated away in the jungle, disappearing within seconds. I could not get alcohol, and went straight to my hotel after this. By the time I reached my room, I was shouting with immense chest pain. My friends rushed towards me, took me to my bed and called for a doctor. I was hospitalized immediately after that, due to a heart stroke.

Love you Maa!

2010-03-23T23:32:00.000-07:00

Dr. Biswas came in. We were frantically waiting for him for the past half an hour. My mother’s case needed special attention. It wasn’t a casual case anymore. But to our horror and surprise, none of the hospitals with famous psychiatrists could get hold of the case till now. Dr. Biswas was one of our last hopes in the city. His failure would mean shifting my mother to a hospital may be in Delhi or Bombay. We were asked to leave, once he entered, and only his two assistant nurses were allowed to stay back.
She has been one of the most affable humans you would see, all her life. She was married to the kitchen more than my father, and what she cooked was more beautiful than her kids, including me! The fulcrum of the family never got imbalanced because of her control and hold over herself. There were times when dad returned home late and drunk, and both me and my sister used to cry with the sight of him behaving so unusually and flaw fully with a slurring speech, but my mother somehow kept her cool and never reacted in a way that could end up being scarier for us. It was always the next morning my mother used to give him a hard time, to whatever little extent she could. Once on asking she explained that reacting on the same night would not help, as your father is not going to remember anything the next morning. I found it a very sensible answer, and I don’t expect it from a lot of women, sorry.
Dr. Biswas came out of his examining room and asked us to join him in his cabin. He said he could not find any real disorder in maa, and she was alright according to him. We told him about the unusual incidents that have taken place in the last couple of months, and all he had to reason them was that they were apparently stress related disorders and are very common in city life, so there was nothing to worry. We decided to take his word and went back to our place with contentment that maa would recover slowly if we give her mental peace and space.
Dad could not win the custody case of his children after divorce, and this had anguished him so much that he stopped all communications with his ex wife and children. Me and Nivedita, my sister, missed him periodically but were kind of comfortable with maa being the head of the family after her divorce. She was undoubtedly the better guardian, but perhaps the fact that now she had to work also simultaneously made things a little difficult for her. My dad wasn’t regular in paying his alimony amount he was supposed to every month to maa, and it made maa more tensed about how she’s going to manage growing up her two kids over a long period of time. He was supposed to pay 15 grand each month, which rarely happened. More often than not we would receive a cheque of 15,000 after 4-5 months, and the legal system had enough loopholes for my father to trick it and avoid paying every month. My mother was working as a handicraft artist with her friend who ran a local shop, and hence did not have a satisfactory salary. Yet we managed, and pretty well at that. I and nivu, both, became very strong willed and focused, unlike other kids of our age. We were great in our academics, and we knew from an early age that we had to do everything possible to make our mother happy from whatever we could, because otherwise there was no reason for her to smile. Both of us were toppers in our respective classes till we passed out of school, and we made maa proud.
Now again we faced the same situation. Nivu was married, so eventually she would go back to her husband’s place in Tollygunj. So maa was mostly my responsibility now. Even on my way back home from hospital, I had started thinking about what all duties of hers’ can be eliminated temporarily so that she does not worry about them and can rest. One of her major behavioral changes that cropped up around from 2 months back was that she could not eat anything else other than rice. It was mind boggling. She would be adamant that food items like paneer, chicken, mutton are costly and simple vegetables along with pulses and rice are healthier yet cheap. She had reduced her sleeping hours explaining that she would stitch more and earn more. This was not acceptable, because I was settled with a good job, earning a lot more than to be just comfortable for the both of us. Nivu’s wedding expenses were also covered by me and it went pretty fine. So basically there was no logic to what she was doing. I atleast understood, I don’t care if the doctors didn’t, that all this is a part of her mental sickness, her struggle to earn and give us a comfortable childhood in all her prime age was now taking a toll on her brain. Another of her many recent changes was that she would vomit anything she ate first up after waking up in the morning within 5 minutes of consuming it. And only after 3-4 hours of her being awake could she gulp down any solid food without throwing it up. This also according to the doctors was a stress syndrome.
I used to reach home around 8 in the evening from my office, and used to leave by 9 in the morning, so I had to keep a maid just for maa who would take care of her in my absence. In a matter of a few months, with serious efforts, her condition improved. She got friendly with the maid and enjoyed her company. She started eating a much varied diet which Asha, the maid, cooked for her. I returned home drunk one night, and raped Asha, in the kitchen.
Maa is fighting a case against me since then, trying to prove me guilty for the crime. I’m trying to prove that she’s mentally sick.

Dream come true

2010-03-06T21:49:00.001-08:00

Ananya: Where are you taking me?
Shom: Shut up! Sit quietly. Let me drive.
Ananya: You are drunk Shom. Please drop me home and you go back to your place. We will be in trouble if you break traffic rules.
Shom: Don’t worry girlie. I can drive even when I’m sleeping, just like I play the violin best when I’m drunk. My senses are even more ‘sensible’ when I’m intoxicated.
Ananya: Shom, you are not going to remember this conversation tomorrow morning, and you think you are being ‘sensible’?
Shom: Can you just sit quietly for a while and let me drive? Please, I request you. Can you do that for me?
Ananya: Ok, but… just be careful.
Shom: Ya ya fine!

(After 20 minutes)

Ananya: If I’m not wrong, we are crossing the Delhi border right now, aren’t we? Shom, where the hell are we going?
Shom: Patience is a virtue darling. Keep patience. You know I can’t harm you in any way, I love you so much.
Ananya: Ya whatever! Only under alcohol’s influence you get romantic. I can never expect such a line from you when I call you in the nights and you are sane.
Shom: Baby, I’m sane.
I can see the lane.
Don’t take so much pain…
It’ll go in vain.
Ananya: Oh my God!
Shom: See, that’s why I’m telling you. Just sit calmly & enjoy the drive. We’ll reach in a while.
Ananya: Reach where?

(After 3 hours)

Shom: Annu, get up. We are almost there.
Ananya: Hmmm….ya? Hmmm? Where are we?
Shom: See for yourself, first open your eyes man!
Ananya: Looks like a city and a congested one on top of that. Umm… I need to see some shop hoarding!
Shom: Guess ma’am?
Ananya: F U C K! O F U C K! Shom, are we in Agra?
Shom: Bull’s eye!
Ananya: What the fuck?
Shom: Relax, the best is yet to come.
Ananya: Why Agra?
Shom: Where else can you have a Taj Mahal?
Ananya: Oh my God! Shomu….my sweetu…
Shom: Wait…wait…wait…I’m driving, don’t hug me man, or else we’ll crash into something.
Ananya: Oh ok….Hehe… sorry sweetu.
Shom: Hmmm… here we go. Let me park here. We’ll have to walk from here on.
Ananya: Alright.
Hey, what’s there in that bag pack? Are we going to stay here?
Shom: Ofcourse, how can we go back tonight itself? Idiot.
Ananya: Man you had planned all this? I’m amazed.

