Moving On – Part II

 Authors Note -

This is the Second half of the last in a four part series of short stories both independent & inter related to each other.

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“B, Czechoslovakia.”

“Wrong, Correct answer ahe D, Austria. Come on Mavshi.”

“Mag, You win. Go play with Jenny.” Beena could feel the beginning of a string quartet of whine that kids always threaten with when things aren’t going their way and hence quickly added, “Isn’t this her KBC game book?”

And as surely as Vienna is the capital of Austria, did Ankit not want to give up the book; which made him discontinue his whine, slink off and leave Beena alone. The last four hours were spent to achieve this empty room.

First it was her sister, Heena. After an irreconcilable love affair concluded in marriage, Heena was “Dead” to her parents. It had been three years since the sisters had met and that then (unlike now) was purely accidental. It wasn’t that they were fighting, it was that they weren’t even fighting.

Beena had caught her at just the right moment. Her husband had already left for work and she was moments away from doing so. Now, it was 9’O clock and she was an hour late for work. They talked about the surprise and happiness to see each other among other mundane things but it was clear that Heena wasn’t ready to leave the kids alone with her or was it leaving her alone with the kids, in any case she got up to leave. Beena comforted, “I’m 18 years old, Heena. I can take care of …”

“We have hired an Aaya for the summer. She’ll…”

“I want to spend some time with them. I’ll tell the Aaya, that it’s her day off.”

An hour after the frown over Heena’s face had accompanied her outside, Beena was talking to the Aaya. One couldn’t find a person more determined to work than that fat bitch, Beena thought. “Pch..You won’t lose your job. I’m wanted to cook for them and feed them..” said Beena for the umpteenth time through the safety door.

“But Meemsaab, maybe I can cook and you can tell them you cooked it.”

“I don’t cook like….like you. Take a day off. Its OK. I’ve talked to Heena.”

And she slammed the door in her face. Then there were the kids themselves. Jenny had the hardest time recognizing her aunt; she kept asking how they were related. In her six years on earth, Jenny had seen her a maximum of three times; two of which were when she was still shitting in her diapers. Ankit helped confirm that they were related but Jenny had too much of Heena in her.

At last there remained Ankit, with a round face, in need of a reason to get closer to Beena and still unwrapping his puberty. He began with inquiries on his lineage, then turned to showing his growing biceps, then he presented her his new toys, then he talked about how similar she looked to his mother and finally it was the KBC book. Beena felt a little flattered at first with his semi innocent admiration filled eyes but then again how long can you pet someone.

Now that she had the bedroom all to herself, she realised the power she had. She at that moment could do anything she wished to the home, to this bed. It could come back to her but her wish could be done. But such leisure’s thought had very little space right now. So back to work, she went.

She picked up the landline and replaced it back when she realised she doesn’t have the number by heart. Switching on her mobile, she searched under ‘D’ and tapped on the one that said Dikesh. Lifting up the landline once again she dialled the number.

TRRINGGG TRRINGGG TRRINGGG TRRINGGG.

“Uhh.”

On her fifth try, a squeaky little voice answered the call, “Umm, Hello.”

“Its me. What have you been…? Where are you?”

There was silence on the other end for longest half of a minute ever and then the high pitched voice went higher and higher. “Where the fuck? Where am I? You fuckin bitch. You double faced, goddamn, swine fucking whore. Where the fuck are you? We’re supposed to meet here. I’m at the temple. I’ve been here for two hours. Why is your phone switched off?”

“Calm Down. I’ve found a safe place to divide the money and getting ready. I did that all on my own.” she said proudly.

“You lying little ……. My hands are shaking right now and there are people all around staring at me.” He took a few long breaths.

“Did you get it?”

“Are we still doing that? I don’t know. You left me alone and you call after two hours from… where are you calling from?”

“I told you. I found a safe place.”

“Oh safe.. Its safe. Like that broken condom you gave me last month. You’re crazy. I’m leaving. I don’t even know why I’m still here?”

“What do you mean? You didn’t get the money.”

“No the guy is still standing here; in some stupid clown pants. Why is he wearing yellow pants?”

“He must look pretty stupid. Is he looking stupid?” she said in an attempt to lighten the mood.

“I’m not talking to..”

There was a lot of noise in the background, which is why she didn’t notice it but after Dikesh had cut the phone, the sound gave off a hollow quality, like somebody was...

