A Village in the Middle of a City

The room is filled with a thick aromatic cloud of smoke. Our windpipes are choked, mouths have stopped munching and our nostrils are searching for a fresh whiff of air.

We aren’t dying. We are eating at Bunty’s one-room restaurant, which is filled with Indian-masala-fragrant smoke. Eating here means being prepared to face this harsh treatment, and many years of practice has grown us accustomed to it. For bachelors like us, Bunty is a God sent man, an owner of a round belly that comes erupting even outside his loose shirt and an ever-present cheerful grin over his face, showcasing his nice set of frontal teeth and making his small beady eyes grow even smaller.

His restaurant is one of its kind. A steel made shutter, which overlooks into a narrow, crowded gully, acts both as a door and a window. Just attached to the narrow gully, a set of staircase transports you to the shutter. As you move to the last stair, you can smell a whiff of exotic Indian masala and find sweat-drenched Bunty working diligently near the gas stove—either leveling paranthas or making alu fry or omellete. Some lazy people don’t climb in. They shout from the gully itself and place their order and smoke a cigarette or two till their order is ready.

**

Outside, sky is overcast with fluffy white clouds, and Sun is playing hide and seek behind them.

The paranthas look luscious with melted butter spread over. Suddenly, Sun appears and soon hides, not behind clouds this time, but behind a tall and grim human figure moving inside.

Penetrating the thick layer of smoke, Choudhary Jagdish Singh, a Jat and the owner of the building, enters the room, moves over to the refrigerator, takes out a small bottle of Thumps Up, removes the crown with a popping sound, and settling over a nearby chair gulps down half of it. Then putting the bottle down with a light thud, throwing a cursory glance from his plastic-framed glasses over the colored version of Dainik Jagran, and after a moment of inspection, he mutters complainingly, “What names, behenchod? Apartment, Hostel, Biwi No. 1 – what are these? Are these movies names or what?”

Bittu chuckles and so do we, giving encouragement to the JAT, to continue his verbal attack.

“Rajnigandha, Sholay, Anamika. These were the movies. Great actors then. Now, it’s all timepass, behenchod,” he continued.

We don’t chuckle. Feeling demotivated, he stops his monologue, orders an egg parantha, uncorks another bottle of Thumps up and digs himself in the newspaper.

Soon, with electricity back, smoke starts to find way out through the aid of a noisy exhaust fan rotating above Bunty’s head.

Sun is hidden again, behind clouds this time.

**

Bittu’s restaurant sits over a basement where an Internet Café runs, where kids from Government School after bunking their classes spend time watching porn. Sitting and eating paranthas in the restaurant, you can witness the different moods of various types of earthly creatures sashaying on the narrow, cramped gully.

In this April month, Sun is at its tyrannical best, getting insensitive with each passing year. But it is still not so powerful enough to dissuade peaceful, sleepy cows motivelessly ambling in the narrow gully; their meditative eyes reflecting disinterest toward the world and its inhabitants. A dispersed group of mangy dogs—with their salivating tongues gaping outside as if drained of all their vital energy—stealthily loiter around in some desperate search, suddenly stopping, raising their ears in rapt attention the moment they spot any thrown away food item. And often there is a fight, starting from a ‘grrr…grrr’, and resulting into “kayn kayn kayn kayn.”

Survival is for the fittest.

A small open area called Parak, which inhabits a marriage hall and a car-parking cum vegetable shopping area along with a small playground where children play cricket, football, volleyball all at the same time— there under the shadow of a Eucalyptus tree a JAT aunty is busy giving bath to her “constantly-munching-something” and white-teethed buffalo, the force of the cold water from the MCD pipe giving the silent buffalo a feel of heaven and wave her tail in extreme joy. And a little far away, under the shade of a small Neem tree, some JAT uncles resting their hips over a broken sofa and with their hunched backs are playing cards, loudly shouting “O Behenchod” at each other after every few minutes before concentrating again over their cards.

Litting his Navy Cut from a Chinese-made lighter, Dhiru breaks the ice, “Don’t you think we’ve wasted our precious youth in Katwaria Sarai?” in his south accented English. Dhiru is a long time friend who is Bengali by caste, Bihari by birth, and a keralite by education. He was one guy who immediately impressed me by his English when I first met him. With a stylish bag hung over his back, I remember he had asked something in fluent English, which I couldn’t understand in the first attempt. Being a guy from village, I had never spoken in English so I was immediately at awe.

