Untitled - II

In the month of September as the winds of change blew across the city of Mumbai, I chanced upon a little child as I walked into the narrow streets of a slum colony. The child sat there eating vada-pav. The mashed potatoes smeared around her face as she plunged herself into the vada-pav to satisfy her hunger. A sparkle in her eye was that caught my attention to her. The quirky way in which she held her food in her hands and the dance of her jaw as she munched the eatables in her grasp. I was hungry too, but for something else. My hunger had a different meaning that took me beyond the realms of the usual path to my office.

As a journalist, my job was to hunt for stories. Stories that would sell, stories that would be headlines, stories that would make a buyer want for more. In a way I was a story teller. If I chanced upon a small subject, I would dramatize it in a way, twist some facts, add some spice and make the news a headline for the tabloid. I never knew this was what journalists did before I entered this profession. In my quest for success in my profession, I had forgotten my soul which had wandered far away from my goal, my destiny, my search for the eternal truth that my soul seeks so badly.

Yesterday night a couple of my friends drove down to my office to pick me up. The idea was to party hard and enjoy the nightlife of Mumbai. Being tired on a Friday night, completing my 500 words for the article on the life of a high flying industrialist in a high society section of the tabloid, going to sleep was my usual dose of my routine that was set. My family had forgotten me, my wife had divorced me. I was in a world of my own. My usual physical hunger was taken care of by Susie, the receptionist who was in a desperate need of being wanted, but it was only limited to the nights. During the day she was an independent self made woman. My life was always the same mundane routine. I had lost every interest in life. There was nothing that could make me sad, neither was there anything that could make me happy. I had forgotten the meaning of ‘feel’. Rohan was aware of the fact that I had become a vegetable. It was his idea to make a night out to enjoy ‘life’. Since it did not make a difference to me, I obliged.

He came along with Shawn. Shawn was a shippie. He had come back to India to get married. So he wanted to have fun before he got hitched and tied down. First we headed to Café Mondegar. A couple of beer down the throat, and everyone was talking. I looked around at the caricatures on the walls. The place had an aura of its own. Couples chatted away endlessly. There were couples looking into each others eyes as if they were speaking a different language. At a distant corner, I spotted to young men looking into each others eyes. My wife always used to talk about her gay friends. She used to find them very cute. I thought it was because of the fact that they were harmless. And I was glad her friends were gay. And I was even more thankful that I did not have gay friends. Shawn was bubbling with enthusiasm. He was talking on his cell phone to his fiancée. Rohan was glued to the television that played in the corner of the room. There was only one thing that could attract Rohan’s attention, balls and football. Given a life and death choice between the two, he would choose football. For me nothing mattered. Ever since I had lost my wife in divorce, nothing mattered. I just wanted to go home, play a Kitaro CD and gently doze to sleep, that is if I was lucky enough to catch a wink. The whole cafe was silent as these loud thoughts bounced in my head. Soon we were out of the place and we were seated in the car. Rohan was blabbering about how France could have easily beaten Brazil and how the English fans were the most difficult to handle. Many a times, Rohan was very difficult to handle when he started yapping about football.

Shawn stopped the car in the middle of the road. The road was empty. This part of the city was always empty during this time of the night. Shady characters walked past the arched footpath touting for business. This part of the city was something that I was aware of but had never investigated. After all being with the high society glitterati most of the time, finding news about the gossip was much more rewarding monetarily than the dealings in the dark arched footpath. Shawn made his intentions very clear. He did not want to spend his night alone. It was his last week of freedom before he got married. Rohan was a true friend. He would do anything that would make a friend happy and he would not let Shawn down.

Shawn got down the car and walked towards the footpath. He disappeared into the darkness. A couple of minutes passed by. The sound of the stereo in the car was the only voice that broke the silence in the surrounding neighborhood. Shawn appeared with a huge broad grin on his face. Closing his door, he said he got the number of a guy who supplied girls for the night. For this we had to drive down to the suburbs. Ecstatic with his latest discovery, he drove into the night playing the songs of Puff Daddy at a volume that could have broken the windshield with the sheer intensity of vibrations. Time had hardly passed as we reached the suburb. Shawn pulled the vehicle to the edge of the road. Dialing a number he started asking for directions. A vibration went berserk in my pocket. Susie was calling from a discotheque. Her charms had won the affection of a charming rich lad and they were on their way to his penthouse. Good for her I thought in my mind. Meanwhile the car moved on and stopped near an ATM. Shawn waved out to a guy who came running towards the car. He identified himself as Blaze. He sat next to Shawn and we moved on, navigated by the new found friend of Shawn. He told us we were late by a couple of hours. The best in the business were already taken. We would have limited choice. We stopped close to a place which looked like an entry into a slum.

