Rajrupa Gupta's Blog, page 3

The Tangled Mess - III

Read Part I Part II here.

Jha was pulled out of his reverie from a soft knock on the door. Looking up he found a man in a security guard’s uniform. He looked in his mid-forties and was sporting an impressive moustache. He had his hat under his left arm and the right arm rested on his chest.
“Good morning sir. I am Arun Srivastava. I am the security in-charge here.”

“Oh yes. I was waiting for you. I assume you have heard everything.”
“Yes. The person on-duty told me that you were looking for me.”
“Good. I have few questions to ask you. Shall we go down to your office?”
Jha locked up the apartment and went down to sit at the dingy office of Arun Srivastava.
Jha could tell that Arun looked nervous even though he was trying to look normal. He kept crushing his fingers in his palms and biting his nails alternatingly. Jha kept quite till the time Arun could draw another chair and sit in front of him. It was only after Arun was finally settled that Jha spoke.
“How long have you been working here Mr Srivastava?”
“Since the last three years sir. Previously I used to only supervise the shift roaster of the guards but now I am the in-charge of maintenance too.”
“Good. So you should be able to tell me about the woman of 9B who died this morning?”
“No sir. I am afraid not much sir. They kept to themselves sir, the women in 9B. I hardly saw them.”
“Them? There are other women who live in that apartment?”
 “Oh yes sir. They were two: Aditi ma’am – who died and Bibha ma’am. Once they had a problem with being locked out of the apartment, then they called me so I went to help them. Since then they stopped to say hello if our paths crossed.”
“Aditi? So this woman’s name was Aditi? Strange that you know her name but the residents I spoke with don’t! Who is she? And who is this Bibha?”
“I don’t know much sir. Like I said they kept to themselves. But they were so generous. They always gave me Diwali bonus. I can’t imagine who could be so cruel to her.”
“How long have they been living here? Do you know?”
“Oh yes sir, I remember. They moved in just before Diwali the year before last…”
“… and gave you bonus?” Jha cut in.
Arun gave a small laugh and nodded.
“So that’s why you remember huh?” Jha half joked. It was almost two years that these two women had been living here and no one knew anything about them? Something didn’t quite sit right. And where was this other woman called Bibha? Why was there no sign of her living in the apartment too? Was she the killer? The mystery was clouding so thick and heavy that it made Jha feel restless. He was heading nowhere. He knew the name of the victim, but no other identification till now. The other woman Bibha, whoever she was, was missing. Jha’s net of thoughts was torn open when Arun spoke next.
“I can hardly believe the situation sir. The reality doesn’t sink in. First Bibha ma’am moved out and now Aditi ma’am is dead.”
“The other woman, Bibha, she moved out? When?” Jha was attentive once again.
“Few days back only sir, I think it was last to last Saturday. I helped the packers to load the truck.”
“Truck? Where did she go?”
“The packers said Mumbai sir but beyond that I don’t know.”
“Which packers?”
“The AlStar packers sir. They are the staple here. Whenever someone moves in or out, it’s them I recommend. And there are about 4000 flats here sir. So they do get a lot of orders. See here. If you ask them they will surely have the address of where they delivered Bibha Ma’am’s things.” Arun fished for few seconds in the drawer of his iron table and handed over a bright pink pamphlet to Jha. Seeing it Jha remembered he did see such pamphlets in the bulletin board by the elevator. He felt a little warmth of hope. At least now he would be able to get to this Bibha – whoever she was. But before he had to poke Arun a little more, he seemed to be the only person willing to talk. Was he just trying to help or did he know more than he was letting out?
“I appreciate your support Arun. I really do. But can you tell me something more about Aditi. Do you have any idea what she did or who she was?”
“No sir. As I said, they always kept to themselves. I only saw them rarely in the evenings coming back, mornings probably they left even before I came.”
“Anything else? Any resident you know was close to them? Anyone who could have more details about Aditi?”
“I don’t know sir, I am sorry.”
“Anyway, thanks Arun for the help. You gave me more information than I could have hoped for.” Jha started to leave. But then he remembered something, it wasn’t much but no harm checking.
“Tell me Arun, what the residents do when any maintenance or repair is required?”
“Oh! We have maintenance staff sir, residents normally call in them but they are free to choose the help from outside as well.”
“Ok. Who normally handles all these requests then?”

