2. j

I try calling Shamita. Her number is busy. The epitome of irritation in inter-human relations is this. A busy number. In modern times, whenever you are at the peak of an emotional state, the first thing you do before contemplating over it is call up someone and bombard them with the excess emotions you are unable to hold within yourself. And at such times, the opposite person is always busy. The next situation when the ‘number busy’ message can be a prime irritant is when you need to desperately talk to someone regarding some imperative matter and you find the message arrogantly being spoken into your ears by some dame in a posh accent. Some crotchety souls also face an impulse to enter the phone through the voice hole and smash the messenger’s head with a semiconductor inside the phone.

“The customer you are tring to call is currently busy!”

Busy my arse!

I have a clear idea of the reason behind this. I try Preeti’s number. She doesn’t pick it up. She comes to the terrace instead. She is about to shout when she realizes that it is dark around. She picks up the phone then.

“Shamita??”
“Busy…on phone.” She shows it with a hand gesture. It somehow looks funny to me. A real phone in one hand and a gesture in another. I smile.
“Tell her I have to talk to her…and it’s urgent” I say.

It is the same when Shriya joins her. She waves to me. I wave back. She takes the phone away from Preeti. I wish it was bright. I would have enjoyed catching the look on Preeti’s face. It merely passes off as a frown in the darkness.

Hey…Ani Honey…what’s you doing here so late?”
“I should be asking you this”

Shriya is a localite. Just like Dilip’s girl Priyanka. Born and brought up in this crazy city. As crazy as it. That’s the reason, finding her at Shamita’s room stuns me.

“Night out!” she says giggling.
“Cool…how’s it going?”
“Boring!....Shammy’s stuck on her phone…and rest are planning to sleep!”
“Sad!” I just say that. That is the only adjective I can use for a night out like this.
“What are you doing?” She asks. I feel a mild tickle a few inches below my belt.
“Nothing…just wanted to talk to Shammy about something”
“But she is busy…now?”
“Now I will roam around, comeback and talk to her… and then go back to my room”
“Ohh kay…”
“Wanna join in?” There goes the indecent proposal in disguise of a boredom buster. I know the assent is on its way. It is not because she is bored. It is a feminine ego clash. And there is an analysis to it.

Analysis:
Shamita calls Shriya for a night out. Excited Shriya comes for a night out. They start having fun. They finish the dinner. And Shamita gets a call. Others expect it to end in ten minutes. It longs for an hour and doesn’t seem to end. They know who is on line. They murmur amongst themselves
Level 1: “Can’t she understand it’s our night out?”
Level 2: “Even we have boyfriends…if we want…even we can talk to them…but it’s a time reserved for us…”
Level 3: “Such a bitch…she spoilt the entire night out”
Level 4: “What the fuck does she think of herself?”

They all decide to go to bed bored and pissed off. Including Shriya.

Enter me.

Shriya’s mind: Bitch is still stuck with the boy on phone. I came here for her…and she’s showing off her man to me. Look here Shammy….I too have got a man now….I don’t need to wait for you to cut that call and entertain me.

“Could be” she says. The analysis is right.
“The roaming could be extended to an Ice Cream treat…” I raised my bid. I still had a last hundred in my wallet.
“Strawberry Surprise…” she says
“Chocolate Seduction…” I say.

She disappears from the terrace handing over the phone to Preeti. I request Preeti to tell Shamita that I would be coming back.

Shriya is at the gate in her night suit. A shirt filled with small teddy bear and matching shorts. He ego trip didn’t even allow her to change.

We start walking.

“So…how come a night out today….I mean tonight?”
“Wanted to live like you guys for a night…”
“And..?”
“Didn’t work out!”
“Well…it works out only when people know you are here…”
“As if it was going to be different”
“It could still be different…”
“How?”
“Ice cream…”
“Just that?”
“And a race too…because the shop would be closing by now”
“Now?”
“On your marks…”
“Wait…I’m not even…”
“Get set…”
“Ani…”
“Go…” I start running. She follows up. I run slow for her to catch up. She overtakes me. I run behind her. She runs faster. I get near her. I am about to over take her. We are at the shop. The shopkeeper turns the key and locks the outer safety grill.

