Tunnel 23

TUNNEL 23

Sandwiches always reminded him of those numerous summer vacations where, along with his sister he was packed off to the grandparents at sangle. Mother would pack little finger sandwiches for dinner along with a flask full of lemonade. They would take the overnight train and amuse themselves with games that brothers and sisters usually play. His favorite pastime however, was sticking his face out of the window, while his sister buried her nose in malory towers. He would count the number of tunnels the train went through. He could always tell when they were nearing sangle . It was the 23 tunnel. But often, it was not the number as much as it was the presence of the toothless brown skinned wiry crazed - grey haired aging man with leathery wrinkled skin who stood at the end of the tunnel and waved out to him with all the energy his  tiny frame could gather. Religiously, summer after summer he would stand there with not a cloth on his back and beads of sweat trickling down his  and a wide grin that showed more emptiness than anything.

The boy would jump up in glee at this sight because he knew the station to get off at, was near. Grandfather would be waiting. He’d have a fresh jar of lemonade and would be standing beside the grand white ambassador and an army rifle that he held so proudly. The boy would run, along with the  baggages, faster than his sister so that he could sit close to his grandfather up at the front. If he had done well in his examinations, grandfather would even let him try his hand at the steering. Grandfather had a wonderful musky smell around him, and a long beard that tickled the boy every time he was scooped up into those big arms for a hug.

The holidays were a riot. They were spent in the big house with the cousins. There was plenty of garden fresh fruit and gulab - jamoons to go around and the children were extremely happy. When the adults took their afternoon siesta, the children would run amok wild around the house. The boy would run along with them too. With not a care in the world, the children would finally feel the wind in their hair.

One day the older children proposed a game of hide and seek. Even though the boy had just arrived a day before and didn’t really know the new forest paths around the house, he didn’t want to seem like a coward. And so, the masqueraded bravado reflected in an over excited hide and seek player who wandered a little too far into the woods beyond the house. It was getting dark. He didn’t know the way back home. Every left turn he took seemed to get him farther away. Unable to see clearly, he decided to give the rules of the game a miss and called out for help. But only his echo responded to him.

Somehow, he didn’t know what else to do. He sat on a stone and cried bitterly. He should have listened to his grandmother and not strayed away from the house. Grandfather would be angry if he was late for dinner. He probably won’t get the fish that was cooked that morning. Worse, his father might hear about this. His knuckles would get bruises soon. The boy shuddered at the thought.

A figure approached him. The boy’s fear heightened. He had heard stories of thieves and bad men who did obnoxious things to little children. He didn’t know what to do. It was too dark to run away and even if he did run, where would he run to? He was sure he could hear the snakes preparing for dinner.

But the boy’s heart found rest. What was initially a figure shrouded in the dark, caught the light of the fading sun dispersed through the foliage.  It was the same toothless brown skinned wiry crazed - grey haired aging man with leathery wrinkled skin. In the darkness, the wrinkles looked like craters. The old man didn’t speak a word. He just held the boy’s hand. And began to lead the boy through the woods. It was a path that the boy knew.  And yet, he had forgotten it. The boy felt safe and thankful that somehow, this old man knew the way back to his grandfather’s house.

It was nightfall by the time this odd pair found their way to the big bungalow. The oil lamps were being lit. From a distance the boy could see a crowd had gathered right outside the house. Some had sticks and others had torches. A collective rumble of angry conversation floated around. Grandmother was the first to notice the boy walk towards the house.

Her voice was a particular level of shrill.

“ golu! Where were you? How many times have I told you not to run away?  Anything could have happened. Do you not know what happens to little boys if they run away into the woods without an adult??……”

Grandmother’s voice was drowned out by the servants and everyone rushing out. The boy was engulfed by the crowd. Unconsciously he began to search for the old man’s hand. But the crowd’s momentum pushed him into the house. Grandmother shut the door behind him. The children were all huddled up in a corner. They tried to peep through the crevice of the door. But in the darkness, they couldn’t see anything. Overnight, the boy had also become a hero. He was the boy who had travelled to the woods and beyond. But in his heart he knew that he owed gratitude to the old man.

The never knew what ensued between his grandparents, the crowd, his Aunt’s and Uncle’s and the toothless old man. All he knew was, when he returned to Sangle next summer, there was nobody waving at tunnel number 23.

Thief

The first time it happened, she didn’t know what to do. Sleeping with him didn’t exactly give her as much guilt as she expected. He was a married man with two innocent children. And he claimed to be a man of god. And somehow, through the course of something less than a year of working as a maid in the Sen’s suburban apartment, she found that she had stripped naked Mr. Sen’s moral compass.

Monjolika had come to the Sen’s residence on the recommendation of Mrs. Ghulaam, a family friend. Her work was menial – wash vessels, sweep and swathe the floor with disinfectant, hang out the clothes, but the family paid her a considerable amount – enough to buy a new silk sari before durga puja and a vial of red tikka.

Monjolika  could not deny that the first time she wore that red tikka she had not enjoyed Mr. Sen’s eyes linger at the nape of her neck. She had taken great pains to ensure that her sari was tucked in at just the right level – to show off the perfect chocolate skin that she had carefully hidden for twenty four years. She had been with other men.Raghu from the tea stall and kumar from the bakery. But they never held her attention. She waved off those alliances like she did, the pallu of her sari, everytime Mr. Sen would walk into the kitchen. He was from from being conventionally attractive. He was rotund and balding. But this did not stop monjolika from dreaming up feverish nights of his hands over her supple body, travelling to the path of ecstacy with her.