(After 5 minutes)

Shom: How does it feel now? Just look at it, the Taj Mahal in moonlight.
Ananya: I can’t explain. This is just awesome, the feeling has no parallel.
Shom: By the way, happy anniversary Annu, it is past midnight isn’t it? You remember?
Ananya: Oh shit!
Shom: Ya, shit! It is 10th February, it has been an year now since we are going around.
Ananya: And I did not even remember this? I should be killed right now.
I love you so much baby! Give me a hug…
Shom: Wait wait, I’ve got something more…. Ya, here we go!
Ananya: Wow! You fucking carried your violin in the bag pack?
Shom: Yes, and now I’m going to perform a small piece, based in Raag Darbari.
Ananya: You have composed?
Shom: Ya, kind of. Now listen.
Ananya: Oh, please play…can’t wait.

(After 10 minutes)

Ananya: UFF! Fantastic…Shom, I’m blessed with you. Can I please hug you now?
Shom: Sure…

(After 3 minutes)

Ananya: Can we please make out?
Shom: Here? Let us go to the hotel first where we are going to stay.
Ananya: No, I want to do it now, here, in front of the Taj Mahal.
Shom: But what if…
Ananya: Sssssssshhhhhhhhhhhhh…….

We Are Sorry

2010-01-21T23:31:00.000-08:00

Baba came home from office really late that night. We, my mother, I and my elder brother, were already on the dinner table. I and Shantu da had school the next day so we were in our final minutes of ‘waking hours’ for the day! But then baba spoke, and we were informed that one of his best friends, also a very close family friend, has been admitted to a hospital due to brain hemorrhage.
Baba’s friend, Malay uncle, had gone to Kolkata during the Puja season with his family, and there on a certain day after sudden unconsciousness, he was admitted. We had a very enjoyable Puja here in Delhi. But Malay uncle was missed; he was this effervescent and highly affable person hanging around all the time, with no shortage of enthusiasm and passion. He had curly hair, dark skin color, small pox spots on his face distributed evenly, and round ‘Gandhi-an’ spectacles just about fitting in the nose hook. Even though he was Baba’s friend, he acted more of a guardian to me than my Baba. His fondness for children and especially bright ones was something everybody knew and respected. He was an artist by profession and took keen interest in sports and politics, with equally good knowledge about Hindustani classical music. All these made it a pleasure to have him around in any circle or gathering. A Puja without him was so different.
Baba said he got to know about Malay uncle around lunch time in his office, and then after office he went to meet the 3-4 friends who along with my father were the closest to Malay uncle. They discussed about what can be done and whether they should ask Malay uncle’s wife and mother to bring him back to Delhi to get him treated in a finer way. There is this general belief that medical options are far more advanced & professional in the capital than the ‘city of joy’! They had called Malay uncle’s wife after their discussion and given her this option, to which she replied she would consult the doctors about it there and then take a decision the next day. On the next day, uncle’s wife called and said that the doctors are not willing to take the risk of discharging him and letting him go to another city, so it was better if he continues to be there itself. To this reply, it was not possible to coax her and Baba & friends started thinking of an alternative solution.
It was a Sunday, and hence all working men had an off. Our drawing room was selected as the meeting point of all friends, and there the discussion began. It was suggested by someone finally that some of them should may be go to Kolkata to help, as it would be more than an assistance on the manpower front, and also may be financially for the time being. To this idea, there were multiple debates, almost everyone said it was not possible for them to take a leave and go to Kolkata. The meeting again ended in a non conclusive point, and all went to their homes. Baba sat there silently, smoking, and thoughtful. In the evening something struck me, and I went to Baba and said:
“Baba, lets both of us go! I can take 3-4 days off from school, my half yearly exams are still 2 months away. Why should we think so much when it is about Malay uncle, baba? He has taught me how to sketch; he has taught you how to enjoy a drink with music; he has taught dada how to play a cover drive! He has taught all of us how to live, and today when his life is in danger, what nonsense are all of us thinking? Shouldn’t we be there with him, no matter what?”
Baba had a smile on his face and a tear in his right eye, and shouted to my mother that our 15 year old son has thought and spoken the way a lot of 50 year olds couldn’t! He booked tickets the next morning from his office for the 2 of us, as we would depart the next day. I gave a leave application to my Principal in school that I will be unavailable from Tuesday to Saturday due to family reasons.
Baba came home from office around quarter to nine in the night. He saw me sitting in the drawing room, and this did not please him at all. He shouted on me “Are you such an idiot, that tomorrow you are leaving and still you do not have the sense that you should study a little tonight atleast?” I covered my face with my hand and broke down into tears! My mother came from kitchen and told my father that Malay uncle is not anymore with us, and his wife had called us in the evening to tell us the news. My father went to his room and cried in silence, his eyes remained red all day on the train to Kolkata the next day. We met Malay uncle’s family in guilt of not reaching on time, and made our way back to Delhi in a couple of days.

Wait!!

2009-12-26T22:18:00.000-08:00

I had 3 huge bags with me. And all of that was mine. Manish was yet to reach the station, while i had already spent around half an hour on the platform observing funny looking passengers. In fact all passengers looked funny to me, dressed up in weird costumes for the night journey, with inhumane amount of luggage carried by human coolies. At least i picked up my own stuff from the taxi stand till the platform, i hated hiring a coolie no matter how much stuff i carried.
It was 5:20 in the evening already, 5:35 the train was scheduled to depart. Manish's phone was unreachable. Sweat dropped off my forehead without shyness. I just wasn't ready to forgive him this time. It was not the first time that he was late, getting late has almost been his hobby for years. Once i waited for him for six hours at the V.T. station, can you beat that? Six hours? And his biggest asset, he always sounded jolly, even when he was running four hours late, he was in a great mood, assuring me that he will be there in the next five minutes, it took him another two hours to reach! And yet when he reached, he smiled and joked around with such elan, that i couldn't even shout at him! we have been friends since we were 5, anyway, now it was 5:25. i was trying his phone continuously, without bringing down the machine, just assuming the redial button's position and pressing it again and again. His phone finally rang. he picked up and said " i'll be there in 15 minutes"
i was furious, and perhaps for the first time i shouted at him " how can you be here in 15 minutes, the train leaves in 10 minutes, in fact less than that now "
"Don't worry, i'll be there, you are getting me late" he hung up, sounding in 'just a bit' of hurry! but did i hear him right? he said "you are getting me late" ? i was getting him late? for heaven's sake, this was far beyond my tolerance level!
i decided to sit on my berth, irrespective of his arrival, thinking at least i will be on my way to delhi, even if he misses. i saw my watch again, it was 5:30. Manish was calling me,i picked up and even before i could say hello, he spoke with tremendous hurry, " come down to the food court, near the entrance of the station,i'm eating there." i again blasted out "what are you doing there, the train is about to leave, i'm already at my berth". But then Manish said something which made me feel like a fool, " the tickets are with me" . I ran with my luggage to the food court, almost with no time remaining for the train to depart, i saw him checking out the menu. as i reached, he asked me to sit calmly, as he had inquired and the train was 10 minutes late. This made me slightly relaxed, but within a few moments i was back to my anxious best. Manish held a huge plate and came towards me to sit & have his 'lunch'. the plate would take atleast 15 minutes to finish, even if i try my hand at "fast food"! How would manish finish all that in 7-8 minutes was mind boggling. so i did not trust him, and i decided to interfere. " eat this, the chapatis, ya, now take that dal, ya, now eat the sweet, lets finish it up, ya ok take that last bite"... manish ate silently & obediently the things i told him . others in the restaurant found all this pretty amusing. but alas, when he finished, train was yet to leave. We ran back, reached our compartment, then our berths, and sat, as the train slowly but surely started to move on. it seemed as if manish had bribed the train authorities to wait for him.
Our journey till delhi was enjoyable! although i made it a point to mention this to him that i'm extremely pissed with the way he goes about his time commitments! we went back to our own places, his parents stayed in hari nagar, and mine in katwaria sarai. We were supposed to meet again the next day, on the reception party of our professor's wedding. Our professor, Mr. Varun Negi, was just 28 when he taught us genomics in Delhi University. Now 34, he finally agreed to get married after much coaxing from his parents, to a girl from Bareily! Arranged marriage.
That night my father and i sat through till 3 in the morning with a chivas regal whiskey bottle accompanying our varied subjects of discussions! My father had waited for me to come back home for a long time, to enjoy such long hours of talks with his son. After a certain age, a son can become his father's best friend!
By the time we finished, both of us were drunk. my father decided to sleep there and then itself in the drawing room. i behaved as the one with more control and went to my bedroom to sleep. i woke up next morning with my cellphone ringing and vibrating under my pillow. i picked it up and without my saying hello, he spoke " where the hell are you, i'm waiting for half an hour! where have you reached?"
I saw the watch, it was 12:30 in the afternoon, i had asked Manish to reach at 12 near PVR plaza in connaught place as i would pick him up by my car from there.
I answered " driving, i'll be there in 10 minutes"