“Fuck!” she says panting. She is sweating badly after the arduous run. She needs an ice cream.
I go up to the shopkeeper and request him for ice creams. He agrees without much resistance. The smile effect! Also if you provide a shopkeeper with a business of atleast one hundred and fifty rupees per day, he is bound to do it for you.

Two cones. Chocolate seduction. Dark chocolate with Chocó chips and Chocolate filling. Total chocolate. Total seduction.

I pass on the first cone to her. I open mine.

I am impressed” she says taking a bite.

“Me too…dunno how they make it so great!” Get cocky!
“I was saying that for you stupid…”
“Me too!”
“Shut up!”
Bulls eye!

We walk some steps with our ice creams. I walk by her side.

“That’s it?” She asks.
“What do you want?”

She takes a long pause. And then says….

(Contd.)

2.i

(Content Deleted)

2.h

One of my biggest handicaps at this place is an unavailability of a vehicle called motorcycle.
It is a two-wheeler with a motor between the wheels, which is run by an engine, which again is between the two wheels. But world would have been a lot better place if it had just been a vehicle. In this place it is a way of being.

People here don’t walk. They merge their feet with the vehicle. They make the wheels out of their legs and they walk, rolling them with horsepower. You need motorcycle to go to work. You need a motorcycle to go to the chowk. You need a motorcycle to go to the grocery shop. You need a motorcycle for your morning walk. You need a motorcycle to buy a pack of biscuits from the shop below your home. You need a motorcycle to eat on you dining table. You need a motorcycle to shit and then you need a motorcycle to wash it off your arse too. The local residents lived on the motorbike. And the migrant male students died on it. They rode their bikes day in and day out. From one end of the city to other. And then rammed it into a milestone, a truck or a tanker. And died on it. Female students managed to stay alive. They were always awed by machos who commanded these roaring machines and fell for them instantly. Or did they fall for the involved convenience regarding traveling, was a matter of reflection. But they merrily took up the role of pillion riders, keeping aside their otherwise feminist ideology and jumped to safety in such situations. They escaped with minor injuries like a fracture or a broken spine, which could be mended later. But they lived to see their flourishing careers and set up families. That was the circle of life. Some sadists amongst the survived women, also named their kids after the dead guys. This choice of name could be called ironic. Passing on the same fate of a dead man in your past life to your own child which is about to begin its life.

Being deficient of a motorbike narrows down the chances of getting a woman in this place. And not having a woman, brings down the chances of being sane in this place. Almost every arse here has a motorcycle seat to rest itself upon. Except some like me, who overcome this deficiency by maintaining strong relationships. Especially with people who have a motorbike but don’t have anybody to ride on the pillion seat.

“Harshad…I wanted your bike for a day.” I lit him a cigarette.
“Don’t ask for permission fucker…It’s yours”
“Thanks..”
“Dam??” He asks taking a puff from the lit cigarette.
“Hill Station”
“Ohh!....weekend??”
“I said a day bro…”
“Yeah…24 hrs…”He smiles naughtily.

That is the problem with the virgins. The thought of someone else getting laid, excites them more than the person getting laid. They will pull your leg. They will encourage you. They will give you concessions. They will exaggerate the situation. They will drive you crazy by showering goodwill. They will also imagine the scenes to themselves and enjoy them. Even jerk over it. They will praise you. They will respect you. They will despise you. They will bloat up the situation and burst it all over you. Even when it’s not the way they imagine it to be. Like now.

“Arey yaar…Shamita’s brother is coming there for a conference…she wants to meet him…have to take her yaar…”
He suddenly looses the mischievous glow on his face.
“Ohh…kay!” He tediously utters the word.
“When is it??” He asks spuriously.
“Day after tomorrow…” I answer.
“Arey I have to go to meet my Mama….when do you want it exactly??”
“No issue boss…will send her by train…will ask her brother to collect her from the station…” I speak before he ends.
“Arey…it’s not like that..”
“Chill dude….no worries!!” I throw a fake smile and punch his belly playfully.