“The maintenance staff? That’s their office sir.” Arun pointed to another small room across from his small office.
Love,

© copyright 2014 – All rights reserved

Riot of Random

The Tangled Mess - II

Mr Basu felt his weak heart flutter when the man in uniform entered his apartment.
“I hear you are the one who found the body.” He said in the way of wishing Good Morning.
“Yes. I did.” Mr Basu could only make his voice barely audible. As if the morning’s trauma wasn’t enough, now there was another ordeal to go through.“It must have been a shock. Did you know her?” asked the man.
Mr Basu shot a quick glance at his wife, gulped and said, “I knew her just by face. We’d met sometimes in the elevator. That’s all.”
“I see. Could you Mr Basu please tell us exactly what you saw in the morning when you went out for your walk?”
“Yes. Of course. I went downstairs by the elevator around 7. There were a lot of crows and they were crowing madly. You know, crows aren’t usual here. At first I thought probably it’s a new baby crow that might have fallen from somewhere but then I thought there were no trees nearby to have a nest, also there was the dripping sound. I got suspicious. I peered and found myself looking into a pool of blood.”
“So what did you do next?”
“I screamed at the top of my voice. Of course. I tried to gather people. Mr Shangvi came to my aid. He was returning from his walk. He only called the police.”
“Around when do you say that was?”
“I don’t know, barely five minutes after I got down.”
“Around 7:05 then? Can I take it?”
“Probably! I didn’t have my watch with me.”
“Ok thanks a lot for your time Mr Basu. I will leave you to rest now.”
“Thanks officer. Glad to help officer. Glad to help.”
[next]
When Jha came out of the apartment 4D, his frown was deeper. Sangvi’s statement didn’t quite match with Basu’s. Any one of these two elderly men was lying. According to Sangvi, he found Basu sitting on the floor beside the pool of blood and shouting at around 7:20 in the morning. According to Basu, it wasn’t more than five minutes after he had got down. What was Basu doing in that missing 15 minutes of time? And if he was saying the truth, then why was Sangvi lying?
So far he hadn’t had much success in the case. One of the biggest helps in such cases – victim’s mobile phone, was missing. Most probably the murderer had taken it. And nobody in the apartment building seemed to know the murdered woman. Or at least they were hiding it well. His only hope was the visitor’s card that was found in one of her pants pockets. It was a visitor’s daily pass to a renowned private hospital. He had already sent his sub-inspector to the hospital. And now he was hoping really hard that he would come back with some information at least, about this mysterious woman. 
The window opposite of the apartment had been another apartment on the same floor in this U-shaped building. Jha’s visit to this apartment hadn’t proved much: a middle aged widow lived there with her autistic son and the mother confirmed that they hadn’t seen anything as she always kept the windows shut because her son had a tendency to climb up on the window sill and jump. In the end he had just left his phone number and requested the lady to call if she remembered anything.
The security guard on-duty hadn’t proved much help either. He hadn’t seen anybody suspicious entering or leaving the compound apart from the usual flock of maid servants and the morning walkers. His supervisor hadn’t yet come, so Jha hadn’t much to do other than return to the police station. But he dreaded that. He could see in his mind’s eye how the people there would laugh at him. He remembered how delighted he had been when he had come to know that his first posting after being promoted as an Inspector would be the small suburban police station in the sleepy district of Pimpdi-Chichhwad.
A mirthless laugh escaped him. If only he had known better. Now after three months and a rare history of zero solved case later he knew that this place wasn’t as sleepy as it looked. In the last three months he had experienced very bitterly that even though this place was successful in keeping its sleepy boring façade intact, it harboured many sophisticated criminal minds. Two of his cases involved a very powerful mafia boss and were hijacked by the CBI and then the only case he was so close to cracking was snatched from right under his nose and given to the much junior probationary IPS officer who liked to boss him around for no apparent authority other than the fact that he wrote the IPS exam and Jha didn’t. Jha wanted badly to be on top of things but this case too had yielded nothing so far.
He didn’t even know the identity of the woman.
Lost in his thoughts Jha hadn’t noticed when he had crossed the yellow tape that cordoned the apartment off and entered yet again inside the apartment where the woman was murdered. The barrenness of the apartment struck him anew now that it was void of people. The dead body had been taken to the morgue where they will try to identify her and do an autopsy. In any case, it was not expected in a day or two.
Yet, standing here alone, in the emptiness, and looking at the wrinkled bed sheet, somehow it was not hard to deduce what might have happened to the unfortunate woman. There was no sign of struggle of entry, so unless she had forgotten to lock the door last night, she had let the person enter voluntarily. Or the murderer had a key. In either case it was someone known to her. They then came to the bedroom, some argument might have ensued and then (he remembered the slightly blue lips of the woman), the killer strangled her with a pillow. He could almost see the forensic team finding bruised neck tissue on the sheet where the killer must have pressed her down. Then the killer dragged her to the window, put her across the window that was already broken. She was already dead, her heart must have stopped pumping when her body was being pushed out of the window, because the deep cut in her back caused by the jagged glass edge in the window didn’t splatter blood. It dripped.

