The Watch

The weather was turning colder with every passing day. Sweaters had come out. I could find no better way to spend evenings than sipping by-2 coffee while eating hot, crispy bajjis along with Vishwa at Ramu's. That evening, Vishwa and I decided to visit Murthy. Murthy had married recently and we hadn't met him since.

Murthy's watch showroom - "The TimeTurners" - was at a 10-minute distance from Ramu's.
I don't think I have told you of Murthy, have I?
Murthy belongs to a family who have been watchmakers for at least the past four generations. His great-grandfather had started out as a small watchmaker in the showroom that Murthy now sits in. It is a small 10x20 room with a workroom behind it. The walls of the showroom are filled with all kinds of watches, clocks and timepieces. On some space on the wall that is vacant, there is a framed photograph of Murthy's great-grandfather, Seetaramaiah receiving a certificate from His Majesty "for exemplary services to the state". The truth is, as Murthy had once told, Seetaramaiah had presented an exquisite watch with the royal insignia on it to His Majesty, who was highly overjoyed and presented that certificate to him. That watch is still on display at the State Museum in the city under the name "Timeless Beauty!". There is also a photograph of Murthy's grandfather, Krishnaiah . Under Murthy's father, Srikantaiah, two more air-conditioned showrooms of "The TimeTurners" had been opened in different parts of the city. Yet, Murthy preferred to sit in the original showroom, simply because of the emotions and antiquity attached to it.
Murthy is a short, stout, lively young man with a french beard that perfectly matches his figure. Vishwa and I had met him at Ramu's over by-2 and 2-by-3 coffees some years back. Owing to some personal issues we hadn't been able to attend Murthy's wedding that took place in the bride's city, some hundred miles away.

Murthy was very happy to see us in his showroom. "Oh! The duo! You busy people couldn't attend the wedding and now, you have the courage to show up at my doorstep, eh? Come in" he said, jovially. It was probably the first day that Murthy had come to the showroom after the wedding. Vishwa joked saying he still had the glow of a bridegroom. Murthy offered us sweets. "Don't you worry! These aren't the leftover ones from the wedding. These have been specially bought for customers and friends who come to the showroom" he said, laughing. As we sat there eating, he told us in great detail about the arrangements and ceremonies that had taken place during the wedding.

An old man, with a shawl covering his frame, entered the showroom and we stopped talking. He was around seventy years old. He had a very good build for his age. Though he carried a walking stick, he didn't seem to need it.
"Good evening! Could you help me with this watch of mine? The belt is cut" the old man said, handing over the watch to Murthy. He sat down beside Vishwa.
The watch had a black dial with a steel belt. It looked quite old, even to a layman like me.
"Sir, this watch is no less than fifty years old. The very fact that you've maintained it so long is an achievement. I don't think even the company manufactures these pieces anymore. Why don't you buy a new watch in exchange for this one?" Murthy asked, looking at the watch.
"Young man, ask me to do anything. I will do it. But don't ask me to part with this watch" the old man said, rising to take his watch from Murthy and leave the showroom.
"Sir, wait! What is so special about this watch that you don't want to part with it?" asked Vishwa, giving words to my thoughts.

"That is a long story, son" said the old man, settling back on the bench in the showroom. At the mention of a "story", all of us settled down.

"My name is Vishwanath. I am a retired army colonel. My family is from an agricultural background. We grow sugarcane and supply it to the mills. My father and grandfather were great hypocrites. On the one hand, they were very good to the British personnel. On the other, they funded the freedom struggle. They did not want business to suffer due to national issues. Hence, they were good to both factions. Typical businessmen. My elder brother was of the same mold. I hated them for that. That is one reason why I chose army as my career. I wanted to get away from my family.
Let me get to the main story. When I was in school, there was a girl called Parvati in our class. She was one of the very few girls who attended schools back then. She was very beautiful, with knee-length hair and almond eyes. She had a beautiful voice as well. As was the custom those days, she was trained in music and she sang beautifully. For any festival or function in school, she would be the one the teachers would call upon to sing. I loved her. She probably had feelings for me too. However, we were too scared to express them, lest the matter reached our elders.
On finishing higher secondary, equivalent to today's Class 10, they shifted to another town. Her father who worked as the headmaster in the school had been transferred. Before leaving, she gave me this watch as a present. We lost touch after that.
The story does not end here, even though I wish it did.
After a couple of years I joined the army and went away for training. Everybody in the family was very happy that they had a son serving the country. If they truly cared about service to the country, why would they evade taxes by maintaining a fraudulent account? Hypocrites!
It was close to my first break after joining the army. I received a letter from home, asking me to advance the holidays so that I could be part of my elder brother's wedding. I came back and happily involved myself in all the preparations. There were grand celebrations to mark his wedding and for once, my family was behaving in a genuine way.
Things turned upside down on the day of the wedding. I hadn't seen the bride until then, since I was away on work during the initial stages of the great Indian wedding - vadhupariksha, engagement and others. I was shocked when I found out that Parvati was the bride! She was shocked too.
The girl I loved was to now come home as my sister-in-law! Sister-in-law is second only to the mother and now...! My head started whirring. I probably lost consciousness because I do not remember attending any ceremonies during the marriage. It took me a great deal of time to come to terms with the state of affairs.
Parvati probably found it tough to face the reality. She loved me. Yet, she had married my brother. On the third day, Parvati was found hanging in her room. I lost Parvati forever.
I cried the most that day. Nobody understood why. I felt guilty. To me, it was murder. I had killed Parvati - with my silence! I decided to cut my leave short and report back to work.
The next time I came home, I found out that my brother was happily married to another girl in the village while I was in the war.
Despite my family's repeated and desperate persuasions, I did not marry. I could not marry" the colonel sighed, wiping away the tears that were rolling down his cheeks. "Today, I am a retired colonel staying with my brother's children and grandchildren. I have been posted to several places and have traveled throughout the country but I have made sure that I do not leave this watch behind. It is a treasure trove of loving memories of my Parvati. That is why I do not want to part with it. Now do you realise, son?" he asked.