I never guessed. I was not shocked. Not because he did it. Because I couldn’t guess that he could do that. I didn’t prepare myself for this. Complete failure. I had missed this line as I was chalking out the design. An important line. The darkest and the thickest one. Sometimes relations you maintain with people make you forget the obvious. The obvious way they could behave when you touched their delicate impulses. You forget that before they are whoever they are to you, they are individuals. Stand alone human beings with their true disposition. And when you scrape off the layer of your relation off them, you experience the true humans in them. The humans which you had been neglecting when you were busy living these relationships. Love, friendship, family or anything else, these primal instincts form the base for each of them. Just that we are unaware of them And when we come across them in these relationships, they purely shock us. Devastating us, destroying our faith in them. But the truth is, people are just being one their real self at such moments.

“Take it in the evening yaar…I will come back by three…I will bring it to you myself after that…”
“Its okay buddy…relax!!!” I say.

Harshad has a small arse. Or else I would have asked him to thrust his bike up his arse. Bhenchod!

Had Shammy not been a friend of mine in this situation, I would have made her fall in love with me. Got her laid and mailed him the pictures of us kissing each other passionately.
And If I had a chance to marry her, then I would have sent him five invitation cards, one for each family member. And would’ve had tweleve kids, just to call him ‘Mama’. Maternal uncle, their mother’s brother. I would have also asked Shamita to send him a Rakhi every Raksha Bandhan. Two of them to tie on two of his wrists.

But then I realize. Its not his fault. It’s his instinct.

2.g

I can feel gentle fingers pressing my eyelids. Still I guess it’s Rahul. I expect a knee in my spine. It doesn’t come for a long time.

“Guess” A feminine voice attacks my ears. I wonder for a moment that Rahul is attacking me in a feminine voice. I am almost saying, “No need to change your voice…” when I recognized the voice. Better late than never. I changed my words to “Shamita…stop it!”

“Fuck!...You caught me!”
“I hear that voice everyday Shammy!”
“But you don’t know the fingers!” she says.
“I would’ve!” I said to myself. Then I was entangled in my questions. Didn’t I? Or did I? I did secretly. But not the way the bastard Aman them. Was I secretly despising him? Or was I a feminist?

She sat before me. Late day charm. She picks the sandwich from my plate and takes a bite. I look at her. Such an overt act means the woman is happy.

“What happened?” I say snatching the Sandwich from her hands. Never let a married man’s girlfriend eat your Sandwich.

“Aman had called up….”

Tell me something new. He does that everyday. Thank god I took my sandwich back at the right time.

“What was (Bastard) saying?” The word Bastard was lost in chewing the sandwich. But trust me, It was there. Just that I couldn’t spit it out.

“He has an idea…” Yeah yeah! Now that he is married, he will have all sorts of ideas.
“What??” I am still eager to know.
“He wants meet me!” She says almost screaming out.
Yes. Why not! Are you sure that he just wants to meet?
“That’s nice!” I say in approbation.
“Isn’t it?....He’s coming to the hill station for two days for a conference…that’s when he will meet me.”

We have a Hill station close to this city. It is close to my city too. Of course, when the two cities are close, the hill station has to be close. But the point here is, being equidistant from both the cities, it is a preferred spot of the lovers from the both cities to go jaunting. Well, everything inclusive. We get cheap to exquisite hotels and romance is added free of cost to the climate. More than climate, it’s the sense of lone togetherness that makes it more quixotic.

It’s flocked with couples on weekends. And yes. Sometimes, some companies hold some conferences there too. Giving its employees a chance to meet their extra marital partners.

“That’s great!” I do say that. But I don’t exclaim the way she does. I merely say it for the sake of it. She probably doesn’t realize this.

“Yeah na???...But I have a problem…”
“What?” I was smelling danger here.
“I want somebody to accompany me there…” The danger was here!
“Take your roommates!” I say insipidly. I play a good arsehole at times.
“They are of no use…” Which means they don’t support her in this. That is an incredible quality of Indian women. They despise all those women who disagree with them. In such cases, only the view beholding women possesses sense and nobody else does. “Only you can understand yaar Anay…please don’t disappoint me!”

I remember that the seed was sown by me itself. Now if the sapling needed water, it would look up to me.

“Please” She held my hand. I felt a warm current running through me. I stole a glance at Sneha. She was staring at us furiously. Someone was going to have sandwich filled with mustard sauce. But the ignition couldn’t be ceased.