A guard took the keys of the car. I wondered the way things had progressed in this city. Valet parking at whore houses! The door was made of asbestos. As Blaze opened the door, there was a dimly lit passage that led to another door. This door was of polished Mahogany. As the door opened, little did we know that there was a different world waiting for us. Walls with plaster of Paris, false ceiling with cornices donned the passage which were flanked on both sides with rooms. I peeked into a room that was open and empty. It had mirrors fixed all around and on the ceiling. It was a place where desperate men could have a kaleidoscope of their fantasies evolve into a rare multidimensional spectacle. Further was a room with a couch. This place is no lesser than a C- Grade five star hotel in its looks, I told myself.

A guy was seated in one corner attending phone calls. Around four telephones were present on the table. After a brief discussion on the phone, he hung up. He looked at us and smiled. He got up and shook hands with each of us. He spoke in very affluent English.

“How can we help you, Sir” he said.

“We are looking for girls, good girls” Shawn initiated the talks. He did not believe in wasting time.

“You don’t get good girls here, Sir. You get girls who are good at their job here” he smiled.

“That is what I meant” Shawn replied with a wide grin.

“Bring them in” the guy ordered to another man standing on the door. Three girls entered. As they stood in line, three lights were switched on. It reminded me of a gift shop which displayed their exquisite items to their esteemed elite customers. The girls looked down, as if they were shy of being introduced. They were all introduced by name and a price followed each name. It was amazing to see them shy. After all they must be going through the same grind every day. What was it they were thinking? I had absolutely no clue. I sat there like a vegetable without any expression. I was being enveloped in my own thoughts, I wished I was not divorced, I could have skipped this flesh parade. Soon we had been through many girls and Shawn had enough. He had not liked any of them. As we got up to leave, the guy asked “What are you looking for, Sir. After all you are not going to take them home, Are you?”

Touché. We left.

Blaze was disappointed. He was seeing a prospective client not happy. He had another idea. “Sir would you like to have college girls for the night?” he said. Shawn’s eyes opened wide. “You must be joking” he said. “No Sir. It is a little late, but we can try” Blaze was optimistic. He then took Shawn’s mobile and made a couple of calls. We then hopped into the car and drove. We slowed down near a corporate building. A van slowed in. Blaze asked us to get into the van as soon as it stops. “Take a round. Make your selection on the move” he said.

The van stopped and the door opened. We got into the van. There was a strong scent of perfume that filled the air. The door closed. The lights were switched on. There were three girls in the van. The girls introduced themselves. Their names sounded quite typical. Mansi, Julie and Sweety. Unlike the whore house, here they told their own rates. Shawn had an amazed expression.
“I want to sleep with you, not your entire family!” He said teasing.
“Are you saying I am not good enough” Julie was visibly hurt.
“No, I am saying we are not so rich that we can afford you” his bargaining continued. After a while they settled down on a price.
I waved out a negative. I was in no mood to share my night. I had never ever seen such a sight before. I was supposed to be a journalist. But the entire ordeal never appeared in front of my eyes anytime. I had met women whose husbands traveled the world hitching guys to take care of their shortcomings. Wife swapping was high on the agenda of the socialites, but college girls! They were supposed to be studying in college. Besides, these girls were about eighteen years younger to me. If I and my wife had a child, she would be their age. I was in no mood.

Shawn and Rohan picked up a girl each. I apologized to the other girl for turning her down.

“Nothing personal” I tried to explain. She smiled. I was not sure what the smile meant. Was it that she was relieved that she did not have to sleep with some one, or was it a diplomatic way of hiding her emotion of lost prospective business. We got back to the spot where we had left our car. We got in and sped away. Blaze was still with us. He had to put up as at a motel before he got his commission for helping us out. As we drove guided by the directions he gave, Blaze popped out a question “Sir, Two by three?”
I did not understand the question. Neither did Rohan nor did Shawn. Julie smiled.
She explained it to Shawn as she slid her hand between Shawn’s thighs.
“He means whether you would share both of us between you three?”
“No, no” Rohan explained. “Nothing like that. Two by two. He is not interested” Rohan said pointing to me.
“Why you don’t like girls?” Julie asked.
I smiled not intending to reply.
Soon we reached a Motel. Blaze went in and booked a room for both of them. I decided to lie in the car and catch up on some sleep, if I could manage to. Both Rohan and Shawn accompanied their priced catch into the rooms. The manager came out. He requested me to get into the room. “We would have a tough time if the cops caught anyone inside the car near the motel”, he said. He arranged for an empty room for me. I sat down with Blaze and started chatting with him.