Mr. and Mrs. Sen, from the outside maintained an image of a happy middle class family. She – was an English teacher in the same school where shommu and lilluu studied, and He- was an accountant at HDFC bank. Respectable, modern and forward – they emanated a middle class family’s dream. But scratch the surface of every story and there are cracks. Mr. and Mrs. Sen were sleeping on the same the same bed, but had taken their own locations. Twelve years of marriage had made them look at each other as permanent pillars of any building. Strong, but dull – present only to fulfill a purpose.

So one hot afternoon, when Mr. Sen had come home feigning a headache, monjolika was still finishing up with the vessels. She did not hesitate to walk into the bedroom with a glass of hot milk, and on the way to the bedroom, she tucked a jasmine flower she plucked from the vase into her hair and checked herself in the mirror.

Mr. Sen made her feel powerful – like a woman who was respectable and for entire afternoons, she lost herself in the fantasy of being married to an engineer or a doctor. In truth, Mr. Sen was a pitiable lover. His constant need for reassurance from her, probably stemmed from his insecurity. It had afterall been years since he had consummated any sort of physical intimacy. She understood this and reassured – meanwhile slipping into worlds a paltry maid could.

He usually took a nap. One hand over her chest, he would breathe heavily into her ears. His belly would rise with every breath. He reminded her of a stuffed baby bear. The hair on her chest was like a blanket of fur. The first two afternoons, she slipped into slumber with him – but more out of boredom than anything else. Even boredom cant induce sleep eventually. So she’d keep her eyes open. Her eyes often fell on a beautiful  lampshade by the bedside table. It was not unique .bought at a local bazaar, monjolika could not help but obsess about the beautiful object. As a child, her mother had a lampshade just like it. But one day, it was no longer there. her mother told her that she had given it to the goddess. Monjolika was not stupid.  She knew they were poor.

She just had to have that lampshade. She could not stop thinking about it. She imagined how it would look in her shanty, illuminating her film posters. She would cherish it. And by two weeks, the obsession had reached its zenith.

Meanwhile, Mr. Sen’s returns home in the afternoon had become a regular affair. By now, the neighbors had in fact began to notice the brusqueness in his walk.

So, that afternoon, Monjolika feigned everything that could be and made Mr. sen slumber believing that he was in the prime of his element. She cried out his name and scratched his back violently. After he had fallen back on his pillow, grunting and eventually into a slumber, She tore herself carefully from his furry grasp and silently tiptoed to the lampshade. Holdin it close to her breast, she draped her sari and walked to the kitchen and placed the lampshade in a plastic packet and kept it along with the garbage that had to be thrown out. She walked back into the bedroom tore off her clothes and got back into Mr. Sen’sfurry  grasp. In his satisfied slumber he had not noticed a thing. For the first time, Monjolika  actually slept with Mr. Sen and woke up with a start at 5:00 P.M  - half hour before Mrs. Sen’s arrival.

This was the first time she had stolen and she didn’t know what to do about it.

In her house, Monjolika admired the lamp. There was a strange feeling of dread in the pit of her stomach. She wondered if she should just run away. Or not go back to work.

She eventually coaxed herself to go back. Oddly life was normal in the Sen’s residence. No one suspected a thing. In their moribund life, they barely noticedthe absence of a lampshade. In a few days, news came of Mr. Sen’s pay raise. A fancy new electric lampshade was installed in the bedroom,

Monjolika continued to go about her business. Mr. Sen’s raise saw him be in an exceptionally good mood and he had discretely kept a new sari beside her belongings. Monjolika silently accepted it.

The next afternoon, as usual, Mr. Sen draws Monjolika to the bedroom. He’s more confident now. They made love to a whirring fan and a faraway television blaring. As Mr. Sen snored deeply, Monjolika’s eyes fell on a beautiful table mat kept on the window pane.

Slaughter

There was blood everywhere. He would wake up to the smell of it. By now, he barely even noticed. It didn’t make a difference to him.  He woke up more these days to the sounds that were made rather than the actual smells. It began before dawn usually. Way before. In his state of pure drowsiness he could hear their screeches. Their pitiable screams in the hands of his father. Mother would usually be in the outhouse common kitchen by now. They lived in a semi concrete one level establishment that was more functional than fancy. The outside porch consisted of a large granite slab. Beneath the slab were sharp knives of different sizes. There was three buckets kept on one side. The other side, away from the slab had a weighing scale and a cash box. There was a door that separated the inner house where there was a makeshift  bedroom and kitchen area, barely taking up 500 square feet. There was a wash area that had water supply for only four hours a day. It was swamy’s duty to help his mother with filling the rows of plastic buckets with water before sunrise while the water was still running in the taps.

“ three kilo broiler”.

Mr. shaheen had come in early today.  Swamy was just waking up.  His mother was in the kitchen preparing the early morning  lentils. His sister was fast asleep in the makeshift cloth cradle.

He could hear them screeching as his father took a fat semi comatose bird out of the crate. One well-placed slice from the experienced hand of his father brought an end to the life of the creature.

Once again, there was blood everywhere. The smell was overwhelming. A slight breeze brought a few feathers into the house.