“Yes” I say caught between a rage, a temptation and an urge.

(Contd.)

2. f

“Where’s aunty?” I ask Sneha.
“Not at home…” She says with a smile. It’s their motto. Service with a smile!
“How long?” I look around and ask grinning mischievously.
“Fifteen minutes….” She says poking my nose with a ladle in her hand.
I say “Enough for us!”

Sneha was the first girl I interacted when I arrived at this place. Her mom a small food joint opposite the campus. The rear of the joint, dissolved into their one storied bungalow. After we had finished our admission procedure, Dad desperately wanted to have a tea. Aunty’s food joint was lot more tempting than the campus canteen. Dad preferred Aunty’s Joint over the canteen. Later I knew that his choice was right and numerous other campus dwellers did the same. A cozy place, run in the backyard of the bungalow, through the kitchen window. And an adjoining door for the servants to collect the left-overs. As I accompanied my Dad to the place for the tea, The first thing that caught my eye was not the coffee machine there.

Aunty had spotted the potential customer in me then, and had started a conversation with my Dad. As our parents talked, we had talked through our glances. Some nuts are easiest to crack. And they send you an electromagnetic wave. If you catch them rightly by your antenna, you get the opportunity to crack them. It’s science. Pure science.

As we left, I throw a last look at her. And she had smiled. I had smiled back. She had then quickly waved a good bye to me, stealing a moment from her mother’s reign over her.
Later, when I was searching for a Mess in this place, I had walked up to her, at the end of the day, when she was winding up the joint alone. I helped her gather the plastic chairs and foldable tables and arrange them in a neat stack at a corner of the backyard. Starting from the mess, we talked about thousand other things. About life, about the place and about each other. The chord was struck then. And the music played till date.

I slowly crept my hand inside the window slit Aunty had made for serving stuff and reached for her hand. She whacked on it with the ladle. I pulled it back with an impulse. She laughs.

I turn back. I see Rahul entering the joint. Harshad’s old friend from To conceal the mishap, I wave to him. He doesn’t wave back. He is obviously pissed with me. Like many others who are a target of my mockery. What could I do if he looked like Tej Sapru of all. Harshad had opened my eyes to this fact. It was his college fact. I just traced it further. I started with calling him Tej Sapru. Then Sapru Saahab and then Tej. Unfortunately, people had started calling him Tej like me. He was busy these days suppressing the wave.

“Ask him what he wants…” Sneha winked at me. I took up her demand for entertainment.

“Oye Tej…kya lega re…what will you have?” I ask him at the top of my voice. Everybody hears it. He gives me a fiery stare. I see aunty coming. I quickly turn back, pick up my sandwich and get seated away from the window. I am about to take a bite and I see a shadow hovering over me. I turn in its direction. Rahul stands beside me.

“Arey Tej…..What happened?” I ask playfully.
“My name is Rahul…not Tej…this is the last time I am telling you this…next time I won’t tell you…” That was a threat. I had realized it. Sometimes I am scared of situations. I have a pent-up fear of them.
“That means you would get used to it by then….” I joked smartly to avoid the situation.
“Too much of smartness has got into your arse eh??....Its not difficult for me to beat it out…” It infuriates him further.

I stand up facing him.

“Last time” he says sternly and leaves.

I am shaken. Yet I appear to be calm. I sit down and I bite into my sandwich with trembling feet. Was I scared. Yes I was. Inside my pretentious fearless self, lies a coward. I cannot fight. The fear of getting beaten up grips me. I can’t face an opponent into his eyes. I cant react quickly to his physical assault. All I can do is destroy the opponent completely with my brain. That is my way of responding. I always believe that, those who cannot use their brain, use their hands. I use the brain. That is all that I know about myself. That I have a brain. And therefore I am.
I chew the sandwich with a determination. I have to find a retort for Rahul. I cant keep getting threatened in public places. Especially like these. I throw a fake smile at Sneha.

Somebody closes my eyes tight suddenly. I can feel gentle fingers pressing my eyelids.

