VOICE-OVER

The crash echoed like a thunderclap. Metal hitting metal, head on. For a fraction of second everything was suspended still ,in the air. The next second everything came crashing down onto the ground. Sand and smoke bolted out of the vehicles. The car drifted towards the pavement. The motorcycle with its rider shot high up in the air. Smashed windshield, powdered glass and crumpled headlights…

The rider of the motorcycle landed on the road face down. The motorcycle crashed onto the ground a few meters away. A boy in his early twenties. As soon as he touched the ground, his face pressed hard against the road. The road was streaked with red as the sand and gravel kissed his forehead. In another minute he was lying in a pool of crimson, christened in blood. There was not another human being on the road. The front bonnet of the car was severely jagged. But the driver was still alive and aware. He laboured to sit straight up in his seat to have a look, his eyes still trembling due to the impact. Fifty yards from his car lay the motionless body of the Motorcyclist. With a jagged sense of regret he tried to wriggle his toes. Yes he was trying to start his car again, and get the hell out of there, before somebody else shows up. He shifted the gear and the crumpled front of the car growled to life. In another minute he was gone. Glass shards, a wrecked bike, a bleeding boy and a dying sun remained...

***

Hari wiped his face with the evening heat. The sun left tiny droplets of sweat on his forehead on its westward bound. He finished his window shopping for the day and resumed his stroll. There were all kinds of branded mobile phones just inches away from his reach, beyond that glass partition. Ultra-modern touch-screen mobile phones with android and GPS, waiting for him to hold and cuddle them with his fingertips. But alas, there were always an inappropriate number of digits to the price tag, which tore through the heart of his dreams. With a meagre salary of a medical representative, he had to feed a fair number of stomachs. Just when he would have amassed a little money, some need would pop up, be that a disease or a debt, he always had to let go all of his savings to make ends meet. All he could afford now was to look at those handsome mobile phones inside some shop like a hungry horse looks upon a far set haystack.

“Your day will soon arriveBacchu.” He reconciled himself to the bitter truths.

Just as he was crossing the road to turn to his lane, a thunderous sound left him motionless. Startled by the sound he turned around. It was coming from the north, from the park street. Might be an accident, he thought. That lane was famous for its treacherous bends, enough to hide an incoming bike or a car.

He made his way through the sidewalk to the source of the sound. He knew that this was a time of the day when there was little crowd on that part of the street. As soon as a distant mess and a speeding car came into his view, he quickened his pace to the street. But still he was some two hundred feet away from the spot. There barricaded from his view by a crumpled bike lay the biker. Hari rushed to his side, revolving round the pool of blood. There was no movement. Everything was dead calm except for the gyration of the overturned motorcycle wheel. Only after Hari’s sanity getting adjusted to the mishap, did he notice the outstretched left hand of the boy. And firmly clutched in it, was a fairly expensive mobile phone.

***

Hari was walking at an unusual pace. Out into the main road, blending into the thoroughfare and swiftly retreating to a shady corner. He rounded another corner and stood leaning to a wall, panting. Only then he could pull his mind together. Only then he could fathom, what an inhuman deed he had just executed. In his hand, gleaming in the October heat was a blood stained mobile phone. He feared even to have a casual look at it. He didn’t dare to surf through the menu. All he did was to struggle for air.

“Where did the urge come from? Oh Christ. I stole from that man, rather than to help him. What was I thinking? What was I thinking?” Hari’s conscience was maddening his senses. But then the little man spoke. The little man inside him and everybody else, which keeps on saying “I don’t give a damn” or “what’s that to do with me?” and makes us do regrettable things. The little man who is responsible for every murder and robbery and rape and extortion man has ever committed. That Little man which we nurture inside calling “ego”.

That miserable little man told Hari, “Don’t worry. After all who will notice it? That guy is dead anyway. Dispose the SIM card and keep it switched off for the couple of weeks. Eventually the police will give up the chase and the phone will be yours forever. Isn’t that nice?”Hari gave out a sigh of relief. Was it really relief? He would never know.

He held that phone out; as if it was some souvenir he won for bravery. It was a fairly expensive phone. He could feel its weight. And it was not locked by PIN number or password. So with the click of the centre button, he was inside the home screen. The boy’s face appeared. Now fair and handsome, unlike what he saw minutes before drenched in blood. And in the bottom it was written, “Athul’s Pocket Pal”

As soon the screen came to life, a small window popped up.

22 missed calls; three voice mails; 15 SMS. “This guy must be real popular” Hari started to walk home thinking that.

He needed to get rid of the SIM card as soon as possible. But then, he thought. There is no reason to panic. Even if the police find that the mobile is missing, it would take another 24 hours to trace him down. He had the entire world’s time before him to dispose it. As he fidgeted his way into menu, devouring through the icons, an irresistible desire crept into his mind.

There were three voice mails. His hands were facile when he made his way into the voice mail box before playing the first clip; the most recent one. The loudspeaker of the phone sprang to life.

“Hi this is Athul. Sorry, I am not able to pick up the phone. Leave a message after the beep.”

A chilling wave ran through his body. The voice, it was so youthful; so energetic.

After a brief pause a static crack brought him to reality.

“Athul…..I…..I am sorry, Athul. It was my mistake. I should have been a little more reasonable. Please answer the phone Athul… Please”. There was a stroke of melancholy in that voice. As if the words were soaked wet in tears.Hari slackened his pace so as to pay more attention.

“I was making an early judgement. I should have been a little more understanding. Just give me one more chance, Athul. Please forgive me. Please answer your phone…”

The voice broke off into a bleak moan which surfaced as a cry with another “please”

The recording was over. Hari halted and took a closer look at the thumbnail of the file he just played. A pretty face with two locks of hair lying lazily on the sides. This must be his girlfriend. Or his lover.Maybe his fiancé. What could be the reason for her being so sad? Did they get into a fight? Did she despise him? Or did she break his trust? Hari would never know.

He dismissed further thoughts before going into the second file. By this time, he found a nice seating place, a bench near the town park. The boy’s voice again gave him tremors. After which another male voice started playing.