Cloudy 'State' of Affairs

2009-10-26T22:55:00.000-07:00

The elections were too close; you could almost smell the red flags around. This time, the city was vastly peaceful. But one can never predict anything in Calcutta, any moment the riots would break out. The communist party members were the noisiest, as usual, with their marches and slogans. For years they have been ruling, very much like dictators! The people almost had no choice, but to vote for them. For some, it was to survive, or else they’ll be slaughtered to death. Yes, it was like that, not without reason did I use the word ‘dictators’.
My stint with the communist party was pretty small, yet people had managed to remember me after almost a decade now of my leaving the party. Though it’s not very tough to see the reason why. Perhaps I was the only one they thought who was not pushing the lines of violence in order to maintain our Marxist ideals! I remained active in my tenure of two years with my mind boggling speeches, although out of a million new ideas I had suggested, only a handful were implemented, and that too not with complete success. Yet I managed to remain the poster boy of Bengal’s politics in the early 90’s. Now after a long time, I’m back into mainstream politics with Trinamool, standing up from arguably the most controversial district at this moment in Bengal, that being of Singur. Mamati di has been very strong and vehement about not allowing Singur to get into Tata’s hands. The farmers here could have been in deep soup, without home and land, if mamata di hadn’t stepped in and ridiculed Buddhadeb’s plans! The people here were happy with us. The rumour was that I was undoubtedly going to win, with a huge margin! Even to just hear this was extremely comforting. It meant healing up of a lot of old wounds!
People were lining up outside booths in massive numbers on the Election Day. So many people together and each having so much power with a vote each, the power of democracy was beginning to scare me now! In my years of graduation in Vardhaman, during which I studied political science, I had read about the initialization of the democratic system, which required mass scale literacy. That being missing from our system, democratic liberty was certainly getting misused. This is what perhaps was scaring me. But the elections were held rather finely, without any ‘major’ chaos in the state. The speculations had now taken the form of betting, people had put money on parties and leaders. Huge money was on stake, from people involved. Days went by, as the temperature of the political environment and my blood pressure increased by leaps. The result day was here, I decided to stay at my home and wait for the news to reach me through television and phone calls.
My victory meant a lot to me personally, not just my party. Even though Trinamool swept around 75-80% of the seats, the one from my district tasted the sweetest, arguably. I planned a weekend trip with my wife and son to Ghoom, a beautiful place, almost heavenly, which comes on the way to Darjeeling from Bagdogra. My wife had always wished to visit the Ghoom monastery, and I could not have found a better time to go there and relax for a couple of days. The mist and the clouds floating in front of our eyes made it difficult for my camera to make crystal clear pictures, but the hard disc in my brain will never have the visuals foggy. I had never seen a place so intimate, and so divine. ‘Ghoom’ in bengali means sleep, and so true to its name. The place ensures one’s relaxation, almost as if you’re sound asleep. We went in the evening to the monastery after a short nap in the afternoon as soon as we arrived. The clouds accompanied us at our eye level, as if touching and speaking to us. But I did not know that they would turn out to be the monsters.
My wife and son have not been found yet, dead or alive since then. I frantically tried but I just couldn’t locate them, the clouds had helped the kidnappers!

One Seven

2009-10-06T00:48:00.000-07:00

There were more than a hundred well dressed young people waiting for their turn. When I had started from my home, I had thought this would be a cake walk. And here I was, once again trapped between complacence and destiny! I took a corner seat, trying to avoid as many close sitting candidates as possible. I tried to ignore stares from quite a few of them, and innocently sat with my bio-data file on my lap. In these kind of situations, my behavioral patterns always tended to go a bit feminine, my voice turning softer, tone a lot sweeter, and ass trying to occupy as much little space possible wherever I was sitting. Although after a few minutes, things started becoming more masculine. I felt a part of the group now, and my body language was improving every second. And just then, a girl sitting next to me spoke
“Are you applying for journalism?”

“No, I’m for advertising. Why?

“Oh, just like that! I get very nervous when I see so many people appearing for the same thing as me. So was just checking how many am I really competing with!”

“I see”

“By the way, I’m kaushiki”

“Hi, I’m Norton”

“Antivirus??”

“Oh common, Norton Desouza! I’ve heard that antivirus thing a thousand times. Its not even funny anymore”

“So you are a Catholic?”

“Yes”

“You don’t look like one!”

“Then how do Catholics look like?”

She couldn’t answer as the invigilator called out her name aloud – “ Kaushiki Dasgupta….Room number 4”

She got up from her chair in a bit of disarray, and almost pushed me while asking-

“Wish me luck!!”

“All the best, you’ll be great!”

“Thanks so much man”

She left as I saw her get into Room number 4. She looked confident while entering the room though. “Kaushiki Dasgupta” I thought. “Bengali….hmm…..doesn’t look like one”, I spoke to myself. She had typically north Indian features, and then the complexion to go with it. If it wouldn’t have been my nervousness for my interview, I would have had a crush on her by now. And also she didn’t carry that irritating Bengali accent with an ‘o’ instead of an ‘a’ wherever ‘a’ exists. The way she introduced herself, was very non Bengali, or else she would have pronounced it like “Kowsheeki”, but she didn’t

Anyway, I needed to get back to my advertising frame of mind. My turn would be very soon. In a couple of minutes, kaushiki came out of room number 4, stood next to my chair and said

“It was good, I think I’ll make it. Chal, I’ll be going now, my boyfriend is waiting downstairs!”

“Ok great, goodluck, bye!”

“Goodluck to you antivirus, bye!”

We had both made it to the institute that year, and were in our respective courses for the next 2 years. We kept meeting each other every now and then in college, even though we had different set of friends. We remembered each other’s birthdays & wished right at the stroke of midnight, a new age trend of wishing birthdays that had cropped up recently that time. We passed out, she got placed with CNBC, I was free lancing initially. But then for a lot of years, there was no correspondence from either side. Both our cell numbers had changed, hence it was even more difficult to now find out about each other.
But then yesterday, after 17 years, we crashed into each other at an awards function. My ad-film was nominated for the best ad-film of the year. Although I didn’t win, I got rave responses, including kaushiki’s! She said

“Wow! You’ve become a big shot, antivirus. Fabulous film!”