But Jha stopped here for a second. He gave his head a shake to stop the wildfire of the chaotic thoughts he was having. Things didn’t match up. The body on the window was put face up. It was almost as if the killer wanted the world to see what he had done. It was as if he was proud of it. It meant that the killing was pre-mediated. It was not done in the heat of a moment’s argument. Was it possible that she knew someone that psychotic who took pride in killing and displaying the victims?
Love,

© copyright 2014 – All rights reserved

Riot of Random

Interesting on the Internet This Week - 2

Source: http://www.vintag.es

Tread Mills of 1920s.
Our ancestors sure had a weird bone! How else did they come up with these?
Behind the scenes of famous movies! How many have you watched? 
Chai Chai, garam chai? Anyone?
Well, I’d be angry too, if they sent me to Adra instead of Agra!
Simple Math Quiz - How many levels did you pass?
I am watching The Honorable Woman. An eight-episode miniseries, it is an incredibly complex both mystery and spy thriller. It is filled with sketchy characters imploring others to trust them. In this shadowy world of politicians, military types, spies, and corporates, you can't really trust anyone, and everybody has a secret self. A doctor or limo driver or waiter could turn out to be an information thief or a hired killer. The persistent threat of betrayal and violence makes even the quiet scenes unsettling. 
Love,

© copyright 2014 – All rights reserved

Riot of Random

The Tangled Mess - I

It’s a piece of fiction, my first attempt to write a crime drama. I will be publishing it in parts. The sections of this installment have been paginated for easy read. Hope you will like it.

I
On the dreadful day, which when asked later, each resident of The Paradise would describe, with terror filled eyes and goose-bumps, as their worst nightmare come true for years to come, Mr Basu awoke fairly early, quite unaware. It was not yet 7 in the morning and judging by the darkness outside the window it was going to be another cloudy day. He looked at the crumbled quilt that lay on his side of the bed longingly for one last time. He couldn’t afford to be lazy now. After two heart surgeries in the past two years he had learnt not to take his health for granted. So he shook his head and got ready for his morning stroll.
Mr Basu lived in a spacious four bedroom apartment in a large housing complex in Pune. After spending most of his life working in the hustle and bustle of the city of Mumbai, he had sought a calm place to spend the rest of his life. After combing for over two years he had found this place that suited his requirement perfectly – set amidst the hills and scenic landscape tranquillity reigned throughout, yet, it was close enough for his children working in Mumbai to visit every now and then. The builders had aptly named it as Paradise. People who lived here were extremely well dressed, polite in their greetings and never raised their voices when they fought with their spouses.  
Mr Basu had never regretted his decision of moving here and these days, he was particularly happy because even though he didn’t like mingling he had made a steady group of friends with people he met during his morning walks. But that was until today. Mr Basu’s peaceful life was about to hit a turbulence. In fact, as if, a large stone was about to be thrown this morning into the placid lake of the residents’ lives, for, for a long time to come all that the residents of the housing society could talk about was what happened this morning. To know what terrible things awaited Mr Basu we would simply have to follow him for now.[next]

II
Mr Basu came out of his apartment. He took a step toward the stairwell but then decided against it. Today was not one of those days when he felt energized enough to take the stairs instead of the elevator. He pressed the call button and waited. He cringed a little when a half asleep Mrs. Basu came strutting with his umbrella bickering about how forgetful he was becoming every day.
He met his neighbour Mr Sharma, who was also one of his fellow morning walkers, in the elevator. Mr Basu exchanged friendly greetings and spoke about the weather.
As they came out of the elevator, a cacophony of dozens of crows greeted them. Mr Basu looked uneasily around. It was not usual in this part of the city. Not much trash littered around here to attract such a big battalion of scavenger birds. And that too, so early in the morning! He took a tentative step and then another. The feeble sun was not having much success to penetrate through the cloud that cast an ominous shadow of doom around. Mr Basu felt the hair rising at the back of his neck. Something was not right. He could feel it in his gut. As he rounded the corner, the crowing got steadily louder punctuated by a rhythmic dripping sound. 
Was it water dripping from somebody’s A/C unit? Mr Basu wondered. But the sound was a lot heavier. With the worst kind of premonition Mr Basu peered through the semi darkness and found himself looking into a small pool of blood that was growing in size from the blood that dripped from somewhere above. Crows had gathered around the blood and were crowing madly. Looking up he saw a woman’s lifeless body – it’s impossibly bent upper half hanging outside a window on the ninth floor. There were many crows around the window too.
Even though in various future occasions when Mr Basu recounted this particular scene to people who wanted to know, he put himself in a much braver light by adding few different colours to the actual happenings, currently he let out a yelp and did kind of a somersault and collided head on with Mr Sharma who seemed to be crouching next to him. Mr Basu felt something heavy crushing at his chest and his head felt vacant. His knees gave away and he felt the foggy morning go black.[next]