“Hey bro….Chillax man. Your gal, Shewas was having a petty misunderstanding. That’s all. She is convinced now, man. When I told her that you haven’t even bothered to show up at house for the past two days, she started crying…..i know it’s hard for you to go through all this. But hey, I’m with you in this, remember? After all, what are friends for…Just don’t worry…now that things are alright…Now take the phone man…Aunty also started calling me…Time to drop the fight yaar…Just take your phone, and we can straighten things up…..Call me as soon as you hear this message…See you later alligator…” The voice wore off. A perpetual stillness encircled Hari.

“This must be his friend. Best friend maybe. Well it’s a dog eat dog world. If somebody has to come handy, it can only be your friend…I guess this friend was really helping Athul out. Only if…”

His thought went numb. Only if that boy could have reached some hospital…And his life be saved. Now his guilt was overshadowing his ego. Hari pulled himself together, pumping in more ruthlessness into his windpipe. But it could not prevent two drops of tears that trickled down his eye.

The third voice mail. “Mom” it read.

With trembling hands, Hari touched the play button. The third time when he heard Athul’s voice, he felt a lump in his throat. Another female voice started playing.

“Athul….son…come back home….How long will you stay away from your Amma. Come back. I made your father understand how you felt. Now he too is anxious to see you. He hadn’t taken a gulp of water since you left. Don’t leave your parents in grief, son. After all, how many days can you stay away from home? At least pick up the phone son….” She too was crying. A moan, unlike what he heard before, having the warmth of a motherly embrace. It dug rather a large void into Hari’s heart.

“…Come back to us son. Please…” There was an indistinct male voice loitering somewhere from the infinity appearing in the background.

“Vimala. Don’t cry. Our boy isn’t that spoilt, that he doesn’t know his way back home, due to such a small matter. Just give him time. He will come back. Tell him I am not angry with him..” A gentle but strong voice it was. Must be the boy’s father.

Hari couldn’t hold it. He stopped the playback, breaking into tears. Burying his face in his arms he cried. These voices, how could he ever answer to these innocent testimonials? How could he be so ruthless? So mean. His ego was slaughtered by a devastating heartache and self-pity.

“Oh god. What have I done? What have I done? I no longer have the right to live. Oh god, please forgive me. Please” His voice was loud enough to attract some onlookers.

Hari weighed his options, if he really had any. He can’t hold it any longer. He must go back. He must get that boy to the hospital. He looked around. The dusk was fast approaching. Yellow beams of sun were dancing on tree tops.

Hari stood up, and walked back, his pace briskly reaching that of a sprint.

“My greed…All because of my greed…If only I haven’t fallen for that mobile phone. Oh god…” Hari’s thoughts were overrun by his guilt. He seriously wanted to take this all back. Live it once again, only this time being righteous and human enough to save an innocent life.

Even the wind was whiplashing him on his face, whispering on his ears “Murderer!” and “Thief!”

He never knew how many minutes passed since he was there on the park street. He couldn’t recall how much time he left that poor soul to die. But he certainly knew that if he had any chance of salvation, it was there, by rendering all the help he could provide.

He could make out what was happening in the street from a distance. There were a few people. Mostly policemen and onlookers moving round the place. A silhouette in the making, it seemed.

Hari was taken back by the scene of crowd there, as he knew he was attracting more and more attention by barging into the scene, just like that. All odds were against him.

I must not turn back. I must never turn back. I am responsible for his life. Oh, lord…if only I had a second chance. Things would never have been like this.

He approached the crash site. There through those yellow lines of “Do not Cross” he could still see the pool of blood, now reduced into a massive red blot on the road. His eyes wandered around the place. Still he couldn’t find it.

There was no sign of the boy. He was gone; taken away to some hospital. Or morgue?

Hari came close to the yellow line, his eyes red with tears. In his ears rang those voices again. Those voices of hope and companionship and love, were sucking all life out of his body. He would never see Athul again. He would never know whether he died or survived. All he knew was that the guilt will haunt him for the rest of his life. The guilt of turning blind when the eyes were most needed.

Hari stood there in the emptiness populated only by his remorse.

Who are the ones who really deserve a second chance?

The cross connection

THE CROSS CONNECTION

“Isn’t this cute, honey?”

Sheila was leaning over the showcase with an outstretched hand holding a brass showpiece.

“Yepp, it’s a winner, I guess” I answered in a rather subtle tone from the opposite end. Why do ladies have this weird thing for stuffing their mantelpieces with mementos?

A disfigured monkey with a twisted ankle. And the damn thing costs somewhat a thousand. Why dont this modern art cost a little less. My skeptic mind scavenged over the rest of the showpieces searching hungrily over a pricetag with less number of zeroes.

These days I have an allergy to zeroes. I would gaze into the prize tag, gaze at my wife and then sink down into my wallet. Of course recession has dropped a “what for?” factor into all my basic needs. But that was not the immediate reason for a drought in my pocket. I was the most recent victim of a cheque fraud, that I nearly lost all my hard earned currency. All that because of not trusting my instincts. Being the biggest predator on the face of earth, me and my fellow humans are quiet a good guessers. And when it comes to me, I think I got a good intuition, to sense danger. But when trouble came, it came with a wicked smile. And I trusted people more than my intuitions.

But if something is destined to go wrong, it will go wrong no matter what.

I was driven back to consciousness by the melodious clinging of the cash register. My beloved wife had already billed the brass handicapped monkey. With a heavy smile I drew my wallet out and painfully paid the shop owner. My next move was to channel Sheila to the car as fast as I could before her eyes anchor on some other useless but brutally expensive showpiece.

As we exited the shop and rushed to the car, me mumbling indistinctively, followed by Sheila still mesmerized by the monkey, we hardly noticed a shadow walking towards us. I stuffed all the materials safely in the back seat and entered the vehicle when a masculine hand appeared on my right window. It first made a halt signal and then cupped itself in so as to state a request. It took me another second to scale through the arm and reach the obscure face. It was a well built man in his late twenties, rather early thirties. He had a dark complexion and his eyes had a stark keenness in them.

Prima Fasciaemy impression about this guy was not so great. In the wake of my past experiences I nailed him along with any other roadside crook. A not so good intuition kicked in.

“Pardon my intrusion sir. My wife is in the hospital and she is in a pretty serious condition. Could you grant me a lift to the city hospital?”

“Excuse me mister, this is no public transport. Try to get a cab or something” my tone was indifferent.

“Uff, honey why should you be so mean to people, like this. We are going the same route na, why can’t you drop in this poor fellow at the hospital?”