“ How long are you going to daydream? Wake up. Its time for the water. “

Mother was quite annoyed this morning. Probably it was because the baby had cried all night. Swamy barely noticed. He was too tired to notice anything these days.

School had started again after the prolonged summer vacations. This year he was in secondary school. There were an entire bunch of new faces. And the faces he knew had undergone such drastic changes that he barely seemed to recognize them.Swamy himself hadn’t changed much. Maybe his skin had acquired a deep brown colour once his father had opened up to concept of home delivered meat.

His entire holidays had been spent with his father. By now, he had stopped throwing up at the sight of the blood. His father had said that he had finally become a man.

“Stop!Enough. Don’t waste the water” – he could hear his mother cry out.

Swamy went about his early morning business with the dying of chicken and the clang of metal as his background score.

By the time the sun was out, and the distant cock had crowed till its throat was parched, an entire crate of birds had already breathed its last. Swamy had carefully tucked in his white shirt into his khaki shorts. he admired his reflection on the window pane. He loved the feel of the new fabric on his skin.

“ come! Take your meals. You don’t have entire day! And don’t forget the deliveries you need to make before reaching school” – his admiration of himself was short lived. His mother laid out a plate of rice and steamed vegetables. The same food he had been eating for breakfast, everyday for the past eleven years. It was the only meal he had at home. Lunch was usually at school and by dinner time, it was usually just a glass of milk or leftovers. But Swamy never complained. He didn’t find the point in it.

He carefully picks up his green school bag. He loves his school bag. In the ramshackle of a house, it’s the only thing that makes him feel like a city boy or the boys he sees on the screen of his neighbor’s television set. His father never believed in buying a television set. He even sold off the free one given by the government. He thought it made young boys dull and women gossip. Swamy had begged his father countless times. Everytime, his cheek stung with the marks of his father’s hands.

There’s a certain spring in his step as he walks out with his sandals and his green school bag.

“ 3kgs. Mr. Shaheen. 1.5 Kgs.  To Mr. Irani’s house and 500 at Mr. karruppu’s house”

Swamy thought first day of school and his father would not find him any work to do. But his commanding voice even made the baby turn in the cradle. Swamy had no other choice. He quietly took those three packets of freshly cut meat and carefully slung them on the backseat of the cycle. Carefully, not to squish the meat. Yet he ensured that the smell would not reach him.  He drove off. His mother had still not noticed that her son had left the house.

Swamy ensured that he avoided all the roadblocks, the manholes and the stones on the dirt bound road. The meat could not even for a second fall from his place. His new uniform would smell of it. And he couldn’t risk that. But he had to be fast too. He couldn’t risk being late on the first day of school. He had been looking forward to it entire summer. He had practiced also, the entire of his vacation to drive his bicycle perfectly in order to reach school on time.

By the second bell he pushed his cycle into the school compound. And by the third, he was panting away into the third floor corridor. He was in the secondary school now. It had almost slipped his mind that he had to climb up to the third floor.

Third bench. That was his favorite. He was not right up front to receive the blows. Nor was he too far to be lost in the crowd. Right in the middle.Maintains perfect eye contact.Swamy liked his teachers to know that they had his entire concentration. Their competence didn’t matter to him. He learnt quite early that school was going to be the only platform that would propel him out of committing a sin every day. He forgave his father for sinning every day because afterall his father did provide him with a roof over his head and food to eat. But he didn’t want to do it.

The third bench was empty. Despite the fact that he was a little late. The last rows were fully occupied. Chubby boys were literally wrestling with the skinnier ones for a space to sit.

Swamy carefully arranged his new pencils in front of him. He took out his new notebook. Placed it in front of him.  SWAMY K.N .he wrote in big bold on the first page. He looked up. The entire classroom was filled. He looked to the left of him. His bench alone was empty. No one was sitting next to him.

“ why don’t you sit in the third bench there? next to swamy? “  Palani master called out to the two students who were sitting down on the floor.

“ no sir, we’ll sit here. We are alright sitting here.” The taller one with the black polished shoes said. He was one of the only three boys who had black polished shoes.

“but why not?  You all are adults now! Stop behaving like junior KG children. “

“but sir… we can hear you and see the board better from here. And golu needs glasses also..” the taller one pointed towards the more impish looking one sitting beside him.

“ you can see very clearly from the third bench. Stop this nonsense. Pick up your things and go sit there”

Palani master was reaching a stage of fury by now.

“ please sir.. please don’t make us sit with him…” the impish one quipped up.

“ tell me what is going on right now or both of you’ll are going to get a strong trashing”

That seemed to have done the trick.

“ wecant sit with him cause he stinks sir! He smells of meat and blood and my father says that their entire family are sinners!”

The entire class burst into laughter.

What happened after didn’t exactly register much in Swamy’s head. But he heard sounds and names being called out. They called him names during classes. At lunch break,  Natraj’s  tiffin box “ accidentally” opened on Swamy’s head. By evening Swamy was tired of bursting out into tears in the washroom. He had looked forward to school. He wanted to learn, but everytime he put his pencil onto his notebook, they would snatch away his notebook and it would either return in tatters or with nasty caricatures. Swamy wanted to just run away. But between being home and in school, he couldn’t decide what was worse.

So at 4:00 p.m. when the children left school, Swamy took out his cycle. Someone had let out the air from his tyres. He dragged it out. Someone pushed him. He found himself tasting sand.