“This is going to be our 10th year. We should settle down in some good place. Now, we are earning, man,” he said.

Saying so, he threw the small smoke balls one after another and took another deep drag. This time he let all the smoke out from a small opening of the right side of his lips. He is the only guy who plays with smoke in different ways. Being a non-smoker, I take all the fun by watching him.

My usual jolly friend certainly seemed in some serious mood. His serious demeanor of the last few hours had suggested that something serious had been cooking up in his head.

A man gets serious at a certain age—mostly either at the approaching age of marriage when he is unsuccessful at getting the right partner or after a few years of marriage after getting the wrong partner. The former case applied to him.

But I pondered over what he said. I felt he was right up to an extent. The world is so big. In fact, let’s not talk about the world. Delhi is in itself so big. What kept me in Katwaria Sarai—a place, I am sure, not even many Delhites know about? It’s very different from the rest of its surrounding areas. In fact, it’s a village in the middle of a city. Buffalo, cows, and Jat. Doesn’t that give you an idea? If not, you’ll get to know soon.

And with the fading clouds of smoke, wafting out of the room slowly and slowly, past memories unearthed: of my entry in Katwaria Sarai, friendship and acquaintances made and unrestrained fun. A world which was different from its neighboring posh localities, yet so unique in its own respect. And for the sake of telling these other worldly creatures—who often zipped outside Katwaria Sarai in their cars oblivious of many stories forming and dying in this Village in the Middle of a City— I am writing this story.

Love Finds its Way - Part 3

Awakening of Desire



Watching a romantic scene of the blockbuster movie Indecent Proposal on his China made DVD player — the scene in which Robert Redford impresses Demi Moore by telling her the story of his first love whom he saw in a moving train and could never see again— Padhi’s heart missed 8-10 beats. What heart scintillating romantic scene it was!

In the next few minutes during which Robert Redford and Demi Moore danced holding their hands together, swaying their body along with the rhtym of the music, Padhi’s popcorn munching mouth went still. A sweet, sad sensational current took a sudden birth down his spine and like a flickering current ran fiercely from bottom to top—and with that returned the deeply buried memory of his three-eyed damsel. Almost a year had passed since the occurence of that tragic event that had snatched his damsel and made the possibility of any reunion completely bleak. Hopelessness had made Padhi obliterate her from his mind. But it seemed destiny wasn’t letting him do that.

He switched off the Television and jumped up from the couch. Keeping his chin over his throat and looking downward pensively, he gave a few rounds of circulatory walk around the room like a man in deep thinking. Damsel’s eyes, her smile, and beautiful curvaceous body wafted before her eyes. As restlessness grew in him, the intensity of his walk increased too.

My Name is Roy….Sandipan Roy

In one of the dark streets of Kolkatta, a lady was pacing breathlessly toward her destination. Houses on both sides of the street slept as if induced to a high dose of cocaine. Not a soul stirred. But in these streets often lurked the shadows of thieves. And Oh! Girl….a beautiful girl. Has world been so nice to them? Her breathlessness was an indication of the fear known to only a girl. Suddenly, a lone mercury Bulb hung to a steel pole revealed her figure. A tall, beautiful figure. Not an Indian. Somewhere from the West.

As she moved to a wider street where light conquered darkness under the valiant efforts of mercury bulbs, the lady took a deep breath.

But her breath stopped in her diaphragm when she saw four demonic shadows approaching in front. Her womanish heart could sense they were dark characters and her heart beat faster. She paced forward, praying God to avert the danger. But they were dark characters and how could they not get tempted at the sight of a beauty. And there they surrounded her, stole her bag, and stared at her in ugliness.

A thin cry of help pierced the congested human habitation and echoed in the cocaine induced street.

“He he…Madam, no help here,” smirked a man with a bushy moustache and goatee.

Others laughed.

Girl’s eyes grew larger and she cursed them helplessly and awaited her doom. But then a bulb came to life in one of the cocaine induced building. The clatter of footsteps over the staircase enlivened the dark, dead street. And in a moment there was a help for the girl. He stood at a distance, grim and with a purpose. His face was not clearly visible in the dim light. His shadow fell and stretched like a ghost in the street. Dark characters went still for a moment. When they committed crimes, nobody interfered them. That was how it had been so far.