There are times when you feel like cutting yoursweetheart down with an axe and drink her blood. Mostly you won’t have an axe nearby or your wife may not be seated next to you. All you can do is to summon enough strength and face what’s coming. I did the same when my wife started to peel me shamelessly in front of a total stranger.

“City hospital is not far from here. Sir please sir. It’s the matter of life and death sir. Help us poor people sir.”

“I know city hospital aint far from here. Don’t teach me the route, you rascal” this I said inside my head. And I made funny faces outside.

I leaned backwards and asked Sheila in a muffled voice. “You sure want this mess upon our shoulders Sheila? Something tells me; this is not what it seems.”

“Of course it is dear. Just give your doubtful head a break.” The most polite way to say “go to hell with your doubts”

Ok, I took her word. If something goes wrong I can blame her, right?

So this man got into the front seat and we slowly drifted into the darkness.

Many questions were ravishing inside my mind. Every time the car was masqueraded by complete darkness, I prepared myself to block any jab or blow, this outsider can possibly inflict upon me.

The road ahead was turning more and more silent and my heart was roaring loud. In the backseat, my dear wife was humming some gingery melody. Evidently it was the only sound that filled the car. I felt as if she was enjoying tormenting me. Her voice grew into a consistent hum, as a sarcastic laugh over my silence. But it was not enough for the scene. To my horror the very fine gentleman sitting right beside me, started humming along, in a tone. This made me nervous. Anxious.And nevertheless obnoxious.Yet I kept my silence. I tightened my grip on the steering wheel and drove as calm as I can.

During one of those casual gazes through the rear view mirror I could make out my wife’s eyes drooping down bearing the weight of a nap. To my left flank the lean black form was already snoring, now pillowing him onto my shoulder. I prayed that he doesn’t drool all over my Louise Philippe. I just got to get rid of this crook, or otherwise he is gonna slit our throats and rob us blind. To his right lay a small leather satchel. “Reaboke” it spelt in awkward fashion, which was at that time screaming loud “look at me…I am a crook by birth”. Was it my bitter conscience or was it my damned imagination that I got this weird idea of getting rid of this hoodlum.

I switched to slow speed and momentarily let go of the wheel. Then I took my wallet out and slipped it into that ragged satchel of his through a newly surfaced crater. When I withdrew y hand, everything looked pristine and the satchel didn’t show a sign of adultery. Now when hands came back to the wheel, I had a really wicked grin.

Few minutes later, i found myself turning into a petrol pump just to get a casual refill. I steeped on the brakes evidently enough to wake my fellow passengers, both of them unaware of the drama that was about to follow.

“wakeywakey” I dramatically remarked as I exited the car and moved to the nearest pump. A hulky Punjabi was guarding the nozzle, as I ordered (dramatically) a full refill for my car. When his hand extended in my direction and mine to my wallet’s direction (again dramatically) I thought that I would outrun even Marlon Brando in acting. My puzzled expression coated with exasperation triggered off a chain reaction.

Pandemonium was what followed. I yelled out that my purse was stolen (Stolen…not missing…). it shook that pervert to wakefulness. I paced to his side, pulled open the door and dragged him out.

“You sonovabitch, where the hell is my wallet? You took it… I know you took it, you rascal. I shouldn’t have let you even come near me.”

“What? What happened?” those words seem to come out of my wife’s mouth. But the situation was already out of control.

“Hey stop pushing him like that. Let’s frisk him. If he has your wallet, then let me assure you sir, this rascal wont sees the light of another day” our fellow Punjabi clenching his fists said.

“Bingo” I thought. My plan worked.

And there it was. As three pairs of confused and curious eyes watched, I earthed out that wallet of mine from inside his satchel with the prowess of a magician and held it out as if it was the Kohinoor diamond.

“Saabji…I know what to do with these kinds of people. You don’t worry. Let’s take him to the nearest thane. Let the police make a Khichdiof his bones”. The Sardarji had already planted his massive fists over that man’s shoulders and started his moped.

Now it was up to me to direct the play forward.

“Oh that won’t be necessary. I am just thankful to god that i got it back before it was too late. Let him rot in hell. No need of making this an issue.”

“No saabji. This is already an issue. I am going to take this man to the station. Bu you should accompany me to the station to report this. Only a few bashes from the inspector can straighten things out.”

“But that won’t be…”

“Don’t worry Saabji, I am not handling such a case for the first time in my life”

Now for a second I thought things were going according to plan. For a second though. Now everything was upside down. This man was going to a police station for a crime he didn’t commit. I don’t think am turning sympathetic or something all of a sudden and I don’t care even if he gets beaten to death. But police station has always given me chills. Unnecessary enquiries, lots of questions, unwanted explanations, all of them even result in making me responsible for all of this. I guess it was a bad idea.

By the time I cleared my mind of all the negative thoughts, the Sardarji was half way to the station dragging that man behind him. My wife’s expression demanded I little more explanation from me. But all I could do was to purse my lips tightly enough to withhold any unwanted words to avoid my head under the guillotine.

We could hear cries even from a few yards away. On the inspector’s table was a senile mobile phone kept as a piece by a rubber band, a few ten rupee notes and a ragged shirt. In one corner of that stingy cubicle sat as a crumpled heap, our hitch hiker, painted in cherry red except for parts still inside clothing.

He had an uneasy expression, something which called out, “So this is all you got? Come, I am ready for more.”

His eyes. Why it has to be the eyes? They were steadfast on mine. And I could feel a certain fear lurking inside. I felt small… incredibly small. I just slaughtered my conscience for my prejudice and held the life of an innocent man at stake.

“He seems to have made up his mind that he didn’t take your wallet. Looks like he needs a little more of our special treatment” saying this, the inspector paced towards him. Might be round two for that poor fellow.

“Wait officer. Enough. I don’t want to press charges. Leave him alone” I could barely mouth those words.

“You sure, sir? These hooligans deserve all this. You don’t worry, since you got your wallet back. Let us handle him.”
“Enough of your handling mister. Let him go. He is already half dead.” My wife snapped.

“Sheila, please… Sir I don’t want to register the case. Please let him go.” My head weighing down with guilt.

“Okay. Your wish.Haraamsaaleyhereafter don’t show your lousy face in this neighborhood, or else I will break all the rest of your bones. You hear me?”

“Yes Saabh.” The man was literally moaning. He somehow got up on his feet and made it to the table, picked up his things and started down the low staircase into the dark.