“So, where are you from?” I asked him.

“Goa” he replied.

“You didn’t select a girl?” he asked

I smiled back. “Since when are you doing this?” I asked him.

“I ride autos in the day. This is like a part time.” He said.

“Which college are they from?” I asked

“Mithibai college” he said.

“So do you also sleep with these girls?”

“These girls, NO! They are like my sisters” he said.
“SISTERS?” I was quite shaken now. There was something which definitely did not get into my psyche.

“Yes, they do it out of compulsion. Do you think anyone actually enjoys doing such stuff?”

I was not sure.

“Yes there are some who do it because they enjoy, but most of them are the girls of rich families. Not these girls. They just do it because they have to take care of responsibilities” he explained.

I leaned myself on the bed and looked at the ceiling. The fan slowly moved. The thin layer of paint was peeling off. The room smelt of wetness. There was something very negative about the whole place. A kind of negative energy.

Rohan came out and pulled me out of the room.

“You have to try this female. She is too good!” he said.

“I am in no mood, Rohan” I replied.

“That is why. She will put you back in good moods.” He said as he pulled me towards the room and pushed me in.

The girl sat there. She was fully clothed. A television set was on. She had switched to a cartoon channel. She saw me and started undressing. I stopped her. She looked at me. I told her I was not interested. She batted her eyelids.

“Am I that bad” she showed a sorry face.

“No, you are very special” I said “But I am seeking something that you can’t give”

She looked at me not understanding a single word. I looked at her not understanding a single word that I had said.

She sat next to me “Can I keep my head on your shoulders” she asked. I was not sure. She kept her head on my shoulders.

“I have a brother who stays in the village. I want him to go abroad and study. He is the brightest in the whole family. I have to collect so much money before this March. Otherwise he might not be able to go. Being born as a girl is such a curse” My shirt got a little wet at the shoulders. I looked at her. Tears were rolling on her cheek. She did not bother to wipe it off. “And if life couldn’t be worse, my father ran away with another woman when I was just six. I thought of coming here and work here as a model. I was told by my friends uncle who stayed in Mumbai then that I could make it big in this city. He bought me here and introduced me to…” There was a knock on the door. I opened it. Rohan was smiling.

“Done?” he asked.

I nodded. She walked out. I called her out. She did not wait. She walked out and sat in the Rickshaw that was standing outside the gate.

Blaze had just finished bargaining with Shawn about his share. I asked Blaze where Mansi stayed. He smiled.

“Your heart went for her?” he said smiling.

“No, I.. ” I stopped not bothering to explain. I put my hand in my wallet and fished out a five hundred rupee note. Blaze smiled.

“Room no. 19, Shanti Nagar, Andheri” he said smiling. He sat in the rickshaw along with the two girls and sped away.

Both Rohan and Shawn sat in the car, satisfied with their escapades. We drove back. Rohan and Shawn kept talking and in between their conversation asked me some questions which I did not hear and respond to. They dropped me at my gate. I dumped myself on the only couch in the whole house. Turned on the Kitaro CD and sunk in. I slept. I felt the wetness in the shirt. The tears that had rolled from her eyes. I wanted to meet her. I wanted to know her. I wrote her address down on a paper on the table, lest I forget.

The morning was very early. I had hardly slept. The Saturday morning paper was stuck between the grill and the door as I went to collect the milk that was kept outside in the bag. The newspaper had the headlines of the story of two business tycoon brothers split over a woman. I hated the story. It was my handicraft. I made tea. The thought of the girl previous night kept flashing back in images like a slideshow. I had got my path, my road to solace. I knew where I had gone wrong. It was time to get back to journalism. Get the true story out there. Hurriedly, I took a hot water bath and then got ready to go in search of Mansi.