III
When inspector Kausik Jha arrived at the scene of crime in a large housing complex, he was surprised. Usually crime scenes attracted a lot of curious people. But this one looked deserted. A woman was found dead inside her locked apartment and half of her body was hung outside the open window. The person who found her was a morning walker. When he raised the noise after finding her, one of the residents had tried getting into the apartment and finding it locked, peered from the roof top to get a closer look at the woman and seeing her dead pan stare called the police immediately.
The apartment door had already been broken open by his team and now the forensic team was busy trying to gather the evidences they could find. As inspector Jha entered the apartment, he was taken aback. The apartment lacked even the basic furnishing required to live in. The living room had no TV, no table and no sitting arrangement apart from a red Nilkamal chair. The walls were bare except few rectangular dirt markings – caused obviously by frames removed recently. On floors too there were distinct markings of furniture. The kitchen was empty as well except a couple of blackened pots and a battered looking small fridge. A lone packet of stale sandwich bread lay inside the otherwise empty fridge. The uncomfortable barrenness of the apartment surprised him. Was she robbed? Was that the reason for her murder? He thought. But then he remembered that it was only minutes after the death that she was discovered. The blood was still dripping from her body. The robber couldn’t have gotten away.
In the bedroom the body had now been taken down from the window and placed on the floor. Jha glanced over the dead body and then around the room. A thin rope ran the length of the room. It was laden with clothes – probably the only proof that a woman lived here. A mattress lay on the floor: its sheet was wrinkled in what seemed a violent battle, two pillows and a crumpled blanket lay haphazardly on it. A mirror hung from the closet door; opening it he found another heap of clothes dumped on the floor. Otherwise this room also, like the living room, was bare. It was almost as if this woman was preparing to leave.
“So how do you think it happened?” Jha asked to no one in particular.
“Blood’s very less. So the broken window didn’t kill her. She was probably dragged there after she’d already died. And we got few prints too” said one of the men who were working on the forensic team.
Jha looked at the dead woman. She was young, maybe in her late twenties. Clouds of curly hair framed her heart shaped face. Her lips were bluish. Her hands were clawed. She was wearing a long maxi dress which was now soaked in blood and torn around her waist. But apart from that she looked without injury.

Jha moved toward the window. It was across from the bed. The jarred edges of the broken glass of the window were smeared in blood. He narrowed his eyes in concentration. Few streaks of blood had formed lines sliding down the wall from the window. Apart from that there was no blood stain in any other part of the room. A theory was forming in his mind, but he would have to wait till the autopsy results came in. He was lost in all types of thoughts when suddenly he felt something. Years of working in this profession had made Jha’s instincts sharp. He looked up and out of the window, and felt, rather than saw, a shadow move across the window directly opposite to the one he was standing.

© copyright 2014 – All rights reserved

Riot of Random

Fruitful Nothings

Have you ever been in a time when just by letting yourself be adrift, you felt a fulfillment? A time when you were amongst people, yet saw nothing, talked nothing? A book perhaps, a cutting paperback, reading but not really thinking?

Saturday was such a time. I did nothing the whole day. I just walked, not seeing, just where my feet would take me. I sat, not thinking, till the cold wind from the lake would shake me. I even rode trains, from this end to that end and back. I sat on the green grass by the museum facing the lake looking, not seeing.

And it was fantastic. I felt content in my own bubble. Having the world separated by that thin rainbow tinted film worked as an amazing stress buster. Those important things – whose omnipotent reality always astonished me, cornered me into facing it eye-to-eye, seemed so petty from inside my shiny bubble. I could turn my back from them, heck, I could even mock them now.

Today I belonged to a different world, a world I created. I could be anyone. But I chose to be no one. In my mind palace there was a meadow, green, sunny with overgrown flowers, yellow and purple butterflies and a bed. Huge and, white. I was lying on it, yet I was floating through. People and familiar sounds appeared at the horizon but so far away that it didn’t really matter. It was I alone, in the world, and I had nothing to do. My brain had nothing to do, so it started brewing a potion - a bright dazzling concoction by smashing all my senses together and getting itself drunk on it. Everything blurred, only the meadow stayed distinct and colorful. My arms spread on the soft bed, my neck relaxed and soon it was only the bliss that remained.

Somewhere the church bell went off, Ding-Dang-Dong, three distinctive sounds. Definitive as the church itself, loud as the rude metallic horns of the trucks that run on the highway. My state of inebriation vanished. But luckily the bubble remained. Let me live in it today, I’d tend to those emails and the rotting vegetables tomorrow.

Love,

© copyright 2014 – All rights reserved

Riot of Random

Interesting On the Internet This Week

Let's Eat Here Sometime!
Finally it has happened - No words necessary while talking!
Quizto see how you fare in Emo language. I got a 6!
Mobile Banking Gets Personal!
Want to take a dip?
I love these masterminds!
50 shades of unusual vocabulary
Well, no excuses for not using the crosswalk. Even they know it.
Have you read any of these?
Holes. What is your theory?
Jeans designed by wild animals! Want one?