“Sir you don’t worry about him anymore. He won’t even dare to look straight into your eyes again. Continue your journey” The policeman released his fist with a thunderous click.

We were walking down the staircase and once more we came across our poor Hitch hiker. My wife’s anger now transformed into a vague contempt (one emotion exclusive to all those uptown society ladies), as we walked past him. We were a few yards from him, that a monophonic tone rang somewhere behind us. I dared to slacken my pace and look back. I could see him talking laboriously into the phone. All I could hear was “I am on my way…..what?... serious?….i don’t know what to do…two…”

“It must be from the hospital. Please honey. We must be of some help to him. Poor fellow” my wife laid her hands on my shoulder.

“Hmm. I will do what I should.” I walked up to that man who by that time had finished his call.

“Hey, I am sorry for what happened. I can drop you at the hospital, if you don’t mind.”

“No thank you sir. I can walk” he wasn’t walking away though.

“No no. I am really sorry for what has come to you. Come with me. Let me do this one thing for you.”

I knew that look in his eyes. It was stinging me deep.

                                                                ########################

As the car was drifting into the parking lot of the City Hospital, our hitch hiker was peeping out through the window, scanning for some familiar face. And fortunately he found one too. The new guy looked like the twin brother to this man. As soon as he saw us, he sped across the lobby towards our direction.

“Chittaranjan…I was getting scared when you were getting late. Hey look at you. What in gods’ name has happened to you?” the new comer seemed not to notice us.

“Oh… its one long story. By the way, how are things here?” Our man seemed a little more enthusiastic than before. With this the other guy pulled him to a considerable distance and started talking. They talked for almost 10 minutes. All this time i was gazing at either of them to ascertain what they had in common. Both of them had the same ragged satchel, with the only difference being a large gap like the open mouth of some tropical crocodile in that of the newcomer.

“What do they do for a living?’ i thought. Before my logic could reach a conclusion, Chittaranjan came back. Now he was smiling. There was a light drizzle of relief in my heart.

“Sir, she is well beyond danger. The doctors say she will make it. Oh thank god. Now i am happy.”

“Well, where is she now?” that was my wife who seemed more elated than the by-stander himself.

“She is in the ICU. You want to meet her Ma’m? Coz they are not letting us in. maybe they will let you..”

“Its already late honey. Perhaps we can come back again tomorrow.” I snapped. Enough for one night’s memoirs.

“Oh… Well then sir. We must be off too. We don’t have a place to stay. Must find some corner so as to spend the night” Chittaranjan seemed to be in some kind of a hurry.

“Good bye” It originated in my brain and passed through all those neural networks and finally when about to exit my mouth, my wife blurted out.

“You can spend the night at our place, if you want. I mean, it’s just one night. And it’s not far from here” She finished the statement and looked at me as if she had just shot me in the chest. I was indifferent. I didn’t have the power to resist.

“We will be utmost grateful madam, if you let us spend the night” That was the newcomer. These days people pretend to be grateful for almost nothing.

“Hmm.” That was my only reply. I wanted to argue with my wife. But there was no point in arguing when you were so sure that you would lose the battle, especially when your mouth had run out of saliva and your muscles out of vigor.

Sleepwalking in and out of the car and then into the house i could hear my wife addressing the guest saying “Make yourselves at home” and “you can sleep in the couch” and “the bathroom is to the left” i pushed every one of those excerpts into my mind’s recycle bin, put my senses to sleep mode and just shut down. At some point of time in the night, i could hear small soft thuds beneath me. But my physique was overcome by lethargy. Sheeps were jumping back and forth, that i lost the count.

Dead calm.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                #########################

I pulled my eyelids apart with huge effort so as to let in tiny slivers of light. As i lay lazily in my bed my gaze roamed from the slow moving wind chimes to the clock which read 9:00 am. Sheila had gone downstairs. Just as i was repositioning myself on the bed, i loud shriek almost knocked me over. I sprang up and blazed downstairs. Nothing came into my mind till i reached Sheila who was kneeling down at the landing of the stairs. The first thing that crossed my mind was that she fell down the whole 9 steps. But as my eyes came in line with the room, i felt like throwing up. A scream gargled inside my throat.

Our guests were gone. So was everything else in the house.

My 33’’ plasma TV, my prized sofa set, my gigantic home theatre, my expensive trifles everything gone. The room looked like a gigantic indoor stadium. Every piece of electronic gadget as far as the eyes could see was gone. Every piece of mahogany, teak and rosewood, even the mantelpiece was gone. Every piece of silver cutlery was gone. I rushed to my room. The small cupboard which held my safe deposit vault was gone as a whole. Everything from toilet paper to wall clock had been taken. Disappeared, as if my house was stripped off all clothing and the flesh was sucked away. Even the food in the fridge was gone. What remained were only us, two humans and a giant concrete skeleton. I sat on my bed with my hands tied to my head. I felt like crying. But it seemed even my tear glands were sucked clean of tears.

Once again my eyes crawled here and there through the room. There on my bedside lay my wallet.

I took it with both my hands, wondering why the hell those bastards left this with us. It had a small note and some stinking ten rupee currencies. The handwriting was jagged and it took me sometime to steady my trembling hands so as to start reading.

“We took everything. We actually came for the wallet. But since you were smart enough to put us to test, we thought of giving you a surprise. We had a nice stay at your house. The couch was really soft for our backs. Thank you for your co-operation. Last but not least, hearty condolences from my imaginary wife.

Yours sincerely,

Chitharanjan (nice name eh?)

YOU,YOURSELF AND ME

“Well Sameer, meet  Rithin. Rithin this is Sameer, my husband. Rithin works as a freelance artist. He was the scenarist macho of our batch. And he was one of my good friends.” I looked at her through the corner of my spectacles.

 She looks a bit fat and flabby now. A huge bindi stuck on her forehead made her face look more mature. The smile still had an aroma that has not fainted a bit with her age.

“Where do you usually work, Mr. Rithin?” a question sharpened by IIT schooling was shot at me by Sameer.

“Well I am much like a travelling salesman. I go around India visiting theatre and art schools. Who so ever in need of a scenarist hires me. Of course the pay will be little less due to this nomadic lifestyle. But I am contended. After all these there is no time to think about the yesterdays”. I finished my sentence shooting a glance at Nikita through the corner of my eye.