The lanes of Shanti Nagar colony were quite shabby. There were gutters that lined the footpath across which lay houses made of weak mud walls. Kids were playing cricket with plastic ball and a bat as people walked through the lanes. A little girl had buried herself into a vada-pav as she tried to satisfy her hunger. An old lady beat her clothes with vigor under a flowing tap. I asked for Room No. 19.

She turned at me “Who are you?” she asked in Marathi.
I explained her, I was a friend of Mansi.
“Who Mansi?” She asked.
“Mansi, who studies in Mithibai college” I tried to explain.
“You have got the wrong address” she said.

I then went to Mithibai college. I went to the office and I told I was a relative of Mansi who studied in the college. I told them I was not aware of the batch and the stream she had undertaken. I paid the peon a hundred bucks. He fished out all the registers. There were two Mansi’s. I went to meet them, but they were different people. I walked out of the college dejected.

My hunger unsatisfied. My story incomplete.

Untitled

The plane was circling around the airport. I could see a million lights scattered across the city. It looked as if the city was a chest filled with jewels. The flight was a long one and I was already very tired. The show at Sydney went off very well. After a brief hiatus at Bombay, I was supposed to leave again for London where the next show was to be held. Being in a software company had its own thrills and chills. The Captain of the plane announced the landing and requested to put the seat belts on. I wondered if Rachael would be at home. Rachael was a crazy woman always in a completely messed up state of mind. She was desperate to be an independent woman and live life at her own terms. She did not want to be left out from the definition of the ‘high flying liberated society’.

After collecting my bags, I headed to the Taxi service counter at the exit of the airport. The city airport was as messy as it could be. More than the place, it was the people at the Customs. They would rip apart every little baggage and check if they could get anything valuable for which they could get paid for unofficially. Switching on my mobile, I hoped, it was charged enough. I did not have the key to the apartment and if Rachael was not home, I would end up waiting for her on the stairs and I was too tired for any such thing to happen. The screen showed a single stick indicating the lowness of battery charge. I speed dialed Rachael’s number. The bell rang. She did not pick up. I gave the receipt to a cabbie, who called out the number of the taxie. A Sikh guy ran up. He picked up the bags and walked me to the taxie I was allotted.

I dialed again. No answer. I dialed my ex-husband. It was around a year that we had separated. We loved each other, but there were some thing’s that our love could not handle. We were growing apart. Things were much better earlier before we got married. We had vowed that we would never impose ourselves on each other and keep our independence intact. But somewhere after our marriage, we forgot the little promise and everything got messed up. We were friends, still in love but apart. He picked up the phone.

“Hi sweetheart” he picked the phone within a single ring. It was usually that way. And my heart used to miss a beat when I dialed his number.
“Hi how are you?” both of us said together. It was our little routine. Every time we called we would end up asking the same question to each other at the same time.
“How are you?” he asked.
“I am ok. How about you?”
“I am ok” he replied.
“When did you come from Sydney?”
“Just a while ago” I never used to call him immediately after I was back. “Just landed in fact.”
“Can I come over to your place? I can’t trace Rachel, and I have no battery left inside me and the cell phone to try contacting her” I asked.
“No problem” he said.

I instructed the cabbie to divert the route. He asked for an extra hundred rupees. I was in no mood to argue and I obliged.

Rajiv’s home was neatly decorated. There were only two bean bags and a little foam laid on the floor in the whole house. A music system was on in one corner and a laptop on another. It was that neat. He had this thing about space. He felt that we would have more time in our lives if he had less things cluttered around us. It is a psychological thing, he tried to explain. I never tried to argue on it. We had already many issues to argue on. I dragged in my suitcase and dumped myself on to the beanbag. He went into his minimalist kitchen and came out with two mugs full of coffee.

“The coffee, just like you want. Hot and really bitter” he said. He had already made the coffee after I called him telling him I would be home.

“You remember!” I thought. I graciously accepted. “So what are you working on right now?”

“Just the usual crap. Writing lies” he smiled.
He walked down the room and put in a CD. I could guess even before he had pressed the play button. It was a Kitaro CD.

“When are you off to your next show?” he asked me.

“Next week” I never bothered to tell him where, and he never asked me too. During our ‘happily married’ status, there were a million questions asked.

“How is Fayyaz?”

“He is good, almost survived a bomb blast.”

“Poor thing, it must be so difficult to live in such a place torn by conflict!”

“Well, you don’t have to patronize him. It is his choice. He better live with his own choice.”

