A Tailor's Tale

Vishwa left town wanting to explore the world. Before leaving, he asked me if I would join him. I was excited at the prospect and suggested it at home. The very first reaction was that of shock. What met me a few moments later was a barrage of the choicest of abuses - meant for me and Vishwa as well, for being a bad influence on me! I should probably not have acted impulsively, knowing what my family is like.

A few months passed. One day, Ramu's assistant Mani came home and said that Vishwa was back. That was all I needed to escape from the self-imposed house arrest. I left at once.

Vishwa had changed quite a bit. He wore a khadi kurta instead of a t-shirt he usually sported. He sat at Ramu's, with a tea-glass in one hand and a cigarette in the other. Now, that was a change. Vishwa never smoked earlier. "Hello! You don't seem to have changed after all these months, except for having grown fatter. Your mother should have been pleased seeing you at home all the time. Poor lady!" Vishwa said, his laugh interrupted by bouts of cough.
"Where did you take up this?" I asked, offended by his smoking as well as his remarks.
"Well, this is a gift from our friends in the north. Oh, this is nothing. At some places, I even tried the chillum, but couldn't stand that. My body isn't made for that. But this..." he said, pointing to the cigarette, "...is bliss! It opens your mind. You should try it too". Vishwa offered me his cigarette.
"You have changed, Vishwa" I said, hurt.

We sat there, without talking for a few minutes. Vishwa finished his cigarette and said, "Come with me. Let's go to Siddoji." I followed him, mutely, not wishing to talk.
On our way, Vishwa broke the silence. "I'm sorry! I must have realised that the places and people have changed. I spent the last few months with very rough people. It took me time to realise that I was back with my people and don't need to put on a mask of aggressiveness and offensiveness all the time. I am really sorry" he said, patting me on the back.
It felt better to have Vishwa by my side again.

Siddoji was in his shop, under the big peepul tree in front of the Shani temple. His shop, if you could call it one, was there since my grandfather's time. Siddoji's father and grandfather had been tailors too. My father never bought any ready-made clothes. "What do those factory fellows know about my fitting and choice? I am an independent man. I make my choices" he used to say, every time before coming to Siddoji for getting his shirts and pants stitched.
The shop is a landmark in the town. You can be sure that you will bump into somebody you know at Siddoji's. His "shop" is made of a wooden plank which serves as a roof & palm leaves forming the walls. He has a tailoring machine that looks ancient, a legacy that has been passed on from generation to generation. Not that Siddoji does badly in business. He simply does not want to shift into a proper building. "It does not give a homely feeling like this place" he says. With his earnings, he educated his son and two daughters well and had married off his daughters grandly. Siddoji, now 65, is a man with a fierce spirit of independence. He still works rather than retiring and staying at home.

It had been  a few months since I last visited Siddoji.

However, that day, Siddoji was not working. The constant whirring of the tailoring machine was not to be heard. He sat there looking blankly into space. He had not shaved for the past few days. This was not the usual Siddoji. "Siddoji...Siddoji..." I said and shook him to bring him out of his reverie.
"How are you Siddoji? I haven't seen you in months. Listen, I want a few kurtas stitched. I have decided to give up wearing shirts and t-shirts. Khadi! Yes. Kurtas are the new thing" Vishwa said, excited at his plan of image makeover.

Siddoji sat there, expressionless. "What happened, Siddoji?" I asked. Siddoji held my hand and started crying. I stood there, not knowing what to do. Vishwa offered him a bottle of water and calmed him down. Siddoji drank it and motioned for us to sit down on the benches put up in the shop. "Can you spare me sometime? Will you listen to what I have to say?" Siddoji asked, with a plea in his eyes. Vishwa and I sat down.

Siddoji began. "You know that my son was married a few months ago. Even you had come to the marriage, if you remember. I was the happiest man then. Both my daughters were married. My son had a good job and was married. That was all I needed in life, to retire happily. Yet, I chose to continue with my work. Everything was picture perfect, until around three months ago.
One morning, we got up to find that our daughter-in-law had eloped! There was a note which said 'I am disappointed with this marriage. Don't try to look for me.' We tried to keep things under wraps and contacted her parents. Even they were shocked and decided to lodge a police complaint, despite our requests. But then, the police complaint helped. She was traced in two days, with her former boyfriend. Any other in-laws would have thrashed her. However, we feared that it would only aggravate the situation and respectfully brought her home.
On coming back, in the presence of her parents, we asked her why she had taken the extreme step.
What she did shocked us. She pulled my son out of the room by his hair. Yet, my son stood there like an impotent! "Why are you standing without saying a word? Aren't you a man? Doesn't your blood boil when your wife pulls you by hair and humiliates you in front of your parents and in-laws? Speak up, you bastard!" I said, slapping him hard. Even this did not bring forth any reaction.
"This is precisely why I left him. He is not man enough! He is impotent! It's not just him. Even you people cheated me. Why did you have to marry him when he is useless?!" our daugther-in-law said, venting out her frustration. I couldn't say she was at fault. It was our mistake. Even we didn't know it, though. We apologized to her and her family. We returned the money we had received as dowry and all other gifts we had received and sent her back to her family.
The next morning, I found a letter in my son's bed.

'Dear Mom & Dad,
I know I have been a big failure in life. I am a disappointment to everybody around me. I am a disgrace to the family. I don't want to cause any further discomfort. I shall go away. Do not try to look for me. It will prove futile.
Your Loving Son'

I immediately lodged a police complaint. My wife found it hard to come to terms with the fact that our son had left us. She took to bed within a couple of days, never to get up again. She died within a week. There is a saying in Sanskrit - "Putra shokam nirantaram". It consumed my wife.
Three days later, a policeman knocked on our door, bringing information that my son's body had been found near the railway lines.

It is two months today since my son died. I feel guilty of having murdered him. Had I not slapped him, he would have still lived. Through him, my wife would have still survived. But then, if I had not accepted the reality and argued against it, it would have cast a question on my daughter-in-law's character. Would she have been able to survive with that? Wouldn't I, then, have been responsible for spoiling a young girl's life and probably killing her? I would still have been a murderer."
Siddoji sat silently for a while. The whirring of the machine brought me back to my senses. Vishwa sat there, smoking, looking at the distant sky, lost in thought.

"Now that I have told you, I feel much better. People ask me why I still continue to sit here, stitching, than simply staying home. I cannot stay at home. The images of my wife and son will haunt me there. The guilt will prick me. Nothing of that here. The whirring of this machine reminds me of my duty and keeps unhappy memories away. I meet people and that gives me the will to live; the will to move on. Now, Vishwa, if you could please stand, I will take the measurements..." Siddoji said as he opened his notebook and took the tape. 

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......"