How long it has been? Probably ten years. How could she be so indifferent after such a short span of time? Maybe it isn’t a short time. Maybe she has started prioritizing her life. Maybe she has more photos to add to her family album. Her first wedding anniversary, baby’s first birthday, husband’s first promotion, new car, new studio apartment, Son’s 5^th birthday, husband’s first salary increment, son’s first karate class, 10^th wedding anniversary… she would hardly find room to squeeze in an old Pal’s photo.

I am confused and wounded when there was an alumni celebration was going in full swing in the backdrop. I tried to blend in. tried to fake smiles.

Let’s get a flash back, shall we… Say some 10 years before…

@@@

“Will you keep in touch?” her eyes had a tinge of red in them.

“I will try to. I don’t know. I may go places for a while. After all, every wound needs time to hea, right?” I replied in vexation.

“Are you angry with me?” her voice broke.

“Why should I be, Niks? Should I be? I don’t know. After all, it’s not your fault. I was the one who broke into your life without proper authority. I must be ashamed of that.” I drew closer.

“I really love you, Rithin, but only as my friend. I can’t see you in any other form. God I am so helpless.” She was crying.

Her tears and sobs were literally drowned by the hustle in the hall. A huge golden yellow banner hung in the zenith of the hall, which said “Goodbye class ‘10” in crimson red. Everybody was crying and everybody else was consoling. There was occasional wisecracking by some way too jolly classmates. I could only hear their voices. My vision blurred by a tear, for apparently the wrong reasons. My courage was under fire.

“If I ask you to make a decision now, will you come with me? I mean, not like running away or something. Let’s ask your dad first. Then my dad. I still can support you. After all, in a week there would be a campus selection and I am expecting to get a good placement. Will you marry me? I really need you in my life. I will always need you this much. Please don’t make this any worse. I …”

“It is worse already. I am not able to make a decision. I just can’t. Dad’s going in for a proposal or something lately. I can’t face him for a thing like that. He would not stand it. Please…”

I get it. But let me say this one thing. If there was anything wonderful in my life, that was you. And I am way too thankful to you.” my eyes cut away from hers. It was farewell.

“But, I really…” her sobs drowned her words, while I was making way for the door. The place was already wretched for me and I didn’t want to see her crying anymore. It was too heartbreaking. If she thought I was walking away from her, then fine and good. Atleast, she will get peace of mind in future. The sobs grew distant.

Let’s have another flashback shall we… Say some 8months…

@@@

“Look, I don’t want to go with this any further. I don’t want you to take it way too seriously as you are doing now. It’s not good for us. I mean I hate to think anything near to a commitment. Let’s just be friends, shall we…”

She spoke with impeccable speed. And I was tongue tied when she ended her short talk with a clause. I didn’t know what else to do. I mean, this is what I get after 3 and half years of devotion. Of course you don’t feel that somebody is really necessary for you all of a sudden, do you? Especially for a guy like me who don’t give a damn for this thing called “love at first sight”. I am the man for love at the second or third or subsequent sights. And I don’t jump into conclusions. After all that brainstorming I done in my room looking at her photo made me take this decision. Finally I stood up to her and proposed her.

A short two sentence proposal, it was. “Niks, I have been quiet close to you and I think I am in love with you. Please don’t hate me for that.”

Oh, what a screw up that was? I mean that last part. I bet I can’t look her straight in the eye and say what I felt. I neither had a fine head start to fire up. All I could manage to spit out was that much. And I didn’t find much of enthusiasm in her face that could make my hopes high.

Boy I should tell you that those were godforsaken words from a best friend. I mean, put myself in her shoes, and then think about saying something like that.

“For a second, put yourself in my shoes and think about saying something like that.” Now that’s what is called as mind reading.

“Now I will go on thinking that this is some kind of a trick that you pulled up on me. I will stay as your best friend just like the old days.”

Ya, just like the old days. Tell me about it. Last week do you know what happened to Ganesh who proposed Lyla. She turned it down saying that “this conversation never took place. And consider me as your friend. But not more than that.” She never spoke to him after that. Poor guy, drank up all of his cough syrup and went in front of the ladies hostel to sing his favorite Keerthana out of his memory, and ended up in a police lock up.

Spare me my lady. I don’t want to end up drunk and later dunk in a police lock up. I pretended that I carefully heard each word she said and made a rock strong resolution to follow them. But inside my head I was just saying, “Who you think you are?” As I sped through the corridor I labored hard to clear my mind of her. But the damage was still catastrophic.

Let’s a get third flashback shall we (now this is final!!!)….

@@@

3 years 10 months 6 days and 30 hours earlier, 500 miles apart, I was playing cricket with my friends when ii heard that the entrance result came out. Four eyed Ramalingam came running to our territory yelling that he got a good 3 fig rank. I too rushed. Guys I was not much of a brainiac, yet I got a handsome figure in my mark sheet. Finally I too can go to college. Of course the happiest people are going to be your father and mother. And when their happiness was overflowing par the limits, I bravely asked for bike. I thought it would be an offer they can’t resist. I can’t imagine how quickly they came back to their senses. Not only they denied me a bike, but they got me into some career counseling so that their boy was always heading the right direction.

And so after 3 months, when I entered right through that gate of the prestigious engineering college, I was not the coolest of dudes. I hate it when they show in the TV, that only the sporty-masculine-riding-bike-on-single-wheel dude gets all the girls and all the action. I really can see the difference now. The day I entered that college, I lost my virility. I was nothing but a shy and talk-bullshit-round–the-clock goof ball. After the routine raging and nagging and the christening as the men’s hostel’s own, I went out to make my own name.

I mean in a college, if you got to make a name, either you have to join sports (In sports, I suck big time. Remember that cricket match I was talking to about, I went out for a duck in that…), or you have to visit the library often. The second was easy to start. But very hard to get on with.  The minute you get into the library, even the harmless catalogue makes you nauseous. Moreover, other bastards never want you to a brainiac…alone. So they’ll poke you and mock in all possible means. After a while the public beating came down a bit. Certainly my knowledge level was increasing. I now knew all the regulars in the library. I mean girls…

So a fine Monday afternoon, due to a very high probability of me dozing and the lecturer cursing, I went out into the library. I opened a giant book right at the middle, leaned over it, with, my neck resting on it and passed out. Some applied mechanics, the book was on. I don’t really care, because everything appeared statics to me.