As he finally dragged his cycle into the dirt road, he knew he’d have to get it fixed. Otherwise the next day would be a disaster. But did he want to come back to the wretched place anyway?.School.The one place where he could escape the stench, the blood and the thoughtless killing of those birds. He had been against it right from when he was a child. Swamy was a shy child. It took him a while to make friends.  His uncle had taken a genuine interest in him and had gifted him a little chick to play with. It was a tiny, fragile little creature. Its eyes barely opened. Swamy took care of it with utmost devotion.  It grew along with Swamy. Soon it was a healthy little hen.

On Swamy’s  fourth birthday, his father killed the bird.  For the first time in his life, Swamy cried. Terribly. From that day on, he decided he would never be a part of this. He needed to find a way out. He hated his father. But the marks on his shoulder reminded him that he was still very much a part of a distorted family his father had tried to keep together.

Unconsciously, with all these thoughts in mind,  Swamy had reached gondu’s cycle repair.

“ eugh. With this much smell you should probably go work in the flower market or something…”

Despite the fact that Swamy desperately wanted to hit Gondu for saying that as all the frustration had begun to slowly mount, nevertheless it was in that sudden moment that Swamy realized that maybe life was not so dreary after all.

It didn’t take Swamy even a moment after Gondu had filled air in his tyre to speed off. He cycled like a mad man. Along the road people swore at him. But Swamy didn’t even notice.

“ pleaseKaliyabhai. I’ll deliver all the flowers. Carefully.  You won’t even have to pay me much. Just ten rupees a month. I’ll work the morning shift.”

Kaliyabhai was sorting out the marigolds from the heap. He finally looked into the eyes of this little boy who had, for the last half an hour been following him around like a lost puppy chanting the same thing. When the boy had first come into the shop, kaliya had thought he was just another ruffian. But the passion with which the boy had argued was something he wished maybe his lazy son had.

“ early morning shift starts at 7:00 a.m. and gets done by 8:30 a.m. “ kaliya grunted.

The smile he saw on the boy’s face would be one that Kaliya would remember for the rest of his life.

On his way back home, Swamy saw two big granite stones on the pathway. He picked it up carefully. With one clean blow, he hit it on his head. He felt his skin break. The pain stung his eyes.

“ what happened to your face boy?”

His father’s voice was thick and gruff.

“ teacher caned me.”

“Why?”

“because I went late for school. School for secondary  starts at six forty five. “

“hmmm……….. “

His father walked into the kitchen space.

“ meena, from tomo you will have to do the delivery. First order is at seven in the morning. So make sure you wake up. Don’t waste your time on gossip woman!”

That night despite his mother’s cribbing, his father’s  drunken brawl with the neighbour’s husband and the baby wailing, Swamy dreamt of flowers and butterflies and eagles that  flew to the very top of the tree and looked down on everything else. 

All you need is Love

“ shaadikarnahai?”

His voice was thick with passion. He held her close. Her head rested on the crook of his arm. Her eyes were closed. Her thick black hair formed a dark curtain behind her.

“hmmmm?” she said. And snuggled up closer to him.

“ would you want to marry me?”

She opened her eyes. She looked into his beautiful green eyes. She looked deep into them. Those eyes had made her go completely weak in the knees when she first saw him. She still remembered the day he first walked into college.

She was the kind of girl who everyone knew. She was always ready with a smile and a hello to everyone she met.  She was like a feather in the wind. To those who didn’t know her, she seemed directionless, but in the shaft of her being, she knew what she wanted out of life. She just didn’t like to talk about it. She was an intelligent girl. Unconventionally beautiful also maybe. She was the apple of her parents eyes. So when she left home for college, her mother shed a few tears. But they were tears of pride. Their oldest little girl was finally growing up.

She wasn’t a naïve girl. She knew she had a way around men quite early in her life. She couldn’t exactly place what it was. She knew she wasn’t breathtakingly beautiful like her sisters. But she knew that if she really tried, men weren’t that much of a challenge.

But life was not exactly fair to her either. Life doesn’t serve everything on a platter to you. She did meet quite a few men who broke her heart in a pitiable manner. But then again, she was a smart girl. She knew how to pick herself up.

In her first year of college she met quite a few men who broke her heart. But by then, she knew to expect little from men and more from herself.

She always knew that she wanted to sing. When she sang, her voice was enchanting. She was like an angel. She was so headstrong about singing that she knew that she wanted to sing only for the movies. She loved the movies. She had seen them all. She dreamt of being Audrey Hepburn singing moon river. But she didn’t sing for anyone. You had to be special.

So, the next summer, when she came back to college as a senior and saw him walk into her campus as her junior, she couldn’t explain the music in her heart.

It confused her, complicated things and she found herself spending all the time she’d spend singing on the terrace of her apartment, with him.

He was an unusual boy. He was so quiet it was unsettling. He would just watch her for hours. And they would spend hours by the river just watching it flow. Not a word would be spoken. And yet, they’d feel like they were a part of a larger conversation. Otherwise, they’d talk for hours from night till sunrise and feel so complete just with each other.

Their first kiss was so perfect that it was what romance novels and films are all about. She could feel the raindrops falling on her skin as he kissed her lips. He held her close. Despite the cold, in his warm embrace, she felt that he would never leave her.

What would the world think? Their affair was a scandal of their time. She walked into crowds with eyes on her. But he held her hand. When her friends stopped talking to her, she cried bitterly to him. He wiped her tears and brought her strawberry ice cream. Her favourite.