“Oh my God, Kaushiki? Where have you been?”

“All around the world! But hey, nice meeting you after almost 2 decades!”

“Same here, are you back in Mumbai?”

“Yes yes! Listen..i need to leave right now, my husband’s waiting, can I have your number, I’ll give you a call soon!”

“Sure man, 9728093611. Give me a miss call, I’ll save yours!”

“I’ll in a while. Sorry I need to rush, bye!”

I waited the whole night, and it’s almost 17 hours now, but she hasn’t given me a missed call.

Brrrrrrrrrrrr Brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr

My cell phone valiantly vibrated till I picked it up.

“Hello…”
“Antivirus, kaushiki here. How long will it take you to reach Infinity mall? I’m getting bored, let’s catch up!

“Alright, I’ll be there in a while, wait!”

“In how much time?”

“Around half an hour”

I reached in 17 minutes.

During Turin

2009-08-09T01:06:00.000-07:00

I and my wife always fight. Here’s one of our recent telephonic conversations:
Me: I hope you are coming on time…
Her: of course
Me: cool then, don’t get late
Her: whaaat?? Did you just say don’t get laid?
Me: whaaat?? Are you insane? Why will I say that, I said don’t get late, l for lousy, a for ass, t for torture, e for eternity!
Her: (on top of her lungs) how dare you speak to me like that?
Me: like what? I just was kind enough to spell out a word which is almost your middle name.
Her: no! That was deliberate. You could have said l for lovely a for….. you know….something like that.
Me: see..exactly. There are no nice words that would describe you. Even you could just remember ‘lovely’ spontaneously, which I agree you were 10 years back!
And this went on.
I had a friend working in Turin for long. He was the one who encouraged me to come to Italy, as he said many Asians, and particularly the ones from the subcontinent, come and earn a more than a decent living there. He had spoken about things which I had not heard of. Like one was this that there in Italian cities, people keep old stuff which they don’t want any more outside their houses, and the needful could take them to their homes without any restrictions! I was amazed on listening to such a custom. Though when I reached Italy, it was more of an ambitious dream coming true rather than putting logicalities together. I had seen beautiful and flamboyant pictures and scenes from films of Venice; I could have never imagined a place like that if I wouldn’t have seen them. My friend assured me of a job there with him, hence it was easier for me to come so far away from my country and work here. Now I’m in Naples. After a few months with my friend at Turin, I shifted base to Naples. Through a few Bangladeshi friends of my friend, I got contacts in Naples to get employed as the driver of Deigo Maradona. I drove from his place to the Stadio San Paolo where he practiced with the rest of his Napoli team mates, and then back to his place after the sessions. He used to drive himself whenever he went to parties or pubs in the night. People around me had started saying that Maradona is past his prime now, and that his genius is on the decline. From the little I understood of Maradona’s mobile conversations while he sat in the car as I drove him, I could make out that he was unhappy in his personal life, he was asking for drugs and women at his place late at night. I kept out of all this and did my job the way every driver should, and that was to drive him safely to his destination.
My wife arrived finally, but as expected half an hour late than what I had asked her to. We were in Turin, at the Delle Alpi, home of Juventus. This was Maradona’s big day. Italian Serie A champions was going to be virtually decided that eve, whoever wins would pick up the title. Infact Napoli had to win; Juventus was higher on goal difference so even a draw couldn’t have helped Maradona’s 11. He had given me 2 special passes for me and my wife for this match, something he had never done before. Here is how it went when my ‘not at all the better half’ arrived and sat beside me:
Her: We must win this one, we can’t afford a draw.
Me: We? Who are ‘we’?
Her: Napoli you idiot! We are from Naples, do you remember?
Me: Of course I remember, but since when have you become such an ardent follower of the Napoli football club?
Her: why else do you think I came here to watch a match with you? I have been a huge fan of Maradona since childhood.
Me: since childhood? How old are you?
Her: are you retarded? I’m your fucking wife; you don’t know how old am I?
I decided to stay quite then, it was fast becoming a scene infront of the sophisticated people we were sitting around. The match was being played mainly in the midfield, something that happens quite regularly in a clash of good Italian club teams as both defend par excellence.
Her: I wish we had Maldini in our defense line up, he would have single handedly stopped all these fuckers in black and white stripes! Besides he’s so cute!
Me: that’s all you like about him, women can only look at footballers in a frivolous way!
She gave me a stare, which told me I won’t be spared once we reach back home. But I was confident of what I said; I mean Napoli really didn’t have the budget to afford Maradona & Maldini in the same team. But expecting her to know all this was being foolish in itself. Football was not her ‘plate of pasta’ anyway. It was nil nil till almost closing time, when through a free kick awarded just outside the box, Maradona audaciously put the ball in the net with his majestic left foot. Delle Alpi burst out in a huge roar. Even though this was Juventus’s home ground, there were enough Napoli fans to make Turin feel like Naples for that moment. His teammates carried Maradona on their shoulders to the dressing room after full time.
Her: We won! We won! Forza Napoli!
She gave me a hug and kissed me on my cheek. It felt good. This had not happened for a long time.
Me: Yes! Yes! We are the 1990 Serie A champions! Yohoooooooooooooo…
I shouted. She had her left hand on my waist holding me tight and jumping with joy. We jumped together! Perhaps I felt my love for her again. One celebration together had made us come so near. She now looked the same effervescent girl I had fallen for in my virginity days. I wanted to make love to her now. I hadn’t kissed her lips for some time, and we hadn’t made love for a long time. She asked me to wait next to my car, as she left for the washroom. I waited for nearly 30 minutes, but that was understandable, as washrooms after the match are queued to long lengths, men and women waiting for their turn to use their respective lavatories. She came back and spoke almost with impatience.
Her: Where is Deigo Maradona?
Me: He must be in his dressing room with his teammates celebrating, why?
Her: aren’t you going to take him back to his hotel tonight?
Me: No, he will be partying with his friends. He’ll be on his own.
Her: Can you please take me there?
Me: Where?
Her: To the place he’s going to party…
Me: What? Why?
Her: Listen…I’ll tell you everything, please take me to him right now!