She got up from the bed, unlocked the door, and ran outside. She heard the TV switch on and loud soap opera style background sound of bells and chimes boomed across the flat. She reached the living room and Jenny had her head buried in the KBC book and Ankit was fidgeting with the remote. Neither try to notice Beena.

She walked across the room, unplugged the phone next to them and was walking back to the bedroom when she turned back and announced rather than said, “Play it slower.” while some dramatic dialogue were being exchanged on the TV show.

“Slow?”, Ankit said while still bowing his head down.

“Lower, I mean. You know.”

After searching the remaining rooms for phones, she once again locked herself in and walked towards the landline. A micro second before she lifted the receiver, the phone had started to ring which she ignored and started dialling the number from her memory without putting her ear to the speaker.

“Hello? Hello?” a faint sound registered its presence. After looking around, she stared at the receiver in her hand. She cleared the mess of hair near her ear and put the it on. Beena froze and didn’t know what to do. It was Heena and after what felt like the entirety of being subjected through invasive surgery without anaesthesia, she spoke.

For the next twenty minutes Beena convinced Heena of the well being of her well fed children who were napping. Beena was thinking of the imaginary menu she just recited and felt some hunger pangs distracting her from the conversation. They talked long about their parents, Heena’s husband, their children, her job, Beena’s education and some silliness that bind siblings together. They had talked for well above an hour, Beena was updating her on some recent gossip like the old couple living above them that died one after the other in matter of two days and how their neighbours discovered them one after the other. And as both of them were trying to remember the deceased man’s name, Beena’s heard those call waiting beeps. They felt more like wake up alarm as, Beena began, “Umm, I think there is someone at the door.”

“Oh god. My lunch hour finished and I had no lunch.”

Clicking off the call, Beena pressed redial. This time he answered the call immediately.

“What is this? The silent treatment.”

Beena smirked and replied, “So is it done?”

“Is it done? Ofcourse, I’m wearing my lucky green shirt. But I had to shoot him.”

“What? You shot. You took a gun to the temple. You killed him. He had a wife and a child. You idiot..”

“No no not him. The guy. The gangster guy who came to collect the money. Fucking extortionists! He was in yellow pants too. Fuckin Circus gang. I ran out of there.”

“Is he dead?”

“I don’t know. He got off me and I took off.”

“Wait where are you now?”

“I’m near my bike. And the bag is pretty heavy.”

She paused a bit. After a victory dance involving trying to bounce on the bed and few silent fist pumps later, she gave him the address and continued to talk, “So it must be fifty not fifteen…..umm… how’s your hand?”

“I think the stiches opened up. There is some blood but it’s not mine. But hey where would we be, if I didn’t have to have the stiches.”

“Fifty Lakh Rupees shorter. That’s where.” Beena thought she had heard this dialogue somewhere and felt good that it applied here perfectly.

After a motorcycle accident four days ago, Dikesh was held under observation for the night. Beena had gone to visit. A few minutes into the visit they realised that the semi private room didn’t have any other patient. She switched the lights off, locked the door and they settled into a little “jeans on jeans” action. She held his injured hand and kissed it. It tasted like medicine so she dived onto his stubble bearded face. She could hear his irregular breathing. Dikesh was clearly shook up and his excited tongue spoke volumes of the comfort she was offering. He started grazing her bottom, first on the left then the right, then down the middle and up the spine. It seemed perfect and she felt a refreshing wave of warmth growing inside. It now centred near her stomach and was moving southwards, which she could feel was being reciprocated by him.

They were seconds away from throwing caution to wind when the lights in the room next to them switched on. They got off each other but remained close. An out of breath man and a woman began a hushed conversation in the lit up room. They were desperately trying to murmur but then were getting angry as the other couldn’t hear it. After a while they gave up murmuring and talked as low as possible.

From their talk it seemed like the man was injured but when Beena went out to slyly check on them, she saw that it was the woman who had a broken leg. A few minutes of muffled talk later they started to acclimatise to the sounds, then make out words and then sentences.

It seemed that they were being extorted and they were in animated discussion on what they should do. It surprised Beena that they never said anything about the amount. It seemed to her that a smaller amount didn’t deserve this much discussion and it would probably be a very large one and her interest grew greater and greater. At ten thirty the doctor came for his visit and reassurance that Dikesh can be let go tomorrow. Ten minutes after that came the nurse, with a set of bespectacled suspicious eyes screaming scandal, to order the light off. Just like the man and woman had continued their conversation in dark, Beena and Dikesh whispered a conspiracy.