All of us were too stunned to respond. The old man got up and walked to the door of the showroom.
"Thank you, young men, for listening to my story. It made me feel better" he said and walked away, pocketing the watch. 

A Stranger's Tale

The aroma of filter coffee and freshly prepared masala dosa filled the air in Ramu's. Vishwa and I were seated at our usual seats, having a heated discussion. We have discussed and debated over this topic several times, without reaching a conclusion. While Vishwa is a staunch atheist, I have my own set of beliefs. I am not sure if you could call them beliefs, though. I am not sure if God(s & Goddesses) exist(s), but I am too scared to openly admit that they don't. I have formed a convoluted belief about God(s & Goddesses). To anybody who asks me about my beliefs, I always answer "I believe in the existence of a formless, superhuman power". Whether that person considers me an atheist or a believer, I leave it to his/her judgement. To me, it is an easy way to slip out of the situation. However, I cannot lie to myself, can I?

Vishwa believes that the key to our destiny lies in our hands alone. He does not want to believe that he is controlled something beyond his reach. Nor does he believe in religion or rituals done to appease the Almighty. To him, the only important philosophy is to live and let live. He believes that we can build a better society & a better world only by looking after each other, not by any religious propaganda or conversion on the promise of amenities, like it is happening at some places.

We were having the same discussion that day too. "Listen, mate! There exists no God & no Satan. All these are mere literary expressions of the good and evil in us. It is all about which side we choose to act on. Nothing more. Do not go on worshiping idols or appeasing spirits" Vishwa spoke emphatically.

While I was searching for a response, we were joined by another person at our table. He was a middle aged man, around 35-40 years of age. He was dressed in a t-shirt and a pant. He wore goggles that covered his eyes and much of his face. "Namaste! I heard you speak. You speak with a lot of conviction, don't you? So, you do not believe in God or Satan, is it?" he said, extending his hand to us Vishwa shook it, confidently; me, with a bit of apprehension. The other person smiled warmly at us. "I shall tell you a story that shall make you believe in ghosts and spirits" he said.
"Sure you will. But before that, can we order something for you?" Vishwa asked.
The other person shook his head. We ordered two coffees for us.
"The story I shall tell you", the stranger began, "is based some thirty-forty years ago, in a small town nearby. Do not bother about the name, because it hardly matters to the story line." Both of us sat hearing him, with rapt attention.

"There was a police officer, happily married. He lived with his wife, son and mother in the town. He was widely respected and loved by the people in the department as well as outside of it. When his son was about five years of age, he was posted to Bengal. Now, that was a period when Naxal movement was on the rise. There were lot of law-&-order problems, not that they have ceased now. But then, problems were created by non-governmental bodies, not those within it. Coming back, the government felt that this officer could make a difference to the situation and transferred him there. He decided to move there with his wife, while both of them decided that it would be prudent to take their son along only after they were sure of the situation there. For the time being, they left their son in the care of his grandmother and moved to Bengal.
As fate would have it, within three months of shifting to Bengal, the officer and his wife were killed brutally by the Naxals.
Any other woman would have lost her mind on seeing her son being killed, but not this Grandmother. It made her more resolute. She was determined to raise her grandson, let's call him Ramesh, to be a police officer, much like his dad or perhaps, better.
They were from a rich family. For generations, they had been zamindars in their ancestral village. They still had some agricultural land which was cultivated by people who served the family for several generations now. They were still treated like royalty whenever they went to the village. Money was not a problem. So, Grandmother made sure that all needs and luxuries of Ramesh were met much before he asked for it. He was all that she lived for.
Again, fate played its part. As Ramesh came of age, Grandmother told him of how his father was killed and how she wished to see him as a police officer one day. However, Ramesh appeared unaffected by it. This pained Grandmother. She decided to rein him in through discipline and cut off all his perks.
That irked Ramesh. One of his friends put a notion that she might donate all property to charity. That was when Ramesh took the drastic step. He had heard of black magic and witchcraft. He approached a Namboodiri black magician and used him to drive his Grandmother insane. To everybody else, it appeared that old age had taken a toll on Grandmother. They advised Ramesh to send her to a rehabilitation centre.
Using a certificate from the centre, he got all the property transferred into his name. Two or three months later, he received news from the rehab that Grandmother had died peacefully in her sleep. Ramesh, the heartless bastard, didn't even perform her funeral rites. He asked the people in the centre to do it, like for any other orphaned woman and asked them to send him the death certificate.
A few months later, something happened to Ramesh. He started behaving with a slight touch of insanity. People said that they heard from Ramesh of how Grandmother tortured him in the night as a spirit. Some believed that Grandmother had actually returned as a spirit to haunt Ramesh for what he had done. Some believed that it was his guilt that psychologically traumatized him and resulted in his insanity. They decided to take Ramesh to the same Namboodiri black magician and get him treated. 
Five months after they returned from him, on a night that marked the first death anniversary of Grandmother, Ramesh was found hanging in his room. There was an expression of shock on his face.
That house is no longer inhabited. People say that they hear Ramesh crying and pleading for forgiveness from Grandmother in the house."

The man ended his story and looked towards us for a reaction. I was visibly shaken. Vishwa looked amused though.
"A very nice story indeed. What is your name, Sir?" Vishwa asked, seemingly impressed with the narrative.
"I am Ramesh - the unfaithful grandson" he said.
Vishwa and I froze in our seats. Words failed both of us. We looked at each other in fear and shock.
We turned towards him as "What the..." escaped our mouths.
He was no longer there!!!

The Untold Story

Ajay needed a haircut badly. He had been postponing it for a couple of weeks, but it wasn't bearable any longer. He went to the saloon outside the campus gates - to get rid of the nuisance!