Love,

© copyright 2014 – All rights reserved

Riot of Random

Stuff I found On the Internet This Week

Let's Eat Here Sometime!
Finally it has happened - No words necessary while talking!
Quizto see how you fare in Emo language. I got a 6!
Mobile Banking Gets Personal!
Want to take a dip?
I love these masterminds!
50 shades of unusual vocabulary
Well, no excuses for not using the crosswalk. Even they know it.
Have you read any of these?
Holes. What is your theory?
Jeans designed by wild animals! Want one?

Love,

© copyright 2014 – All rights reserved

Riot of Random

বিদেশের বৃষ্টি

    কাল সারারাত বৃষ্টি পড়েছে। গাছের পাতাগুলো আজ একটু বেশিই সবুজ। রাস্তাটা একটু বেশিই কালো। একটা ধবধবে সাদা গাড়ি হুস করে চলে গেল। জলে সব ধুলো ধুয়ে একেবারে ঝকঝকে। মেঘ গুলো এখনও জাঁকিয়ে বসে আকাশে - ছাই রঙ টা গাঢ় হয়ে প্রায় কালোর দিকে। বৃষ্টি আবার নামবে ঝেঁপে যেকোনো সময়।
    বাড়িতে থাকলে মা খিচুড়ি বানাত এমন দিনে। সোনা মুগের খিচুড়ি আর ইলিশ মাছ ভাজা। কিন্তু বিদেশে সোনা মাসুরি চালের ভাতই ভরসা। গত সপ্তাহে ইন্ডিয়ান স্টোর থেকে রুই মাছ এনেছিলাম। এখন ফ্রিজের বরফে জমে কাঠ। বের করে নিয়ে ভেজে নিলেও হয়। কিন্তু এরকম মন উদাস করা সকালে কি রাঁধতে ভাল লাগে?
    কলকাতায় হলে আজ নিশ্চয়ই স্কুলে রেইনি ডে হত। সামনের রাস্তাটা হয়ত নদী হয়ে গিয়ে বয়ে চলতো, আর রঙ বেরঙের কাগজের নৌকোরা সেই নদীতে এঁকেবেঁকে বেরিয়ে পড়তো অজানা সব অ্যাডভেঞ্ছারে। গরম গরম চা আর সিঙ্গারা খেতে খেতে বৃষ্টি দেখতাম বা ভুতের গল্প পড়তাম, কাঁথা মুড়ি দিয়ে শুয়ে শুয়ে। কলকাতার বৃষ্টির আলাদাই সৌন্দর্য, আলাদাই মজা।  
    কার্পেটে শুয়ে শুয়ে বৃষ্টি ভেজা সকালটার শোভা দেখছি, দেখছি বারান্দার কালো রেলিঙে লেগে থাকা শেষ জলের ফোঁটাগুলোকে টুপ টুপ করে ঝরে পড়তে, হঠাৎ দেখি একটা হলুদ রঙা পাখি বারান্দার রেলিঙে এসে বসলো। হলুদ শরীর, লাল মাথা, আর কালো পাখা। ছোট একটুখানি। কে তুমি পাখি? আগে তো কখনও দেখিনি!

    পাখি আমার দিকে তাকিয়ে ঘাড় কাত করে কিচিরমিচির করলো কিছুক্ষণ। তারপরে উড়ে চলে গেল। আমিও মন্ত্রমুগ্ধের মত বেরিয়ে এলাম বারান্দায়। ভেজা কাঠের মেঝের উপর পড়ে আছে একটা ম্যাপল পাতা। শুকনো না, অকালে ঝরে পড়া ঝকঝকে সবুজ একটি পাতা। কি মনে হল হাতে তুলে নিলাম। সামনে তাকিয়ে দেখি, আমার চেনা জঙ্গলটা কেমন করে যেন রাতারাতি বদলে গেছে। সবুজেরও যে এত রঙ হয় জানতাম নাতো আগে! হাল্কা ঘন মাঝারি নানা ধরনের সবুজের ভিড় যতদূর চোখ যায়। আর সেই ঘন সবুজের মাথার উপর খেলছে অসংখ্য হলুদ পাখি। ডানা ঝাপটে একে অপরকে জল ছিটিয়ে পালিয়ে যাচ্ছে, আবার ফিরে আসছে কিছুক্ষণ বাদে। কি মজা।

    আমি তাকিয়ে আছি, চোখ ফেরাতে পারছি না। হঠাৎ সেই পাখি এসে আবার আমার রেলিঙে বসলো আর কিচিরমিচির করে অনেক কথা বলল। আমি বুঝতে পারলাম – ও আমাকে বলছে, সব দেশই বৃষ্টি তে সুন্দর, শুধু সেই সৌন্দর্য কে খুঁজে নেওয়ার অপেক্ষা।
Love,