The Half Truth

2009-07-25T00:18:00.000-07:00

Dear Editor,
I am behind bars. After much persistence, efforts and coaxing, these people gave me your postal address. I hope this reaches you and you go through it without throwing it in the bin even before looking at it. Sorry for my harsh words, but kindly understand what state of mind I’m presently in.
I’ve been here in this dingy smelly lock up for the past 8 months. These guys arrested me from my work place. I’m a civil engineer, now after 27 years of experience, have got into the design aspect of construction. I’ve been presently working for the metro constructions in the capital, I mean I was working, till I got arrested. I’m sure you remember the major accident when the under construction pier fell down and led to a few people’s lives. I was one of the few who were arrested. It’s been a year now but I still remember every detail of the visual in front of my eyes. I was on site after the accident, but then when I saw the chaos and the disastrous outcome, I tried hiding my face somewhere, choking with guilt and shame. I was one of the chief designers of the metro bridge dissecting through that part of Delhi. Although it was not the first one to be built in Delhi, and we had done a few before, this one was the first of its kinds. It was crossing through a locality that had a steep diversion, and hence it was designed to have two piers rather than one central to keep the bridge balanced. It was accepted and approved by all governing authorities, and only then did we start with the construction. But once the construction began, slowly but surely we understood, at least I understood that it is going wrong. There wasn’t enough space for two piers, there are residential colonies on both sides and it will be majorly blocking or may be even crashing into them when the piers get made. I immediately informed my seniors and asked them to look into the matter, as the construction had just begun and it was still possible for a makeover.
The idea travelled sluggishly through the clogged arteries of the obese organization I was working in. It wasn’t accepted till they finally saw it themselves. And at that moment again, all designers were called and asked to brainstorm and find out a solution. In such cases, the only solution we felt could now solve was to make a single pier cantilever, removing the other. There are success cases of cantilever constructions within the city itself, so the proposed idea looked executable. But yet there was this problem. I saw it coming again. Since the original design of the bridge was through two piers, suddenly making it cantilever could result in a weak base. For such cases, the whole basic formation is different in a way that the balance is shifted completely on the beams.
I did not speak or discuss this with anyone, may be with this intuition that again nothing will be done about it till they themselves find out. I know I have been spineless in keeping quiet about it, and perhaps I even deserve a punishment. All I want from you sir is to not let this incident pass into people’s minds as such a basic error with a few designers being faulty at their jobs. There is much more to it which I’ve tried telling you through this confessional letter, more of which I’ll describe once I get a reply from you.
Thank you for your cooperation involved in the above stated matter,
Yours sincerely,
Krishna Iyer

My boss suddenly appeared on my desk,
“What’s up Arnab, any interesting letters today?”
“Yes sir, there are a couple, one is of this lady who says she was a prostitute in her past life, and she visits all her customers and her families everyday in her dreams, and that too sequentially and the other is…”
“Oh fantastic, I only have one column for you this week Arnab, get this lady on the papers. See you in my cabin when you are done with this.”
“Yes sir!”

Oh i see!

2009-06-02T07:09:00.000-07:00

Prasun: I wasn’t keen on finding what I wanted to do, it just happened so that I almost accidentally bumped into my ‘now successful’ career.
Journalist: Right. Sir, in your paintings we have seen a sense of self acceptance and assessment.. all your works have a distinct style and pattern. Is it a deliberate attempt?
Prasun: What ‘all’ have you seen by me?
Journalist: Sir for example ‘the cloudiest day’, ‘a girl in holi’, ‘priest of benaras’ and many such brilliant works, you have kept a distinguishing cow in black and white patches throughout… is it..?
Prasun: Well that’s quite precise I should say! Yes indeed, keeping the cow in these works is deliberate, for more reasons than one!
Journalist: Can we get to know at least one of those reasons (smiles)?
Prasun: What I’ll do is tell you the most common reason, and that is cow being the neutral observer in the paintings, everyone else has a part to play specifically. I try to keep this as a symbolic medium in my works to show that someone’s watching. The fact that I chose a cow and not a horse or even a human, may be purely for artistic reasons. But I’ve always believed that even if someone is masturbating in a dark room, when it is being made into a piece of art, someone should be watching. That’s how I see it. I’m not getting into the argument whether it’s right or wrong, but it is certainly the way I like it.
Journalist: Thank you sir, it was a pleasure talking to you.
Prasun: Thank you, my pleasure!
Journalist: Cut…Debu keep the camera in the car, I’ll just be there.
Debu: Ya ma’am.
Prasun: Would you like some coffee or tea miss…..?
Journalist: Megha… Sengupta
Prasun: Right….Miss Sengupta, some tea or coffee?
Megha: Thanks a lot sir, a tea would be great.
Prasun: Great, you can call your cameraman too inside…umm what’s his name…Debu right?
Megha: Right, he’ll be fine there sir!
Prasun: ok, whatever’s fine with you. Kaka, 2 cup chaa please..(shouts)
Megha: Sir since the camera is not here, can I ask you something more personal related to your works?
Prasun: Ofcourse, go ahead, don’t be intimidated, I’m not as bad as I look…(grins)
Megha: haha…no I meant if you don’t mind that is..
Prasun: Sure, I won’t, go ahead
Megha: I have this intuition that something went terribly wrong in your childhood may be, something you didn’t want to see…
Prasun: How the hell did you deduce that? (astonished) is it because I said I like a neutral observer in my paintings?
Megha: well yes.. and much more than that. I was a psychology student in my graduation, before coming into journalism..I had developed a nice knack of reading people’s minds..even now although I don’t practice, I do it quite successfully.
Prasun: Amazing…its an outstanding quality. I’m rather impressed.
Megha: (blushes) Thanks sir, but what I asked….
Prasun: oh yes.. coming to what you asked. You are quite close. I saw something not just what I didn’t want to see, but also what I was not supposed to see.
I used to be a rigorous cycler in my young days. One day when no one was home and I was asked to stay inside, I didn’t follow the orders and went cycling. Remember I was just 9 then. Suddenly on a T crossing joining the main road, I saw a shootout between the police and someone firing from inside his car. I saw the whole action till the firing ceased, the guy was killed. I later discovered that he had kept ammunitions at his place and had links with the naxals. But what really disturbed me was that he was one of our neighbors. As a nine year old, I wasn’t supposed to see all that. But I did. I didn’t even know how to spell naxals, but I saw its consequences.
Megha: My god, that’s a disturbing piece of experience, I wish I had recorded this…
By the way, lovely tea sir.
Prasun: Thank kaka, he’s been doing this all his life. Anyway, where you headed now?
Megha: I’ll have to leave for the edit now. Quite a lot pending. But I’ll keep in touch sir, I had a great time interviewing and speaking to you.
Prasun: same here miss sengupta..
Megha: call me megha..i’ll leave now sir, debu must be really angry. Goodbye sir, have a good day!
Prasun: thank you megha, bye..take care! Tell me when the interview will be aired..
Megha: sure sir, bye!

Kaka: Has the girl left babu..
Prasun: ya, why?
Kaka: I think she’ll come again. She is in love with you babu. I’ve been observing her all afternoon!