The saloon was smaller than his room in the hostel, half of it maybe. It was run by a father-son duo. There was a radio playing Hindi and Bengali music. It also had a rusty old fan. Listening to it for some time could put one to sleep. Ajay liked the place. He had been coming here even after a saloon was opened in the hostel complex. He loved the ambiance. It had nothing special in it. Silence the radio and this place could have been anywhere across the country. It was this universality of the saloon that endeared it to Ajay. 

When Ajay went there that day, there were two more people waiting. Ajay didn't mind. He rested easily on the wooden chair kept outside the shop. He sat observing the people going about their daily chores. The laundry man, the shopkeeper, the butcher and everybody else. He could sense life - something which he felt missing within the campus gates. 

It was Ajay's turn now.  Ajay seated himself in front of the mirror and offered himself into the hands of the barber, The barber was an artist now. He would shape how Ajay looked over the next few days in a matter of a few minutes. "Dada, keep it short" Ajay said before closing his eyes, trying to absorb the sound of the rusty old fan and grab a nap while the artist was at his work. 

Two minutes into it, the power went out! The fan stopped its lullaby. Ajay woke up, feeling the Bengal heat build up within the shop. "Babu, how about a story while I go about the job?" the barber asked. Ajay agreed, since it would divert his mind from the sweltering heat. 

"Babu, you know the Ramayan, right? I will tell you a story from the Ramayan that is widespread in our community. But then, I don't think people from any other community would have heard it. You will realise why they haven't once I am done with the story" the barber said, moving the pair of scissors and comb expertly over Ajay's head

"Ram was married to Sita and they lived happily. All of us know that. One day, Dasharath decided to announce that he would name Ram as his successor to the kingdom of Kosala. He consulted his rajguru & ministers and fixed a date for the announcement. There wasn't any media in those days where you could make a statement and it would be relayed all over the country, was there? So, he wanted quite a large number of people to be part of the ceremony where he would make the announcement before deciding the date of coronation. 

"A day before the day of the public statement, he sent for the "royal hairstylist", whom we shall call just the barber! The barber was getting the "royal" instruments ready - a pair of golden scissors, razors and combs of various sizes - when the scissors broke! He perceived it as an omen. He rushed to the palace with the broken pair of scissors. On meeting the king, he said "My Lord! The royal scissors broke this morning. They have been in the family for generations, since the time my great-great-great grandfather was the hairstylist to the royal family. It had never happened thus. I fear bad things, My Lord! I request you to put all plans on hold for the present and consult the rajguru again. Forgive my impudence, My Lord!"

"Dasharath was angered. How could an ordinary barber order the king? In a fit of rage, he ordered the beheading of the "royal hairstylist". The barber pleaded that he meant the well-being of the royal family and the king reconsider the decision of going out with the announcement on the decided day. All of it fell on deaf ears. Dasharath was in no mood to listen. There wasn't anybody else to listen to those pleas either. The barber was beheaded. His head was put on a spike and paraded, to warn others of what comes out of impudence" the barber said, moving the razor along Ajay's neck. Ajay felt a sudden chill and became all stiff!

"The news of the barber's death reached his widowed mother. She cried her heart out. People who were there to console her needed somebody to console them as well! It was a heart-wrenching scene. 

"Oh Almighty! If your existence is true, hear me out. On this day, I curse Dasharath, the one who murdered my son. Fate shall snatch his sons away from him. He shall die a painful death when they are far away. He shall die longing to see them!" Uttering these horrifying words, the lady collapsed, not to get up ever again." The barber was now massaging Ajay's neck and shoulders.

"We all know what happened after that, right? In almost all versions of the Ramayan, Dasharath's death is attributed to a curse by Shravan Kumar's parents and not the royal barber's mother. Why? Because people deem it a shame to acknowledge that a king was killed by the curse of a low-caste woman. Dying because of a Brahman's curse is "cool" but not from any low-born. God-damn prejudices!" The barber removed the apron that was put on Ajay in the beginning of the hair-cut. "Twenty rupees, babu" he said, brushing Ajay's clothes. 

"Dada, is this story true, or did you make it up?" Ajay asked, paying the money.

"Of course I made it up. But then, why shouldn't it be true? Goodbye, babu" the barber said, turning his attention to the next customer. 

The fan started whirring again...

An Unfinished Story

"For men may come and men may go
But I go on forever"                            - 'The Brook', Lord Tennyson 
Stories in the ordinary lives of ordinary people often do not have any conclusion. People are born. People die. However, the story lives on through a different set of players each time. In fact, death is the only conclusive thing in life! (Or is it?!)This slightly serious note apart, presenting to you - an unfinished story....


Ajay hit the gym. No, Aditi didn't ask him to. In fact, she didn't even know that he hit the gym. And no, Ajay wasn't working out to impress her. To him, this was a only a worthy way of spending the long vacation.  He didn't know what went through her mind. He liked her and hoped she liked him as well. However, there was no way of knowing it. Girls and their secretive ways!!! But then, this story is not about Ajay and absolutely not about Aditi. So, let me get straight to the point...

It had been two or three weeks since Ajay started working out. On one such evening, while he was at the gym, he saw a young bearded man. He was struggling to get through his routine. "A fresher" thought Ajay. He very well remembered his initial days when the instructor had been sympathetic towards him!

Ajay felt strangely curious about this guy. He felt there was something wrong. He could find that out only by talking to him. How would he approach him? "I think I have seen you somewhere" was the standard pick-up line with girls. But this was a guy. Ajay still tried it. Strangely, it worked!

"I am Kiran" he said, shaking hands with Ajay.

"I shouldn't be asking this. But looking at your beard, I felt there is something wrong. Would you mind sharing it?" Ajay asked, trying his luck.

"Its a long story. Meet me after the gym. We'll discuss this over drinks - I mean, a cup of coffee at the hotel nearby."

A lot can happen over coffee! Here, Kiran opened up to Ajay, even though he didn't know why.