Dikesh faked pain to remain in the hospital for the next two days and Beena came for her nightly visit except that the nurse and her parents started voicing concern on the overnight stay. Dikesh spied, reported news and they hatched their plan which when she revisited made her think that the Police may look for them which is why she needed a place to change their look before going out and that brought her here.

She got off the bed and went towards the closet. The closet doors had a dark polished veneer finish, she glided her hands over its smooth surface down toward the collapsible handle. She opened up and threw some of Heena tops, jeans and dresses on the bed. Then she started with the men’s section. A couple of Tees, jeans and a cool jacket.

The closet smelled of expensive perfurme and moth balls. It smelled like a gala party held near a petrol pump. The aroma was kind of sweet in nauseating sort of way. Beena felt dizzy and quickly closed the door. She shut her eyes and leaned forward onto the closet door. She rested her left check on the door. It’s cool surface felt comforting. This clean, beautiful, smooth surface is what it’s all about, she thought. It never questions you, just does what you ask. Hard and at your service. She was now spreading herself straight on the door. She stroked it a little, kissed it and hugged it as much as she could. This is freedom, this is liberty, not those things you read in books and articles of I-am-afraid-of-the-boogie-man columnists, she thought. The things money can buy.

The collapsible handles on the closet door were swinging back & forth, as Beena rubbed herself on it. She was climbing onto the high cloud of ecstasy as her hips gyrated on the handles and little dimples of sweat cropped on her forehead. She stepped backwards and collapsed on assortment of clothes on the bed in convulsion of delight. She rolled and lay on her stomach for the longest time. She opened her eyes with a strangely urgent desire to be soothed in hot Jacuzzi.

For twenty minutes she remained unmoved there in her stupor with eyes wide open till the door bell rang out continuously and had no indication to stop till somebody answered. Beena didn’t hurry but calmly unlocked and opened the bedroom door. Slowly she walked towards the living room. When she reached there, she saw Ankit contemplating to open the door. She motioned him to move and bent to see through the eyehole.

It was a little dark in the corridor but a stationary silhouette of a man was visible. His right hand outstretched upwards resting on the door’s frame. She quickly pulled away from the eyehole to open up. She greeted Dikesh with a smile but the darkness masked his expression. She recognized his T-Shirt even in the dark. Drenched in sweat, it had changed to dark green. She now saw the hefty backpack which hung on his lean figure as he entered.

Silence grew as the reverberation of ringing bells stopped and a low static began in her ear. She turned around, grabbed both Jenny & Ankit by the arms and locked them in their room. She heard Dikesh locking the main door and waited in the corridor for a few minutes. She could hear the kids mumble something in there but all other sounds were drowning in her slowly erupting excitement but she was too mellow to scream.

They had done it, she thought. That bag had all that she needed. The world would now be fair, when she controlled the purse strings. She was ready for it. She knew she was. A new beginning filled with a bright future, no hand me downs, shiny new appliances and good looking smooth furniture. Her new life was waiting and she was ready to move on.

Moving On – Part I

 Authors Note -

This is the first half of the last in a four part series of short stories both independent & inter related to each other.

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The faded yellow jeans were somehow managing to keep everything together.

They weren’t worn in four years since its purchase back when its owner bought clothes two sizes smaller and considered himself one size smaller than what he was. Over the years it served the function of the butt of some jokes than actual clothing. A latent acceptance to his five year old son’s call for change in his usual choice in fashion, the jeans only served its horizontally expanding master in the two by two trial room of the uptown lifestyle store he bought it from. That is until today.

At that moment, if you were to ask Amrish whether he was sitting or standing. The precise answer would be somewhere in the ballpark of leaning like plywood plank inching away slowly for its eventual horizontal fate, courtesy gravitation. His actual answer, in normal circumstances, would be somewhere between quiet boiling rage to a small groan. But a tight pair of faded yellow jeans is not worn by thirty five year olds under normal circumstances.

It was the kind of case most people surf over if and when such stories find their way in their weekly crime show. The kind of news that makes people go “Lagata Hai Aaj Kuch Mila Nahi”, when they see it on news channels. The kind of thing where everybody knows the steps involved and no ending is ever really a surprise. It was the case of simple extortion.

There was the first call which had started as if they were selling insurance. There was a point where Amrish almost asked for a brochure to be sent but the tone changed when someone was referred to as the “Bhai”. There was a squabble which assured Amrish that he had made a nice argument as to why he wasn’t interested in being extorted. He was expecting a second call from someone of the higher ranks but his wait was interrupted by call from his wife with a broken leg.