“ so.. bolona..I want to marry you, baby…”

They had been together for a year now. She was going to leave the city in a month. He still had a year left. It was their last month of togetherness before their careers and life took them their separate ways.

“ there’s nothing I’d rather do…”

She looked deap into his eyes. He held her tight and kissed her.

It was raining when they decided to get married. They both hated flamboyant ceremonies. So, it was just them and an idol of lord shiva where he applied red sindoor. They spent out the rest of the six months on love, cigarettes, films, chicken and lots of sex.

She had tears in her eyes. She couldn’t stop crying.

“ I’m going to miss you. Finish soon. Graduate and come be with me”

The distant sound of the train hooting forced him to draw himself away from her.

The train journey to Mumbai made her feel so alone. Although she was chasing her dreams she wished he was with her. Beside her. But she knew she fell in love with a talented human being and not a puppy dog that would just follow her around. And she was fully aware of that. That’s why she loved him.

Settling down in a new city was not easy. It was terrible. Once again she felt alone. But she had work to do. Bills to pay. She was finally alone. She was doing what she loved.

The first film she was asked to sing for was a full blown Bollywood film. It starred a leading actor and a popular heroine. She was so happy she wanted him to be there too.  She wanted him to attend the premiere with her. He couldn’t. he had his finals that he couldn’t miss. She understood.

After college he got a job in delhi. Which was 1407 km away from her. But it was a promising job. So she was happy for him.

But as they were on their own, the phone calls started getting fewer and fewer. Cellular networks weren’t exactly running on charity.  And they did have bills to pay.

In three years, she had seen him only twice.  The first year he had taken the train to meet her almost every two months. But slowly, as life happened, the visits started getting fewer and fewer.

She did notice the shift. She missed him terribly. She wished he’d make more of an effort. And he wished that she’d have some patience. The few phone calls that they had ended in arguments.

Gradually even the phone calls stopped. From talking every day a week, it stretched to two weeks and then three.

Meanwhile she became a sought after singer. She had bought herself a house in Mumbai. And he had become a reputed photographer.

It was ironic that when a well placed telephone company decided to sign her on as their brand ambassador and the perks included all her telephone bills being taken care of, it was at this moment that she realized that apart from her parents, she had nobody to call.

They had driven each other crazy by now.  When he told her never to call him, she cried bitterly and deleted all traces of his memories. Her self respect did not allow her to beg for him. Neither did his.

But when she saw him on television with all those beautiful actresses, she felt her heart crash into a million pieces.

He had become a famous director. He had bought many houses, cars and material things that this world is filled with. But it had been five years since had spoken to her. In five years, she had cried, been angry, and been at her job like it meant her life. She had created a niche for herself. But she was tired now. She longed home. And an arm to embrace her. When she was truly alone and missed him, she thought of her darling parents and the unconditional love they had always given her.

She had had enough. She wanted to go home.

It was a bright Sunday morning. She left with bare minimum bags. She didn’t even care anymore. She would even say okay to the marriage that her parents were arranging. Nothing mattered much. The groom was in America. It would be a good change for her she thought.

“ your flight has been delayed madam. By three hours. Due to rain. I’m sorry”

She couldn’t believe it. Frustrated seeped through her.

She sat on the metal chair in the lounge sipping her coffee.

“pataanahin. My flight has been delayed”.

She heard the voice for the first time behind her. She recognized it instantaneously. It was him. In five years the voice had grown gruff. With all the cigarette smoking she guessed. It was him. She dared not to look at him. She froze. She could feel him move towards her. She turned her back towards him.

“ I don’t care what it takes. I’m going to bring my wife back home.”

The voice drifted away to a vacant seat ahead of her.

She looked out of the window. The rain poured hard. She suddenly felt all the weight washing off her.

She smiled. It was going to be an interesting journey, she thought. 

Champak

It is the height of summer. Champak sits in his chair.  It is barely ten in the morning. But beads of sweat have already semi drenched his uniform. He curses under his breath. In his entire  four years of service he had never seen a summer this severe. He had been sitting in that chair every week day from Nine in the morning to six in the evening. His job was to keep the miscreants at the paldi riverfront at bay. The riverfront was a new area that had been recently opened by the government in a bid to open more areas for the public in order to eventually increase the happiness quotient and make their presence felt.

It was a large concrete pathway that was erected along the banks of the Sabarmati river. There were tall streetlights and concrete benches that were laid out too. The people of the city usually thronged this space in the cool of the evening and sat on these benches immersed in conversation. Children ran about, families exchanged stories, lovers managed to steal a few moments of romance, the roadside ruffians played cricket. This was the scene that opened to champak every day of his life.

Champak was a rotund balding middle aged man of dark complexion. He had an equally rotund wife who ran a tiffin business from her kitchen and one son who went to the local school. He loved his family dearly. His double chin, protruding belly and heavyset arms were all proof of his wife’s butter paratha’s, stuffed potatoes and oil samosa’s. He had taken up this job primarily because it didn’t require too much physical stress and that the family really needed the money. Champak never went to school. He had gotten by with various odd jobs. He could never stick to a job. But when jignesh’s school fees was increasing rapidly, his wife thought champak had better get  a move on.