"I come from a typical Indian middle-class household. My parents wanted me to get settled in life. So did I. The idea of settling - you know it right? Get a degree, get a good job, earning hefty packages, get your own car, get your own house and get your own wife! Getting your own children is post-settling.

"Things went on nicely. I landed a good job in a software company at twenty-three. Within four years, with hard-work and luck, I was made project manager, with a handsome salary. Car and house came along. Wife was the only component missing before I could be "settled". That's where the problem started. I studied in a boy's school and college. During degree, I was quite shy to talk to girls. That continued at work too, though I had a healthy professional rapport with everybody. My parents started searching a suitable girl who could be married to our family. Mind you - our family, not just me! Again, a middle-class Indian's ideal!

"The girls I was shown to initially had one problem with me. I just couldn't talk confidently with them. 'Rejected' - I heard that quite a few times.

"I then decided that I would start talking to the ladies in my office, not so professionally. I believed that it would help me build my confidence, specially in matters like these. And it helped, for, after a few days the next girl I was shown did accept the proposal. The families accepted as well.

"All was well. We went out so that we could get to know each other better. Things were smooth sailing until we went to a movie together. It was after that we broke up and the marriage was cancelled."

Ajay interrupted Kiran and asked "Which movie did you take her to, sir?"

"Grand Masti!!" he said, in a low voice.

"No wonder she called the marriage off! Am sorry, but that was a very bad choice for a movie with your fiancee. What did she say to be the reason?" Ajay asked.

"She said that I didn't have a good choice or discretion. She said that if I couldn't understand simple stuff like choice of movies, there was no doubt that I would make her life miserable. She broke off! I again lost my confidence and went into depression. Recently, someone I know suggested that working out helps build confidence. I don't know if it will. But there is no harm in trying, is it?" asked Kiran, concluding his story, with the final sip of coffee.

"I don't know what to say, Sir. But, if I were in your position, I wouldn't keep that beard that keeps away other prospective brides as well" Ajay said, before leaving.

The next day, Ajay was quite surprised to see a clean-shaved Kiran. He didn't know that Kiran would seriously consider the advice of someone nearly ten years younger to him!

A few days later, Kiran told Ajay that a proposal had been okayed the previous day. The girl was also a professional in a software firm. Everything - from kundlis - another obsession with our people - to look-and-outlook seemed to match, Kiran said. Though Ajay didn't understand why Kiran was discussing all this with him, he was quite happy to play the love-guru. He suggested Kiran on all topics - what to wear on a date, where to take her on a date, what not to discuss on a date! For all this, in return, he would he get a coffee everyday and sometimes, a snack. Well, he didn't do all that for those little stuff! He was only complementing the belief that Kiran had placed in him - quite blindly, right from the beginning.

It was good all the while, Ajay concluded since there were no complaints from Kiran's side. Besides, there seemed to be an added glow on him! Ajay felt happy that he was helping out Kiran in "settling".

Kiran stopped coming to the gym. It was quite unexpected. Surprisingly, Ajay realised that they hadn't exchanged numbers despite being very good friends over quite a period of time.

Time had come for Ajay to board the flight to go back to his institute. Other more important things began to take shelter his mind that had been occupied by Kiran and his love-story over the past few days.

Ajay didn't know what happened to Kiran or what happened to his story, for that matter.
Would his suggestions finally bear fruit? He didn't know.
Would Kiran acknowledge his support? He didn't know.
Would Kiran, at least, remember him after a few more months? He didn't know.
After all, not everything is to be known. Not everything is to be properly concluded. Kiran would remain an unfinished story for Ajay.

THE LETTER

  It was a Sunday afternoon. After a long time, a Sunday felt so boring. All these days, there was some sort of news on TV all the while. And Sundays meant extra airtime for all those endless political debates. The country was going into its biggest election in history, which meant there was no dearth for histrionics. Name calling, rallies, manifestos - everything was dissected and torn into shreds by the so-called pundits on all TV channels. Not that I paid heed to whatever was spoken. It was sheer entertainment to watch these pundits who might never, ever meet the people they talked about. Now that all this was over, Sunday seemed empty. I decided to do the only logical thing - Vishwa!

  It had been quite sometime since I went to Vishwa's house. We met at Ramu's or some other place. He never invited me home. However, that didn't mean I wasn't invited at his place! Such was the understanding between us. That day, however, what I saw surprised me! I always assumed Vishwa was lazy. Yet, there, I saw him cleaning his room. "Welcome! Sit down while I clean this place up" he said.
I went and sat on the only bed in the room. His room, by all standards, was sufficient for a bachelor. A single room with a kitchen and bathroom. It was luxury!
Vishwa had so many books in his cupboard that needed dusting. But what caught my attention was an old, steel trunk that lay in one corner of the room. It seemed ancient!
"Vishwa, how did you get hold of such a trunk? I mean, it looks quite old. If am not wrong, you can't have inherited it from someone. Then how did you get it?" I asked, unable to contain my surprise.
"Got it second-hand. I just loved the air of antiquity around the trunk, That's why I bought it" he said, continuing to dust the books and his cupboard.
"Can I have a look at it?"
"Sure, go ahead."
Having obtained his permission, I went to the trunk, curious about its contents.

There were some old clothes in it and some more books. In between those clothes, there was an envelope. To one corner, there was a small sticker of a rose. A letter, that too in an envelope with a sticker of a rose, in Vishwa's trunk? Fishy!
"Vishwa, can I read this letter?" I asked.
"Go ahead. Read it and if it interests you, I will tell you the story behind it" he said, increasing my curiosity.
I opened the letter. It was written in a beautiful hand.

"Dear Preeti,
 I came to your shop to get a photo of mine captured. While returning I realised that it was not just a photo but my heart as well, that had been captured. Your father converts negatives into colour films in his lab. Will you convert this life of mine into a colourful one? All I dream of, is to see a photo of you and me together in a gold-edged frame to show our kids. Will you let me realise this dream?
Yours
Vishwa"

"Vishwa, what's this?" I asked, surprised that "forever alone" Vishwa had such a story.
"Let me tell you. Sit down" Vishwa began, having my complete attention, as usual.

