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!!!