“Hey! Hero. Go back and sleep tight. You want to die?” cried one of them in an intimidating tone.

But instead of getting frightened and retreating to his room the man started to pace toward the dark characters. Seeing that, they too moved toward him, whipping out their knives.

The girl prayed for the valiant man who was taking such a risk for her. But in a minute, yes, in a minute, the four dark shadows disappeared in the darkness. And alone stood the man, his thick goggles now visible and his face still serious.

The girl almost ran toward the man and holding his both hands thanked him to the bottom of her heart. A smile came to his lips and then to his eyes.



“What’s your name?” asked the girl.

“Roy”….”Sandipan Roy,” the man said.

“Oh! James Bond style,” screamed the girl.

Roy smiled. “Where are you heading to, beautiful girl? Don’t you know night isn’t good for girls? I’ll escort you to your destination.”

The girl smiled and said, “How wonderful! Can you take me to Shyama Charan Mukherjee Street?”

“If you don’t mind, can I ask you what takes you there at this hour?”

“I’ve booked a hotel room there. I had ventured in the morning to capture the glory of daily life in Calcutta streets when I lost the way. And here I am.”

“What liveliness and simplicity,” Roy thought.

“Oh! No worries. I’ll drop you.”

And in his motorbike, Roy roared in the cocaine induced streets—the girl sitting on the back clutching Roy tightly. Shyam Charan Mukherjee Street was only 5 minutes away, but Roy took half an hour to reach the destination. He had fallen in love with the girl and chose a circuitous way instead so he could spend some time with the girl.

Next day, there was news of Sandipan Roy in the newspaper, highlighting him as a ghost buster. The headline read:

Beater of the Dark—a Hope for the Ladies

Sandipan drew his goggles closer. How come, he thought. Then, drinking his pudina laced herbal tea, he immediately roared toward the Shyam Charan Mukherjee street.

The girl came out to be a journo. They smiled and drank tea together.

In the next few days, Sandipan was busy giving interviews to news channels.

“So how did you do that? It must take a lot of courage to take on those murderers. From where did you gather all that courage?” asked the interviewer.

“Well, well. First of all, courage comes from the soul. If your soul is strong, then your body is strong too. Even a man who can lift 100 pounds of weight in gym will run at the sight of a kitchen knife, and a man who hasn’t even seen what a gym is like will remain unperturbed before a gun. It’s all soul, the power of soul.”

Padhi saw one such interview. “Oh! That’s our Sandipan. From where did he generate such power as to beat such dark characters in the dead of night?” thought Padhi.

He immediately dialed Sandipan’s number.

“Hey! Padhi. Arrey, how come after so many years?”

“Just saw your news. What a valiant feat! And what a beauty you protected! You will directly go to heaven after death. You should be honored with a bravery medal, man.”

“Ha ha! I’ve been learning kung fu and other secret techniques for quite some time from a Chinese trainer.”

“Great man! Let’s meet some time. Are you coming to Delhi?”

“No such plan, but you never know. Will certainly meet once I am there. Call Makheeja and KC too. Currently, going to watch A Romantic Manifesto with Charlene, the girl I saved.” And with that they transported their phones down to their pockets.

Padhi felt a bit jealous. He complained to God for being cruel to him. But he thought of meeting Makheeja and KC. It had been long since they met.


A Way

Makheeja was a changed man. Over his usual smooth chin and cheeks, there sprawled a beard. Some strange shine and seriousness resided in his demeanor. It was always evident from Makheeja’s behavior that he would one day throw such a surprise, but a surprise of this nature. Everyone sitting inside looked toward him.

Sitting around the round table of Café Coffee Day, Padhi asked, “Makheeja, strange to see you in this get up?”

The usual silent Makheeja smiled and then said, “Things change. Even I didn’t know that. Baba Ranganathan changed me.”

“Ranganathan?” exclaimed KC.

“The great tantric of Himalayas whom only the luckiest people (only if their destiny allows) can meet? And the master who has lived in the same body for several centuries,” he continued.

“Yes, you are spot on, KC,” Makheeja said.