"It was all a few years back. I had just turned 18. I moved out of the orphanage where I was and decided to make my own life. I happened to come across this photo studio while moving around the city. Outside the studio, there was a framed photo of one of the cine-stars. On seeing it, I decided to get a photo of mine clicked.
I walked into the studio. At the bill-desk sat this lady - beautiful she was! She had big, round beautiful eyes! Those were enough for me to fall for her! I was about to talk to her and introduce myself, when, like a villain, her father, the photographer, entered.
Though I wanted to get a photo clicked, I just asked the rates and left that day. I would get an extra day to meet her and try my luck!

"The  next day, I took extra care in getting ready. I had to get a photograph, of course. But more important was meeting her. After the photo session - a single photograph, actually - was over, I went to the bill-desk.
"What's your name?" she asked.
I was elated! She had made the first move of asking the name! "You tell me yours first. Ladies first!" I said, trying to be "the man"!
"Hello! It is your photograph that was captured, right? I have to write out a bill for that. My name is not required for that!" she said, bulldozing the castle of my dreams in one sentence!
"Oh! Vish...Vishwa. I am Vishwa" I said, in a low voice.
She wrote out the bill for the photograph - what a beautiful hand and handwriting as well! -  and I left the studio, dejected.
"My name is Preeti" she called out as I was about to leave. I, then, thought I heard trumpets and drums rolling somewhere!

"The third day, I went to collect the photograph. Her father was busy clicking photographs for some bride-to-be. I used this chance to talk to her. Her laugh had a musical ring to it, or so I felt! I must say, she was of a progressive bent of mind! Those were days when girls weren't given much freedom. Yet, this lady handled the billing and accounts of her father's studio, interacting with all and sundry. At times when a salwar-kameez was seen as unorthodox, she wore jeans! She said that she had tried wine as well, of course without her father's knowledge! Progressive!
I had collected more than just my photograph that day!!

"On the next day, I went to the studio on the pretext of giving my photograph to be framed in a pattern similar to that of the cine-star that was outside the studio. I think the photographer kept an eye on me the whole time that day. I was careful not to overdo anything. So, I just exchanged a few courtesies with Preeti and left.
I was told that I had to wait a week or ten days to get the photo framed. "NO!" I could hear my heart scream! Would I have to wait ten days before seeing this lady again, this lady who had occupied me ever since I set eyes on her? However, I had no option! I lacked the guts to go to the studio without any work, just to talk to her, that too in the presence of her father! Her father was a tall, well-built man. He sported a huge moustache that made me shiver! I remembered Preeti saying that he was a former army man! I resigned to my fate!

"After ten long days, I went to the studio. I had this letter - the one you are holding in your hand now - ready. I was to propose to her that day. I had mustered a lot of courage and decided that I would do it. I decked myself up like never before that day.
I entered the studio - hands trembling, legs shivering, voice quivering. Preeti was not around. I searched but couldn't see any trace of her. A young boy, probably my age, had replaced her at the bill-desk. The moustached-man came out with my framed photographed. I picked up courage and asked "Sir, where is Preeti?". I thought he would pick me up with one hand and throw me out of the studio for that! I was a puny lad back then!
"She was married off just a couple of days back" he said gruffly.
I was jolted! How?! She hadn't said anything about her impending marriage? Was she flirting with me all the time while I kept building castles in air? I was hurt!
"Really?! I didn't know that!" I said, controlling the flow of my emotions!
"We didn't either! It happened all of a sudden. My sister's son came back from America. They said that they liked my daughter to be married to him. It was a simple marriage at the registrar's office. They will be leaving to America in a few days. By the way, why do ask all this?" my "ex- would-be father-in-law" asked. I left without answering....."

Vishwa stopped, probably feeling a little heavy-hearted.
"Vishwa, then why do you preserve this letter? Won't it prick you everytime you see it?" I asked. I felt sorry for him!
"No. I have preserved it because it holds memories that warm the heart and flow down as a couple of tears once a while! I have told you a story of an infatuation and two stories where I received proposals. But here, I really felt special about Preeti. I need this letter to remind me that I too had a love story. Come. Let us go out for a walk" Vishwa said, neatly placing the letter back into the envelope.

The First Time!

 It was a Friday evening. It had been a long week - assignments, tests, club meetings. Ajay was dead tired. He badly needed a break. It was then that his friend, Sourabh, asked him to attend one of the small "social gatherings" that would happen in one of the seniors' room. Ajay, for the past few days had been asking about it - he just wanted to be there and feel it; he agreed.
"Would you like to taste it tonight? We'll have to buy stuff..." Sourabh asked.
"No, Sourabh. I just want to be there for the experience. It's not that it is forbidden or anything. I don't want to - at this point in time. Besides, I don't think Aditi will like it either", Ajay replied. Sourabh went away, without coaxing Ajay further

 That night, there were a few seniors, Sourabh, Ajay and a couple of their batch-mates. The room had the ambiance of the bars that are shown in movies - dimly lit, slightly smoky, music playing in the background.
For Ajay, it was an entirely new experience. He began wondering - "What would be the reaction of my parents when I tell them I was here? And if one of my relatives get to know, how will it be? It will surely spread from person to person, with more colour and details - upto the extent that I got drunk and fell off...maybe even taken to the doc late in the night. Nah...I mustn't tell my parents about this. This will be my little secret".

 Ajay was warmly welcomed by them. He knew them all and they knew him as well! Cool drinks had been brought - a little extra, specially for Ajay. "Welcome, Ajay. I really appreciate you - because, people who do not drink, usually consider drinking as a crime or perhaps even a sin. Now, you, even though you don't drink, have come here out of curiosity. I really appreciate that. Sourabh told me why you don't want to drink. We respect your opinion. But let me tell you this, in case you wish to try and taste, do not hesitate. We shall be very happy to have you as a part of our little gatherings" Sujith, the senior most person in the room, said. Ajay simply smiled.