Besides, Champak really liked the job. He didn’t have to talk to anyone. He didn’t have to use his head too much. He just had to sit on his chair and be authoritative. This too, champak found that if he yelled loud enough and waved around his stick, people would listen. So he did that profusely.

On normal days, Champak loved his job. But today, the heat was just intolerable. He couldn’t sit there. on that plastic chair, beneath the shade of the largest neem tree in the vicinity. Champak was a little bit of a softie and one could say even though he could not afford it, he did like the pleasures of life. He was not used to living too harsh a life. He decides to take a walk to the seat of the other guard, a 500 mtrs away.

he is surprised by what he sees.

“ are! Hari! Where did you get this from?” champak picks up the mobile battery operated fan kept beside hari.

“ Sunday market. That too only for 100 rs. Can you believe it? I took an extra job cleaning a water tank and bought this for myself. My wife thought we should buy an iron instead. But I’m saying comfort first…..”

Champak was half listening by now. He was inspecting the fan. He knew he had to have it. It would make his life a lot easier. He decided he had to have it.

That evening while his wife was serving out hot chappati’s with Dal, he broached the topic.  She dismissed it outright saying that they didn’t even have the money to buy salt and dal, a fan for comfort was a long shot.

Champak went a week in that heat. By the end of it, he knew he couldn’t stand it anymore. He had to do something.

It was hotter than all the other days put together. Champak could feel himself melting away. He wanted to scream. He had taken off his shirt and was wearing just his torn in- shirt.  A young boy came up to him.

“ we have a cricket match this Saturday”. He said.

“ you are not allowed to play cricket near the river area. Only by the sand area you can play”

Champak was ready to dismiss him as another one of those boys who had come to plead in order to play by the river.

“ the match is in the sand area only.” The boy looked at him straight in the eye. Champak was getting irritated.

“ ok. So what do you want me to do?”

“ Referee” he said. Quite simply.

Champak’s patience was hitting all new heights.

“ I have a job here boy. I’m not exactly sitting idle. I may look it, but being a guard is full time work….”

“ you’ll get 100 rs. At the end of the day.” He said it in the same simple manner.

Champak’s ears perked up. He could finally buy the fan! The fan he wanted for so long!

“ all I’ll have to do is referee?”

“yes”

Champak nodded silently.

“ Next Tuesday. Morning. Seven thirty. “

The boy walked away.

Champak didn’t want to tell his wife, suman about it. He knew being away from his work during working hours would cost him his job.

Champak went five days in complete bliss. The thought of the fan that was going to be beside his chair was enough to make the heat a little less intolerable.

“thud!. Thud!”

It was the middle of the night. The entire street was dead asleep. Suman woke up first to the sounds at the door. She quickly nudged her husband. She clutched the blanket in fear. Who could it be at this time?

Champak goes to the door. In their one room shanty, another thud and the house could come crashing down.

Five young men stood there. out on Champak’s door.

“ we’ll give you 500 rs. You need to make sure team A wins. And if anything goes wrong, we know where you stay”

Champak couldn’t make out who was saying what. The absence of light played perfectly to their advantage. He didn’t see any of their faces. He couldn’t rather. They walked away into the darkness.

So much for a cricket game? Champak’s mind was riddled with questions. When Suman asked, he said it was no one. What had he gotten himself into? There was a bigger picture to this. He couldn’t sleep at night. Or the night to follow. Even on duty, he struggled to figure out who those youths were among the crowds of young people playing cricket. He had no clue.

Monday night came. Champak told suman that he had to be at work early that day and retired to bed.

“ thud!thud!”

It was the same knock on the door at midnight. This time. Luckily for champak, suman did not stir. Maybe she was too tired from her work.

“we’ll give you 1000 rs. Make sure team B wins.”

This time, they held him by the collar. And then gave his neck a tight squeeze and walked off.

Champak could not sleep anymore.

He walked onto the sand area a little skeptically. There was a large group waiting for him. the tension in the air was palpable.

The game began.

As the game played out, champak began to disregard,  gradually the threats that came out to him the previous night.  They were just a bunch of kids afterall. Champak played fair.

It was lunchtime. Champak began walking to his tiffin box that was kept on the other side of where his chair was kept.

A boy came up to him. he was the batsman of team B. he looked like just another teenager. Dark skinned,  beady eyes. But there was an iciness in his voice.

“ where do you think your wife is right now?” – his voice had such a coldness that made champak stop dead in his tracks.

“ excuse me?”

“ go home now. You wont find her at home. Play safe. You might not find her at all. Play by our rules, you’ll see her in the evening.”

Champak had no clue how he managed to reach his home in ten minutes flat. Suman was no where to be found. Champak looked everywhere. He even asked the neighbours. No one had seen her.

Champak came back to the cricket game. Despite shouts and cries, he ensured his bias lied with the B team.

At the end of the game the B team won.

The boy came up to him.

“ your money is at your house.”

Champak travelled faster than he could to his house. Everything was a blur.

“ was there any money delivered?”

“no!” – suman had never been more confused.

“ where were you in the afternoon?”

“ I went to the market! My god! Whats with you these days?”

Champak never received any money. Nor saw any of their faces. However, he did get fired the next day for being away from his work.

Room 201

Slowly, he dragged the mop across the floors. He felt like he was walking on pins and needles. He seemed to blend with his surroundings. His actions were so slow it was like he was a part of the furniture around. There was not much of a distinction that could be made between his skin and the wooden floorboards. Both were dusty, wrinkled and smelt faintly of vinegar.