© copyright 2014 – All rights reserved

Riot of Random

I Didn't Change My Name After Marriage

Long back as an upright teenager, I had made a decision to never change my name after I got married. I simply liked it too much.
When A and I were getting married, we never discussed about it because we both knew how important my name was to me! I was known to the world by my name! It was my identity. It simply didn’t make sense to change my identity just because I was getting married.
However the first of the numerous questions that came my way because of this, was from the marriage registrar who looked positively scandalous as I signed my name, the original first and last, instead of A’s, in neat letters. He thought I wrote it mistakenly out of habit, and when I asserted it certainly was not, tried to talk me out of it, offered a new form and when I still didn’t buzz, looked pissed.
Since then, I have lost count of how many raised eyebrows and wounded egos my not changing my last name has caused.
Even though actually it was just because I liked my name very much and being super lazy tried to avoid all the extra work of visiting the passport office, bank, post office, changing the official transcripts and emails and I don’t even know what else, time again it was imposed upon me that it was the deed of a terribly stupid and headstrong feminist who has no real notion of what feminism is and tries to defy every social norm.
***Soon, the questions started becoming too personal and annoying. Those initial hours of laziness from not having to run around to change my name were replaced by anxiety of meeting new people in the next get-together. And the questions always followed in the lines of –
Each family is identified by a common name. It’s like you are deliberately trying to set yourself apart from the family!If we need a common name to identify our family why not combine both names? It’s my family too now, isn’t it? Why must I lose my identity and can’t unite everyone under a new family identity? A and I are starting a new family after all.
Ah! You reek of feminism!I didn’t know feminism stank! But now that you bring it up, let’s face it. Men do not have these obligations! Why must a woman?
You can use both names you know? Many do that!It’s still a change in my name! Maybe our children will use both names.
Is your husband okay with it?Why wouldn’t he be? We are two individuals choosing to be married to each other because we love each other. What’s that got to do with what names we use? I really don’t find a good enough reason to buy into such a retrograde practice.
*** With time, I have come to realize that it indeed was a defying thing to do. Defying male ego – the fragile inflated thing that breaks and bursts at the slightest nudge. And God save those men who don’t seem to have one. Letting one’s wife use their own name – it’s like a blow to their masculinity.
The man in my home doesn’t care, and feels it is too trivial a thing to discuss but the men at my office (it is the place where I meet the majority of my male acquaintance) feel so differently that it was a shock. Some even felt that it was the greatest insult their wives could throw at them. Really?
For a time I used to worry about - after making so much progress socially, economically and politically why must a woman still be subjected to such a sexist and outdated custom to make decisions when she gets married?
But then, these days, I don’t care. It’s about our lives, as husband and wife together and everything should be about how we build it. Rest of the world will get over it sooner or later!   Love,