“I had gone on a small trekking trip to Gaumukh when I met Ranganathan. I was sitting at the edge of a cliff, drinking Beer, when the great tantric appeared from the thin air and said he had long awaited me. I myself felt a little drawn toward him. There was some great magnetism in him and a strange force in his voice.”

“After a few months of tantra practices, the world is a different place now. Every mystery is no more a mystery. There is no planet in this universe that isn’t unreachable to me now.”

Hearing the last sentence, Padhi went attentive, “Can you really go to any planet?”

“I cannot only go there, but I can even bring people from there,” said Makheeja.

With a bit of shyness, Padhi asked, “Can you touch base with the three-eyed damsel too?”

Hearing that, Makheeja burst into laughter.

“What? You still stuck to that beauty? Nowadays, people change girlfriends or boyfriends every day. Oh! Boy, you’ve depth. I’ll do that for you. I’ll have to perform a special ceremony to bring your damsel here.”

“Can you really do that? I doubt, man,” KC exclaimed.

But when by his mere glance Makheeja moved the glass platter over the table, KC believed and Padhi’s heart sang the song of romance.

KCs Email

“Come to Delhi as soon as you can. Makheeja has developed great superpowers. I heard about your Charlene episode. You guys are progressing fast. Developing powers as if they could be bought from the market. And, yeah, Makheeja is performing some ritual to bring the three-eyed damsel. Come along with Charlene if she wants a great story for her news channel.”

KC dropped this email at Sandipan’s email id sandipan_the_lone_warrior@gmail.com

Sandipan responded:

“Good to hear from you, man. I remember that three-eyed damsel episode very well. I am excited to hear about the possibility of its resurface. I’ll talk to Charlene if she is willing. Going by her enthusiastic nature, I can say she will surely come, no doubt. See you there soon.”


Everybody is Looking for Love

In a secluded, peaceful cottage in Nahan, Makheeja’s hometown, all friends gathered. Weather carried a tinge of autumn freshness. Pleasant evening and birds’ restless retreat to their homes made existence exciting. Trees stood fresh in silence, with no complaints in life.

Tea was served. All thanked Makheeja for organizing a get together, in which he had always been bad.

Then, when it was dark, Makheeja brought two big white stones, kept them closely together and keeping his eyes shut for a while mumbled some mantras.

Then with his eyes closed, he said, “The planet is located. I’ve touched base with the three-eyed damsel.“

Hearing that, Padhi’s heart fluttered. “Really? Can you talk to her?”

“Yea, she is angry with you. She says you didn’t try to search her all this time. That shows there is no real love.”

“The same girlish behavior. Tell her I love her from the deepest of my heart. I have thought about her all this time…just about her.”

“She says what proof you can give her of your love.”

Padhi, not finding any concrete proof, implemented the same old technique boys have used for many centuries. He said, “Ok, tell her if she doesn’t come, I’ll jump from the cliff at this instant.”

“No, no need, she is coming. But she says there is another girl, her bestest buddy, willing to see passionate, romantic Indian men.”

“I can support her too. I’ve accumulated a lot of money from my onshore ventures,” said Padhi.

“Ok…be ready then.”

And at that very moment a bright light engulfed the room for a moment, and two sparkling girls stood in front. One pounced over Padhi the moment her eyes met Padhi’s. The other girl was even more beautiful. KC, who had remained a single so far, didn’t want to remain single after seeing her. So, before Padhi could take both girls away, he approached the girl and said, “I haven’t seen anything so beautiful in my life. Your eyes carry the silence of lake, your cheeks have the curves of mountains found only in Himalayas, and your lips have the flutter of a passionate bird always willing to fly high in the sky.”

Hearing that, the girl almost screamed in joy, hugged KC, and said, “I always knew Indian boys are poetic and romantic. So true.”

Makheeja, whose mind was in dwindle after seeing the beauty, just scratched his beard. But then it wasn’t a thing of worry for him. He could found many from any planet.

Thereafter, the night was spent in gossips, drinking beer, and hearing about Sandipan’s and Makheeja’s stories of bravery and supernatural.

They all departed the next day.

A month after a novel, written by Charlene, hit the market. It became an instant hit. It was full of love, adventure, and supernatural.

And all lived happily after.