They had cornered her in the nearby mall’s parking lot, where she was getting into her car. Then came her call. Rasika sounded almost mellow but then again she was always a hard nut to crack, unlike her leg. What she was describing and her tone were in such contradictions that Amrish didn’t immediately correlate but confused thoughts were clouding his minds; which is why he avoided driving to the hospital. He went out, getting more light headed as the moments passed and tried to hail a cab. After a while, as sketchy links were being established he was screaming at every passing cab, car, rickshaw, truck. When he finally reached the hospital and after some loving inquiries were made, he blurted out about the extortion call. A night’s deliberation concluded with them being agreeable on being extorted.

The day after that came the second call. The date (three days after the call), place (the old temple at George’s Circle), amount (or atleast what would be the first instalment) and most uncomfortably the easily identifiable attire was communicated.

Amrish’s lean against the wall was now progressing towards an awkward angle so he elected to stand now but it wasn’t long before the feet started to sing. It was almost two hours since half past eleven which was the agreed time and there were no chairs here. One could sit on the ground but not in those jeans.

The stars in the sky had deemed today auspicious, which is why the crowd was in no mood of thinning. Amrish had picked a nice quiet corner (which in this place meant somebody won’t constantly walk over your foot) after His darshan was done and the Prasad was licked off. But his belly floating loosely over the rim of the jeans was demanding real food in no subtle terms, his shoulders were aching from bite of the heavy backpack and his head spinning from constantly going back and forth, looking for the man.

“Wait would it be a man” Amrish thought out loud. These gangs always had some girls in the background. Even that Abu Salman or whatever his name was had that heroine girl with him. They even made a film about that.

In parallel to remembering the film, his probing fingers checked the chains of his backpack as they did every minute. Then they took out his phone turned the screen on as they did every other minute, Rasika had called an hour ago. He would have liked to continue that call endlessly now, it was almost like they were on a secret mission. It was the most fun he had in the decade long marriage even when with her broken foot and related troubles. But as ten minutes turned to twenty, he realised he didn’t have anything new to say. A touch of sadness was starting to pollute the excitement so he cut her monologue short and said bye.

He sniffed his hands. They smelled of sandalwood and sweet milk. The Prasad’s smell had still not left. He rubbed his sticky palms on his jeans and smelled them again, no change.

His mind drifted away to what he remembered as the Abu Salman film and started feeling nostalgic about the time when he wasn’t being extorted which is when his gaze fell on a larger than life framed photo of Lord Krishna. There were many such photos hanging on the walls. But what caught his attention was that this photo had the lord draped in yellow cloth which brought him back to his crotch crushing reality.

He tried bringing his legs closer and closer but no relief was in sight. The sewn claws were digging into his thighs. He engaged in a slight of hand to extend the crotch cut downward without anybody noticing; which my dear madams and monsieur could be a dramatic moment for some action to start. The universe at that moment demanded to experience an action comedy of a man in tight faded yellow pants and the universe usually gets what it wants. As I said it usually gets what it wants, and thus it was an action comedy till the time bullets were fired and a man in yellow pants died but that comes afterwards.

If Amrish had looked at his old gold platted Titan watch, he would have seen that the second hand had just waved over twelve and started its journey for a new minute. But Amrish couldn’t check his watch at the moment as he had stretched his arms up and then back to throw off the stiffness that the heavy backpack was biting into his shoulders.

It was at this exact moment that a strong tug from back made him lose his balance. He tried to bring his arms forward but the force pulling him by tugging on his backpack was too strong. Amrish tried going sideways and started to hit some passer-by’s in his struggle. The people around him were confused about the situation and stood to see the circus in motion.

Amrish was running in a small circle, engaged in reverse fugadi with the unknown thief. He could make out that he was a thin young fellow and saw a fog of green every time he craned his neck but nothing more. He had now lost most of the control over his backpack which had slid around his elbows. The assailants grip was unshakable and Amrish finally remembered something important, which is when he decided to let go.

As he forced ahead the tug from back got stronger and Amrish’s arms gave way and snapped backward at an unnatural angle. He felt the weight of backpack leave his shoulders but such sensation was mostly blocked by the pain of making rubber bands out of muscles and bones.