2. e

We sit there wordlessly smoking our cigarettes. I keep looking at the Expressway. India’s first Expressway. A party head’s dream. A government’s mission and a state’s pride. It joined the two capitals of the same state. Two divergent urban civilizations separated by a mere distance of one hundred and ninety five kilometers. One cultural and one economic. One disorganized, one crazy. One easygoing, one stringent. Like two contrasting siblings born astonishingly to a same mother. A thick line holding them together. Binding their bodies while preserving the individuality in their souls. It was a belt that held the two wheels of a machine together.
I looked at the western end of it, in the direction of my home. It dissolved in the dark horizon at the end of the curve. Like everything else, it disappeared after it. It must’ve dropped off the edge like the Greeks thought. Maybe they were right. If not in the geological sense, but surely in a sense of perception. Horizons did trap us. We only crossed them when we wanted. Till then it was the point where the land ended for us. And those who did, returned back to the lives marked within the horizon or kept yearning to do so. Dreaming of it, every moment they spend outside the horizon.

I had my home beyond the horizon. In the other city. The place where I was born and brought up. The place which built up my soul. The city which ran through my blood. The city across the sea. The city on an island. I didn’t go there much. I was happy here. Not because I loved this place. But it gave me a frameless world to live my life. This sovereign way to life was what kept me glued to the place. It was not that I didn’t want to go there. It was just that I didn’t preferred going much. Here I had my own life. It was imperfect in sane senses. But it was mine. I ruled it. I lived it.

This was the Expressway which had brought me to this place. And I know that this is the Expressway which will take me back home. It had shown me freedom. It had introduced me to independence. It had taught me to stand up for myself. And it had given me the license to behave the way I want. And when I had to be to myself, it seated me besides it. Endowing me with peace and solemnity to get back to my life in the arsehole of the world.

“Why did this happen?” Piyush spoke taking a puff. He had curled up his legs to his chest, like a villager sitting before a flame. Villager that he was. Villlager that he will be. Such moments take the villager out of him.

“It shouldn’t have” I reply smoking mine.
“”Why does this happen to me?...Why?”

This is the line I hate the most. It incenses me when someone utters this line. The line is a fucking epitome of self pity. Why did it happen to me? What do people want to prove with the line? That they are the only sad individuals on the back of this earth? That nobody is sad except them? What do they want to say? Bloody losers! After being used by billions and trillions of people around the world, the line now carries a profile.

Line: Why does this happen to me? / Why does this happen to me only?
Users: Every individual loosing an opportunity.
Purpose: Express sadness
Target: Men target women; Women target men and women
Success: 78%
Expected answer: Awwwww….don’t cry! Poor baby!
Inappropriate answer: It happens to everybody…all of us…

“It happens to everybody dude…all of us…” I said rather impartially.

He looks at me shocked.

“What is important is what we do in such situations…” I continue with same state of commenting.

A silence lingers between us for some moments. He seems unable to react. His silence speaks for him.

“What are you doing?” I break the silence with my question.
“Harshad is my friend…”
“Hmm...”
“A part of our brotherhood…”
“Yeah”
“His happiness….is my happiness…”
“I asked you what are you doing?” I stress on the word ‘you’ on loss of patience to his overtly expressive statements.
“Giving up” He replies proudly.

Sacrifice! Arsehole never loved her. I believe people who are ready to sacrifice in love, never are in love at any point of time. They just feel that they are in love and enjoy the pleasure of being in it. In the deprived society of ours, even this feeling gives them an upper hand over others who don’t fall in love predecidedly. It makes them feel special and they find the trip equally worthy of falling in love itself. The quick sacrifice from Piyush was doubting the validity of his feelings before me.

“Are you sure?” I ask him.
A long silence prevails. I wait or an answer. It doesn’t come for a long time. I wait more.
“Are you sure?” I ask him, utterly frustrated by his silence.

He again took a pause. A small one this time. Then he twists his face. And then he answers. Finally.

“No…”

Clever arse. He keeps a room for himself. After he had lost hope, cribbed over his fate, cried like sucker, decided to secrifice, he says he isn’t sure if he will let Harshad take her home as his wife. He does expect a miracle secretly within him. Bloody hope dies hard! I catch him with that line.