© copyright 2014 – All rights reserved

Riot of Random

Under the Hibiscus Shrub

As the candle depletes the flame grows. The candle shrinks a little lower; the flame grows a little bigger. It’s an irony – how the wax has to melt in order to burn the flame. But if you look at it, it makes perfect sense though. To make something, something else must give. The world hangs on a precarious balance. Everything must compensate. Like I do. Like I am doing right now.
I am compensating my lack of social activities by my studies. Before that I had to compensate an argument with Principal MJ during my final year of MBBS by having to come here for my first year residency. And even before that I compensated a drunken night of carnal fetishes by having to let my girlfriend go. How could you? I hate you and I never want to see your fucking face again. She had said.
The only good thing about living in a godforsaken place like this is - there’s no distraction whatsoever. I have no other option to pass my time in the evenings than to study. So I do it. I study and then I study some more. Even the endless power cuts don’t deter me. I have resolved to top the MD entrance. It’s difficult. But I am smart. And it’s the only thing that keeps me sane, keeps me focused.
The flame dies with a snap.  I sigh and slap my anatomy book shut. The red digits on my alarm clock show the time - 1:07 am. I know now, it’s going to be one of those nights when the power doesn’t come back the till the morning. I don’t have a spare candle stocked. I burned up all three I had. So I can’t study, but I can’t sleep either. I don’t sleep till after 3.
I come out on the porch. The wood that runs right down to the estuary is very dark tonight. And silent. Actually it’s always silent here. They say Nishi lives in the woods. Nishi, she is a witch. Apparently she comes calling men in a sweet voice in a very alluring sort of way. And then they disappear. So no one lives on this side of the town.
Good for me. My solitude is important if I am ever going to top the MD entrance exam. And thanks to her, I have to pay virtually nothing towards the rent for this sturdy bungalow.
There is no moon in the sky tonight. Only a million stars. I never knew there were so many of them before I came here. They make the sky look like a very battered piece of cloth trying to cover a shiny surface underneath.
The thought makes me laugh. I always knew I was very bad at romanticizing the nature. I throw my head back and laugh. But then I stop because something glints in the woods.
I squint. But it’s gone. I squint some more. There’s nothing glittery anywhere apart from the sky above.
***
In the morning, the hospital is a chaos. The sanitary super has gone missing. They can’t find him anywhere. No one saw him after the assembly last evening. They say it’s Nishi who has taken him. But I think he will turn up. Perhaps it’s only his drinking that has gotten worse. I won’t even be surprised if any of the patients or their relatives did it. After all, I myself find it difficult to ignore how filthy the hospital looks.
Two days later, there’s still no sign of him. I am not sure what could have happened. He seems to have evaporated. The police had come yesterday. They asked me few questions. When I told them where I live they looked strangely at me. I think they also believe in the Nishi legend. I don’t blame them though. A small town such as this does this to you. It makes you believe in stupid things. It makes you superstitious.
My left temple is throbbing. I think I need to get my eyes rechecked. The words are bleeding into each other. I can hardly tell femur from fibula. I’d better take a break and make myself a cup of coffee.
Outside, the sky is devoid of any star today. A heavy layer of grey clouds covers the sky. They won’t rain but will only make the air stuffy. As I sit on my arm chair in the veranda with my coffee, I spot the glint in the woods again. I am alert in a second. The glint goes and then comes back. It’s a lamp, flickering! Someone’s there in the woods.
I run inside and peep from the window. I can’t see it anymore. But a minute later, a woman steps out. Into the clearing that stretches from my gate to the woods. She looks young. Her saree is draped in local style, but I can’t tell from here what colour it is. Her hair is gathered on top of her head and she carries a small lamp covered in a paper shade.
My throat is caught in a lump. Is she Nishi? Are all those tales true then? She looks up at my house. Surprised. The lights are on, the fan’s moving, the window’s open. She knows now that I live here. I am afraid to breathe. In spite of everything, I don’t want to disappear. Not yet. My whole future’s ahead of me.
But a moment later, she bows her head, in a sadness that’s almost palpable. She clutches her lamp closer to her chest and walks on toward the town.***
I can’t concentrate. I can’t study, I can’t work. Dr. Baruah has had to call me out of my reverie – twice. That woman is all that my mind is full of. She was so sad. Why? What was she doing in the woods so late at night? Who was she?
I spend the nights awake, squinting at the woods, looking for a sign of a flickering light. But nothing moves. The dark remains unperturbed.
Days later, just when I can’t take any more, I see her again – going in the woods. I grab a flashlight and follow. I am aware of the risk, but I can’t stop. She marches on, oblivious. The soft rotting foliage on the ground hushes the footsteps.
I walk on, how long I don’t know but I hear the water now. The estuary must be close. She stops short in her steps and turns as suddenly as a whip of wind. She has known all along. There’s no point to hide. I can tell. Because she starts to laugh.
Come, beckons she.
Where? I ask, automatically. But she ignores. She turns and disappears behind a thick hedge. I wait a moment and then enter the spot where she had disappeared.
Image Courtesy: http://www.orkugifs.com/It’s a neat little hut. Earthen walls and straw roof. An oil lamp burns on the window sill. The hibiscus shrubs are visible in its shady illumination. Flowers as big as my face. They sway so gently in the imperceptible breeze that they appear to be breathing to me. As I follow her inside, a pair of wild yellow eyes follow me. I guess it’s a cat, because she wouldn’t know how to pet a wolf, would she?
She is sitting on a wooden charpoy. There is no other furniture in the room – only a few crude wooden racks filled with clay jars. Her feet are dangling few inches above the clayed floor. She has placed the lamp she was carrying in a corner. It casts long flickering shadows.
It’s awkward. But there’s no way back. So I stand by the door.
She looks at me. Even though its dark and I can hardly see her face, I can tell that she has exceptionally bright eyes. They lamp reflects in them making them look mysterious.
Medicines. She says, eyeing me intently.
What?
They are medicines I make from the jungle herbs. For men, animals and plants. Those jars. She clarifies.
Plants?
Yes. Crops.
Whom do you sell them to? People are scared of you!