He had lived in that hotel for as long as he could remember. As he polished the bannisters of the staircase he smiled to himself. He could see his reflection on the glass of the photographs hung on the walls. It finally occurred to him. How he had aged.  

He had been the sole caretaker of seaside inn for the last forty years. As he climbed down the stairs painfully, his knees creaking was the only sound that could be heard throughout the corridor right up to the reception. Chako remembered the first time he walked up to the reception. It was with his mother. She was a handsome woman.  Sturdy as an ox, her hands were coarse and rough from washing all those clothes.  Somehow they never seemed to have enough money for chako’s school or birthdays or new clothes. There was no dependable father around. Just men who lived with his mother from time to time. As a child, chako never had questions about why he was made to sleep in the other room when the men stayed. He just immersed himself in strange fantasies. His mother always told him he was an odd child. Never a burden. But children always asked questions, didn’t they? Chako never did. He did what he was told. Never kicked up a fuss.  Never ever questioned anything or anyone. In a sense he was an extremely easy child. Maybe that’s what frightened his mother.

She took a job as the housekeeper of the inn. It was purely because one of her lovers had recently left with all her money. She was desperate. At that time, seaside inn was quite a cherubic place.

It was run by Mr. Koshy and his wife – an oddly identical couple. They had built it from scratch. Every brick in that hotel had their blood, sweat and tears. What started as a meager home stay had slowly expanded exponentially into a two story concrete structure with fifteen rooms – fully furnished with attached baths, and a fully equipped banquet/ restaurant.  Mrs. Koshy had painstakingly knit all the table clothes, mats and napkins. They had two sons who ran around the hotel. To ensure that they were not a nuisance to Koshy’s beloved guests, they were sent to boarding school. One of the fanciest ones that too.

With the boys away, Mrs. Koshy’s maternal instincts reached its high point. She made sure every guest was welcomed with a warmth that could only be compared to being home. And so, they kept coming back. Be it the couple for their second honeymoon or the bachelors for their business meetings. Slowly a first story was built and then the second. It was not guilt, but pure love that ensured them putting in all their money into sending their sons to America to study further.

Initially Mr. and Mrs. Koshy found it hard to divide their time between phone calls from America and customers booking in advance. But gradually both ceased. The phone calls from America stopped because the boys had found themselves American wives who were a little too cost conscious. Mrs. Koshy’s  constant worrying of the boys caused her to be a little absent minded. So when there was a little too much salt in the soup, word got around. What started with Mrs. Koshy being distracted only made the situation worse with the new Riverfront hotel coming up on the opposite street. It  was four stories and painted bright yellow. It had the new English marble flooring and French widows. The added advantage was that it was economical and came out with new super discounts. Mr. and Mrs. Koshy’s price ranges were still those depending on the months fluctuating grocery rates.

And so, in their distraught between America and running a hotel full time, Mr. and Mrs. Koshy found that the empire that they built slowly crumbling and fading away. It was not so much as crumbling as it was turning into grey.  The lustre from the walls began to fade away.  And along with their fleeting ill health, seaside inn began to fade away into the backdrop of old Calcutta. It became as common as the next old newspaper mart. No one went in.

It was a rainy evening when Mrs. Koshy breathed her last on a bed in room 201. She had just finished dusting the back of the curtains when she felt faintly dizzy. Mr. Koshy found her lying on the bed three hours later when dinner was not ready yet.  Mr. Koshy was found dead exactly one week later by chako while he was dusting the back of the curtain.

By now chako was fairly experienced with dead. He had lost his mother to tuberculosis when he was sixteen. Probably Mrs. Koshy felt the loss of young blood around in the house and so, she decided to allow chako to stay on in one of the outhouses. Chako had proved to be a trust worthy lad as he ran around the house completing errands. He stayed at an arms length of trouble, didn't unnecessarily indulge in excess alcohol or girls at the youthful age of sixteen. His only weakness was the occasional beedi from lalu’s tea shop.

After five years of working independently for the koshy’s at seaside inn, Chako’s role slowly began to be more significant. What was ironic was the fact that as Chako’s responsibilities increased in number , slowly did the deterioration of the hotel. It was not that Chako was bad at his work. It was just bad timing, as they say.

Today, thirty years after the death of the Koshy’s , Chako was the sole caretaker of the place. The others were long gone in search of greener pastures. Even the cook who was ever famous for his rogan rosht now had a popular television show to his credit.  He smiled when he thought of the children. They were well settled with children now in America. They did send money frequently to take care of the hotel. They didn’t want to sell the place. Well, not just yet at least.

So it was with great penitence that Chako took care of the place in the hope that some day when the heirs come back to India, they would find the place just as their parents had left it. You see, Chako was, afterall a faithful man. Faithful to the only real family that had even shown him a semblance of love and had made him feel like he was required.

“trrrrrrrrrrrinnnnnnnnnnnnnggggggggggggggggggggg.”  “tttringg!”  “ ttttttringggggggggg!!”

Chako jumped up from his daydreams. It had been a while since he had heard that ring of that bell.

He slowly hobbled to the belldesk. A young woman of around thirty stood with a man beside her.

“ can we please get some service?” she was fanning herself with a piece of paper. Chako came closer. She wore tight jeans and a long floral top. She had a scarf wrapped around her hair and thick large sunglasses. She carried an oversized handbag. Her husband was the typical corporate. With a large V.I.P roller on one side, he carefully clutched an airbag close to his chest.