“I am not patronizing him.”

“Well, your sympathizing for him and you know I don’t like anyone sympathizing for anybody!”

“It is easy for you to say that. You live in a war torn land and you will know what pain is. Where so many people die everyday”

“I know what pain is! I know what it is, to die everyday”

He pressed the play button on the CD player. He went to the corner of the room, pulling out the bean bag and started typing away on the laptop. Slowly, the serene music enveloped my thoughts and I dozed off.

When I opened my eyes, I was on the bed nicely wrapped up in the blanket. My shoes were nicely kept in a corner. Rajiv had fallen asleep on the bean bag. I got up and headed towards the bathroom. I washed my face and went to the kitchen to make coffee. I could only make black coffee. That is the only thing I had learnt. Rajiv was a nice cook. A nice cook but not a good cook. He used to experiment with cooking, but always ended up ordering for food from the nearby Sri Krishna restaurant. As the water boiled, I looked at him sleeping. He was in such a mess. His mouth open. His hands and legs spread across in all four directions. He always gave me a reason to smile. I took my mobile charger and plugged it into the socket and switched it on.

I went across to wake him up. His laptop was still on. A word document lay open. It read…

In the month of September as the winds of change blow across the city of Mumbai, I chanced upon a little child as I walked into the narrow streets of a slum colony. The child sat there eating vada-pav. The mashed potatoes smeared around her face as she plunged herself into the vada-pav to satisfy her hunger. A sparkle in her eye was that caught my attention to her. The quirky way in which she held her food in her hands and the dance of her jaw as she munched the eatables in her grasp….

He just turned around. Opening his eyes, he looked at me and gave me a smile.

“Do you know that you still snore like a pig?”
“No I don’t!” I replied.
“Yes you do!”
“No I don’t!” I tried to skip the conversation. “What are you writing now?”
“Well I was planning to write something worthwhile. This thing had happened a week back, when Rohan and Shawn picked me up for a night out fun. It unraveled a lot of dark secrets about life. Why don’t you read it and let me know what you think” he said.

Sipping the coffee I read on.
“Who is Susie?” I interrupted.
“A fictional receptionist in the office. Wanted to put some spice in the story, but later it did not work out. So left it the way it is.” He replied. He indeed lied quite well, but he could not lie to me. I used to catch him red handed. He would not look into my eye when he lied. This time he looked into my eye. Even though I was divorced from him, I could barely imagine him sleeping with someone else. And neither could I give myself to someone else. The story including the name of Susie having a physical relationship with Rajiv troubled my soul. Thankfully it was only fiction!

“It is nice” I said as I finished the story. “But is this the end of the story or is there more?”

“Let me see, I have asked Shawn to give me Blaze’s telephone number. Let’s see where he leads the story!” he replied.

“I am sure it will turn out good.” I told him.

I wanted to hug him and kiss him, but something within me was holding me back. I finished the coffee and went to the bath. He was already spic and span, ready to go to office.
“Leave the keys at the neighbor’s house. O.K. and call me before you leave. We’ll catch up on a movie or something” he said as he closed the door behind him.

“Whatever!” I replied, not knowing what to do and what to say.

I sat in the shower and cried. My tears getting lost in the constant stream of water that hit me and drenched me. I was absolutely blank. I did not know why I cried. After a long time in the shower, I came out. I headed for the mobile that lay ringing.

It was from a number I did not recognize. I picked up the phone.
“When did you reach?” Rachael asked.
“Yesterday night” I replied, my throat was parched.
“I am so sorry, I couldn’t pick up your call. I was in the car with Shawn. He was getting dirty and he did not allow me to pick the phone at all. I am sorry.” She tried to explain.

Both me and Rajiv knew both of them and were absolutely sure they deserved each other. Rachael also had a fling of boyfriends who she still sees when Shawn is not in town. And Shawn was a two timer since the day he had joined the ship. I wondered why he kept friends like Shawn, but then he would ask me the same about Rachael. Call her the ‘independent, liberated’ woman of today!

“Anyways I will reach home by two. See you then” she said. A long disconnected tone followed. I dressed myself up. There was a photograph of our wedding on the table. I looked at it. Tears filled my eyes. I kissed Rajiv.

“It will work out” I told myself “You just got to have faith in yourself”

I packed my bags and left. I left a little folder with my passport behind. At least there was a reason to meet Rajiv again.