Then it came. I mean, she came. I didn’t know she was there. Because I was sleeping, goddamnit. And I refused to get up at the lavender fragrance when she approached me. Of course all those sleep waking gimmicks in perfume advertisements are all farce.

“scuse me. Is that Applied Mechanics?”

“Huh, what? Oh no. It’s only 2 in the afternoon. But thank you.” if you want to know the perfect mix between an idiot and a loser, talk to me. I just succumbed into my slumber.

I could hear her giggling.

“Would you mind me taking a look at your pillow, mister?” her words were mixed up with a giggle.

I looked up and with a startle. That was the first time I laid eyes on her. I didn’t feel a thing. She wasn’t the fairest lady in the land. Neither had she had the most beautiful eyes.

I was quiet attracted to her of course. And that was the very reason I quickly got up from the book and furiously hid the spot where I was drooling over the book.

“You in S1?” she asked in voice feebler than a whisper.

“Yupp. Rithin.” I rubbed my saliva drenched hand in my t shirt and extended it to her. I know I was making a fool out of myself. She hesitated to shake hands. Instead, she just winked at me. My!!! Those eyes were beautiful.

That day after exchanging a few words we parted. She too was a hosteller. On my way back to the hostel I was cursing myself like a mad man. After all is this the way to behave to a girl? And, my god, haven’t I forgot to ask her name? I need to get my nuts tightened. That was the last time I thought of her that day.

3 more weeks later, I found myself daring enough to ask her name. That day she was in the canteen enjoying a tea. I was approaching her with a confident smile. I am not sure that she saw me. But I couldn’t meet her till I reached the edge or the table.

“Is this seat taken?” I politely started firing up.

“Nope. Not till now.”

“May I?” I already took the seat before politely requesting. And then I started eating my meal. I didn’t look at her till her tea was over. I was looking down on my Dosas, counting the holes in it. when I could make out that she was going to leave the seat, I rocketed my head upwards and asked her,

“What should I call you?” Screw you. is that the way to ask the name of a girl?

“Oh, hey I think you want to know my name so badly and you don’t want to talk to me, right? Afraid to ask me?”

Afraid? Me? Go to hell Homo sapiens female. I just couldn’t figure out a way to ask you your name. That is all.

“I couldn’t think of any better words. It’s stupid. I think you can pardon me for that.” I was still counting holes. But now at the ceiling.

“There is no need to be sorry for what you asked, I guess. My name’s Nikita. Friends call me Niks.”

“Okay. Thank you. See you soon. Bye. Take care.” My count was lost. I rushed to the wash basin and off to the counter. Within she could say, “My pleasure”, I was out of the place.

3 months later, I found myself strangely under her spell accompanying her everywhere she goes. I was her friend now. I started calling her Niks. The encounters usually occurred in the library, and it sort of made me lose my sleep time at the library. I started to find out more about her. Her family, her likes and dislikes, her favorite music, her dressing sense. And one thing kept on bugging me.

We were on the geometrically opposites in all respects. I mean, I did never like Karan Johar and his crappy film making. She liked it as if she breathes in and out with Karan Johar. She nearly killed me once when I was downsizing Karan Johar’s films. I liked Akira Kurasowa. She never really knew that man. Whenever I start off to give a lecture on his masterpieces, she seems to go in for a nap. She liked pulp Fiction. I liked wrestling matches. She liked cold cream. I liked to set deodorant bottles to fire. She had a crush for exotic foods and sea food. But man, I couldn’t hold my desire for local masala and chat. All she knew about cricket was that Dhoni had long hair and only recently he got a haircut. Sometimes she made me hopeless. Sometimes she made me furious.

3 years later, we were so close that we could tell what the other was thinking just by looking into each other’s eye. Three major exams went by. And with her efforts, I passed all the three. I find it hard to think of what help I was for her. Of course I never made her sleep when she was studying with me. I always made up some stupid doubt to bug her every now and then.

When you are with your best friend, you have all the time in the world. You have nothing to worry about. You have no liabilities or miseries. If you have something, it is plain confidence.

Once she asked me a question that turned my world upside down.

“Rithin… can I ask you something?”

“Shoot it right away”

“You are my best friend. Tell me what you will do after I get married”

“Married to whom?” I asked with raised eyebrows.

“You know. Somebody. Anybody. What will you do then? After all you can’t come home and talk to me every day. You cannot call me every day also.”

“Who said I can’t. I will come to your house every night, tie your little ‘Romeo’ to the bedside and talk to you all night.” Both of us burst into laughter.

“I am asking for real dummy. I mean, for a married woman, her family is above all. Nobody would accept a friendship above that.” She sounded serious. I like it when she becomes serious. Her eyebrows make a cute strange curve. It makes her more beautiful.

 “Well then, I will marry you. I will come to your home and hold your dad at gun point. And ask him, Hey mister, give me your daughter, or else, I will kick your butt big time.”

She just winked her wide eyes and started laughing. We both were laughing our guts out.

“You are such an idiot, you know that?” she said when she could manage to get a hold on her breath.

That was all. The conversation ended there. Back in my room, I was banging my head hard on this one creepy idea. It left me speechless, sleepless and of course like any other crazy lover, appetite-less. Day in day out, I was fancying myself as the lover of my best friend Nikita. I loved every bit of the idea like I loved her. I couldn’t make a difference between being the best friend and being a lover. When finally a day came when I couldn’t hide my weight loss from her eyes, I had to face that age old trivia, for the first time in my life.

“Hey Rithin. You have thinned yourself to the bone. What’s bugging you lately? Any girl matter” She giggled at me winking those beautiful round eyes.

I found it hard to look into those eyes when it came to matter. Speaking to her was even worse. I was literally tongue tied. But somehow, I said it. I said it all.

Since that day, neither of us had gone through that same old heartwarming friendship. She found new plans to avoid me. Hanging out more with her roommates, going to the swimming classes in the evening and spending more time inside her room, these all were a few of her errands which sort of cut our contact short. I never made new friends. I was always trying to explain it to her, but she never gave me a chance to do so. Maybe I was becoming juvenile, uttering the wrong words to her. But as the separation grew, the feeling I had for her also grew. It now reached somewhere near an unquenched desire for winning her love.

I started to show off. All I wanted was to seek her attention. But all I ever earned was more and more alienation. I was never the humorous wisecracking friend-to-all youngster. So every effort of showing off, I made a fool out of myself.