They downed a couple of pegs and the singers came out. They started with Kishore Kumar. Then, they shifted to the latest  - Arijit Singh, Mohit Chauhan. Later, they started pure Bengali songs. Ajay was liking the whole environment - he was amused.
"Ajay, do you smoke?" Sujith asked.
"No" Ajay replied
"Why not?"
"I don't want to harm myself. It somehow, repulses me."
"As if we didn't know that when we began smoking. Smoking is liberation. Haven't you heard that even Shiva smokes a chillum? Haven't you heard that even gods have their own brews? It is important to listen to your heart than your brain, sometimes" Dev, another senior preached.
"Dev, shut up! He doesn't want to. He won't. Don't brainwash him" Sujith said, slightly angered at Dev's attempt to manipulate Ajay.
"No Sujith. You stay out of this. Ajay, have you never felt curious - how it feels to let out smoke from your mouth?" Dev retorted.
"I can't say I haven't...."Ajay hesitated. In fact, he wished to try it out sometime.
"Then try it out...." Dev said, handing out a cigarette - a Marlboro - to Ajay. Ajay took a puff. He started coughing, to everybody's amusement. He himself laughed at it. He tried for another couple of puffs. In a few puffs, he was a pro. Restraining himself, he returned it back to Dev. "Welcome to the order. You are indeed baptised by 'fire', Ajay" Dev said.

In that rush of curiosity, he downed a peg or two of whisky as well - RC, diluted judiciously with Pepsi by Sujith, who took extra care since Ajay was a fresher. Ajay felt weird. He felt warm. No. He felt as if his insides were on fire. Then, it subsided. Ajay felt different. He was slightly high.
Dev asked "Ajay, do you have a girlfriend?"
"No. Not yet..."Ajay said.
"What about Aditi?"
"Its complicated. Ever since that first date - that was spoiled by my friends, she and I have been hesitant to take the next step. I have felt many times that I need to tell her. But, I haven't gathered enough courage to tell her. Now, I guess am "friend-zoned", courtesy, these people. I know one thing for sure. If I enter into a relationship, it will be with Aditi. Else, I shall be alone...forever alone..." - Ajay spoke all this, without totally realizing what he was speaking.

"Dev, I told you. Had you not asked him to smoke, he wouldn't have taken this step of drinking as well. I don't think he was ready for it. We pushed him into it" Sujith said, feeling guilty.
"Am sorry. Sourabh, take Ajay back to his room and see him into bed properly" Dev said.
"Arre! Its totally fine, Devda. I will find my way back. I am not drunk, am I?" Ajay said, trying to balance himself as he got up, "Goodnight! Sweet dreams..."

Walking back to his hostel block, Ajay saw Aditi near the night-canteen. He walked towards her. Aditi suspected something wrong. "Aditi, am sorry" Ajay said. She realized Ajay was high. She thought he wouldn't drink. It hurt her! She was heart-broken. Disappointed. Angry. She began to cry. Ajay tried to wipe the tears rolling down her cheeks. She wouldn't let him.

Everybody near the night canteen turned towards them - Aditi had slapped Ajay hard! She ran back, crying.
That slap brought Ajay back to his senses quite quickly. "Aditi, am sorry!" he called out to her. "Aditi......"

A NEW BEGINNING

It is not often that a creator is limited by his creations. Yet, it happened with me. I was limited by the character I created - VISHWA! Vishwa has a much broader vision than I care to write about at this point in time. So, this time, I decided to create a new character, who is very much a student, like me. I call him Ajay. It could be Ajay Roy, Rao, Sen, Sinha, Singh, Nair, Iyer, Patnaik, Gupta - basically, he is a guy with a pan-Indian outlook. Or atleast, thats what I want him to be. While Vishwa is for the more eternal issues, Ajay is for the contemporary. So, AJAY says "HI!"


Ajay got up - from the right side of his bed, as his parents had always told him to. 'It brings good luck' they had said. Now that he was away, Ajay wanted all the luck. Or, shall we say, that he didn't want any bad-luck? Before getting out of bed, he said to himself "Right, Ajay. You are now in IISER-K. You are on your own. This is your house for the next 5-years, at least. Get up and get going". He inspired himself and went to the bathroom. He knew nobody there. Of course, it was still the first day. He said "Good morning!". He didn't get any response. Two of the guys who were there looked at him sharply. Talking amongst themselves, they moved out. The only word he could hang on to was "Boka" - he didn't know what they meant. He didn't bother himself with that either, He had other things to ponder about.

                                                    **************************

"I was in IIT-K for 25 years. I have always loved teaching. I love teaching the first years and make them love the subject that I teach...." - the very first class on the very first day was by the Director. Ajay seemed to be more interested in the people around him than what the Director was speaking. He looked around and saw people with their books and pens at the ready - to capture the pearls of wisdom from this man of experience who was in front of them, speaking. "Am I being normal? Or are these guys normal?" - Ajay asked himself. It was while looking around that he saw her. He didn't know her name, it being the first class still. Nevertheless, she got all his attention for the rest of the lecture. Ajay couldn't say why he was attracted to her. Was it her eyes - that were very beautiful? Or was it  her curls that repeatedly fell over her eyes? Or was it the grace in her movements as she moved  those curls back, with eyes fixed on the Director? Ajay couldn't say. She stood out from the rest, for Ajay.

Ajay walked out after class with the few new friends he had made through the day, courtesy his roommate, a Bengali. Yet, he wasn't sure if he could ask any of them the name of the girl - right on the first day. Besides, he couldn't understand their language either. What if that girl was a Bengali too? He would be in deep trouble! Moreover, they were busy discussing about the class - he figured it out by the repeated mention of the facultys' names. Ajay turned back - just to see if she was still there. She was not to be seen!