I have channels. And people are not scared of me. Her voice loses some of its mysteriousness and becomes shrill and accusing.
I don’t know why she is telling me this. I look at her. Why am I here? What am I doing? I don’t know this woman, yet I am having a conversation with her and feeling perfectly at ease with it. As if I know her long. It isn’t normal, but doesn’t feel that way. I keep standing by the door – only lean my back against the mud wall. I have a feeling that it’s going to be a long night.
She appears to have listened to my thoughts. Because when she speaks next, the smooth closed mysteriousness is back - Why are you here? She asks. What’s your name?
Kush. What’s yours?
They call me Nishi.
They call you a witch too.
She laughs. Out loud. It’s a beautiful sound. Like the Jaltarang - being played by an expert hand. Her head is thrown backwards. Her hands are stretched back and the palms rest on the wooden surface of the charpoy. Her legs cross at the ankles. I can’t tell if her body is shaking from the force of the laughter because it’s dark. I wish it wasn’t.
After a full minute she stops and looks at me.
Yes. I know.
But I don’t believe them though! It’s all bullshit.
I know. You city dwellers, you have different demons. You don’t need witches to scare you. Do you?
But you are not a witch, are you?
What if I am?
You don’t look like one!
How many have you met?
I don’t know what she is talking about. But the way she speaks, scares me. The way her eyes shine make hair on my arms stand. I scramble out of the door. I don’t know why but I feel dismissed. I feel insulted. The bright yellow eyes stare right at me. A loud meow tells me it is indeed a cat. A witch’s cat? As I make my exit, I can hear her laughing again.
Keep straight. Don't lose your way! The jungle’s not easy to navigate at the night. City boy! She calls after me. Her voice is laced with mockery. It doesn’t escape me. But I am too far gone to care.
I stumble out of the hedge that hides the hut from view and sprint. I don’t know where I am going. I don’t know what I am running from. Just a persistent nagging inside my chest urging me to run. Her uncanny laugh still rings in my ears. I must run as far as I can from her.
***
I can see my house. The lights in the front garden are on. The fist that was clutching my heart loosens its grip a little. My breaths become less jagged. I am home, I am safe.
But I don’t go inside my house. I am scared Nishi may still catch me there. So I keep running, half running really, I think my ankle may have sprained.
In the hospital, people listen to me in a fascinated silence as I tell them my tale. I am the only one, they say, to have escaped. That her voice held no appeal to me. That I must be some kind of a superhuman. I can’t help but gloat a little.
When I recount it again to the town head, I elaborate it a little more, add some more details. He looks awed. He says he’s never seen someone so capable. In front of the police officers, I modulate my voice dramatically, trying to recreate how I was feeling when I met Nishi. I describe the unearthly sound of her laugh with precision, her glow-in-the-darkeyes. I describe how she stored magic potions in the earthen pots. I describe her giant black cat that was as big as a leopard. With each retelling my tale grows more elaborate. I don’t think I am exaggerating; it’s just that I remember more as I think more about it.
***
I have become a local hero. I think rightly so. After all, no one so far has escaped Nishi – the great witch. She sucks the souls out of people, but failed against me. I always knew I was smart. Now I know I am powerful too, to resist such dark magic.
Even all of Dr Baruah’s patients have been coming to me for treatment. Surviving the meeting with Nishi has made me a better doctor too. They are curious, naturally, about what happened in the woods. I don’t deny them the chilling story even though I am starting to feel tired of telling the same thing over and over.
Today, I am leading a procession of men to Nishi’s cottage. It was the town head’s idea really, he asked me for this favour. We are carrying fire torches of course. Fire repels dark magic. It’s not that I am not scared, I am. But I don’t have a choice. They want to have a meeting with her. And, even though I don’t want to admit it, I want to see her again.
***
But the crowd becomes madder the nearer we get. They become uncontrollable. They chant something I don’t understand. They trample the hedge down and sprint toward her hut with their torches held high. They scare me. I fear in their excitement they may hurt Nishi.
As I try to contain them in vain, they surround the hut. Before I can stop them they set it on fire. The dry straws of the roof cackle and burn bright. It takes me all my strength to push through the crowd. The loud call from the cat tells me it’s trapped inside. I try to negotiate with the men but they look back at me with the same glint in their eyes as Nishi’s that night. Their eyes gleam – not from the fire but from within. It’s menacing. It’s craziness, beyond reason. I shiver. Nishi won’t survive them. Where is she now? Inside?
I try to cut my way further. But it’s a sea of people. They push me down. Something sharp jab my ribs. Someone’s cane. I fall. I hear my ankle snap. No one stops to help me up. They are intoxicated. They are like predators smelling blood. They shout loud. So loud that my cry for help goes unnoticed. Waves upon waves of footsteps run over me. No one takes any notice of the lump I am becoming.
Suddenly it all stops. The door of the hut has been thrown open. A petite figure stands there - ablaze. I try to get up, yet again. But she starts running, screaming – an unnatural sound of utter despair, enough to claw the noble souls out of their safety in heaven. It punches my stomach and my limbs feel like jelly. She runs past me, the fire burning brightly in the east wind. Flakes of fire fly in the wind like the brightest fireflies.
I feel her pain. More acutely than I had ever imagined. I feel the sting of the burn, the smell of flesh burning. I feel her fear, her despair. I want to help her. Save her.
But the burning smell overwhelms me. And the pain too. I look around. My leg is on fire. I don’t know how. I try to roll on the ground but my other ankle makes me cry out loud. 
The waves of footsteps start again – in the opposite direction this time – following the burning figure towards the river. They are going to get her. They will kill her even if she jumps in the water.
The fire burns higher, up till my waist now. As I writhe under the hibiscus shrub, I know, suddenly, clearly, that I must make amends, once again, for my actions. What I must give up this time! Me!

I don’t know if it will work. Whether or not they will prefer saving their hero over killing the villain. But it’s my only chance. I start to scream as loud as I can. A lone red flower from the shady Hibiscus shrub falls on the ground. They must hear me. They must.
Love,

© copyright 2014 – All rights reserved

Riot of Random