My grades also dropped. Somehow we both got through the final exam. It never really mattered to me, since I had other plans in mind. So it was a do or die situation up ahead of me. The farewell was in two weeks. This was the time when I finally decided to go up to her house and talk to her.

“Niks, it’s kinda painful to part. Please think about it. You know that na…” I said that as soon as we were alone.

“Dad’s looking for a proposal in a distant relation. I think some IITan hot shot.” Her failed attempt at sarcasm made me more and more morose.

“Please, cut the crap out Niks. All I wanted to say was that I am really looking forward to a life with you. I would never make the move unless you have thought properly and come up with an answer”

“Seems he is UK based and settled. I may need to furnish a passport before the engagement.” She was completely ignoring me. My patience was wearing thin.

“Are you listening to me?”

“What will be your marriage gift to me, Rithin.” Her smile deliberately faked just for the sake of finishing off.

“Enough. I just don’t know why you are so much into this crap. Okay. You do whatever you want to do. The farewell is in 2 weeks. Come there and you shall see me no more. Think of an answer to tell me. Whatever you tell me, I am bound to obey.” I respectfully denied the tea that was offered and was gone in no time.

When it came to farewell, she was a very different person. Not a jolly jingle-all-the-way Nikita. What I saw was a pale human form with blood shot eyes with a residue of a long lost sleep. I could not take it anymore. I was creating an inferno so as to burn myself in it and to cremate my best pal. I was the evil doer. I knew there was no way she would agree to live with me. So I just did what oldies brand as a “necessary evil”. I walked away from her. In some creepy thought of mine, I was doing her a favor to choose between a wretched me and a HiFi life. I regret each moment of that walk out now and I am sure that I am going to end up in hell for that. But that was the only thing I could do if I wanted to give her a future.  Rather than pushing her into another set of mazes, I just packed my bags and went. And that was it.

There is a thing called as time. A medicine for the worst scald or the deepest cut. Time healed my scars. I hoped it healed hers too. I was travelling through places I haven’t even heard off. Whenever her thoughts came into, I refused to think. I used to run a mile of slumber through infinity just to put her off my brain. To be frank, I really couldn’t help it in the first couple of years. Every minute of everyday a waking dream would urge me to go back to her, and start my life anew. Bu the anchor of reality held me right where I was. I appeared in Varanasi for summer and slept through the autumn in Golconda, ate in the winter in Colombo and danced in the spring in Bangalore. I never really stayed anywhere. I lost my boyish feature. The eyes pitted with time, later hiding under a thick rimmed spectacles. Wrinkles appeared in my forehead. Beard started to stay indefinitely. 

And when I was finally something close to a nomadic sage, a revelation came to me as an invitation to a Get together party.  It was 10 years, since I have left Niks, and myself. Something inside me was calling me home.

And when I finally made it up to my alma mater, I saw her again. She recognized me in one look. But that old grace was gone. Yet her smiles had warmth which left me craving for her presence.

“How is life out there on the road?” She finally found some time in private.

“Well, not bad. Nobody wants a route map to hitchhike, right?” I wanted to laugh out loud, but my beard made it hard.

“It’s quite nice to see you smiling after a long time.”

“It’s quite nice to see you after a long time.” she smiled again.

“Well, Earth is round.” I was reliving those moments. Why the heck didn’t she introduce me as her best friend back in college?

After all who cares? I would go to moon for just to see her. Just to talk to her.

“Oh, I forgot to introduce you to Sameer as my best friend…”

“It’s okay. Really. Let it remain our little secret.” I was looking into those eyes. They used to twinkle every now and then. Looking into those I thanked that old friend who took the toil to reach out for me to invite me for this party.

“Well. So long amigo.” I said it raising my wine.

“See you, dear.” She gave me a parting sigh and went away.

And at that precise moment, I remembered a piece from a Clint Eastwood movie.

“Old Dreams were good dreams.

I am afraid many of them never came true.

But I am glad that I had them.”

Outcry

I am standing in the Far East corner of the prestigious Parthenon Hotel; its restaurant section, to be precise.  I could scan the entire room from this location, as people moved in and out of the hotel to dine. 
I never felt neglected by any of those coming here for a wonderful evening. After all I like to think that way. Every person, good or bad, barbaric or civilized, meets me twice when inside the hall. They come in to the hall coated in the night air, they hand me over their coat and hat.


 And when they are done with their dinner, before going out, they shake hands with me, taking back their coats and hats. 
Tonight is no different. Only the crowd has grown a bit thicker. There was a hustle in the portico.  I could make out the shadows of comfortable sedans and limousines outside. And I could feel the faint aroma of all the cologne and perfume emanating from the guests coming in. The soft halogen lighting adds to the subtlety of the place, ambient to satisfy each and every guest. I witnessed the waiters ushering guests to their tables. When they are properly seated they receive their menus. I can also see them rushing in and out of the kitchens to make and fetch the orders. It was much like a synchronized dance form with a beautiful rhythm of its own. 


There were busy people with eyes moving meticulously between their plate and their PDA. There were garrulous people who found it more comfortable to talk than to eat. There were newlyweds who try to pamper each other over a plate of custard or adore each other’s mannerisms so as to win the other’s hearts. There were old couples who sat there and ate, and promptly left the place afterwards, without uttering a word. Even if they did make any sound it must be to the waiter for extra wine or salad.
 There were corporate bigwigs sitting round a table and discussing anything and everything below the sun and fixing a monetary value for them. And there were friendly gatherings; the most enjoyable of them all being reunion of old pals. There would be one hell of a bash all over the place. 


Today was not particularly interesting as the regular pack of guests showed up like always. Nothing lacked though, all including the usual sentiments ran through. No reunions. No wedding parties. I hate it when things are as ordinary as tonight. Yet like any other day I needed to be a part of it all. I meet and greet each and every one who comes into the restaurant. But I feel like things pass right through me. I feel like I am no longer the part of this world, that I’ am invisible to everyone. 