                                                    **************************          

Her name was Aditi. Ajay found that out while the attendance was called by one of the faculty. He repeated the name to himself. To him, that name seemed magical! 'What a beautiful name!' he said to himself over and over again!

The seniors came to their wings that evening. All first years were called. They asked the juniors to introduce themselves. 'OK! Now, if they try to rag me, let me not give up. Let me be a sport. That way, I shall make an impression on the batch and of course, Aditi!' - this was Ajay's game plan. Unfortunately, nothing of that sort happened. The seniors were happy with the intros and went away. Ajay was disappointed!

All of them went to the canteen for dinner. Ajay carefully observed Aditi. She seemed to be alone.
"Beta! Mann mein laddoo phoota"  Ajay heard somebody say! He went over to her and introduced himself. She, out of politeness, introduced herself. They dined together that night. When they said "Goodnight!", they had exchanged phone numbers and more than mere courtesy calls. Ajay couldn't believe his luck! He thanked his parents for telling him to get up on the right side of the bed every morning! He went to sleep a happy man!

                                                    **************************
  
It was almost a month into the first semester. Ajay had quite a few pals by now. So did Aditi. Yet, they never missed a chance to spend some time together - breakfast or lunch or tea or dinner. They somehow made time for each other. They were gossiped about in the batch. They knew it too. They couldn't help it, could they? It was just that they had taken a liking to each other.

It was a Saturday. Ajay told his roommate "Bhai, I am going to the computer center. I have some work" and left. His roommate,  Sen, was puzzled. "Ajay has a laptop. What work can he have in the computer center? Surely, there must be something' he thought and hatched a plan with his friends.


Ajay met Aditi at the Computer Center. They went in and chose the systems towards the corner, so that they could talk without much disturbance. Being in the middle of nowhere, this was their choice of the first date! They planned to go out of the campus for lunch. They began talking. Aditi did most of the talking. Ajay was lost looking into her eyes and her curls as they fell over the eyes. Aditi repeatedly kept brushing them off with her hands.

Ajay didn't know how to go about it. He said "Aditi, would you mind if I hold your hand, as we speak?"

Aditi blushed and nodded her head. Ajay was about to hold her hand when Tantu, his batchmate, marched through the doors with an irritatingly innocent smile and said "Ajay, kemun acho?"(Ajay, how are you?)

Ajay and Aditi were startled byTantu's presence. They started working on their systems. Tantu came and settled beside them, asking Ajay irrelevant questions! Aditi walked out after a few minutes and took the next bus back to the hostel.

Ajay walked out disappointed, Tantu behind him, blabbering nonsense! Sen was there with other friends, outside the Computer Center, laughing at Ajay! Ajay then remembered - in his excitement, he had gotten up on the left side of the bed that day!

THE ENGLISH TEACHER

   It was a lazy, Sunday afternoon. I seriously do not seem like doing anything on those days apart from sleeping on the bed with a warm enough blanket and maybe a cup of coffee with a good book or a good movie. That would make an ideal Sunday afternoon. That day, however, this usually attractive and pleasurable habit seemed to repulse me. But then, I always have a remedy - Vishwa! I decided to pay him a visit. Now, do not ask me where he finds the money to maintain the house. All I have ever seen him do is talk to people or narrate stories and eat-n-drink at Ramu's.
   His house was clean and tidy. Everything was in its place - organised. Surely, a guy cannot keep his house so neat. There must be a bai behind all this. Still, where did he find the money to appoint her? There are a lot of dimensions to Vishwa that I still need to understand.
   Vishwa's trunk was there and I peered into it, with curiosity. Among all the other stuff, there was a yellowed envelope in it. Knowing it would be indecent to look into it without his knowledge, I asked him if I could open it. Looking at the envelope, Vishwa smiled. I couldn't comprehend.
  "Vishwa, what is it that you are smiling about?" I asked.
  "The envelope you are holding right now, has a story associated with it" he said.
  I settled down and so did he before he began narrating in his usual, lucid style:
"As you know, I never stay in one place. I keep going to different places. And wherever I go, I do not beg for money or food. I try to find myself a job and feed myself through that.
 It so happened that on one of my tours, years back, I happened to stop in a village. I felt that I could stay in that village for a few months and rest myself before moving on. So, I decided to contact the Chairman of the village. That Chairman was a big, tough-looking guy, but hollow from inside. He was respected because his family was the richest in the village and half the people in the village were in debt for generations - taken by their forefathers from the forefathers of the Chairman.
 Before going to the Chairman, I had gathered enough information about him - that he had two wives and 3 daughters, that he also had a mistress, his house was the only one in the village to have a transistor and also that he was obsessed with English. Though he did not know English, he wanted his children to learn English. I went to him and introduced myself. I asked him for shelter, a job and did not forget to mention my fluency in English.
 That did it! I was offered a room in his house, so that I could take English classes for his daughters. The deal was that I need not pay anything as rent or for food or anything else. There was a catch - he wouldn't pay me for the classes as well! He was smart!
 I agreed to take the English classes - with a condition that other people in the village may also attend. Though slightly reluctant, he agreed. And my English classes began.
 People of all ages came. I am not being vain, but I was good-looking enough to get all the young women in the village to enroll for classes. And following them, came the guys! The numbers were huge - around 60, I guess. 60 people for an English class, back then, in a village was huge! I stayed in that village for around 3 months. People there got attached to me and me, to them. In all their little fights, petty daily issues, I could see life brimming out. They were illiterate. They were uneducated. However, let me tell you, they were alive!
 Coming back to the English class, I must confess, I did not make much progress except that the Chairman's daughters learnt quite a bit.
 One night, the Chairman's eldest daughter came to my room. She was a very beautiful girl. She had beautiful eyes that I still, sometimes, see in my dreams! "Vishwa Sir, I have something to give you" she said and gave me the envelope. She ran out blushing! To be frank, I could see that coming. For a few days I had observed that she took special initiative in tending to my needs. However, I wasn't ready for it. Besides, what would the Chairman think of me? Forget thinking, what would he do to me - with all those musclemen of his!? I still clearly remember what the letter - now in your hand - had.
 'Dear Vishwa Sir,
  I not know how to write this. If English is bad, please maafi. 
  From the day I saw you, you are in my heart. I stay cannot without seeing your beautiful face with that thin muchi. I talk to father. You talk also to father and arrange marrage. I will not live without you'
After about an hour or so, she came into the room on the pretext of calling me to dinner. She asked about the letter. I said "See, it should be 'I do not know' not, 'I not know'. It is not 'maafi' in English. It is 'Please forgive me'. Instead of 'I stay cannot' you must write 'I cannot stay'. For 'muchi', it is moustache. It should be 'You also talk to father' and the spelling is 'marriage'. This is all I can tell you."
 I could see she was terribly heartbroken. She went away crying. I knew it would be disastrous for me to stay there any longer. So, the next day, I told the Chairman that I had spent quite sometime in their village and would like to move on. He agreed and gave me some money, to cover my expenses till I found the next stop. I left that very day."
 I was silent for a while. "Vishwa, if you still see those eyes in your dreams, why didn't you accept her?" I asked.
 "Come on! You don't expect me to be tied down to a single place, do you? I can't take all that responsibility of a family. It is not my cup of tea. Yes, sometimes I do feel that I need to have someone that I can call family. But, the very next moment I realise that it is not for me. Don't bother about all that. Come, let's go and have something at Ramu's" Vishwa said, getting ready to go out. 