The Beautiful Game

2009-05-19T07:54:00.000-07:00

The playground near its corners was populated with numerous small groups of friends sitting and lazing around. Meanwhile, the 14 of us covered the majority of the pitch as we started with our routine daily match of football in the afternoon. Some had bunked classes to be there on time for the match. But it was worth it. The weather was outstanding, just ideal for a football match, cloudy yet breezy. There was no hint of sun. The whole look of the day was pretty grayish, almost monochromatic. The match hence was being played with higher spirits and zeal, higher energies. On a day like that, the stamina’s increased, everyone felt like running an extra yard, dribbling the ball through the midfield like a Brazilian, it was after all ‘the beautiful game’. Our college bags were kept together forming heaps to form the poles of goals. I used to be a player predominantly on the right wing. Hence I was closer to the students sitting in chunks of 4-5 near the boundaries and corners of the playground. Time and again it would so happen that the ball would roll out of play and hit one of them. I would go to them and ask for the ball, even say sorry if it had hit a girl. But then this time even though the ball did not roll out, I noticed a group of 3 students sitting quite close to the periphery of our playing area. No wonder why I noticed them. Gauri was there. I just knew her by her name and face. She was a year junior to me, in a different course, so there was no natural way of knowing each other. I was just so madly in love with her that I had to ask a common friend to introduce me to her. She also knew me by face and name, quite lame! We used to say ‘hi’ to each other whenever we crossed paths, but that was it. I grew weak in my knees whenever I used to see her. Now this was my chance. I was now extremely eager to impress her. So I went up to her and said ‘hi’. She replied back and said ‘hi’ too. What this did was that my presence was now felt. Now I would play skillfully and try and be brilliant, and hope gauri watches it. I did just that. I demanded the ball every time my team was attacking. I gave artistic first touches, carried the ball solo through, into the penalty box quite a few times. I absolutely did not realize that it had been raining for the past few minutes now. When I did, I immediately turned to check if gauri was still around. She wasn’t certainly sitting anymore. I scanned through the playground like a hawk, saw various couples standing under trees, ‘enjoying’ the young rain. I had lost track of the ball, my eyes wandered, in pain, just hoping to catch a glimpse of gauri somewhere. I think she saw me before I saw her, because what she did next was so out of the book for her. I noticed she was under the science block roof, but then she came out in the rain, closed her eyes, and let her arms wide open, embracing the rain. I wished if I could zoom into her face, look at the water droplets bouncing off her face, and some rolling through. She just looked immaculately beautiful. I’m not sure about this part, but I think I saw her smile and look at me. I just knew I had to propose to her, there can be no two ways about it.
I turned back and saw that all my football mates were gone. By now another friend of hers had joined gauri in the rain. I picked up my wet bag and went to my classroom. I didn’t feel like going back home, and I felt like coming to college again the next day as soon as possible. With mixed ideas, I came out of my class and started for my home. I met gauri again downstairs, chatting with her friends, as the rain had ended up into only a minor drizzle by now. She saw me coming downstairs and then towards her. I smiled and said ‘bye’, she smiled back and said ‘bye’ too.

The Adult film

2009-05-09T14:00:00.000-07:00

Jatin, my younger brother, was just younger due to his chronological age. he had matured at 'all' levels more than me much before he saw his teens, and i was almost finishing my teens by then. i'm not sure of the reason how this happened, may be because our younger lot are exposed to television and internet a lot earlier than we were. add to that the intelligence jatin was gifted with, he learnt things faster than kids at his age would. hence his eagerness to know more was inevitable, and invariably it was not possible to stop him from knowing things that were necessarily adult.
i think what made the difference in his case was that he was so keen on growing up, and being the so called 'mature individual', that he couldn't just help killing the kid in him. i would take opinions from him regarding my relationships, dad would ask him on the possible solutions if there was a problem at his work place, mom would share her kitty party conflicts with him. what resulted was a jatin, with more than enough knowledge at his age, and hence an over confident 'under-aged adult'. he would needlessly comment on sachin's dismissal, as if he was a connoisseur of cricket, he would not see commercial films like 'ddlj' and 'kkhh' and rather watch something like a 'fire' or 'satya', almost deliberately trying to show off his taste of things. all this and much more irritated me.i don't know whether i was jealous, or pissed, but i was starting to hate him everyday. the problem i thought was the fact that he himself understood his gift. i feel more often than not, if someone has a special talent, the realization of that quality tends to make the person snobbish and uselessly arrogant. jatin knew a lot of things, true, period. but he was still 12, there were things even if he knew, he couldn't possibly have understood. then why the hell were we treating him like that, weren't we responsible for his wrong grooming?
even i was just 18, i could not have answered all the questions i had. i had to come up with my own solutions. i decided to prove to my parents, by hook or by crook, that jatin was growing up the wrong way. i wanted to prove them that he is not using his gift and channelizing it in the correct path, therefore resulting into a kid who's turned into a brat. atleast this would stop all the pampering he used to get at home.
for days i tried finding flaws in him, trying to peep into his classroom, his bedroom, and when he is all alone using the computer or watching television. i tried meeting his friends too, apprehending that they might tell me if jatin had been drinking alcohol or may be even taking drugs, through friends from senior classes. but nothing of that sort popped out.
after almost a month of rigorous spying and sleuthing on jatin, i almost lost hope. i was slowly but surely coming to the conclusion that he's truly gifted and that he deserves all the attention and accolade. after a point of time, i was so convinced, that i had started talking about him amidst my classmates, praising jatin for his amazing intellectuality at 12. all my friends wanted to meet him. after all he was in the same school. it wasn't very tough to bring him to my classroom during the lunch break and introduce him to my friends. i decided to bring him the next day. as i went back home, with excitement, and keenness to tell jatin that i would take him to my class tomorrow, i saw him standing next to my mother outside our gate. even from a distance i could make out that my mother was waiting for me, and due to some reason extremely anguished. as i went closer, something in her hand became visible. it was a video cd, with its cover. infact, it was indeed the video cd of the pornographic film i had borrowed from one of my friends. after a series of slaps, my mom disclosed that jatin found it on my study table, under my maths text book.

25 minutes

2009-04-17T06:26:00.000-07:00

This was the last thing i wanted to do. i was never one of those guys who would push boundaries. in cases like this one, if i like a girl, it remained that way till the time i got out of touch. but from my end my feelings were never communicated to the other person.
i was on the bus stand, looking at the waiting fellow passengers, who would board the bus with me. we had been waiting for around 5 minutes now. all this while when i looked at them for the last 5 minutes, although i stared at them, but with each face came a different thought in my perplexed mind. as i moved from face to face, i imagined the various consequences that could result from my actions. i imagined mrigya not opening the door at all, and me standing outside her gate and sweating the same way as i was at this moment thinking about it waiting for the bus. almost out of a blur, the bus arrived. the blur was perhaps of my coming back to present reality, almost the way its visualised in films. we boarded the bus in a civilized and decent way, everyone moving up in a que, something i've come to appreciate about mumbai. i took a window seat, a preferance all kids have, neither was i out of that mode yet. with the unbearable humidity in the city, a bus ride without a window seat could prove to be quite 'saline' indeed! anyway, as the bus moved, my mind blurred back to imaginary sequences of my trying to convince mrigya that all she needs to do is give me one chance. i saw myself telling her that it was ok if she's not in love with me initially, as i'm certain if she gives me that extra liberty of 'being more than just friends', slowly but surely she would fall in love with me someday. i would happily wait for that day, and till then make her happy with the best of my love. i saw myself telling her that i've never loved someone so selflessy, and that i could even be a dog to be with her. i saw her giggling at this, giving an expression through her eyes as if i've lost it. i loved her eyes, they justified her name. i loved her name.
the bus halted due to traffic. we had been in the bus for around 15 minutes by now. ideally it should take me 10 more minutes to reach her place, but the jam could really screw it up. even though i enjoyed all these imaginary sequences going through my mind, i mean all that was missing was a song & dance sequence like in films, but yet i couldn't wait any longer to speak to mrigya. my abdomen was feeling the cramps of anxiety and tension, and apprehension, and what not! the bus halted irritatingly at all bus stands which were amazingly,just a few metres away from the traffic signal. time and again it would so happen that the bus would stop at the stand when the signal's green, and when it moved, the signal was red again, the bus halting inevitably again, delaying my arrival at mrigya's place. at around in 10 more minutes, god knows how, i deboarded the bus, at the stand closest to her place.

these 25 minutes are like a trophy of rememberance for me. i didn't get mrigya in my life as my love interest, and i never will, but that little journey i had made will remain with me as the longest relation i've shared with anyone. even my wife knows about it. i'm sure my kids will too, once they are born.