My vision was briefly blurred by a giant fur coat someone handed over to me. I wonder why can’t anyone notice what a humble gentleman, I am. I have a handful of fancy Derby hats. I have a handful of expensive tweed jackets and coats. But none pays any attention to me. I think those are the things people often take as a face value to judge people, instead of knowing what is truly inside.
I readjusted myself to get a good view of the oval table at the middle of the hall. The waiter was ushering a middle aged couple into it. The man had met me at the entrance as usual. I couldn’t help but notice his self important glance and his wife’s helplessness. Now that they are seated only a few tables away, I could get a fairly good picture about them. The lady was fair with sturdy black hair and civilized looks. The man clearly represented the upper echelon of the society. 


Plates arrived. Food arrived. They started eating. The gentleman meticulously gobbling in arithmetic chunks of the cuisine, while the lady finding it hard to eat anything at all. Her face said something. Was it neglect? Or was it guilt? I wasn’t sure.


Her eyes reflected unspoken arguments. Those eyelids blackened by lost sleep, covered impeccably by makeup. There was a small grayish black scar on her forehead, covered by her unkempt hair, yet revealing the pain and sore of last night’s fight, I guess. This man, sitting neck deep in silence and eating, had the guts to beat his wife? Humans are the best impersonators, I guess.


What could have possibly made such an elegant lady to raise her voice in the house and made her the prey for shear masculine nerve? My thinking was not that rational. Yet all I could think of was the most rational reason for such a thing. The lady might have raised her voice against this man’s going with another woman. After all, the lady might have got fed up of herself being a silent witness for her husband’s atrocities. After all she might have thought once as a normal emotional human being rather than the tender middle layer of the society. The price for silence is silence only.


The man was busy finishing off his food. Not even once he glanced away from his plate towards his wife. These kinds of men need their wives as an insignia only. I could do nothing about that.
After he finished his dinner, he took off paying a handsome tip. He did wait a millisecond for his wife to catch up with him, but that seemed like a crumb of bread thrown to a stray dog. Now that they were approaching me, I could not help but look away from them.
The gentleman took off his coat and hat was gone in a minute. I wanted to comfort the lady. My hands never reached her. She too went out into the night taking off her robe from my outstretched hands. I could only gaze upon her hair as they reflected the lights from inside the hotel, before she disappeared from my sight.
Time passed. People passed. The centre table was empty again. My eyes were not fixing upon any particular guests thereafter, as my mind roamed around upon unfamiliar faces and robotic smiles.


A breeze of cool night air brought me back to reality as a new guest entered the hall. The air outside was soaked with beautiful smell of perfume. I could make out a girl to my left winking with wonder into the flamboyant ambience of the place. I was not able to see her face. She stood there just inside the hall, dazzled and unsure of what to do next. I could make out her approaching a waiter and asking for the table she was supposed to take. He escorted her to the table in the middle and seated her there. It was then that she turned towards my side, and I saw her face in that golden yellow lighting. 


It was worth a sight. A pristine smile hidden away behind those beautiful lips, always ready to pop out, lighting her face up. A caring look in those wide eyes, sharp enough to rob your senses. And a few mischievous locks of hair flying out of place, to mesmerize any onlooker. I was petrified that very moment itself.
She sat there alone for another half an hour. By that time I was lost in her eyes.


 An eternal feeling crept through me. A feeling that is so much degraded these days as a tool for betrayal and patronizing. Love, as some call it.


I didn’t care about the whole universe around me, and time had its own way to creep in and out beside me, watching her take breaths of hope and waiting. I prayed that she looked to my side, fix her gaze at me. But who am I to long for such things?


Yes; she was waiting there. Most probably for her boy friend, I guess. Or her fiancé. Her eyes would commute around watching everything else on the room, later pausing again and again into her watch. She denied a drink, respectfully offered by the waiter. She was practically counting seconds, for that lucky one to come to her, to hug her and have dinner with her. 


Another hour went. The smile found it harder to pop up out of her lips. The eyes lost their grace as an unsaid melancholy crept in. now they visited her watch more frequently. It’s a bit harsh to say, but I enjoyed it all more now, as she looked more beautiful now.


Now she had her cell phone dwindling in between her hand and her ear. Every time she withdrew her hand in despair, her smile sunk deeper and deeper inside. That face was no longer an angel’s retreat. And someone was responsible for that catastrophe.


Another miserable hour went by. Her eyes now had the gloom of the setting sun. Her mobile phone was finally taking a breath of relief and resting on the table. I could no more take her silence. It was too heartbreaking. 
Her sunken eyes sprung back to life when she glanced on the ringing phone. I could see her attending with a face lit up like full moon. I could also make out her smile at its best almost lighting the entire hall. But it didn’t last too long.


Smile faded, eyes drooped and eyebrows sank as she withdrew the phone from her ear. She was all the more sad now. How could have that heartless prick at the other end of the phone break her heart like that. Possibly he has got some other girl to hang out with. Or maybe he was not putting her under any of his priorities. There was enough reason in this world to justify him deserting the girl who loved him. I think reasons are only for those who need them to cover their lies.  Maybe he was afraid of her eyes, that he could not resent her looking into her eyes. I could only pity him not knowing what he missed. 


She waved to the waiter, paid him a small tip and got ready to leave. She was straining hard to smile formally at the waiter. With slow footsteps she made it to the door. Now she was only a feet away from where I was. I was trying hard to look away from her, but my eyes were glued on her. When she was about to leave out through the door, she paused. Now she was looking directly at me. I was shriveling like a dry vegetable. Yet I couldn’t look away. Her eyes were soaked with unshed tears. She let out a painful sigh. Did she see me ogling her?
I wished I could place my hand over her shoulder and console her. Nothing of that sort happened. She was out through the door and gone into the darkness. I felt a strange vacuum when she was gone. As if a part of me went out through the door. But things are meant to be that way. Humans made it that way. Those who need true love and care are ignored. Those who can genuinely offer true love and care are ignored. I cursed every happy person in that room, that their smiles never had any happiness, that theirs were smiles crafted by the impeccable mechanics of human mind. 


I never had a face to make a beautiful grin. I could see that kind of a grin all around me. A grin that could be affixed without any emotion. I never had a heart. Humans with heart never cared to use them, never loved anyone truly and never ever saw their fellow being’s tear. I never had any tear glands.  Humans forged tears to make fun of the dead and exploit the weak. I never had legs. Humans had two sturdy legs, yet never had they come closer enough to love or console anyone. I was made of wood. I had a dozen outstretched hands. I never shifted places. 


I was a mere coat stand. People hung their coats on me. People left their hats to me. And yet I felt superior to any human.