“When will you be?” I ask.
“My mind says No….but my heart says..” He begins.
“I asked when will you be sure?” I cut him off.
“Don’t know”
“Piyush….” I speak with a determination “As I said… What is important is what we do in such situations…And you don’t know what you have to do….And when you don’t know that….you suck!”
“I do suck…I know..” he begins another emotional mono act.

“Shut the fuck up” I shout on him “Know what you want to do…decide it fucker!...sooner the better..”
“But….”
“I will ask you this question once more….decide it till then…” I don’t let him speak. I strike my sentence on him like a threat and I leave from the rock.

Shaken to the core, Piyush starts following me hurriedly, to catch up with me.

I give him time. I buy some time. Not for him. But for myself. I have my plans. I won’t speak it out this time. Speaking out plans, spoils them for me. I am jinxed in that matter. I’ve realized this lately.

2.d

“Harshad” He says pulling back his molten mucous.

World halts for me for a second. Everything comes to a pause. It’s all blank. Unknowingly my hand moves towards my forehead. I divert it towards my hair and plough my fingers through them. I try hard to hide my disappointment. But it is clearly visible. I could have easily passed it as a disappointment for Piyush himself. But I was not in the state to use such smart tactics at the moment. I realize the bend in my spine.

I erect up. Choot was destroying everything. He has blown up both the plans. This is going to get worse. Things will sour up. I knew it from that night itself when these two yearned for the same thing. I tried my ways to avoid. I tried to soothe out the flow of events. I tried to shield the three entities from each other. But he was hell bent on spoiling everything. And he has succeeded. What the fuck is wrong with him? Arsehole thinks being in love is like being on the moon. Equaling Neil Armstrong’s achievement. Hoisting a flag on moon. I don’t know how many others he has told about this. I don’t know how things will be in future. And I don’t know what next I can do to avoid this future. Rascal has put me in a catch. He has shat heartily. Now I will have to wipe it clean.

Piyush has begun sobbing all over again. That irks me. I still stroke his back and try to console him. He holds my hands and starts sobbing on it. His tears wet the back of my palms. I want to push him away. Slap him and leave the room. I tousle his hair instead. Try comforting him. . To the extent that people seeing us at the stroke of that moment would have called us homosexuals. Better known as gays. it happens so that you want to hate some people for what and how they are. But you never end up doing it. You try hard. But you are never able to. On the other hand, there are some people you never are able to get close, to in the presence of the fact that you yearn to be in their inner circles. You force yourself with that feeling, but you never feel like crossing the line of proximity. In spite of your efforts, you are not able to connect with them. Whereas, there is a thin line connecting you to people you want to hate, which disallows you to renounce them completely. That was a line which connected me to Piyush. I couldn’t push him away despite the fact that the sound of his mucous is getting on my brain. I let him cry on my hand.

Like a lightning, realization strikes him and he stops crying. He goes to the loo and washes him face. I hug him by the side and press his arm. He smiles faintly and sits on the bed.

“Chal…” I say.
He looks at me in astonishment. “Where?”, he asks.
“Expressway” I say, adding “We both need some open air.”
“Yup” He agrees to my surprise.

He changes to his, similarly ridiculous as indoor, outdoor clothes and we leave on his bike.

- - -

It’s a three minute ride. There is a chill in the air. Especially at this point of the evening. The air still carries the possibility of a sudden rain in its moistness. Piyush rides slower than usual today.
The chill soothes us of our worries. We halt at a Pan Beedi shop and buy some cigarettes.
We turn to the local run running parallel to the Expressway. Piyush turns the bike into the barren field and rides it upto the foothills of the mountain next to the Expressway. We climb up to our usual rock and sit upon it. ‘The Rock of Lonliness’ we call it. Because however we be a part of this large community of people in the college, we are lonely in this place. This arsehole of the world. Away from our homes and families. Away from our friend circle. Trying to connect to completely new people, different from those we always had around us. Trying to create a new circle at the cost of closest things. Trying to creating a new family with oddest of elements. Enjoying a freedom with a heavy price. The price of loneliness. The price we took by our choice of flying farther than our boundaries. Forgetting the fact that only loneliness prevails beyond them.

We sit on the ‘Rock of Lonliness’, light our cigarettes and start smoking. As the small bits of fire burn at the ends of our cigarettes, we stare blankly at the Expressway. A road in all it’s splendor.