Anil uncle’s night out

2009-03-23T20:52:00.000-07:00

I entered my place at around half past midnight. What struck me from outside itself was that I could see the tube light of our drawing room switched on. Now that was quite strange because our landlord used to be asleep by 11pm, even that being the latest. I hurriedly got in, willing to find out the matter. As I entered, I saw one of my roommates sitting near the telephone, along with one of our neighbors. Our landlord wasn’t there on his bed. Both of the members presently in the room sat silently searching numbers through the telephone diary. On my inquiry, my roommate revealed, that Anil uncle (our landlord) hadn’t returned home till then. He had gone out to visit his doctor during the afternoon.
The phone calls these people made in my absence till then, made them learn that Anil uncle hadn’t reached his doctor. He also, quite surprisingly, wasn’t picking up his cell phone since evening. All the detective literature I had read since my school days started playing on me suddenly, and I began thinking like a sleuth. The first deduction I made was that since we had given uncle umpteen calls till now, and they have been unattended, thence his cell phone should conk off in a while. Also I figured that his not picking up the phone is his inability to do so, and not his choice, because all the calls we made rang till the end. If it was really his choice, after a while he would have disconnected them every time they rang. May be he would have even switched it off. I explained my panicking roommates that uncle must be trapped in a situation where he’s not able to attend to his calls. We checked all the hospitals where he possibly could have gone. We also called all his relatives and friends. All in vain.
I and one other roommate decided to stay awake that night. Others slept. I and the other guy gradually went into a nostalgic conversation and recollection of our graduation days. I discovered that we had common friends, whom both of us knew. We, for a couple of hours almost forgot the reason, for which we were awake, and suddenly I looked at the watch; it was 4 in the morning. My roommate decided to call Anil uncle again. As he called, I stood next to him. Something made me really apprehensive. After a few seconds of my initial nerves, I was back in the moment because of a strange sound. There was an extremely light sound of something rubbing against another, periodically. I smelt the rat. I followed the sound. I was playing Mr. Holmes in my head. I reached the kitchen following it. The sound became more distinct and louder. Now I was chasing it. It came extremely close to my perimeter, but still not found. I called my roommate to the kitchen, like Holmes would to Dr. Watson. He within a few seconds opened a drawer, and pulled out a silently vibrating cell phone. We looked at each other, astonished. Now we knew that uncle had deliberately kept his cell phone on silent mode and went away so that no one reaches him.
A score of days have gone by, Anil uncle still hasn’t returned. We are still waiting for ‘the’ news!

By de'fault'

2009-03-04T01:59:00.000-08:00

i was staring at him for quite some time.his navy blue t-shirt went with his complexion so perfectly that it was difficult to not stare at him, atleast for me. even as a child, i knew i wasn't very keen on girls, the way other boys of my age used to crave about them. for me girls were just there for me, existing. my first crush being the immensely good looking actor Rishi Kapoor, even this guy looked quite attractive.
the gentle wind blew, caressing his hair. the curtain of my window touched my nose every now and then as it moved with the cool air passing through. he was waiting at the tea stall for someone. surely he was waiting. he hadn't ordered for a cup of tea till then. atleast i presumed so, even though i was too far away to listen to his conversation with the chaiwala.
from his appearance he looked atleast 3-4 years older than me. there was hair on his face that had been shaved recently, and had grown again. i envied his bicycle too, it just went with his personality so much. for a boy of my age,13, bicycles used to be a big deal. my bicycle was something i was willing to sell for free. it was honestly an embarrassment riding it. in every couple of days i had to go repair it for punctures or my rusted breaks or rusted chain and what not! anyway, his was good, that's the point.
after a while, came a girl dressed in a white t shirt and blue jeans. my friends surely would have found her hot. the love of my life hugged her, and then they went somewhere from the spot in their respective bicycles.
i kept staring at the place he was standing before they left.it was getting dark outside. but that was nowhere close to how dark i felt inside. there was no one at home for a while. i wanted to tell and burst out in front of my mother, about how painfull and dizzy i felt from inside when that boy hugged the girl.
now i really feel it was a blessing in disguise that i couldn't share it to my family that day. the day my family learnt that i am a homosexual, there came an immediate break in the attachment. infact, in an year after that, me and my family parted ways, for more reasons than one though. but surely, this was a major factor. now at 58, unmarried, and with no one who would look after me when i grow older, i feel a terrible void inside me. and this incident suddenly flashes every now and then. not just the boy, but the incident also reminds me of my parents who were not their with me then, and they aren't with me now.

Please love me

2009-02-12T00:04:00.000-08:00

There was nothing cheerful about the evening. I still said “cheers”, to myself. Yes! I was drinking alone in my room. Both my roommates were away on their official work and I was back from my job place. It was kind of new to me to drink Jack Daniels all by myself, but I cherished the fact that no one else will get to touch the top notch quality whisky! It was so smooth that the first 2 pegs, no 3 pegs, wait, I don’t remember entirely, whatever….the first 2-3 pegs I drank on the rocks, neat! Smooth it was. Though things started getting blurred. My room suddenly seemed bigger than it usually was, it was suddenly not a 1 BHK anymore (bedroom hall kitchen), it looked atleast a 2 BHK. Never mind.
I got up and began my search for a knife. The kitchen was in a mess. None of us cook but it still looked so used up that nothing was in its place. To my utmost vain I couldn’t find it, the time I needed a knife the most in my life. I began thinking then, what else could be found which would be useful. I wasn’t surely in a mood to die by getting bombed through gas cylinders. The next effective way I thought was finding a rope and tying it to the ceiling fan. How would I find a rope now, only my bed sheets could be used for that purpose. I tied it on the ceiling fan and kept a stool beneath it so that I could climb up and hang. I put my head in between the loop I had made, and kicked the stool with my right foot. For a minute, I struggled…choking to breathe, vomiting out the alcohol, and then I suddenly fell down. The ceiling fan lost its hold on the ceiling wall, and fell with me on the floor. With it fell lumps of cement, which gave my skin a color tone I could have never achieved with sunscreen lotions.
I was unconscious till my roomies woke me up after around a couple of hours. They were panicking with the visual in front of their eyes, and they demanded an instant explanation of the series of events that made me do the heart wrenching act. I started- “I called up mayuri last night. I just wanted to clear it out with her. I just can’t believe two people who were so madly in love once are not speaking at all now. So what that we’ve broken up! Both of us have new partners, don’t we? So why is it so hard for her to just communicate with me and be friends?”

“So what did she say?”

“She wasn’t picking up at first…as usual. I didn’t give up this time. I kept on calling her…continuously. I kept doing it for at least 10 times, and then she picked up. You guys have no clue how she spoke to me…”

“How?”

“She said- I don’t want to speak to you…ever, is that fine with you? I said no… then she said- don’t ever speak to me again, and she hung up after that. How else do you want me to take it and react? It’s so insulting.”

“But you can’t do this because that happened? Mayuri is history ok? Sneha is your present…why do you keep going back to Mayuri’s hallucinations when you’re drunk?”

I had no answer to that. My roommate was right. Perhaps I wasn’t yet out of love for my first. Mayuri was my first love…I felt week in my knees when I first saw her. When we started going around we did so much together, we smoked for the first time together on the college staircase. Both of us surprisingly got drunk on breezers the first time we had it, we hadn’t tasted alcohol by then. I remember we were coming back from a college fest night when we had it, she had her head on my lap after her breezer. It was the first time we smooched, perhaps the most beautiful goodbye I’ve ever shared with someone. Wasn’t all this too much to get out of it? I mean…ya I cannot cling on to the relation once it’s all over, but…
My phone rang suddenly. Sneha was calling. I "picked it up".