Chako walked up to the couple.

“ can we please get a room. It’s just for the night” she said it more like she was reassuring herself that her ordeal in seaside inn would be bearable as long as she just had to spend one night only. She continued to look around. There was an obvious hint of disgust on her face. She didn’t want to be there. she made that quite clear.

As Chako came closer to her he could feel faintly his breathing becoming increasingly difficult. And he was acutely aware that it wasn’t the asthma, nor was it the heart burns. At fifty six, he was not new to the ways of women. He had been around quite a few women. That he had not decided to marry was a choice that he made personally. He knew that the domestic life was not for him. He remembered the first woman he had been with. He had insisted on making love to her with all their clothes on. Except for the obvious. She had found it strange. But he was so rigid that it scared her away. It scared most women away, infact.  He had no father himself. So, he had decided against fathering his own child.

And so, when he saw those tight jeans on this woman, he could feel his pulse rise. He didn’t know why. She was one of those women he detested. They were too pricy and high maintainance. They only preferred to eat at restaurants that had a wine cellar that was large enough to hold a football team.

He wondered why she didn’t go next door to the fancy inn. Looking outside he figured. It was shut for renovation. This was his chance he thought. Maybe he could bring back the charm of the place. Maybe he could make it popular again. Maybe it would go back to its glory. It was at this moment, that particular moment, when he was standing there, in front of that door picking up their luggage that chako decided that he would, come what may, ensure that he would make sure that Mr. and Mrs. Sengupta ( as they wrote down their names on the register ) would part from seaside inn with nothing but the nicest of things. This was his resolve.

Therefore, despite the fact that they had paid for a single room that came under the category of “ economical “, chako still ensured that they got the honeymoon suite – room 201.  Even here, with exquisite tiling and the works, the Mrs. Still crinkled her nose at the sight of the washroom. Despite the exotic tiles and the massive washroom.

Chako left them to themselves. It was a moist and humid afternoon. Chako made sure that he cranked up the air conditioning.

His afternoon was one that was filled with much distraught and discomfort. Going up into room 201 proved to be fruitless. They didn’t require any refreshments. So, the freshly baked cupcakes of Chako went to sheer waste. He wondered what they wanted. If there was anything he could do to make them feel comfortable. After going into the room thrice, on various pretexts, being enquiry of food, water, alcohol or any other pleasantary, the fourth time saw the do not disturb sign being put out of the door.

Chako could not deny that he was grossly disappointed. His mind constantly played tricks on him.  He was her husband. He had every right to her. Who was he afterall?  Just a miserable caretaker of a dilapidated inn. But he wanted her. God! He wanted her. And he couldn’t understand it even. Why? He didn’t know. All he knew was that he did want her. So he spent the evening buying the most expensive fish, meat and preparing and extensive desert. He made sure every item on the menu was available. He didn’t remember the last time he had worked so hard.

It was dinner time. He wanted to ask them about dinner. But the “do not disturb” sign was still on. He laid out the best crockery. And he waited. Patiently. Eight o clock… nine o clock.. ten o clock… they had to eat at some point.

By ten thirty he could hear laughter in the corridor. She had worn a satin dress with skin coloured tights. Chako’s heart skipped a beat on seeing her.  He was so caught up that he almost dropped the jug of water he was holding.

“ we’ll just have a few sandwiches. That’s all. “ – she said.

Sandwiches? Shit. Of all the things – beef, pork, chicken , stew… they wanted vegetable sandwiches?

Chako went into the kitchen. There was no bread. Sandwiches were on the breakfast menu. But chako was so determined to make them happy. He wanted them to believe that seaside inn was  a place that they would recommend.

“ and please make it fast” – she called out.

Chako walked out of the hotel. Not a shop in sight. Nothing was open. There was no one in sight.  Chako wasn’t exactly the friendly type. He didn’t have anyone who he could call a close friend. But these were desperate times that called for desperate measures.

He knew where lalu, the man who owned the tea stall stayed. In the dead of night he knocked on his door.

“ please. Can I have a loaf of bread?”

“ chako! Have you gone insane? What time is it? Coming to my house at this hour? You scared my wife. And me. What is wrong with you?”

“ please lalu. All I want is a loaf of bread. Eight slices to be exact. I’ll even pay you for it! “

“ you are insane! Oh god!! Fool ! get out!”

“lalu. Please. This is important to me. Please”

The neighbours knew the rest of the conversation. But chako was a persistant man. He begged. And pleaded. And finally, lalu threw a loaf of bread and asked him to make sure that he was never seen around him ever again.

“ is it ready? Its taking such a long time. And we are hungry also!” -  she said

“yes madam. Almost done”

They didn’t say a word. But they ate in silence.

They retired shortly to their room.

They didn’t want breakfast the next morning. They only asked for a cab and help to bring down their luggage at daybreak. 

With a heavy heart, Chako went into the room the next morning. The couple were sitting by the bedside. She looked radiant. Chako took one look at the bedcovers and his heart sank.  He picked up the bags. He began walking out.

Just as he walked out, he heard her voice..

“ tip him. But we are never coming back here. I mean the service is so bad. Please make sure  you never bring me to a place like this..”

Suddenly, Chako felt the real weight of the bags. And his heart seemed to have lost its place.