Just Another Story

    This obsession with coffee is something that Vishwa and I haven't been able to conquer. But then, everybody has their own indulgences. So, we don't mind. I don't think anybody else should also! We were sipping coffee in Ramu's at our usual table. The latest songs blared on the radio in Ramu's.
"You know something?" Vishwa started. "The system and society in which we live in is not at all right!"
"Who said it is? No system is perfect. It has to be made perfect. We can never be all perfect, can we Vishwa? If we were, we would be gods. But who are we? Mere mortals. Mere specks on this vast canvas of life" - I replied using all that I had listened to and learnt from a religious discourse the previous night. I had been forced to attend it with my family. They had organised it and invited the speaker - someone from one of the numerous orders in the city.
"Stop speaking like some aged philosopher! There is a flaw in our social makeup. Let me tell you what I mean.
 I was in Bengal on of my vagabond journeys. I deeply wanted to go to Dakshineshwar and visit the Kali temple. I hired a cycle rickshaw. A few minutes into the journey, the rickshaw-wallah started talking to me.
"Babu, would you mind if I tell you a story - so that both of us do not feel the journey?" he asked me in Hindi. Till then, I had narrated stories to many people. But here, I found someone who would narrate me one! I, of course, agreed.
"Babu, the story is set in a period some 20-25 years back. The protagonist of the story is a Muslim ladka. He is a very smart guy - a degree holder. During that time, you know, a simple degree meant a lot! It meant, with Allah's blessings, he was eligible for government jobs and go on to become big Sahebs. His parents were very proud of him. They decided to arrange for his nikah.
However, our hero didn't want to get married without getting a proper job. He didn't want to start a family without money. He offered stiff resistance - until he saw the girl! The girl was so beautiful that all his resistance melted! I have to add that this incident about his supposed resistance became the talk of the town and caused much embarrassment to the boy during nikah - everybody made fun of him! He took it all in his stride. Why wouldn't he? He was marrying such a beautiful girl!
At the time of his marriage, he hadn't yet found a job. However, he was confident of finding one - so was everybody around him. Unfortunately, he wasn't able to find a job soon. Around the same time, he learnt that his child would enter the world in a few months time. With happiness, renewed determination and energy, he set out to find himself a job. He drew a blank everywhere - all jobs were either "sold" or given to those with influence and recommendations!
His child was due any day. Then, a disaster occurred. A man-made one at that. The Babri Masjid was pulled down! Shock waves were felt all around the country! There was widespread communal violence. The families started evacuating and moving to places dominated by their own religion.
But our hero could not move to safety - his wife went into labor. All facilities were hit. He wasn't able to move his wife to the hospital in time. She delivered at home and died during childbirth. The child, however survived.
The troubles increased for our protagonist. There was no one to help him cremate his loving wife - beautiful even in death! There was nobody to take care of his child. Everybody had already moved out. So, he was all alone. There wasn't money to find supplies for his child. Even if there was, nobody wanted to help him - he was a Muslim! The baby cried endlessly and fell into sleep - tired! His heart went out to the child - but he was helpless! He then decided to do something that he would not even dream of in other circumstances - to steal money and go to some far off shop and buy something for his new-born child. He didn't want to let the flame of his family die out! As you might expect, he was caught in the act! Even after he told them his heart-wrenching plight, they were unmoved. They promptly handed him over to the police.
The police slapped charges of inciting communal violence on him and the court sentenced him to prison for 5 years.
Within 2 days, he received news - his only child had died!". The rickshaw-wallah stopped his narration.
I had tears in my eyes. "Babu, Dakshineshwar" he said and stopped the rickshaw. I got down and paid him money. Before leaving, he said "Babu, the story I told you all along, was mine. I am the protagonist of the story". I stood rooted for sometime."
Vishwa dabbed his eyes with his kerchief. I had tears in my eyes too.
"You tell me. Had he been given a job on his merit, would his wife have died? Would he have taken to stealing? Would his child have died? Why did the police have to frame him just because he was a Muslim? Didn't those who caught him have hearts to understand his plight? Ultimately, why did somebody have to demolish some stucture? And why should that affect somebody else living hundreds of miles away from that place? That's what I mean by there is a flaw in our social makeup" - Vishwa asked me, in a voice of anger and frustration.
I had no answer.
The songs still blared on the radio in Ramu's.