The Magician

2009-02-06T21:59:00.000-08:00

All of us were craving for the first round of the evening tea. by then we had already exerted ourselves enough with 2 matches of carrom.The third would start only if we get our throats wet with some 'chaa' (tea in bengali). the 'royals club' at park street saw us daily in the evening.if the club was a person, he would have been pissed by now. after our routine office timings, all 4 of us found some valuable excitement and thrill playing our 'hard fought' carrom matches till the club shuts down in the night.
i was called the magician by my friends, there were times when i started the game and no one else got a chance, i finished the whole game without passing on the striker to the next person. ofcourse, it wasn't very common. so i decided to accept the tag too, it made me happy.
the 'chaa' finally arrived, now we would light up our cigarettes and start the third match. i had lost the first two matches, so there was a hell lot of pressure on me to win this one and prove my worth to my friends. there was something wrong with me in the first two matches. i just wasn't able to concentrate, something was bothering me and strangely enough i had no clue what! the third game began miserably for me, my strikes weren't accurate enough, infact i was missing from quite a distance. the count of cigarettes smoked increased, another round of 'chaa'came. i lost the next two games with big margins. suddenly just when the 5th game was about to begin, i got up from my chair and came out of the club. i was feeling suffocated, not because i couldn't breathe, but because i wasn't feeling good at all. my mind and heart both were terribly choked, and sad, and gloomy,and....what not!
i left for my home in a taxi. my father opened the door, as i rushed in and went straight to the bathroom. i splashed chunks of water on my face and eyes, and came out with a towel. right then, my father asked me to come to his room. i smelt trouble. he normally never calls me to his room for a chat.
what he told me cleared my confusion about my awkward feeling the whole evening. my sister had run away from home, with her boyfriend. she had left a note for my father in his room. there was no note for me.

My Grandfather’s Radio

2009-01-12T02:31:00.001-08:00

That wretched radio. I just can’t believe I’m writing about it. It was the most irritating thing in this frigging world for me. Since the time I was 6 or 7, till my late teens, it remained an object of hatred. Even now, at 46, when I look back upon those days, it fills me up with this unavoidable rage that for the next thirty minutes or so I don’t speak to anyone straight faced.
My old lanky grandfather, used to carry it everywhere with him, may be even to the loo… I mean who knows, we never checked! That was literally a part of his body, a black colored object, with a rusted yet still silvery antenna on its head, which remained attached to his left hand all the time. In my childhood days I honestly believed he was working in the Air India Radio. Why else would you keep listening to it, even when it produced the most irritating of noises! I call it noise, because after a certain point of time it wasn’t sound anymore. And sometimes it was just playing, I noticed he wasn’t even listening, but the fact that it was playing is history!
My grandfather passed away when I was 21. I was studying my masters in a different city by then, I used to visit him once every two months. But his unexpected demise made me visit him earlier that time, within a month of my last visit. All throughout my way to his place, which I used to travel in a train that took exactly 4 hours for the coveted journey, I thought about how to face what I was going to witness. It was something certainly I had not expected to happen, and neither had I ever faced a death in my family before. The whole thing frankly was more awkward than sad to me. I was promising myself throughout the journey that I would behave like a grown up there, with maturity and without getting too sentimental about it. My grandfather was 84 when he died of a stroke. How more he would have lived, I thought. I felt it was better for people to expire after an age where they can’t take care of themselves. Or else they would just end up in extreme pain not just themselves, but also for people who cared about them. As my train entered the Howrah station, I was completely in control of myself, at ease with the ‘happening’. I was prepared to see a lot of family members crying, I had made myself strong enough not to get affected by all of it in these 4 hours.
The Gariahat market was hustling with activity, and people, specifically the housewives who had come to ‘spend’ their evening in the market. My rickshaw puller hand pulled the vehicle carefully through all this, trying not to hurt anyone. I reached my grandfather’s place within ten more minutes. There were around a dozen people just inside the entrance, talking among themselves. I recognized only three of them. I went in, decided not to enter the room where the ladies of the families were. I chose to sit in the room my grandfather used to sleep in. There hung a large picture of his, with flowers all round it. I sat on his bed and began looking at his room in an intrusive manner. Things were placed just at the places they always used to be. But there was something that did not suit the room. On a side table, which my grandfather usually used to keep his collection of books about Swami Vivekananda, there was that black radio besides these books. I picked it up and switched it on. There was no sound.

I broke into tears.

The little master

2009-01-01T11:39:00.000-08:00

My ten year old son, Prateek, fondly called as ‘Puchu’ by me and my wife, surprised his mother this morning by waking up before time for school. For nearly 2 minutes, I and my wife felt elated as like other days we won’t have to deal with his normal morning tantrums. But then I realized sooner than later. Puchu ran towards the TV, switched it on and tuned into DD sports. He heard Charu Sharma speak as if he understood what he really meant. May be he understood, I almost can’t guess how much this next generation understands and knows. But much to his annoyance, his mother picked him up in her arms like a toddler and took him to the wash basin. Puchu turned his head repeatedly towards the television while brushing his teeth, almost oblivious to the fact that a lot of rinsed toothpaste was falling on the floor rather than on the basin.

It was a one day international between India and Sri Lanka, at the Mohali cricket ground. Thank god it wasn’t at the Ferozshah kotla in Delhi, or else Puchu might well have ran to the stadium itself after waking up, with his toothbrush hanging in his mouth. I mean literally. I never quite understood how a kid can be so insanely obsessed with Sachin Tendulkar. Anyway, I moved on towards my cupboard, it was time for my getting ready too. All this while when I was dressing up, I could hear my wife shouting at puchu, supposedly because my son was delaying his normal process of getting ready for school since he was too consumed watching the match. In fact, the match hadn’t even started. He almost jumped with victorious joy when he learnt that Ganguly had won the toss, and selected to bat first. My son jumped in a way Javed Miandad had jumped to retaliate against his dismissal appeal in ’92 world cup against Azharuddin’s India.

It was almost time for us to leave, puchu’s school bus would be there at the stand any moment. I’m sure he knew it better than me. I could almost see what he was planning in his little head. He wasn’t surely in a mood to ‘sacrifice’ the match by ‘visiting’ his wretched school today. I’m sure he had started hating his friends too for time being, they weren’t intelligent enough were they? They won’t be interested in the match as he was, surely that’s how he felt. How could he be even with them? Chheee!

His mother grabbed him again in a fashion similar to the earlier one, made him wear his well polished school shoes, and did all that with a very stern face indeed. Puchu started crying suddenly, and I wasn’t surprised. My wife besides being beautiful, could look the most dreadful when she would raise her eyebrows and look at someone with anguish with “I’ll slap you” kind of eyes. We were almost going to lock the door when my son, suddenly broke free from his mother’s lap, slammed the door open and ran towards the television. I was amazed at this sudden show of power from my undernourished son! Somewhere I felt quite proud. But anyway, now it was my job to bring him back outside. So I got in too, trying to grab puchu and tell him it’s ok to miss a match but not school. What we witnessed next on television was what actually made puchu go to school without any more retaliation. The scorecard said-

S R Tendulkar bowled by C.Vaas - 0

S Ganguly batting 5

R Dravid batting 2