During the struggle that lasted ten seconds, his adrenaline level was high and the backpack’s straps had increasingly tightened which cut off the blood supply and asked the nerves to go offline for a while. After the backpack was lifted, the floodgates opened and blood vessels and nerve impulses started their job; and the pain started its course with a set of cramps around his biceps.

The second hand of the Titan didn’t stop to ask about his master’s well being as it marked off the first quarter of the minute. Amrish lifted up his head and wrapped his arms around himself. People had now started to realise what had transpired before them and rushed towards Amrish to confirm. He dodged all questions and tiptoed to look over the heads of a gathering crowd.

Inspite of his aching arms and newly throbbing back, Amrish had an amused look on his face as he saw a thin young boy, in the most green coloured T-Shirt he had ever seen, swim his way upstream through waves of people moving against him.

Amrish had used the old ‘Its-bunch-of-newspaper-and-magazine-instead-of-money’ trick and the knowledge of him tricking his enemies was like Zandu Balm for his pain. Not quite stopping the throbbing pain but helping him along the way. He held that smile till the Titan watch’s second hand marked the beginning of journey through the wilderness of second half of the minute.

The thin young thief’s head, which was bobbing up and down, wrestling through the forward march of public who were trying to make sense of ancient history of thirty seconds ago, was knocked down by an invisible force. A scream and shifting shape of the waves diverted his attention to left of the thief’s original path.

Amrish eyes were scanning the entire area where people had now started to gather around forming a make shift fight ring. He couldn’t get there himself as the crowd around him was still pressing for answers about his brawl. Some yells and screams were coming out and Amrish could make out that the thief was now engaged in a fight with someone. Probably a good Samaritan trying to return his bag, Amrish thought. But the actual action was buried deep near the ground which was made opaque by the people gathered around. Amrish could only see the people now looking down at the fight and a definite blood lust which was forming in their eyes.

‘Damn, it must be one hell of a fight.’ Amrish thought.

As the watch’s second hand was five stroke away from signing off the third quarter, a gun-shot blasted away. The bang was doubled by the enclosed marble structure and echoed back over, mixing with screams of terrified people.

The makeshift fight ring broke apart and the blood lust dissolved into fear. Most of the people bolted towards the exit over these remaining five seconds. Some remaining including Amrish who were too scared or confused to look for the exit, had scattered and began his pilgrimage towards the walls or the sanctum sanctorum of the temple.

When the last quarter of the minute started, Amrish had made it to the wall and was feeling himself (unmindful, one might add of any of his pain) for any unwanted bullet holes. The woman standing next to him was calling out for someone.

As the first five seconds of the last quarter ticked off, he diverted his attention back to where the commotion started and it all looked like some bizzare Satanic ritual to Amrish. Everyone who was too scared or confused to head towards the door had taken to plaster themselves on the wall as if too dissolve and not be visible to whoever was wielding the gun. And slightly off centre in the middle of this gathering lay the half dead body of a man.

He was shot in the throat and blood sparyed out of the hole, nay crater, for last five seconds of his life. The slightly obese man had the look of a gutted pig, his face changed from rigidity of dealing with the pain to a slow acceptance of the finality of the moments and then it was plain. A face with no fear or concern that its owner was dead. The red sprayed on his clothes gaining more and more territory till it reached his midriff which is when Amrish saw it.

The man was wearing bright yellow pants. Something straight out of the 80s. The unrealness of all the action of the last fifty seconds compounded with the colour of pants that he shared with the dead man made him feel like he was in the twilight zone. A time warp. He felt as if he had breached the fourth dimension and the past, present and future were indistinguishable things. All his memories were infront of him and some images he had never consciously experienced till now were floating around him. It was a feeling truly awesome in force. It was the mother of all déjà vu.

But then his mind went back to the pants of all things. Yellow pants. And it made Amrish think,; and thought he did over the last five seconds of the minute ‘If they had my name, my phone number and even knew my wife well enough to break her leg; why would they need me wear something to identify me. It was the pick up man. The pick up man was going to wear yellow pants.’

At the last micro second when Amrish had realised his small misunderstanding which made him wear those good awful tight faded yellow jeans, the adrenaline rush from the past minute had started to fade away to give way to pain. The pain around his thighs from running in these pants and the aching torn arm muscles and back were spreading at a rapid rate.

Amrish didn’t notice him when he arrived, but a man with a small boy on his shoulder was now hugging the woman next to him. The man let the boy down, landing him on Amrish’s foot.

And so began another minute of pain.